“To where?”
“To everywhere,” I tell her, laughing as I shake my head, because I mean, I don’t get it, but seems to make Mom happy, so whatever. “She always talked about seeing the world back when I was a kid, but I mean, I thought it was just talk? We had a good life—” My throat closes up for a minute, thinking about how wrong I’d been, back when I’d thought all that comfortable routine I’d thrived on growing up was real. Barbecues on the weekends. Bruins games with my dad. Johnny over for dinner practically every night and making huevos for breakfast every morning with—
I clear my throat, blinking fast.
“Uh, anyway, she’s been traveling for years, now,” I go on, hoping Eden doesn’t call me on anything. “I get post cards from the craziest places, and once in a while she’ll even pop back here to Boston and say hello.”
“Oh, wow,” Eden says, eyes wide. “That’s different.”
“No shit,” I say, a bit of the old resentment surging up in my chest. Not toward Mom, I mean, whatever floats her boat, right? But would she really be avoiding Boston like this if Dad hadn’t betrayed us?
“What about your father?” Eden asks, resting a hand on my chest. “Is he… is he still in Boston?”
Best thing about this cast? It’s the middle of fucking summer and hot as hell, and here I’ve got the perfect excuse to walk around shirtless around a beautiful woman 24/7. I flex a little, covering her hand with mine—because hey, like I said, opportunist—and sort of rubbing it over my pecs in what I hope comes across as subtle.
And fine, okay, so I’m avoiding the subject, but might as well rip off the Band-Aid, though, since I’ve got my sights on this girl, yeah?
“Dad’s around,” I say, keeping her hand pressed against me but letting my head fall back against the couch. I stare up at the ceiling, wondering why the hell they spray ceilings with that stuff that makes it look like they’re covered with little bumps. I keep right on wondering and let the words just come out flat, so I can hurry up and tell her about that part of my life without having to think about it, and then hopefully be done with it. “He still lives in the house I grew up in, but with someone else now.”
“Oh,” Eden says, and I can feel her kind of settle into stillness next to me, like she’s hurting for me. “Did he… did he leave your mom for another woman?”
“Nope,” I say, popping the “p” sound and wondering if I’d hate him less if he had?
Nah, it would be the same.
Okay, different, but the same.
“You… you don’t like his new wife, I take it?” Eden asks tentatively.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “No wife. Not remarried, thank Christ, since he’s shacked up with another guy now.”
“Oh,” Eden says, her voice a little tight.
“Yeah, no shit,” I go on, even though I should drop it. “He went and decided he was gay all of a sudden, like he hadn’t had years to figure that shit out if he really had to have some D so bad, yeah? Like he couldn’t have saved himself the trouble of starting a family he was just going to bust apart later?” My voice is rising, but there’s no helping it now. And this is why I don’t let myself think about this bullshit on a regular basis. “Or since he did go and marry my mom and then lie to her all those years,” I spit, the floodgates fully open now. “He couldn’t have just… just kept it to himself? Been a fucking man and dealt with the responsibilities he had in front of him instead of running off and… and…”
I’m breathing hard all of a sudden, so it takes me a moment to realize that Eden isn’t just quiet, she’s also stiff. Pulling away from me. And thanks so much, Dad, for one more moment of my life you’ve ruined.
I take a breath, trying to shake it off.
“Don’t worry, beautiful,” I say, squeezing her around the shoulders with my good arm and trying to pull her back in. “Gay ain’t contagious.”
“No,” she agrees. “But being a dick might be, and I’m not going to risk it.”
She shakes off my arm and stands up, and I don’t get it, because this isn’t the Eden I’ve been flirting with and teasing for the last few days. The one who gives me sweet looks and is full of sympathy and caring and… and all those things that make me want to do more than just get in her pants.
But I mean yeah, I want that, too, of course.
“What?” I say, getting to my feet fast when she starts heading down the hall toward the guest room without explaining herself. “Eden—”
She spins around to face me, and—oh, shit. I don’t know what I said, but the girl is pissed.
“I’m just going to get my purse and my things,” she says. “And then I’ll be out of here for good. And I’m sorry your parents split up, Matt, I imagine that must be hard, but you know what? Life is too short for me to spend any more of mine around someone who would say such disgusting things.”
“I… what?” I repeat, dumbfounded.
For real, what’s she talking about? What did I say?
Guess I asked that last one out loud, because she starts stalking back toward me, letting me have it.
“What didn’t you say?” she snaps. “That you’d rather your father live a lie than try and find happiness? That you think loving someone is only acceptable if it’s done in one single way? That you’d rather see both your parents trapped in a marriage where I’m betting neither of them was fulfilled, just so you don’t have to adjust your view of the world?”
She’s right in my face now, one finger poking me in the chest with every point, and I’m… I’m frozen. No one’s ever said this shit to me, and what the fuck right does she have? But just when I start to get a good head of steam worked up to tell her so, she starts crying. It’s bad, too, because I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it. She’s still poking me hard with every other word, but now the tears are just spilling down her cheeks while she talks, and it stops me cold, freezing up all my righteous anger and draining it right out of me. And it’s like her tears are washing out my ears or something, too, because suddenly I’m listening to what she’s saying, instead of just deflecting it.
“You’ve got two parents who are alive,” she says, voice cracking. “And you resent them for living those lives on their own terms instead of being thankful every day that you still have them? I’m sorry, Matt, but just… no. It may not be my place to say, but I’m going to anyway. You’re wasting something precious, and if you think gay is the worst thing someone can be—”
“No,” I blurt, that last accusation startling the word right out of me before I can stop it.
She stops with her mouth open, and I wipe her cheeks, because it’s killing me.
“I’m not… not like, what’s the word—”
“An asshole?”
“A bigot,” I correct her, even though I can kind of see from her point of view why she thought the other word applied, now that my ears have been washed out.
She crosses her arms in front her chest, calling bullshit with her body language, and I’m dumbfounded. What, she really thinks I… I mean, sure, I don’t like that my dad went gay, but… and okay, so, okay. I guess the way I expressed myself could have given her the impression that it was the gay part of my dad’s story that I have a problem with.
I scrub my good hand over my face, feeling like the asshole she’s just accused me of being. Not the greatest start to getting her to stick around, yeah?
And if I’m really honest, I guess I do have a problem with gay… but more like, I can’t separate it from the way Dad broke up our family, not what Eden said about me thinking there’s only one right way to love someone and all.
I don’t really think that, I just… I just… oh, shit.
I’m crying, too. Maybe an aftereffect of the meds they gave me.
“Sorry,” I say, ducking away from her and figuring this is it. So much for us fitting together like I thought. This is just… this is a clusterfuck, is what it is.
But then, instead of leaving like s
he’d just promised, Eden wraps her arms around me from behind, resting her wet face against my back, and sighs.
“I’m sorry, too,” she says quietly. “I don’t really know the situation with your family, I guess it just touched a nerve. And I… I really don’t have patience for bigotry.”
I laugh, turning around to face her and happier than I deserve when she lets me wrap my arms around her right back. “Yeah, I got that, you fierce little thing. Do I get points if I apologize?”
“To me, or to your father?” she asks, the question freezing me up all over again.
Because damn, I’d rejected all his apologies over the years, but it’s never once even crossed my mind that I might owe him one.
I should want Eden gone, the way she keeps blindsiding me with shit I don’t want to think about. But what I really want? Yeah, it’s not that. Not saying everything she’s just hit me with feels good, because it doesn’t, but you know what? When I was a kid, maybe eight or nine, Johnny and I were playing baseball and he egged me into sliding for home even though I would have scored the run just fine staying on my feet. And besides winning the game and looking fucking awesome in the picture someone snapped for the league calendar, hitting the dirt like that also got me a broken leg… which turned out kind of awesome because of all the sympathy points that cast earned me that summer. But point being, once the cast came off and the physical therapy started, it fucking hurt. But it was a good hurt, because as fun as it had been to be pampered and all, I’d missed having two good legs.
Maybe I’m thinking about that now because here I am in a cast all over again, or maybe I’m thinking about it because as pissed off at my dad as I still am, even after all these years, the truth is I miss him just as bad as I ever missed being able to walk that summer.
Maybe worse.
“Just tell me what I’ve gotta say to get you to stay,” I say to Eden, not sure if I’m scared she’ll try to force me to tell him I’m sorry… or hoping for it.
She doesn’t try to force anything, though. Just looks up at me, startled. “Why on earth would you want me to stay?” she asks, eyes wide.
Oh, man. That’s a loaded one, yeah? Too many reasons I shouldn’t give; everything from how bad I want her—my dick on high alert even now, when I feel like I’ve just been through an emotional wringer—to all the stuff that I know damn well it’s too soon to even hint at, but that I can already tell I’m hoping will work out.
And then there’s this new thing. The way she pushed me and I kind of hope she might keep pushing me.
“Because you make me better,” I say, the words slipping out too fast for me to stop them. I lift up my cast, playing it off like that’s what I’d meant. “Didn’t Johnny say you were a nurse?”
“Just a CNA,” she says, shaking her head but kind of smiling, too, so that I think I’ve still got a chance here.
“You ever take on private clients?”
She laughs out loud at that for some reason, and something inside me feels lighter.
“You and Johnny think a lot alike, don’t you?” she asks, grinning like she’s in on a joke I missed. “Are you really asking me to stay and take care of you while you’ve got that thing on? Because you’d be stuck with me for weeks.”
I grin, because yeah, I’ve won this one, I can tell. She’s going to say yes.
And weeks? I’ll take ’em… for a start.
7
Johnny
I’m thumbing through a stack of mail as I walk in the door: bills, bills, bills, and then two actual letters, which surprises me, because who mails anything anymore? Well, I know one person who does, and sure enough, I recognize one of the envelopes without needing to look at the return address. Matt’s dad, Santiago Lopez, always uses these signature bright orange ones, and it hurts something inside me to know that Matty will just toss it without even opening it. Santi has never given up on Matt, and the thing I’ve never been sure about is whether Matty knows that his father never gave up on me, either.
I kick the door closed behind me and lean back against it for a second, enjoying the hell out of the A/C. I still keep in touch with Santi, and it’s weird as fuck to always do it on the down low, because when have I ever kept anything from Matt, you know? Well, I mean, other than the fact that my sexuality is maybe a little more inclusive than he’ll ever realize, of course, but point is, it always feels a little off to know I have secrets from him.
I’m grateful to still have Santi in my life, though. Growing up, he and Brenda, Matt’s mom, were way more like parents to me than my own. Brenda sends Matty and me postcards from the craziest places, and she’s a riot, but even when we were kids, gotta admit I was maybe a little closer to Santi than to her—mostly because he was the one who was always around, always in our business, but in a good way.
Santi’s a nester, just like Matty is. Growing up, Brenda was busy climbing her corporate ladder and dreaming of traveling the world. She was a good mom, but restless, you know? Santi worked from home, still does, and when we were younger, he was always the one cooking for us and getting on me and Matt to keep up with our homework, taking us to Bruins games, helping us pick out our first suits back when we took the Schuster twins to junior prom… he was just there, always, and it still kills me that Matty cut him out so completely when he came out.
Nowadays, Santi and I mostly stay in touch by email, even though he lives not twenty minutes away. He keeps it simple, just asking about my life and making sure I know he’s there and that he cares. I know the estrangement hurts him, but he’s real good about not pressing me about Matt, and even though I’ll drop a few comments here and there, I don’t say that much. I may not agree with Matty, but I’ve gotta respect that it’s his decision, you know?
Anyway, I think Santi knows that if I ever had to choose sides, there’s really only one choice for me, so he doesn’t push, and Matty and I just go along with a “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach when it comes to my relationship with his dad.
I’m just grateful neither one has ever pushed me to actually make that choice, you know? Because I love them both, and for as big as my biological family is, the two of them, plus Brenda, are basically the only family that matters to me.
I hang my keys on the hook by the door, then flip to the other non-bill I noticed and see that it’s one of those photo-printed postcards. I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. Speaking of how big the Johnson family is, right? It’s from a niece of mine who’s a year older than me, and it’s a birth announcement for her… what, must be the third baby, I think?
Yeah, we’re not exactly close, and it’s a nice thought to share her good news with me, I guess, but I know all that’s expected of me is to find the online registry and make sure I send something.
I’m about to put the stack of mail in the decorative little tray attached to the wall that Matty’s trained me to use when I hear something crash in the kitchen, followed by a muffled “shit.” I’m not too worried about it—didn’t sound like he managed to pull the fridge down on top of himself or anything—but I am shaking my head and laughing as I make my way in there. And yep, I find just about what I expected. Matty’s broken something and is now being an idiot, trying to deal with things that his arm just ain’t up for, not on his own like this.
I fold my arms across my chest, mail still in hand, and lean against the doorjamb as I watch him. Matt is on his side, on the floor, trying to sweep up the remains of what looks like a shattered plate with only one good arm to work with. He’s bent in what looks like an extremely uncomfortable position, trying to hold the dustpan with the casted hand and using the broom in slow, awkward movements to get the glass to slide in.
I must’ve made some sound, because he suddenly looks up and sees me, a guilty look flashing across his face before he quickly replaces it with something far too grumpy to be real. He knows he’s a shitty patient. Back when we were kids, he fucked around so much on a broken leg one year that when he finally got the cast off, he had to s
uffer through a few more months of physical therapy that would’ve been totally unnecessary if he’d just done what the doctor had told him in the first place.
I raise an eyebrow.
Matty turns red. “You’ve been letting the dishes pile up,” he snaps, as if I’m gonna buy that accusation and let it deflect the shit I plan on giving him for being stupid about his arm.
I grin. Dishes in the sink? Yeah, no. We both know that I wouldn’t violate one of his all-time biggest pet peeves like that, not after all these years. I pick my battles, and violating the OCD levels of cleanliness Matty insists on is not a hill I’m willing to die on.
“What, you mean that coffee cup and plate that you haven’t managed to break yet?” I retort, shaking my head and trying not to laugh at him. “I’m pretty sure they weren’t there when I left this morning, so this isn’t on me, buddy.”
He makes a sound like a cranky elephant or something, and rolls up to a sitting position, glaring at me for a second. Then he sighs, slumping back against the wall, and I almost feel sorry for him.
“I’m not cut out for sitting on my ass all day,” he says, which gotta admit, is God’s honest truth. Then he pulls out that cute-but-annoying whiny voice that only and always shows up when he’s hurt. “There must be something I can do down at the station. Paperwork?”
I snort. “You hate paperwork, and Chief specifically said to remind you that he’ll rip you a new one if he sees your face there before that cast comes off.”
“That’s forever,” Matty whines.
“Six weeks,” I correct him. “Maybe eight if you keep fucking with it.”
The firehouse is kinda like a family, too, and all of us except the new guy know him too damn well. Matty would say he’d handle paperwork, and then the minute we took our eyes off him, he’d be out there trying to wash the trucks, or worse.
He looks like he’s going to keep arguing for a second, so I distract him.
Three Page 8
