The mid-40s are that time in a gay man's life when his major paradigm shifts from sexy to Sansabelts. But when Barry Grooms's partner of twenty years is killed on Barry's forty-fifth birthday, his world doesn't so much evolve as it does explode.<br><br>After navigating through the surreal conveyor belt of friends and family, he can't eat another casserole or swallow much more advice on what constitutes grief. Still numb, he leaves his homestore and design business in the care of others as he escapes to Key West, then New York. There he gets a thankless new job working for a crazy lady in a poncho, then has too many drinks with a narcissistic Broadway actor. Next it's a nude exercise class that redefines flop sweat, and from there he's on to a relationship with a man twenty years his junior.<br><br>Yet no matter how great the retreat from the man he used to be, life's gravity spins Barry back to the small town where he grew up for one more ironic twist that teaches him how to say goodbye with grace.

The Cool Part of His Pillow

“I’d maybe ask him if he can still see me. Or can the dogs talk to him now.”


This irritates Janet. “That’s not how Scripture says it works.”


Barb follows up. “And you’d say…?”


I hope you finally met your mom. I hope your dad still isn’t drunk. I hope it’s like Lovely Bones. None of those would mean anything without elaboration, and I’m not ready to do that. So I say, “I will never love anyone like you again.”


I don’t expect high-fives, but GRPL-pronounced-”grapple” has clearly said and heard it all before. All I get is a woman popping a Certs into her mouth and a man turning another page of his US


Adele’s next question has all of the subtlety of an alien’s body cavity probe. “Ever wish you were with Andy and your animals?”


“If I say yes, do I have to leave? Is there a Suicidal Persons League, pronounced ‘supple,’ down the hall?”


Chapter 30