Gulliver and Dean were finally building their dream house. Not that either of them had the strongest conception of what they wanted their dream house to be. But both had reached an age, unmarried, where it seemed both sad to live alone and unnecessary not to live in style. So they’d decided to just go ahead and do it: cementing their friendship, their social status, and their perpetual singledom. Both made good money, doing the kinds of jobs that made people good money without really saying much of anything about their personality or inner life. And neither had been in a serious relationship in years.
Dean had been married once. Had a kid. But his wife had left a few years back—left him for a successful comic actor. And the kid had gone off to Exeter and rarely visited. So that was that.
Gulliver, though, was a stranger case. He’d had girlfriends in high school, and everyone swore he wasn’t gay, but he’d never really shown any interest in girls in his adult life. Or boys, really. He and Dean had had a fling after Dean’s wife left, but it was unsatisfying for both men. They were better as friends, as asexuals.
When it came to what was actually to go into the house, they were both open to suggestion. Dean wanted a dogtrot (also known, less charmingly, as a possum-trot), meaning that the house would have a porch-like gap in its middle, separating the first floor into two halves. Gulliver, the weirder, wanted an elaborate maze in the basement. He explained that, in the event that armed robbers intruded, he wanted an area where he could lure them, outsmart them, and trap them. Dean, not anticipating armed robbers, acquiesced to this eccentricity, on the condition that Gulliver keep it on the DL. “Obviously,” Gulliver replied. “Otherwise, what would be the point?”
So up the house went, with the dogtrot, and the maze. They also added some neat finishing touches, like a mini-internet cafe, and a David Foster Wallace worship area. Soon enough they were just two rich bachelors, living large and in charge.
Dean was the first to really start to take advantage of the house. It turned out that all that was really keeping him from love was a lot of bitterness, and once his wife married that comic actor, he suddenly started to feel free to date again. Nothing serious at first: hookers, and girls from the office. But soon enough he found himself in yet another relationship, with his daughter’s old au pair. She’d stopped by the house one afternoon to see the daughter—“Your wife indicated that she was staying with you this summer”—but that old ball-and-chain was mistaken.
“I haven’t seen Ellie in years,” Dean said. “I miss her, of course. But kids: they grow up.”
He invited the au pair in for a cup of tea, and soon enough they were hooking up in the maze, and soon enough they were married and acting like teenagers who got married too soon. She wanted to have kids, but he objected: “My sperm’s too old! They’ll be at an increased risk for Marfan syndrome. It’s no good.”
And one day, while they were eating a delicious breakfast of waffles and bacon, Ellie walked in. She looked quite the sight.
“Where on Earth have you been, young lady?” Dean asked. “You know your mother’s been worried sick about you these past few months.” Ellie eyed the au pair with a questioning glance, which Dean spotted. “Don’t make this about me, ok? Yes, we’re in love.”
Ellie coughed a little. “If you have to know, I’ve been locked in the sex maze since May. Your roommate, Gran… Glov…”
“Gulliver.”
“Gulliver. He locked up the inner part so that I was just walking around and around in circles for months, listening to you fuck my babysitter.”
The au pair looked up from her waffles, “Oh, Ellie!” Her eyes glistened with the years apart. “That must’ve been so awful! I swear, I’m going to have a talk with that Gulliver.”
“No, no, that won’t be necessary. I just hope I’m not too behind on my classes. It must be September, at least.”
“October,” Dean said. “It’s October 22. I’m afraid graduating in time is out of the question unless you really work yourself to the bone. I’ll have a talk with your teachers, though.”
“Gee, thanks, dad.” She rolled her eyes.
And that was that. Dean felt indignant: he’d been so worried about how Gulliver had been taking the marriage. Gulliver’d refused to talk about it. He thought he’d been so mad! But he’d had his daughter locked up all along. The two had lunch in the internet café that day. Dean was the mad one now: “We need to have a serious talk,” he said.
But he looked into Gulliver’s eyes and saw that he didn’t have to. Gulliver was crying. But they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of joy. Dean had finally reached him.
