“I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I love you. I’ll be better.”
“I don’t even know if you’re able to be better, because I don’t really know what’s going on with you anymore.”
“Let’s go inside and have sex,” he said. “You said you wanted to have sex.”
“Oh, yes, sex with a hungover drunk. Now doesn’t that sound appealing.” Maybe a bit too much bitterness came through in my voice. “Come back to me with that proposal in twenty-four to forty-eight hours when you’re sober and your head isn’t exploding and your stomach isn’t in outright rebellion and then we’ll talk. But until then, I’ve got to work on this paper. I’ve written two pages, but I still have eight more to write. I know you don’t have a clue about this. I realized just now that you haven’t once asked me about my classes since you’ve been back. You sat in on that one class with me, but otherwise, I don’t think you even know what classes I’m taking, do you?”
He shook his head, looking even more pitiful. He was crying once again.
“I need to get back to work. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”
“I’m sorry. I promise that I’ll be better. I’ve let you down, and I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. Everything’s been such a mess since—”
I cut him off. “Bill! Stop it! That’s the past. It’s over. You can’t change the past. I can’t change the past. It was. It’s gone. What you need to focus on is not what’s behind you, but what’s in front of you!”
And I was shocked because he really seemed to listen to me. He really seemed to understand what I was saying. He seemed to pull himself together quite suddenly when I said that. I was surprised. I hadn’t rehearsed the words—they had simply come out of my mouth unplanned and unrehearsed.
“You’re right. You are usually right. And you are definitely right this time about this. I… I… thank you. I can’t believe what a fool I’ve been. I’ve been wallowing in what’s gone. I’ve been stuck in quicksand, sinking, and was dragging you down with me. You’re right.” He smiled a little. Wow! “You’re right.” He stood up. “I love you, you wise man. Now, I’m going to go inside and take a shower and change clothes. I reek. Then I’m going to take a fistful of Advil, drink some water, lay down for a while, and then tomorrow start to work on putting myself back together. Thank you for helping me see what I couldn’t see on my own.”
I couldn’t help but smile at him as well. I stood up and gave him a hug. A longer hug would have been good, but he was right—he reeked—and a longer hug wouldn’t have been enjoyable.
“Go. Take a shower. Get some sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow morning. Then we’ll talk some more.”
“I will. Thanks.” He started toward the house but stopped, turned back to me, and said, “You are the love of my life.” And he walked back into the apartment.
Once again, though, my mind was now anywhere but where it needed to be. I wasn’t able to focus on my writing anymore. The words that had flowed so smoothly just wouldn’t come any longer. I tried mightily, but it just wasn’t there. Finally I gave up and just closed my laptop. It was starting to get cooler anyway, so I needed to head inside.
I could hear the shower running in the bathroom so I knew that Bill was still in there. When the water turned off, he opened the door to the shower to find me waiting for him, holding up a towel. Even in his hungover state, the man still got me excited. Damn, but he was hot. Even though he was sort of out of shape, he still retained that sultriness that I had seen in him in the beginning.
Drying off his back, I wrapped the towel around his shoulders and then wrapped my arms around his arms. Neither of us said a word. We didn’t have to speak to communicate.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?” I asked.
“For being you.” I couldn’t see his face directly, but I could see it in the mirror—he was smiling.
I slapped his bare ass and left the room. I heard the water running in the sink, assuming that he was brushing his teeth. When he came out of the bathroom I was in the bedroom. I had straightened the sheets and blankets, neatening the bed for him. I held the covers up for him to climb into bed.
“Did you get some ibuprofen?”
“No, I forgot,” he said as he started to get up again.
“Stay there. I’ll get it for you.”
A moment later I returned, handed him two ibuprofen tablets and a bottle of cold water. He took the pills and drank probably half the bottle of water. Alcohol dehydrates the body. He needed to rehydrate, or his headache would continue and even get worse.
“Thank you,” he said, giving me another of his smiles. “Thank you.” He took my hand and gently kissed the knuckles. And I nearly fell over on top of him in lust. That simple move on his part simply had to be one of the sexiest moves I have ever seen one man do for another. I think I shuddered—and not in a bad way.
“Get some sleep, my love,” I said as I kissed his forehead and turned off the light.
I left him to rest in peace while I fixed something simple for my dinner.
Chapter 41
A Day Off
THE next morning was one of those rare but wonderful days when I actually didn’t have to be out of bed at the crack of dawn. I didn’t have school. I didn’t have to work at Starbucks. I didn’t have to be anywhere at any particular time. I loved mornings like these. Why didn’t I get them more often? I wondered as I stretched and finished waking up. I looked over to the other side of the bed, expecting to find Bill there, but the space where he should have been was empty. He had been there sleeping peacefully the night before when I finally came to bed. I had wanted to wrap myself around him and draw some strength, some energy from him, but I had left him alone so that he could sleep undisturbed. I knew that he needed his rest to recover his strength and have any hope of having a better day on Sunday, so I had resisted the urge and left him in peace.
The bedroom door was closed, which told me that he was up and somewhere in the apartment, trying to let me sleep undisturbed. I threw on some sweatpants and a T-shirt, and then ventured into the kitchen.
The Bill that I found in the kitchen that glorious Sunday morning was a most welcome discovery. The man who looked up at me with a bright-eyed smile was a man I hadn’t seen in a long while. Bill put down whatever he was working on at the kitchen counter and immediately moved across the room to wrap me in his arms. Before I could protest that I had morning mouth, Bill’s lips were on mine for a quick kiss. He leaned in and touched his forehead to mine, simply holding me for a moment.
“Good morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”
“Yes. I think so. You?”
“Great!”
“Been up long?” I asked.
“About an hour. I can’t believe it, but I think I slept eleven hours last night.”
“You needed it. I’m glad you got some sleep. You seem perkier today.”
“I feel great. Thanks to you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I tried to protest.
“Hush,” he said. “You always downplay your abilities and your sense of what someone needs to hear. But I’ve always known the truth.”
“Okay,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“Sit,” he said, indicating the table. “I’ll bring you some tea.” That sounded like a great idea, so I didn’t resist.
“What smells so good?” I asked, sniffing the air.
“You like?” he asked with an impish smile.
“Cinnamon?” I asked.
“Correct! I ran out to the store quickly this morning to pick up some cinnamon rolls. Now, they’re not nearly as good as what you and your mother make. I’ve never made them—and sometime I want to try, but not today—so I bought some at the store.” As if on cue, a timer dinged, which told Bill that something needed to be checked or turned or tested or something.
He dashed across to the oven, opened the door, and reached in, removing a bubbling tray of piping hot cin
namon rolls. He squeezed some icing onto them and then placed the tray between us at the table.
“I had to borrow five dollars from your wallet. I’ll pay you back. I’m sorry I couldn’t ask you first, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
“No problem. Where’s your money?”
“I don’t have any,” he said simply.
“Huh?” I asked, quite confused.
“I don’t have any. Part of the reason I’ve been such a mess these last few weeks is that I don’t have any money—aside from Isabella’s money. I’m flat broke.”
“Well, that’s stupid,” I said before I could stop myself. “I’ve got money, and if I’ve got money then you’ve got money. We’re a couple. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine. Deal with it.”
He stared at me for a moment. I knew that he was trying to figure out some way to argue against my statement, but I was greatly relieved when he simply said, “Deal.” I smiled at him and was pleased to see him smile back at me.
“We really need to talk occasionally,” I observed.
“I agree. I hereby establish a minimum of fifteen-minute time period each and every day during which we must talk. Nothing can intrude on those fifteen minutes. No one else may participate. That time is simply our time to communicate. Any objection?” he asked.
“None. Communication is a good thing.”
“Agreed.”
“Just one question,” I said.
“Of course. What’s your question?”
“Just who the hell are you?”
He smiled. “Fair question. I’ve been missing in action for so long that even I barely knew. Who I am is the man who loves you morning, noon, and night. The man who can’t imagine life without you. The man who is eternally grateful to you for saving his life again and again. The man who appreciates you challenging him to be better.”
“Wow. You’re a busy guy.”
We paused to each eat a cinnamon roll. They weren’t as good as my mom’s, but they were in many ways better because Bill had thought to do this for us. In that regard, they were the best rolls I had ever eaten.
My near-orgasmic experience with cinnamon was interrupted, but for a good cause.
Bill asked, “Are you busy tonight? I’d like to ask you out on a date.”
“A date?”
“Yes, a date. As near as I can tell, we’ve only been out on one date, the night we went to the senior prom. And we both know how well that ended. So I think we’re seriously overdue for a date. And I know that school is busy for you and that you have a lot to do. If another time after finals are over would be better for you, then that’s what we’ll do. Regardless of when we do it, I want to invite you out on a date, and I want to get it on the calendar. So, will you go out with me?”
I was stunned. “I would be honored to go out on a date with you.” I paused to think for a moment before continuing. “And, yes, it is a busy time for me, but you are important to me. So, yes, I’m available this evening to go out with you.”
“Excellent!” he said gleefully. “Oh, I need to borrow some more money from you for tonight.”
“No problem,” I said, laughing with him. “I meant what I said: what’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine.”
“You’ve always brought far more to the table than I’ve been able to,” he said.
“And someday it will switch and I’ll need to lean on you for a while. And then it will switch back. And so on. That’s just the way life works. That’s why two working together make a good team. One doesn’t have to be up, to be on, all the time. They can take a break and let the other carry the load for a while.”
“You really are a very smart man.”
“I have my moments.”
“You are also a man who is overburdened, overstressed, and overstretched at the moment. And I can’t stand to see you so heavily laden because of me. I’m ready to start picking up my share of the load again. You don’t have to walk this road alone any longer. Deal?”
“Sounds like a great deal to me. What led to this total change of heart?”
“I was an idiot. I was wallowing in self-pity. I was being a stubborn prick.”
“No! Really?”
“Watch it!”
“Just calling it like I see it,” I said.
“Likewise, I assure you. It took me a while to see it, but when you led me right up to it and forced me to look at what I was doing, I was appalled at what I’d put you through. And I profoundly apologize for all of the grief that I’ve caused you.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Good. How would you like to go for a run that might turn into a walk that might turn into a run again?”
“If that means you’ll pace yourself reasonably, then you’re on.” We each changed into our running attire and headed out to stretch and take our time moving through the neighborhood, sometimes walking, sometimes running, sometimes walking again to allow Bill to catch his breath. I was always conscious of the need to not let him overexert himself, but I was pleased to see that he was keeping that in mind as well.
Back at the house, Bill showered, and then I took my turn. When I came out of the shower I found Bill lying naked on our bed, looking gloriously inviting, sensual, sultry. He looked back over his shoulder at me and smiled. “Hi.”
We made lazy love for over an hour. Neither of us was concerned with orgasm. All we wanted was to be as close to one another as humanly possible. We wanted to meld into the closest approximation of one being that was possible. We rolled around, first one way, then another, and then still another. We weren’t limited to just one thing. Just because I liked ice cream didn’t mean that I was limited to always having strawberry. Sometimes I liked vanilla, sometimes chocolate, and sometimes something totally off the wall, like papaya and pineapple.
When we finally stopped I think we had both had orgasms, but that was more of an afterthought than anything else, as odd as that sounds from an eighteen-year-old male. We lazed away another hour just lying cuddled up next to each other. I had forgotten how nice it was to lie with my head on Bill’s chest and listen to the regular beat of his heart. Without intending to, I think we both dozed off for a while.
When we roused from our slumber, we showered and then moved out into the living room to sit on the sofa beside each other. I had a little reading to do. Bill was reading something as well. We read, holding hands like schoolkids. It felt so good!
That evening Bill and I went out on a date. We did something that we never, ever, ever do—we went out to dinner. It was a luxury, an extravagance that we couldn’t afford more than about once a year, but tonight it seemed like the absolute perfect thing to do. Bill picked the restaurant (with a little help from Moira, I’m sure, since there is no other way he would ever have heard of the place).
From the outside it looked like a small place. Inside it was even smaller. Intimate. There were only a dozen tables, for once spaced out a bit so that you were not sitting in your neighbor’s lap. There was nothing I hated more than when restaurants tried to pack too many tables into too small a space, all in the interest of wringing a little more money from their customers. In the end all that anyone got was unhappy—the restaurant was unhappy when their customers didn’t return, and the customers were unhappy because, while the food may have been good, it was impossible to talk in such places. I wondered why more places didn’t get the message and do what the present place had done.
Bill had made a reservation (somehow—I don’t really know when he had had time to do that). We were taken to our table and were greeted almost immediately by our waiter. There was nothing that we wanted that was not tended to. The food was spectacular, the ingenuity of the dishes truly amazing. The tastes exploded on your tongue in a million directions simultaneously. If you tried to compare the tastes to colors, this meal was like trying to eat a rainbow.
As we sipped our after-dinner coffees and tried to talk ourselves either into or out of dessert, the owner of the p
lace appeared beside our table and asked us if we had enjoyed our meals. I think I said something about never wanting to eat anything prepared anywhere else ever again. And I wished I had had more words for the man. When you only go out one night a year, it was nice that that night was as special as this one had turned out to be.
And even more wonderful than the food—if that was possible—was having time with Bill. We talked. We talked. We talked some more. We talked about big things. We talked about trivial things. We talked about nothing. We talked about everything. It was so nice to have time for all of that and more.
When we were ready to head home, Bill asked for the check. The answer we got was a surprise to both of us. The owner himself came over and handed us a rather large envelope.
“Thank you so much for joining us this evening, gentlemen. Your bill has been taken care of. I do hope we will see you back with us again sometime soon.”
“Wait, wait,” I started.
“Look in the envelope,” he said with a smile.
As instructed, I opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers. The first thing I saw was what looked like another bill from the hospital—great way to ruin an evening, I thought. But wait. There was something different. Then I figured it out. This one was just like the others, but with one important difference: this one was stamped “Paid in Full.”
Behind that one was another one of the many bills, also marked “Paid in Full.” There were others, all marked the same way. And on top of all of those was a single piece which I read aloud to Bill:
Boys,
You should have told me about what was going on with the bills. There’s this thing called conversation that we really should try sometime. There are few problems in the world that can’t be resolved with a little honest dialogue. So, to start a new tradition—talking—I expect you two to be at my house tomorrow morning at eight. We’re going out for breakfast. And before you even say it—don’t. The breakfast—and the dinner—are both on me. Remember, more money than God. Sleep well.
Go West Young Man Page 25
