Candy Man

by Amy Lane

  In his backpack, he had ready for Darrin and his coworkers the super-nice colored-in chibi version of Candy Heaven, with little chibi portraits of everyone he worked with, that he was planning to give to everyone when he went in for his half-day shift that morning. And he had taken his best portrait of Finn and drawn it again, adding pastels for color and spraying fixer on it so it would last longer. He bought a frame for it, and on one rare day when Finn worked and he didn’t, he wrapped it all up, and that was what he would give Finn on Christmas Eve.

  But it wasn’t the real present. Not really. The real present was something he couldn’t really be there for when Finn opened it.

  Finn had Christmas Eve off, so Adam got up early and walked the dog. He came in chilled on the outside from the foggy cold and warm on the inside from anticipation, and even the dog seemed subdued, because what Adam was about to do, that was huge.

  Adam put it off until after his shower because he and Finn had been up late the night before. Yeah, they’d had some rockin’ sex, but after that they’d had one of those weird, dreamy conversations that happened when you were supposed to be going to sleep but there always seemed to be one more thing to say, one more precious piece of communication that absolutely needed to be shared.

  It had been one of the most intimate moments of Adam’s life, and he was going to put a capper on it now—right before he ran for the hills like the coward he knew himself to be.

  When Adam got out of the shower, Finn was still sleeping, one bare pink shoulder peeping out from under the white comforter. Adam had started to wish heartily for enough money to buy some of his own stuff, because Rico’s apartment was sort of boring—white and cream and ecru. Rico didn’t have any Christmas decorations. Adam and Finn had spent a giddy, giggly evening gluing paper chains together to strew around the living room, but that was all they had. Adam loved color as an artist—and he hated to see Finn surrounded by anything less than brilliance.

  Someday, he thought. Lights for Christmas and saturated colors in a home that was theirs. But not today.

  Today he had one thing he could give Finn, and he was dressed and ready for the mile run to the bus stop and then the half-mile run to work. The time had come to give it.

  He held the sketchbook tightly in his hands as he walked into the bedroom and stretched out next to Finn, savoring his smell and the mammal warmth that pervaded the room from his nest in the covers. The cat was curled up right behind Finn’s neck, and Adam sort of loved that whenever Finn’s usually active body went still, the cat was all over that action. Right now he reached out and moved the unresisting body so Finn could roll over without crushing him—not that Jake would notice.

  “Finn? Baby, wake up a sec, okay? You can go back to sleep when I leave.”

  Finn smiled a little and peered up at Adam from bleary eyes. Freckles. Adam wanted to see baby pictures of Finn so he could see how many freckles he’d had as a kid, because not all of those had faded away. “What’s up?” Finn mumbled.

  “I got something for you, but I want you to look at it when I’m gone, okay?”

  Finn squinted, refocused, and squinted again. “You want me to what?”

  “Look, it’s… it’s like a Christmas present, but this one’s sort of sad. The one that will make you happy is tomorrow, so I want you to look at this one today, okay?”

  Finn pushed up on one elbow, his grumpy morning face settling into concerned lines. “Adam, is that your—”

  “Yeah. It’s my old sketchbook. Like… like me. Good, bad, ugly. Me. So, now it’s yours. And I gotta go to work, so, if you hate everything in here, could you not tell me until after Christmas? Because I… I never had someone for Christmas, and I just… if you can’t deal with me because of this, I would just prefer you pretend or something until December 26—”

  Finn placed a bony, long-fingered hand over Adam’s mouth. “Stop,” he commanded quietly. Moving his fingers, he took the sketchbook from Adam’s reluctant hands. “This is precious and important, and it’s not going to scare me away.”

  Adam swallowed and nodded. “’Kay. Ain’t nobody… I mean nobody has seen this before. Just… I know this is fast. A month. But you mean that much to me, Finn.”

  Finn nodded and pushed forward into a brief kiss. “Okay. It’s okay. Go to work. It’s in good hands.”

  Adam contorted his lips and hoped it passed for a smile, then made sure to grab his backpack before he bolted out of the apartment.

  He wondered how he was going to make it through the day.

  ADAM KNEW that the store closed early on the day before Christmas and opened early the day after, but he was not prepared for the two hours of cleanup after they closed to be one big office staff party.

  Normally he wouldn’t have cared—he would have taken his cookies and said thank you and walked away.

  But now he had the silly little chibi drawings, and instead of Adam just handing them out discreetly and running away, they were part of the big gift-giving frenzy that the entire staff participated in at the end.

  The frenzy had no rhyme or reason. If you worked with someone and liked them, you gave them a present. If you didn’t know them, you didn’t. No feelings were hurt, no fights broke out—people just got presents and were happy.

  And everyone got the little scrolled chibis with a whole lot of happy. Adam was reduced to smiling shyly a lot and saying, “You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it,” at least six hundred times.

  And he was surprised to get some presents of his own.

  Three people brought cookies, and he ended up with three plates—actual plates, not paper—of cookies, and one that held a hot-chocolate basket. When he realized that the plates matched and that the four gift-givers were Anish, Ravi, Darby, and Joni, he figured they’d gotten together and done it on purpose. Look! He had four plates and matching mugs—and cookies. And hot chocolate.

  And a hooded Sac State sweatshirt from Darrin.

  He looked at it, surprised, thinking that the bright green and gold made a change from the plain old dark blue hoodie he’d worn until the sleeves were ragged and the lining had all but disappeared.

  “How do you even know I’ll be able to get in?” he asked, feeling humble. It was a really great gift.

  Darrin rolled his eyes. “Don’t bother me with bullshit.” He smirked. “I knew you’d walk through my door, I know you’ll walk through that one.”

  Some of Adam’s roiling worry about Finn disappeared, and he gave Darrin probably his best smile of the day. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s nice that someone’s got some faith.”

  Darrin sucked on his Pixy Stix coquettishly and smiled. “Besides that guy, who has all the faith in the world, right?”

  Adam heard a knocking on the locked door right then and turned to see Finn, his fleece hat buttoned firmly around his ears and a rather wistful smile on his face. Adam hustled to let him in, glad that they’d made plans for Finn to pick him up, because he didn’t know how he’d get all the plates with food on them home if he didn’t.

  Finn took a step in and grabbed Adam by the shirtfront, then hauled him outside.

  “Hey, all my stuff—”

  Finn kissed him ravenously, like he’d been starving for Adam all his life. Adam reached under him, cupped his bottom, and hefted, happy when Finn hopped up and wrapped his legs around Adam’s waist. They kissed until Adam’s arms trembled and he had to set Finn down. They pulled away, resting foreheads against each other.

  “That was awesome. What was it for?”

  To his horror, Finn made a sound like a hiccupping child. When Adam peered into his face, he saw the telltale signs—red-rimmed eyes, slightly swollen nose—and hated himself.

  “I’m sorry,” Adam mumbled, using his thumb to smooth away yet another tear. “It’s like this is all I’m doing to you. I didn’t mean—”

  “Sometimes tears are happy, Adam,” Finn muttered, catching his hand. “Didn’t anyone tell you that? It was the best gift ever. In a mill
ion years. It was all of you, and some of it hurt me and I wanted to burn it for you, and some of it was beautiful and…. Thank you. Just… you know. Thank you.”

  Adam exhaled shakily. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  This kiss was less starvation and more harmony, which was okay. Adam needed that too.

  The kiss ended, and Finn came inside and said hello to everybody. On their way out, Miguel stopped them, putting a hand on Finn’s sleeve. Miguel was one of the guys Adam didn’t know well, but he seemed pretty familiar to Finn.

  “Finn—I didn’t know you and Adam had hooked up. Go you! I’ve been trying to get his attention since he walked in!”

  Adam blinked at him. He looked like a slightly browner, taller version of Finn—darker hair, same cheekbones, blue eyes, same build.

  Different smile—this one a little more guarded, a little less open to the world.

  “I had no idea,” Adam said, slightly panicked, feeling sort of guilty.

  Finn winked at Miguel and shrugged. “I’m not sure how it happened,” he said. “But I’m really lucky.”

  Adam nodded at Miguel, a little embarrassed and a lot eager to be alone with Finn. He grabbed Finn’s hand and let himself be pulled to the minivan, which was parked about half a block down by one of the meters.

  “You totally lied,” he said as he slid into the passenger seat, and Finn looked at him in surprise.

  “How do you figure?”

  “You totally stalked me. You said you weren’t sure how it happened. You… you brought me food and made me come to your workplace and took me shopping and all but attacked me in the minivan, and I didn’t have a chance against you! You were everywhere. I was going to totally fall in love with you whether I liked it or not, and it’s just a good thing you were awesome, or I would have been fucking doomed!”

  Finn was laughing hard—so hard that for a minute, Adam was afraid as he negotiated Christmas Eve traffic. But Finn had been born in this city—had grown up in his parents’ house—and he was secure and comfortable when Adam might have been a little apprehensive. He took them directly home, although Adam thought they needed groceries. But when he suggested they stop for some, Finn waved his hand.

  “No. I’ve got a plan.”

  “Well, I think we just covered that I like your plans.”

  “Good.” Finn pulled in front of the apartment, lucky because there wasn’t always space here. The week before, he’d had to park at his parents’ house and walk. “Because I’ve made some plans for tonight.”

  He pulled Adam up to the apartment, and they braced themselves for the dog storming out. Adam had dreaded the dog’s charge for the first couple of weeks, but now, after Gonzo, he sort of saw it as healthy.

  That and Clopper listened to him when he said, “Down, dammit, down!” which meant it wasn’t quite as bad as before.

  Tonight the obedience was extra spiffy because, well….

  “Wow,” Adam murmured, trying not to choke up. He smiled over his shoulder. “Look what you did!”

  “Had help,” Finn confessed. “Mari and Peter came over, and Christopher brought the tree.”

  “It’s….” Christmas. A tree—moderately sized, of course—stood strewn with popcorn and cranberries, paper ornaments, and, best of all, colored lights. In fact, the colored lights were twisted with the paper chains. The effect was busy and inharmonious and too bright and…

  Beautiful.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Adam said softly. “You and your family—something else. I’m….” Oh, it sounded like such a grand word, but it was all he had. “Humbled. I’m humbled. And really grateful.”

  “Me too,” Finn said, pulling him into the brightly lit room. “Now sit down while I serve you Christmas dinner—”

  Adam sniffed experimentally. “What’s for Christmas dinner?”

  “Stuffed chicken, gravy, salad, and garlic potatoes.”

  “Whoa!”

  “Yes, Christopher also brought food from Mom, who says she’s looking forward to seeing us volunteer tomorrow. Mom fundraises a lot for the homeless, Adam—you have yourself a fan right there.”

  Adam closed his eyes and remembered Thanksgiving. “Well, back at her. God, it smells good.”

  Finn shut the door behind him and came to nestle in Adam’s chest. “So do you. Do you mind if we talk about the sketchbook after dinner?”

  If Finn was here? And his? And unafraid? “Yeah, that’ll be all right.”

  “Good. Go wash up and I’ll start putting the stuff on the table.”

  Adam was getting used to eating regularly sized meals, and he wasn’t going to pass up on seconds, not tonight. Finn told him about his day, about decorating, and how Mari and Joshie strung the popcorn, but Joshie and the dog kept eating it, and how Christopher and Peter had gotten into a big honking argument about how to get the tree up the stairs. “Did you know Rico has neighbors? I swear, I’ve been sleeping here for weeks, and I didn’t know he had neighbors until this old woman across the porch from you poked her head out her door and started swearing at us in what sounded like German. Then the guy above her started swearing in what Peter says was Farsi, and he should know because he was in the Peace Corps. Anyway, you’ve got neighbors, and they all yelled at us today, but that’s okay, because the living room looks great.”

  Adam smiled at him, savoring one of the last bites of stuffing. “It does. This is a real good present, Finn. Thank you.”

  “I got you something to open tomorrow, but, you know, like the sketchbook….”

  “Yeah. Some of the best stuff doesn’t come in a box.”

  “No.”

  Adam stood and took their empty plates to the sink and loaded the dishwasher. By the time he got back, Finn had wiped the table, poured them both a glass of eggnog from a carton, and pulled out the book.

  And then the real work of the relationship began.

  “So this is you, hiding from your mom and grandma?” Finn asked as Adam took his first swig.

  The picture showed a small child-shaped stain in a dark space, with angry sounds beating against the fragile shelter.

  “Yeah.”

  “This image shows up a lot.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can… can we make a deal?”

  “What?”

  Finn covered his hand. “They say it takes twenty really good things to wipe out one bad thing, you know?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Can we make a list on the back of this picture, this first one here? When we get to twenty good things, we can take this picture out of the book? Maybe burn it? We won’t get rid of them all, you know, but maybe….”

  Adam thought of those lonely days without Finn, thinking he didn’t deserve anyone good in his life, thinking he would always be that helpless child, hearing how much nothing really meant.

  “Maybe they won’t be so much a part of me,” he said softly.

  Finn nodded and smiled. “Good. Yeah.”

  He flipped through some pictures from the Army—good ones. Soldiers marching in rank and file, looking earnest and brave. Young recruits in formation and seasoned soldiers wandering behind them, looking at the young ones with wariness and affection. A man at target practice with the M16, staring through his scope with sweat dripping in his eyes. Hard things. Warriors’ pictures. Good moments of pride.

  Robbie looking wicked, winning at Rummy, his short-jawed, pretty face alight with merriment because he’d just won Adam’s best commodity, and Adam was happy to give it.

  And then….

  “Oh, I hate this picture,” Finn murmured.

  The lines were thick and dark, soldiers surrounding that child-shaped stain from the earlier pictures, raucous, angry word pictures coming out of their mouths.

  Adam closed his eyes and looked away.

  “I don’t know what to do with this one,” Finn murmured, taking his hand. “I want to rip it up, make it so it never happened. But it did, and that’s going to hurt, and I can’t sto
p it.”

  “You don’t….”

  “So maybe we let it sit, and maybe we’ll forget about this book someday, and find it in the dusty bottom of years and years of your sketchbooks—pictures of the animals, pictures of me, my family, ’cause you have Thanksgiving in here already. Maybe someday we start writing the good things on the back of this picture, and it can go away too. What do you think?”

  Adam gripped his hand and closed his eyes. “I think that picture is already getting further away.”

  “Good,” Finn murmured, kissing the outer whorl of Adam’s ear. “Then we’ll just hope for the best here. Okay, moving on.”

  Past pictures of death in the desert because that was all Adam could see anymore, and past pictures of loneliness and desolation because that was all he had.

  There was a gap then, because most of his drawings had been done for school, and those were in other sketchbooks.

  Then there was Easter. His family—Grandma, his mother, Rico’s mother and father, another auntie he barely talked to and her two kids, and they were all sitting at the long banquet table, looking in surprise at the closed door.

  And Adam stood outside the door, with blood dripping down his forehead and nose, because Grandma had just slammed the door in his face.

  Adam remembered that moment—that moment was yesterday.

  “How did you get through that?” Finn asked quietly. “I might have stopped breathing.”

  Adam stroked the back of his hand with his thumb. “Rico texted me—probably right from the dinner table as the old bitch went off. Said I was finally cool.”

  Finn rubbed the drawn Adam’s hurt forehead, and then the real Adam’s scar.

  “Then this one, we keep. But we rip it out. And every time you draw a picture of me or my family or someone you love at the holidays, we stack this picture under it. Until you have so many good pictures you have no choice but to let it go.”

  Adam smiled and closed his eyes, thinking. Letting the pictures parade through his head on the little movie theater in his brain. “Lots of different things to do with these pictures. What if we forget?”