Chapter 18

Bartholomew seemed way more excited about Hubert coming to terms with being Hubert than it had occurred to Hubert to be. “Hubert’s Big Gay Mansion,” he exclaimed, flinging wide the front door. “Take one!”

It was nothing like the front room Hubert had left forty minutes before. Suddenly every surface seemed upholstered. There were heavy curtains everywhere, and designer chairs clustered around a suede sectional sofa; every corner and cranny had a naked man in it, some cast in bronze, others hewn of marble, and there were so many candles Hubert felt like he’d fallen face-first into a birthday cake.

“Umm…”

Bartholomew took stock of Hubert’s hesitation to gush. “Too much?” he asked.

“It’s a little…”

“Too much,” Bartholomew said again. With a flick of his finger, the room reverted to its original condition. “Maybe we’ll ease you into that.”

“Maybe.”

“But maybe we could still do some art?” Bartholomew wondered.

“Maybe…”