Brownie Points by Jennifer Coburn Page A

returned to Utopia, I absolutely had to set up a work space for myself. We had been there nearly two weeks and my hands were starting to itch from the creative inertia.
    Behind me was the voice I’d heard almost every day for years. “The suburbs agree with you,” Jorge said, smacking his lips and extending his hands before grabbing my face and kissing both cheeks. “I expected you to be fat and wearing a muumuu, but you look gorgeous, Li-li!”
    “Thank you,” I said, spinning to let him appreciate my Sistine-Chapel-ceiling pants and way-too-high-for-a-mom pumps. “Looks can be deceiving. The suburbs are definitely not agreeing with me.”
    “Or are you not agreeing with them?” Jorge asked.
    “Meaning what?”
    “Ay, Li-li, you hated that place before you saw it.”
    “Maybe I’m very perceptive,” I said, with a slight concession in my gesture. “I miss you guys so much.”
    “You knew you would when you went all Tammy Wynette and stood by your man,” he said.
    I sighed, relieved and tortured by the sight of what I’d left behind. “I can’t believe I let Jason talk me into this move.”
    “You know what this job means to him,” Jorge reminded me.
    “Yeah, I guess. I just wish he’d work out his issues with his father like a normal person and do some wilderness drum circle or go to therapy. He didn’t have to ruin all of our lives.”
    “Li-li, ruining their family’s lives is what normal people do.”
    “Jorge, you’ve got to see this place. Every house is identical, and these women, it’s like human spam.” He laughed. “And no one has the good sense to hate it. They’re all just happy, happy, happy with their perfect lives, while I’ve got to come here to clear out my couch to make room for something that people actually want.”
    “Li-li, how many times have I told you, stop comparing your insides to everyone else’s outsides? You’re not the only person who’s ever struggled.” Jorge gestured at the paintings on the walls as he continued. “If we only did this for the money, we’d be in the oldest profession in the world. Mamita, you’re lucky to have work that you love. Most people never find that.”
    I drank in the sight of Jorge with his mod-male button-down shirt half open, ridiculously large medallion against his hairless caramel chest, and tight black jeans. His hair was gelled into another dimension. More than I missed the way Jorge looked, I missed the way he knew me and loved me enough to tear up the invitations to my pity party. He also had a good sense of when to lighten the mood. “Back to this outfit,” he said, pointing at my top, bottoms, then shoes. “Love it, love it, love it even more!”
    I giggled. “That’s exactly what Logan said.”
    “Who do you think taught him? That boy needs to be bilingual, and that big hunky macho man you married isn’t exactly the right guy for the job. Speaking of Jason, how is that delicious slice of cake?”
    “Jason’s good,” I replied. “How’s Finn? Was his contract renewed?”
    Jorge shook his head. “We knew this day would come, Li-li. It’s the nature of the NFL. Use him up, then kick him to the curb when something younger and faster comes along.” Jorge put his finger to his lips and looked around, feigning secrecy. “That’s what I’m going to do with him too. How can he complain? He’s a grown man who got to run around in spandex pants, playing football for thirteen years. He’s not qualified to do anything other than hit people, and these nice Forty-Niners pay him like he cured cancer or something. Why be upset? My boyfriend is rich, good-looking and stupid. Life is good.”
    “You’re too much,” I laughed. “Help me get the couch into my van.”
    As we lugged the rubber monstrosity into my van, I managed to pant out a question. “How old were you when you knew you were gay?”
    “Ay, Li-li, don’t tell me you’re getting turned on by all those desperate housewives out there in the land