The Pull of Yesterday

by Gabriella West

  I flushed. It’s all too good to be true, a voice said inside me. It wasn’t instinct so much as pessimism, an ingrained hopelessness that I didn’t even know I had because it was so familiar.

  “Matt,” I said. He glanced at me. “I want to be honest.”

  “OK...” He looked wary.

  “I slept with Aaron on Tuesday night, after I heard about... Tim’s death. We haven’t been having sex for a while. But we did that night. I just needed it. I’m sorry.”

  His arms tightened around me. “Well, you’re still living with him. He’s still technically your boyfriend, isn’t he? I’m not thrilled—but for all I knew, you were doing it all along. I factored that in, and... there’s always some overlap with these things.”

  We were silent for a long time. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “It didn’t feel right the next day. It felt like I’d been unfaithful to you.”

  “That’s actually a good thing,” he whispered.

  Tears rolled out of the side of my eyes. “I’m sure it confused him.”

  “I’m not confused,” Matt said. He put his hand on my chest. “What do you need from me now?”

  I gulped. “A quickie.”

  He shed his clothes quickly, and I got naked too. He moved on top of me, kissing my mouth, my neck, grabbing the lube.

  The sex was quick and frenetic this time, rather rough, messy, with tears and snot and sweat mingling with our heat and body fluids.

  Afterward, I whispered, “I won’t fuck Aaron again.”

  “I doubt you will, actually,” Matt said drowsily. “Do I satisfy you?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “You just need someone to satisfy you, that’s all. Me.”

  We laughed together. “You sound very confident, Matt.”

  “I am confident,” he said. “There’s so much I want to do with you. I’ve barely gotten started.”

  I couldn’t imagine what he meant, but I had begun to believe him.

  ***

  We walked through the crunching snow of the parking lot to the funeral home. Once I had come here a long, long time ago to see my mother’s mother lying in her coffin. A very old lady, she had been.

  All the fussing with rosaries seemed odd now, relics of another time. The atmosphere, though, was authentically somber, even grim. After Matt and I had stood for a moment by Tim’s open coffin with bowed heads, we sat to the side with my family in a small group as the priest ran through a set of call and responses. Matt held my hand, our arms pressed tight together so it was less obvious. I closed my eyes and thought about how gray and old Tim’s face had looked. What a life he had led the last decade, his entire fifties spent in a blur of drink and unemployment. It had been no life at all.

  My mother, quite pale, embraced me and embraced Matt too, in the lobby near the door of the funeral home. He was included now. My aunt Sheila bore down on us, a large black handbag swinging at her side. She was my mom’s younger sister and still looked formidable to me.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Dave,” she said, her voice rather clipped. She knew. She knew Tim wasn’t my real dad. She could have told me.

  I nodded. “Hi, Aunt Sheila.”

  She glanced at Matt curiously, looking back at me.

  “And this fellow is?”

  “This is my boyfriend, Matt,” I said, the heat coming into my face at the first time saying those words to anyone in my family.

  She took this in, looking from one of us to the other as if there had been some mistake.

  “I didn’t realize you were gay, Dave.”

  I looked at her levelly. “I’m bisexual.”

  Her jaw dropped open, an outraged flush reddening her face and neck.

  “I was with a woman for a long time,” I added, “so I understand the confusion.”

  She shook her head. “My, my.”

  “This hasn’t just happened. Matt and I go back a long way. We were lovers in college,” I blurted out.

  She gave a startled little laugh.

  “Well, really! I don’t know.”

  “We both know what we want now,” Matt said quietly. “We both know this is it.” He was looking at my mother as he spoke, not Aunt Sheila. She stood behind her sister, an attentive look on her face.

  “You look happy together,” she said suddenly. “Don’t they look happy, Sheila?”

  Sheila’s expression was stony. She hugged her arms to her chest.

  “It’s not really the time to flaunt your happiness,” she muttered.

  “I think it’s a good time,” my mother told her. “Dave’s supported himself for a long while, he dropped out of college to help support me when Tim lost his job. He went off to California and I was worried I’d never see him again. We’ve talked, Sheila, about the past. His real father.”

  The other family members were all still inside the viewing room. I was grateful for this. We four stood in the linoleum-covered hall, the floor spotted with age and many strangers’ feet. I was poised to push the heavy glass door open and dash out into the afternoon, but I stayed rooted to the spot.

  “That Jewish man,” Sheila said with contempt.

  “I’m Jewish, as it happens,” Matt told her. His voice was cold.

  “I suppose Dave won’t be worrying about money, then,” Aunt Sheila blurted out. I gasped. She had gone batshit crazy. That had to be it. I remembered her as this funny, stoic woman who had always been a bit of a laugh. We were Facebook friends, for God’s sake.

  “Sheila,” my mother said. “Please.”

  I couldn’t look at her, or at Aunt Sheila.

  “Maybe he’ll leave you in the lurch,” Sheila said to me with obvious spite. I tried not to look at her because I was so angry. Nasty, my mother had called her behavior. What had happened to her?

  She turned on her heel and strode away.

  My mother shook her head. “I’m so sorry about her. She’s angry with me and is taking it out on you.”

  “Your husband just died, why the hell should she be angry with you?” I asked.

  Mom sighed. “I don’t know, really. I get Tim’s life insurance now.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I said loudly. “Is it really that petty?”

  “Money, the root of all evil,” Matt said at my side.

  “No, dear,” my mother corrected him, “it’s love of money is the root of all evil. And there’s never been much in this family, but we were better off than Sheila in the eighties and nineties when Tim had his job. We loaned her money back then.”

  I remembered the chaos of Aunt Sheila’s house, the loud cousins, most of whom had not shown up today. Where was her husband—was he dead? I couldn’t remember hearing about a death. Maybe a divorce?

  “She means well,” my mother said unconvincingly.

  “I’m glad you get his life insurance,” I said, hugging her and smiling. “That’s one blessing.”

  “More than one,” my mom said, squeezing my hand. “Off you go now. We’ll see you two tomorrow.

  Yes, there was one more ritual to go through. And this one would be strange because there would be an honor guard at Tim’s funeral.

  Out into the snow we hurried, our gloves and scarves on. The cold air felt good, bracing, for the first time. I tasted a flake on my tongue.

  “Back to Cambridge. I’m taking you out to dinner,” Matt said.

  “I’m glad you’re not a lawyer,” I told him. “That would be highly embarrassing.”

  “Never wanted to be,” Matt said with a smile. “So she thinks I’m your sugar daddy?”

  “That was the implication.”

  We were back at the car. Matt cleared the fresh snow off it with his gloved hand. “Will it start up?” he asked, grinning.

  “I wonder about that too, every time we go out.” I felt crazy and giddy. “If it doesn’t, shall we ask Aunt Sheila for a ride?”

  “I think that would be a great idea.” We got in. The car started up. “She can take us on a homophobic tour of Boston.”
>
  I laughed till the tears came into my eyes. “Everything’s coming out finally—all the dirty laundry.” I couldn’t believe it; things had been locked in place for so long.

  “It was brave what you said. Do you really still feel bisexual?” Matt asked, reversing out of the parking lot into the quiet street.

  “I do,” I said, after a moment. “She has all these stereotypes of gays, I just wanted to put her in her place. Be accurate for a moment. Anyway, the word sexual set her off.”

  “I could see that,” Matt nodded. “You are very sexual, you know.”

  I shrugged. “Not more than anybody else, right?”

  “Yes, more than some,” he said. “But I like it.”

  16.

  I was up early the morning of the funeral, worrying about what I would wear. It was too early to wake Matt. He slept peacefully. We’d gotten a little drunk a night before at a small Cambridge restaurant, drinking the good red wine that had accompanied the delicious meal. It had been nice, romantic, East Coast-y. I’d tried to imagine being there with Aaron, and couldn’t. It was time to stop comparing them in my mind. Because Aaron always failed.

  I thought about Facebook suddenly, about my relationship status on the site. I logged onto the laptop, sitting alone at the little table and feeling slightly furtive. It made me anxious to think of my relationship with Aaron still being there on my profile page.

  But it wasn’t. I logged on, and that status was gone, wiped off.

  Facebook asked me to confirm it. Automatically, I clicked “OK.” And that was it. Was Aaron even my friend? I searched my friends’ list and he was still there. His page had no recent updates.

  Thank God. I decided that if he had unfriended me, it would have been much, much worse. But something must have happened to make him do it.

  I didn’t have to look far. At the top of my page, my Aunt Sheila had written:

  Sorry about yesterday, dear! I shouldn’t have run off at the mouth like that. I’m glad you are in a good relationship now. Enjoyed seeing you again and meeting Matt. I’m not going to be able to attend the funeral today as I have to work so decided to put my “sorries” here.

  “You fucking bitch,” I said out loud. Had she noticed my relationship status and written that anyway, knowing Aaron would see it? Why couldn’t she have done it privately?

  Matt raised his head from the pillow. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled.

  “Aunt Sheila mentioned us being in a relationship on my Facebook page,” I said quietly. “Aaron must have seen it.”

  “Did he unfriend you?” Matt asked groggily.

  “Nope, but we’re no longer ‘in a relationship.’”

  Matt put his hands behind his head. “He saved you the trouble of doing it. Best that it came from him anyway.”

  “I know, it’s just...” I came over and stood by the bed. “This wasn’t meant to happen! He didn’t know you were going to be here, and I didn’t even think to tell him. Must have been a horrible shock. Must have looked planned.”

  “That you lied to him, you mean?” Matt looked sympathetic. “You didn’t lie, Dave. Come here and kiss me.”

  I came and draped myself across him. We hadn’t made love the night before, just cuddled. I listened to his heartbeat thumping in his chest.

  “Want me to make you feel better?” he asked, low. I nodded.

  ***

  After a long, delicious session of oral, Matt stepped away to have a shower. I lay in bed feeling peaceful and surprisingly happy.

  I was in a new relationship with someone I’d loved a long time ago.

  I loved him now.

  This might work out.

  Maybe Matt was right. Maybe it was better that Aaron took proactive steps. Even if he threw me out, it would be all right. I knew that now. And I would probably want to go. He’d given me the rent check back. I wasn’t paid up for February, and I didn’t have to stay.

  I could leave. I could leave with a light heart, knowing it was the right thing.

  My mother had given us her blessing.

  I smiled at that. My Irish mother, who had been tempted by a Jewish guy back in the early eighties. He was probably great in bed, I thought, yawning. And made her laugh, too. My father had never made any of us laugh.

  No, he wasn’t my father.

  I sat up, thinking about the funeral. Matt came back into the room, bath towel around his waist, rubbing his hair with a smaller towel.

  “I don’t have anything for the funeral,” I blurted out.

  “Oh, I brought you a suit. I forgot to tell you.” He sounded surprised.

  He opened his case and tossed me a zipped plastic bag. The black clothes had been pressed down to conserve space.

  “Very clever,” I mused, amazed at his thoughtfulness. “Will it fit? I suppose it will.”

  “It’s slightly large on me,” Matt said. “So it should.”

  We stared at each other. He crossed the room and kissed me roughly.

  I pulled off his towel, staring up into his eyes. I wanted him again.

  “There’s still time?” I said, half questioning.

  “Of course there is, baby,” he said tenderly. “Lie back.”

  ***

  In the car, as Matt drove, I thought about our lovemaking, how satisfying it was. I was wrapped up in him in a way I hadn’t been with Aaron. I wondered what spending four nights with him on an island would be like. It seemed a long time, and yet I sensed it would fly by, because we couldn’t get enough of each other.

  He had told me in the fancy restaurant the previous night that he had been in love with me ever since he first saw me coming into the dorm at Sleeper Hall—yes, that was the B.U. dorm’s name. He’d said that he’d looked up and seen this beautiful boy coming toward him. I remembered his stillness that fall afternoon, the odd look he’d given me as I walked toward him carrying my huge duffel bag. What he didn’t know was that the haircut I’d just got had been an unusual luxury from a gay hairdresser in the neighborhood. My mother had wanted me to look sharp for school, and the hairdresser had whimsically given me a cut that would have worked for the lead singer of Duran Duran. At the time, the cut had embarrassed me and Matt’s gaze had made me self-conscious. But I’d rallied, stuck out my hand, and he’d responded in a friendly fashion.

  “Did you know that you wanted to seduce me when you invited me back home for Thanksgiving that time?” I asked.

  “Of course, I’d thought about practically nothing else for two months. Dave, don’t you know me by now?”

  Yes, this was our honeymoon, I thought. The minute we got back he’d be preoccupied with starting up his company, whatever that would be, and...

  But I couldn’t think any farther ahead.

  The funeral, at our local church in Dorchester, was our first stop. The one oddity about it was standing afterwards near the door of the church with my mother, receiving the mourners. It was my duty as the eldest child. In Matt’s slinky, Italian-made black suit, I stood out. People I didn’t know came up to hug me or shake my hand, then turned to my mother and said something tearful or kind. It was odd, because they had few friends as far as I knew, but there were a lot of local people in the church. Some obvious drinking buddies of Tim’s looked particularly the worse for wear. He had no sisters or brothers. The priest was the only one to give a eulogy.

  I watched my sister standing beside Matt out of the corner of my eye. She chatted to him, every now and then looking at me. My brother had sat in the corner of the pew farthest from us, and I had yet to speak to him properly. His girlfriend perched uncomfortably beside him. Did she look pregnant or was that my imagination?

  The burial was held at a little Cape Cod town called Bourne, where I’d never had any reason to go. My small family assembled, looking odd and abashed in our funeral clothes. We stood outside in the freezing air. I saw the closed shiny coffin. The flag was ceremoniously draped on the coffin by a small group of elderly men in uniform. One of them, a bugler, played
TAPS—was that what it was called? I glanced at my mother nervously. She was staring straight ahead, not looking at the coffin, but at the graves on the other side of the hill. We were surrounded by white crosses, an immensity of them. The priest said a few words at the gravesite. We shivered in the frigid air.

  The coffin was lowered down slowly. The space must have been available for the next person who died, because the ground was surely too hard to dig. It was impossible not to be heartsore at that moment. I put my arm around my mother’s limp shoulders.

  “Forty years,” she whispered. So they had gotten together in 1971; I had not been born till 1982. Yes, that was a long time.

  We stood around afterwards, a tiny group amid the white crosses. I felt like this was Tim’s parting gift to us: he was melting away into a crowd of his peers.

  My brother finally came up and said a brusque “hi” to Matt and me. His eyes were red-rimmed. He was obviously grieving. I had to remind myself that he was Tim’s son.

  Lulu strolled up as well, arm in arm with her boyfriend, Terry, who had brought her to the cemetery. He was polite, a chunky, very urban guy in a leather jacket. He kept glancing around with an air of slight bewilderment.

  “Oh, you live out there in San Francisco?” he said.

  “Yes. Didn’t Lu say?”

  “No, she didn’t. I actually haven’t heard very much about you,” Terry said.

  “It’s understandable. I’ve been gone a long time. Well, I hope to see you again,” I told him.

  “Right. Maybe at our wedding,” Terry said, tapping her on the shoulder as if he expected a beaming smile.

  Lu snorted. “First, get the ring and propose to me properly. Stop dropping smarmy hints about marriage to impress people. I’m over it!”

  He looked hurt. Matt and I both suppressed smiles.

  My face was beginning to ache because of the cold. My mother stood at the grave, looking down. There was nothing on the stone yet.

  “Ma, I need to go,” I said. I had told her about the change in our plans.

  She looked up, smiled, blinking away tears.