by TJ Baer
It seemed to take an eternity for that silent moment to end, during which time I felt like my entire future, my entire happiness, was swaying on the edge of a cliff, a breath away from toppling to safety or certain death. I held my breath, no sound in the world but the heavy thudding of my heart in my chest, Thomas sitting absolutely still on the couch beside me.
Finally, David let out a breath and looked at me, then at Thomas. I noticed, for the first time, that he was holding a Tupperware container with what appeared to be a mountain of brownies inside. “Anyone want dessert?” he said and gave a small smile.
Thomas, still looking cautious, raised his hand. Without hesitating even a second, David came over and held out the container of brownies. Thomas took a moment to select one, and when he was done, David reached out and clapped Thomas gently on the shoulder.
“Feel like having another rematch?” he said, and his smile was only a little less bright than usual. “Not that you can win, of course.”
There was a moment when I really, seriously thought Thomas might burst into tears. Then he took a fierce bite of his brownie and leaped to his feet, blinking rapidly. “You’re goin’ down this time!” he announced in a spray of chocolate crumbs, and soon had settled into his customary spot on the floor, shoving the rest of the brownie into his mouth so as to free up both hands for shuffling the cards.
David grinned and dropped back onto the couch, and before I could stop myself, I’d lunged toward him and wrapped my arms tight around his chest, squeezing him hard. He went still for a moment in surprise, then relaxed and wrapped an arm around me, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze in return.
I didn’t bother to move as the game progressed, and for all that it normally would’ve embarrassed me to be so affectionate when in the presence of one of my brothers, I knew that Thomas understood. And probably would’ve been glad to join in, actually, if the adoring look he cast David every few seconds was any indication.
David won the game, and as I listened to Thomas rolling around on the carpet in his death throes yet again, I smiled and closed my eyes and knew that sometimes, just sometimes, life was actually pretty good.
*
When I climbed into bed that night, David was waiting there on the other side of the mattress, lying on his side clad only in a pair of blue boxer shorts. And although we’d already decided that nothing would happen while Thomas was in the next room, I settled in next to him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him. It was a warm, prolonged kiss, and by the end of it we were both a little breathless, our bodies pressed together under the covers, our legs intertwined.
We didn’t speak for a long time, just lying there warm and close with our breath mingling in the small space between us. Finally, I closed my eyes and laid my head next to his on the pillow, feeling more comfortable and relaxed than I had in a long, long time.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“Mm?” He sounded sleepy and content, and mouthed a kiss to my forehead before he said, “For what?”
“For Thomas.”
There was silence for a moment. “How long has he been…?” He shook his head, I guess not sure how best to ask.
“It happened when he was ten. He had a bad accident on his bike and needed a blood transfusion. They were checking pretty carefully for HIV back then, but they missed it somehow, and he got infected.”
“That must’ve been hard.”
“It was. It is.”
I traced my fingers over the smooth skin of his arm, trying to decide how much I should tell him.
“Since we found out early, he’s got a good chance,” I said finally. “He’s been on medication for it ever since, and it has a pretty high success rate of keeping people symptom-free for a long time. But even so, we just...we don’t know. Any time he gets a cold, any time he has any kind of symptom, the whole family goes nuts thinking, is this it? So far, it hasn’t been, and maybe it never will be, but we just never know. It’s kind of really impossibly hard, actually.”
David shook his head. “I can’t even imagine living with something like that.”
“Yeah, well. If you stay with me, you’ll have to.”
The words seemed to echo between us, then David twisted around so he was lying on top of me, balancing on knees and elbows, his face less than an inch away from mine. “Is that what you think?” he asked, sounding hurt. “That I’m just going to run off because of this?”
“You wouldn’t be the first if you did.”
He opened his mouth to reply to that, then frowned and said, “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know, the usual drama. I was just out of college, I fell in love, we were about to move in together, and then I made the mistake of telling him that my brother was HIV positive. He couldn’t deal with it. Actually, I’m pretty sure he thought that Thomas having it meant that I had it, and he got the hell away from me as fast as he could. Haven’t seen him since.”
David looked stunned. “I can’t believe someone would do that.”
“Self-preservation is a pretty powerful thing, even when the logic’s a little skewed. And it’s not like he was the first, either. It’s happened to us a hundred times since Thomas was diagnosed. Some people are okay with it, they understand, they don’t treat him any differently, but some people just can’t handle it. They get freaked out if he even tries to touch them, or start worrying that being in the same room with him or sitting in the same chair might get them infected, too. It’s crazy.”
“I can’t believe that,” David said again, rolling off of me to lie on his back. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then turned to look at me. As he spoke, I felt his fingers intertwining with mine, holding them tight. “I won’t do that,” he said seriously. “It’s not Thomas’s fault this happened to him, and it’s not yours either.”
There was something about the earnest, determined note of his voice that hit me hard, and for an embarrassing second, I couldn’t say anything for fear it might come out all shaky and tearful. I fought the feeling back, though, and when I felt a little steadier, I brought his hand to my mouth and kissed it. “Thank you,” I said softly.
We fell asleep twined together in a vine-like way that should’ve been uncomfortable, but somehow wasn’t. If I had any dreams, they were warm and soft and good.
Chapter Seven
I sat up in bed, my heart pounding, not sure what had woken me up. The room was still bathed in fuzzy blue darkness, and David was fast asleep beside me, lying on his side with his face half on and half off the pillow. I sat there breathing hard for a few seconds, sitting totally still as if that might shed some light on the reason for my sudden return to consciousness. And then I heard it:
Thud, thud, thud.
I squinted at the alarm clock. One o’clock. Someone was pounding on my front door at one o’clock in the morning.
David stirred a bit as the pounding continued, but I was already stumbling out of bed, grabbing a T-shirt and wrestling it on over my head as I hurried for the front door. The kitchen was dark, and the living room beyond it was equally black and still. Thomas, who had been known to sleep peacefully through Mom vacuuming two inches from his head, was just visible curled up on the couch, a blanket tugged up to his chin and one arm flung over the edge of the sofa. I took a superstitious moment to make sure I could see his chest moving up and down, then continued over to the door.
Living in the city, you got used to occasional weird things happening, such as strange men banging on your door at night and demanding to know your political affiliation or stance on religion or abortion or cheese. It hadn’t taken me long to realize that not opening the door to these people was far preferable to standing in the cold trying to find a gap in their monologue in which to shove a “sorry, not interested,” so I’d taken to shouting through the door before actually opening it.
“Who is it?” I asked.
There was a pause, which sometimes meant that whoever was on the other side didn’t feel like p
arleying through an inch and a half of wood and would thus be on their way to the next house. But then I heard a heavy exhalation of breath, and my father’s voice said, “Open the door, please, Jess.”
A cold, angry feeling started in my chest at the sound of his voice, and for a second, I thought about just telling him to go away. This was my apartment, my home, and I could deny entry to whomever I damn well pleased. I was an adult, dammit, and what right did he have to come here and…
The angry monologue fizzled under a rush of fatigue, and I realized that I was actually too tired to work up a good bout of resentment. Interesting.
I sighed and opened the door.
Dad was waiting out on the porch, looking in at me through his most recent pair of severe, wire-framed glasses and dressed in his usual ensemble of khaki pants, button-down shirt, and a sweater vest. I hadn’t seen him since the Minister Incident the week before, and I couldn’t help noticing that he looked older, somehow, or maybe just more tired. It seemed like there were more lines on his face, or maybe just a few more worry lines around his mouth and eyes. His hair, the same sandy-brown color as mine except for a streak or two of gray, was a shaggy mess, which usually meant he’d spent the last two straight days working and, presumably, had just now finished his shift at the hospital. Good for his patients, bad for anyone who crossed his path afterward, particularly those of the gay son variety.
“I understand Thomas is here,” he said, after taking a moment to examine my choice in sleepwear with a critical eye.
I didn’t say anything, instead electing to stand there with my arms folded, blocking the door and trying to ignore the arctic breeze.
“Fine,” Dad said. “If you’re not going to invite me inside, then tell Thomas I’ll wait for him in the car while he gets his things together.”
I stared at him, wondering if he’d somehow lost his mind in between last week and today. “Dad, he’s sleeping. He’s got all his meds. He’ll be fine here until morning.”
“That may be true,” he said with his usual unflappable calm, “but I’d prefer it if he came home. I don’t think this is the right environment for him, especially given the situation with your grandmother.”
I was too tired to find this comment anything other than slightly funny. “Not the right environment? What, are you afraid he’s going to catch The Gay from me or something?”
Dad had the decency to look slightly—slightly—apologetic. “That’s not what I meant.”
And...silence.
I waited it out for a few seconds, wondering idly what the symptoms of frostbite were and if I might be getting any of them, then finally asked, “So what did you mean?”
Dad seemed to debate with himself for a moment. “I understand that you’re not happy with your mother or me at the moment. Given those feelings, I can see why you might want to...influence your brothers where we’re concerned.”
“Influence,” I said slowly.
“Jess, Thomas is a mature boy. It’s not like him to do something like this.” He made a passing gesture at me, my apartment building, etc. “Running away like this, and to you in particular. He looks up to you, he follows your lead, and so your opinions on things are bound to influence him. He’s been spending a lot of time with you lately, and it seems clear from his behavior here that some of your more rebellious tendencies are starting to rub off on him. Once he’s back home, though, and has had some time to think about things on his own, he’ll be able to better distinguish between his own feelings and yours. He’ll realize that what your mother and I did is for the best, with your grandmother’s best interests in mind.”
“And that’s the only explanation for his reaction,” I said wearily. “Me influencing him.”
When he didn’t say anything to that, just looked at me, I went on. “Dad, did it ever occur to you that maybe Thomas reacted this way because what you did was wrong?”
For a second, just a second, a flicker of anger crossed his face, and I felt a dark thrill of victory at having gotten to him.
“I understand how you would feel that way,” he said after a moment, “but I think eventually you’ll realize—”
Suddenly, I’d had enough. “Look,” I said, just loudly enough to drown out his words, “I’m sorry you came all the way out here, but Thomas is staying here tonight. Thanks for stopping by, though.” I started to close the door.
But suddenly Dad was standing there in the doorway, one hand pushing back against the door to keep it from closing.
“This conversation isn’t over.”
“No, actually, I think it is.”
“And I say it’s not. Either let me in or go get Thomas, but one way or another, we’re going to settle this.”
“Settle what?”
His voice got a little louder, and I realized that I’d actually succeeded in making him mad. “You’re my son, dammit, and you’ll do what I say. It doesn’t matter why.”
“Dad, I’m twenty-four years old. I live on my own, I have a job, I pay taxes. I’m an adult. You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”
“I can,” he growled, “and I will.” He yelled into the house, “Thomas! This is your father! Get up, we’re going!”
Thomas, naturally, slept peacefully on, but I barely noticed. I was too busy staring at my father in shock. He was breathing hard, his face blotchy and flushed with anger, and in my entire life I’d only ever seen him this upset once before, on the day we found out about Thomas’s diagnosis.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
He stared at me with a furious look on his face, then the anger started draining away, leaving a sad, tired man in its place.
“What I did,” he said in a weary voice, “I did because it was the right thing to do. I didn’t like doing it, and I didn’t want to do it, but there was no other way.”
His voice was almost pleading, like he was begging me to understand, to absolve him. And just like that, I felt my anger melting away, because I knew. I understood. I remembered a thousand moments of Dad and Grandma together, Grandma making some sarcastic remark and Dad looking at her with a mild expression that nevertheless held a lifetime of warmth and love in it. I remembered Grandma telling me stories about Dad as a little boy, and how he’d spent almost his entire fourth year clinging to her leg, not wanting to be separated from her even for a second while she did the housework.
I remembered him holding her after Grandpa Jess died, his arms around her and his jaw clenched tight as she cried. His entire life she’d been there, and he’d loved her, and suddenly it was because of him that she was locked up in an unfamiliar place far away from her home and her family.
And it was killing him, wasn’t it?
“It’s not too late,” I said quietly, almost pleadingly. “She doesn’t have to stay there. You could take her home any time, or take her to stay with you and Mom, or...something. This isn’t the only way.”
But I knew even as the words left my mouth that they hadn’t done any good. The wall came back up and Dad was back to normal, cool and composed, no sign of anger except for the fact that his hand was still pressed to the door. “I don’t expect you to understand,” he said. He took a step backward, moving away from the door, away from me. “Thomas can stay here for tonight. Just tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll expect to see him at home, and if I don’t, I’ll be back.”
“Fine,” I said, giving up. “I’ll tell him.”
There was a pause, when I thought Dad might be about to say something else, but instead, he turned his back on me and headed to his car.
I closed the door.
The moment I had, I heard soft footsteps behind me, and turned to find David coming toward me, his hair sticking up in several places and his boxer shorts riding low on his hips. I gave him a casual nod, as if to say, S’up?
“Your father?” he asked.
I nodded. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was feeling, whether it was right or wrong, good or bad, sane or insane. All I knew was that I was very, very
tired.
And freaking cold.
“Let’s go back to bed,” I said, and slid my arm around David’s waist, hoping that by fastening myself to his side I might borrow some of his body heat and someday live a life free of violent, bone-juddering shivers.
David gave a little spasm as my freezing cold arms touched his bare skin, but he didn’t pull away, which I appreciated. Instead, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and tugged me close, and we shivered our way back to the bedroom together, where thankfully it was still warm and dark and cozy.
We curled up together under the covers, and after a bit of shifting around to get comfortable, I found myself lying there with his arms wrapped around me, his face close to mine, his breath drifting against my cheek in warm puffs. We lay there not speaking for what seemed like a long time, just looking at each other, and I felt my body relaxing, my mind slowing down as all the confusing emotions of my dad’s visit gradually slipped away.
David gave me a sleepy smile and touched the side of my face, his fingers warm, his skin just the right mix of softness and roughness against my cheek. “Better?”
“Much,” I murmured.
I held him close until I fell asleep.
*
“Yo, Thomas. Yo-yo-yo, Thomas. Time to get up.”
Thomas groaned and rolled over, pressing his face into the couch cushions. I sent David an amused glance and gave one of Thomas’s bony shoulders a good shake.
“S’an earthquake,” Thomas mumbled, and pressed his hands over his face.
I picked up the bright blue cell phone that had been left sitting on the coffee table. After a moment of letting the phone charms jangle, I flipped it open. “Let’s see. Daphne, Daphne... Ah, here she is. 312-455—”
The phone was snatched out of my hand by a suddenly wide-awake Thomas, who snapped the phone shut and stuffed it into the front pocket of his sweatshirt in a little less than a second.
