The Coil

by Gilbert, L. A.

  Heading home with the small bag looped over his wrist, hands tucked in his pockets and head down against the wind, he couldn’t help but smile a little wistfully at what it might be like to evoke that look of pleased relief. To feel welcomed into the home of someone you were very significant to.

  There was the issue of Simon’s mother being there, his friend Sarah and the parents of the other kids, not to mention Jamie, but Simon had made some serious progress with his mother, or so he’d told him. He’d felt proud of Simon for being willing to begin to forgive his mother while maintaining his stance of a proud gay man. If he were in Simon’s shoes, he didn’t know if he could be so brave. The sometimes disapproving looks from anyone who might overhear conversation that included any homosexual activity—hand holding included—was enough to make him want to shrivel up.

  Not Simon. He wouldn’t hide who he was after already coming so far. It was merely a matter of judging whether it was too soon to include himself into that mix. Mattie thought perhaps with his mother meeting Jamie—officially—for the first time, that it may be too soon to introduce the boyfriend on the same day. A shame, really, because things were so good between them at the moment. Really good. Every instant Simon wasn’t with Jamie or writing, they were together. Like a real, devoted couple.

  Surely five minutes wouldn’t hurt? He could nip in, drop off the gift, and let Simon know he was thinking of him. He wouldn’t ask to meet his friends, his mother, or Jamie. He’d just let Simon know that he was in his thoughts and that he loved him. Just without the actual words.

  Five minutes.

  “WOULD you calm down already?”

  Simon leaned against the kitchen counter, craning his neck to see through to the living room where the kids all crowded around the coffee table, scribbling away on the several coloring books he’d bought that morning.

  “It’s going fine, Simon,” Sarah said in a hushed voice so his guests seated in the next room wouldn’t hear. “They’re actually having fun.”

  He watched as his mother carefully crouched down on the floor beside Jamie to ask him about his drawing. Jamie wouldn’t look at her, but he saw his lips move in answer. It was good to see. It was heartwarming to see Jamie having such a nice time, and to see his mother so happy to boot. He had to admit, it was going fine, and he felt foolish for worrying so much.

  “Can you give me a hand?” Sarah asked.

  “Sure. Here….” He took the coffeepot from her hand. “Let me do that.”

  “Great. You do the adults, and I’ll see to the kids. Did you get ice cream?”

  He nodded. “Chocolate and vanilla. Oh, and some sprinkles in the cupboard.” He stopped short. “I don’t know which flavors they all like.”

  “I teach those kids, remember? Three vanillas and two chocolate.”

  “Thank God you’re here.”

  “You, Simon Castle, are a drama queen.”

  He paused in pouring his coffee. “Did you seriously just call me a queen?”

  Sarah grinned and opened her mouth to answer, but a happy squeal followed by the giggling of young children caused them both to glance to the living room and laugh quietly.

  “Queen or not, your son is having a great time.”

  “He is,” he agreed. “And he looks abso-friggin-lutely adorable.”

  “Oh my God, Simon.” She swooned, licking the ice cream from her thumb. “I just want to eat him up in his little sweater vest. I can’t believe he’s actually kept it on.”

  “He even stood still and let me take pictures.”

  “He’s a good little man.”

  “I only wish he’d have left the cape in his room.”

  “Baby steps.”

  He glanced at her fondly. “You sound like a mother. You know that?”

  She placed the ice cream bowls on a tray and smiled sadly. “I’d kind of like to be, one day.”

  “You will be, and you’ll be the best mom ever.”

  “Thanks, Simon.” She sighed and put her hands on her hips as she glanced around the kitchen. “Where did you say those sprinkles were?”

  Simon pulled the milk out of the fridge and tried to remember who had wanted their coffee black, and who wanted white. “In the cupboard, next to the tomato soup.”

  “Ah, I know where.”

  Simon watched her as she moved around his kitchen with ease, as if she knew it as well as her own. “Anyone who didn’t know the dynamics of our relationship would think you were my wife. I swear it.”

  She snorted in quite an unladylike fashion and set the sprinkles on the tray. “Well, they’d be sorely disappointed.”

  He hummed in agreement. “Like my mom.”

  “What? Your mom’s been great.”

  He smiled sadly and shook his head. It saddened him to see the glimmer of hope in his mother’s eyes when watching him with Sarah. Not to mention that the hastily dodged questions about Jamie’s mother from his guests had set his teeth on edge. “You didn’t see the way she watched you in this kitchen.”

  “She’s probably just not used to seeing you so familiar with a woman.”

  “No, she’s definitely not, and she’s not alone. Did you see how Tommy’s mother was—?”

  “Simon,” she interrupted. “You’re not happy if you’re not worrying about something, are you?”

  He sputtered, offended. “I admit I’m tightly wound at the moment, but I think that’s a little unfair.”

  “Then for the tenth time, relax. Everything’s going great. Jamie’s having fun, the other kids are having fun, your other guests are not watching your every homosexual move despite what you think, and your mom knows you’re gay. Gay as a goose.”

  He sighed. “I think I need a Valium.”

  “You don’t take Valium.”

  “I think I need to start taking Valium.”

  She slapped his forearm and then picked up the tray of ice cream. “I’m taking this in before it melts. Hurry up with that coffee.”

  “I’ll be right in.” There was a knock at the front door. “As soon as I’ve answered that.”

  “All right.”

  He watched her leave the kitchen and smiled at the delighted response from the kids when asked who wanted ice cream. He walked through to the hallway, opened the door, and was more than a little surprised to see Mattie standing there.

  Mattie offered him a delighted smile. A smile Simon couldn’t seem to offer in return.

  “Hey.” Mattie spoke quietly, stepping through the door and giving him a quick hug. “I hope I didn’t interrupt the party?”

  He barely returned the hug as panic began to prickle along his spine. “Mattie. W-what are you doing here?”

  Mattie reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wrapped gift. “I got this for Jamie. I was just going to drop it off—”

  “You can’t!” Simon hissed.

  Mattie’s smile faded. “What? I wasn’t—” He wet his lips quickly. “I wasn’t going to stay or nothing. I just wanted to give you Jamie’s gift so he could have it on his birthday.”

  Simon shot a quick look over his shoulder and then more or less snatched the gift from Mattie’s hand. “That’s very sweet of you, Mattie, but you have to get going.”

  Mattie still held his hand out from where Simon had hastily taken the gift, and slowly lowered it as he looked at Simon with confusion. “Um, okay. Is everything all right?”

  Simon sighed and took hold of Mattie’s upper arm to gently encourage him toward the door. “I’m fine, everything’s fine. You just… you can’t be here right now. I’m sorry.”

  Mattie pulled his arm out of Simon’s grip, feeling hurt. “Why are you being like this? All I was trying to do—”

  “Oh, for the love of—” Simon cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s inappropriate that you’re here.”

  “Why?” Mattie hissed, feeling pissed but alarmingly close to upset at the same time.

  “Because this is my son’s birthday party!” Simo
n hissed back. “My mother is here. I have guests. You can’t just invite yourself—”

  “Simon? You’re guests are getting thirst—oh.”

  Simon’s mother paused in the hallway behind them, and he could gauge her expression perfectly. Surprise turned quickly to schooled discomfort. How close they stood together, along with the undeniable tension between them, were fairly obvious indicators as to what the nature of their relationship might be. Simon swallowed hard, upset at the thought that everything he and his mother had worked at was about to go up in smoke, and that Jamie was about to lose his new grandmother. He wanted to mesh these two worlds together—his past and present—but not yet. It had to be done delicately. He could see the question forming on her lips, and panicked.

  “Who—”

  “He’s nobody,” he blurted, regretting the words instantly. He shook his head, shocked at himself. “I—I mean to say, um….”

  His mother frowned, stepped forward. “Simon—” An unhappy wail from the living room made them both jump, and with a last worried glance at Simon, she turned and left the hallway.

  Simon looked back at Mattie and felt his heart sink. The only word to describe that look was “betrayed.” “I—I’m sorry. It just came out. I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “No, of course you didn’t.” Mattie bit his bottom lip and then shook his head. He put his hands in his pockets, stepped backward. “I’m so stupid.” He swallowed, then nodded to himself. “Okay, I—I think I’m done,” he whispered.

  “Oh, come on, Mattie….”

  “No,” he ground out between clenched teeth, turning his body away sideways when Simon tried to reach for his hand. “I’m done, you hear me? I can’t wait for you anymore, not when it’s one step forward and then ten steps back. I thought—” His voice faltered slightly, and he swallowed hard. “I thought this was going somewhere, but I’m just kidding myself, aren’t I?” He clenched his jaw. “You can be so wonderful sometimes, just—just the best guy in the world, you know? But when push comes to shove, you let me down. You turn nasty.” He shook his head. “And I don’t need that shit.”

  Simon’s mouth worked uselessly, unable to say anything for a second. “That’s not fair, Mattie.” His voice sounded weak and pleading even to him. “I—you don’t know what it’s like, you don’t know—”

  “Oh, fuck you, Simon,” he said breathlessly. “You think you’re the only one who struggles? Stop using your kid as an excuse to keep me at a distance, because it’s bullshit. I’d be great with Jamie, and you know it. It’s you. You’re the problem. Either you’re too chickenshit to take a chance with me, or you just don’t care enough to.”

  “I do want you,” he whispered. “I—I just don’t….” He trailed off, lost for words.

  Mattie nodded and then turned away, taking a deep breath. When he looked at Simon again, his eyes shone with unshed tears, and he smiled without humor. “Screw you for leading me on,” he whispered. “And screw you for not having the balls to love me back. Screw you, Simon.”

  “Simon?” Sarah appeared in the hallway, and much like his mother had, halted when noticing Mattie. “Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s Jamie. One of the boys pulled on his cape. You should probably come.”

  Simon groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t move.

  Sarah leaned around him, offering Mattie a shy smile. “Hi there, are you Mattie by any chance?”

  Mattie looked back at Simon and shook his head once. “I’m nobody.” He turned and ignored Simon’s call as he slammed the front door closed behind him.

  “Fuck,” Simon hissed.

  “Simon, what did you—?”

  Simon ignored her question, pushing past her and toward his son, who was calling for him.

  Chapter Eight

  SIMON stared at the blinking cursor. He’d been sitting at his kitchen table, staring at the open document for what felt like hours. The house was quiet. It had never bothered him before, but just recently it was all he could do to not turn on the stereo, TV, and radio just to not feel so alone. He supposed he could always go to the library, or find an Internet cafe to write in, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate there either. He sure as hell couldn’t go back to the diner, not after last time.

  His voicemails went unanswered and his texts ignored. He’d taken one step into the diner three weeks ago, and Ty had more or less thrown him out—banning him, apparently—before he’d even made it to the sandwich counter. He hadn’t been there to work. His laptop had stayed home. He’d gone there in a desperate attempt to talk to Mattie, to apologize and beg him to just hear him out. Not that he even knew what to say.

  He hated himself, pure and simple. He’d fucked up too many times with Mattie, and as the days had ticked by, he’d found he could no longer kid himself into thinking Mattie had overreacted. He’d strung him along and insulted him by keeping him away from his son. Neither had been deliberate, but that hardly mattered.

  What made matters worse was that Jamie was picking up on his morose mood, but he could not shift the heavy feeling in his chest. He felt like he’d lost his best friend as well as his lover. He missed Mattie. He missed him so much that he just didn’t care about anything else. His usually pristine house was a mess. He hadn’t written more than a paragraph in the past four and a half weeks. He had his editor and Sarah breathing down his neck to get back into the swing of things—to get writing, to get Mattie back—to get on with his life either way. But he felt oddly stuck in place, unwilling to move on.

  It’d been different with Tim. When Tim took off, he’d felt terrified, panicked even, at the thought of being alone. But being alone wasn’t the problem. It was no longer being a part of Mattie’s life that was killing him. He hated that Mattie doubted what it was he felt for him. He hated himself for not having had the balls to make it clear how much he adored the man. Now? Well, now Mattie was under the impression that, what? He’d been his plaything? Someone to pass the time with?

  He leaned both elbows on the table and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He’d fucked up so bad, and as a result he’d never felt so low in his life. He needed Mattie. He hated not speaking to him. He hated not knowing if he was okay or what was happening in his life. And he had no idea how to fix it.

  “Think,” he ground out, his voice thick, his eyes blurry, and the heels of his hands damp as he leaned back in his chair with a sniff.

  The timer on the oven went off, reminding him it was time to leave and pick up Jamie. He’d taken to setting the alarm after the one (and first) time he’d been late picking Jamie up from school a few days ago. He’d been sitting at the kitchen table, much as he was now, not working but lost in thought, only to glance at the clock and realize he should have been at the school ten minutes previously. Needless to say he’d had a very unhappy five-year-old to answer to.

  He closed his laptop and reached for his keys. It was frustrating, really, because he kept going back to one thing in particular Mattie had said.

  “I’d be great with Jamie, and you know it. It’s you. You’re the problem. Either you’re too chickenshit to take a chance with me, or you just don’t care enough to.”

  It struck him as frustrating because Mattie was right, but he’d also never been more wrong. He’d genuinely worried about allowing Mattie to get close to his son, for a number of reasons. But he had been using Jamie as an excuse to keep the pace of their relationship as slow as he had. He was a chickenshit. He was afraid of Mattie. He was afraid that this gorgeous, talented, younger man would one day just take off. He was afraid of not being enough. He was afraid of Jamie being too much. And, if he were honest, he was afraid of resenting his own son for potentially being the reason for losing someone else he loved.

  But Jamie hadn’t pushed Mattie away. He had.

  “Enough,” he growled, pulling on his jacket and tucking his phone and wallet into his pockets. “Enough of this bullshit.”

  IT HAD been a lonely, miserable f
our or so weeks. By rights he should be feeling high as a kite. A little over a year ago, he’d been almost completely illiterate. Now he had American high-school level academic skills and a general equivalency diploma to prove it. His boss, Don, had even allowed him to pick up some extra shifts waiting on tables for the first time. And as a result, he’d been able to pay Ty back, and even had enough cash for groceries and rent that month.

  Then there was the biggie. He’d finished his entrance essay (which had ended up being far more personal than he’d originally planned) and portfolio, and in a fit of “fuck this town and everyone in it” he’d sent it off to the Art Institute of New York along with his transcripts.

  He’d come so far. He’d worked his fucking ass off. And here he was, miserable. He missed Simon so much it literally hurt him, right in the chest like indigestion, and it made him feel pathetic. He missed his quiet nature and unsure smile. He missed how it felt to lie in bed with him. He missed making Simon blush. He missed that feeling of equality, of normalness that Simon and only Simon had given him.

  He’d forced himself to ignore every voicemail and every text. He wanted more than anything to call Simon back and pretend that everything was normal. He wanted his happy bubble back. But he couldn’t do it to himself. He’d worked too hard on changing who he was and pulling that coil loose. To go back to Simon now, knowing that it wasn’t the lifesaving relationship he’d thought it was, would be the biggest step backward.

  Instead, he was focusing on the normal stuff. He went to work; he still made the sandwiches but waited tables now too. He came home; he sketched and he painted until the lighting was too poor to continue. But most of the time, he’d catch himself thinking of Simon, wondering what he was up to, how his book was going, how Jamie was doing. No matter how much he wished it, he couldn’t turn off the feelings that had developed during their strange relationship.