No Cure For Curiosity (boyxboy)

Epilouge

This is again dedicated to Hayla for her continued support. You honestly made it that much easier for me to write. 

The phone on my desk starts ringing as I'm looking over the case file of the latest client my boss threw at me. Since I'm still the 'new guy' I get stuck with some of the cases that the others don't want to handle. It doesn't bother me either way. I get to come to work every day to fight for people that can't afford a top of the line attorney, but really deserve the representation. 

The guys I work with all poke fun of me for being a non-profit lawyer with a Yale education. They told me if they could have gotten into Yale, they'd be working for some high-end firm that paid the high-end kinds of money. 

But I can't. I've gotten a few offers - after I started winning my cases and people noticed where my education came from. And even though they offer me more money or the chance to climb my way to partner, I just can't see myself in a big fancy office. 

I like that I can joke around with my co-workers. And unless I'm in court, I don't have to dress formally either. I like my little desk and rickety chair in the back of a huge room full of identical office furniture and constant noise. 

Looking down at the phone, I see that it's just the front desk lady 'Sheila'. I'm not sure of her real name, but that's what everyone calls her. She's on a work study program here from Australia. She's blonde and tan and in her early twenties. She's a hard worker and everyone here seems to enjoy her as our receptionist. 

"Hello, my lovely Sheila dear, how can I help you on this beautiful afternoon?" 

After a brief giggle she answers me in her thick Australian accent, "It's too bad you're gay Walt." 

"Aren't all the good ones?" I laugh. What can I say? I'm a lawyer now; I've learned to schmooze. 

She's always flirting with me and I entertain the fact. I mean she knows I'm gay; everyone does. Saying as we are a non-profit firm specializing in equal rights, everyone is pretty supportive. 

"Well," she starts and I can hear that she's still smiling, "this one standing in front of me is. He says his name is Evan Damonto." 

"My husband's here?" I ask a little shocked. I thought he had said that he had a shoot today when I left the house this morning. 

That's right; we did it. I ended up being the one to ask him to marry me. We were both finishing our senior years of college about four years ago. Him at Columbia, me at Yale. We still saw each other whenever we could, even if we were a little over an hour away from each other. He got his business major with a minor in photography. 

That summer, I thought it was about time that we made everything official and asked him to be my husband on his graduation night. The following spring was the wedding. We did it during my spring break so that we could have a honeymoon. I would still - at that point - have to return to school for my law degree.  

It was a beautiful private ceremony with only our closest friends and family. His mom didn't come, but his dad walked him down the aisle; as did both my parents with me.  

Coming out of my short lived daydream, I hear her sigh over dramatically, "Let's see, he has short light brown hair and gorgeous hazel eyes. He's tall and handsome."  

I hear Evan chuckle from the other side; probably embarrassed.  

"That's him!" I confirm her suspicion. 

"So this is the other Mr. Damonto then, yea?" she says to me before addressing him again. "We've heard so much about you, mate. I've always wondered if you were as attractive as Walter says."