The forms scattered across the kitchen table looked like a bureaucratic nightmare, but that was nothing compared to a legal document Eric handed me as I added another spoonful of honey to my peppermint tea.

"What's this?"

He didn't respond. I looked closer, realizing it was about joint property and accounts. It contained a list of Eric's property and assets, and then I realized what it was-- a pre-nuptial agreement.

"Eric...?"

"What?" he responded, coolly, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary.

"This is about us getting married, isn't it? Hell, not even married. You're afraid I'm going to take you if we split up?"

"My lawyer suggested it."

"We've been together for years but suddenly since we're registering as a domestic partnership, because we're 'committing' to each other, you think I'm going to turn into Ivana Trump?"

"That's not it."

"Then what 'is it,' Eric? You just calmly hand me a piece of paper. No talk, no discussion, expecting me to sign something like that? Perhaps I should have MY attorney look at it. Oh, wait. I forgot. I don't have one. Do you know of any good blood sucking attorneys?"

Eric took the piece of paper back and ripped it in half.

He continued to rip it into smaller pieces. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I never felt comfortable with it, anyway. Just...Bruce thought...it was a good idea."

"Well...you should have talked to me about it."

"Forget it." He tossed the torn agreement into the trash. Awkward silence filled the room as we looked at the paperwork I had picked up from the City of West Hollywood to register as a domestic partnership.

I realized that by him just ripping up that document it probably cost him at least a thousand bucks or two in legal fees.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked. "I mean, what is yours, mine, and ours?"

"It's all of ours," he gruffly whispered, beginning to fill out the domestic partnership form.

I took the pen away from him. He looked at me blankly, staring at me with his what-are-you-doing face that I now knew so well.

"It sounds like you resent that. I contribute, too. I mean, I don't make as much money as you do, but...I have an equal share in all of this.

"You do, Andrew. I guess it's the definition, you know, that sometimes I have a hard time with."

"Definition of...?"

"Two men. Sharing everything."

"So if I was a woman, it'd be easier. More defined."

He was silent so I continued. "Eric, what if I were to tell you I thought you were the 'woman' in this relationship."

"I'm the woman?" He laughed.

"Why's that so funny?"

"Drew, that's ridiculous."

"Why? You haven't been working for months, you've been in therapy. I've handled the bills, the house-I've been running the show."

"But before that..." He stopped himself.

"But before that you made more money and I cooked more-therefore I was the housewife and you were the man?"

He ignored me, and I realized a major fight was brewing between us.