Tied Together

by Z. B Heller

  Sadness replace Ryan’s stern stare. It was a low blow, but it was something that had been weighing on me since the day I left him standing at his apartment. I bowed my head; I thought I would feel relief when I said those things. I wanted to make him angry and feel the pain I had felt for all these years.

  “Every day I thought of you. Every day. Since the second you walked away.”

  I raised my head to listen.

  “I have never regretted anything more than that moment. I knew I fucked up; probably the biggest fuckup of my life. I couldn’t even bring myself to call you or come see you because all I felt was embarrassed. I let you down; I didn’t know what to do.”

  Ryan had tears gathering in his eyes.

  “I went through a pretty deep depression after that. I did a lot of self-destructive behavior; I drank too much and had too many one-night stands. I was trying to replace you in my life, but I couldn’t because nothing in this world could replace you.”

  “Ryan—”

  Ryan lifted his hand to stop me from talking. “No, I need to say this.”

  I nodded and let him continue.

  “I should have been there for you. I didn’t take into consideration how easy it was for me to come out and tell people I was gay. My ego was so huge and I had such a misinterpretation of the world, I thought it should be just as easy for everyone. Even after you told me about your parents, I still didn’t fully understand. I wanted to shout it out to the entire world that we were finally together, and you recoiled. I felt that you were rejecting me. I made it all about myself, and I couldn’t see past that.”

  A tear dropped from the corner of Ryan’s eye down his cheek. I reached out my finger and wiped it away.

  “I’m sorry, Brandon. You deserved more, and I didn’t give it to you.”

  I placed the hand that I used to wipe this cheek on the table with my palm up. Ryan put his hand on my own, and I squeezed it.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “For what?” He wiped another tear away with the back of his other hand.

  “For those words. I needed to hear them.”

  Ryan didn’t respond, but he nodded. I felt years of anger lift from my shoulders while I looked at the man in front of me. And that was what he had become after all these years—a man. My heart felt full, like a fissure had been sewn together by his words. I needed to be honest with myself and what I’d felt for all these years. I missed him—God, did I miss him. I wanted the chance to move past the hurt and bring him back into my life. However, I didn’t know if he felt the same. I needed to take that chance, to perhaps see what could have been. I pulled my hand out of Ryan’s, dug into my lab coat pocket and pulled out a card and a pen. I wrote on the back and handed the card to Ryan.

  “Here’s my card, I wrote my personal cell phone number on there. If you ever feel like going out for another cup of coffee or something, give me a call.”

  He took the card, looked at it, and then looked at me.

  “ ‘Or something,’ huh?”

  I pulled the chair back, took my coffee, and stood up. “Definitely something.” I winked and turned to walk away.

  It had been three weeks since Brandon and I spoke at the hospital over coffee. In those three weeks, his card had burned a hole in my pocket. I took it out again to see his name written in perfect font on the card. The edges had crinkled and worn. Dr. Brandon Ford OBGYN, Northwestern University Hospital. I wasn’t surprised Brandon had made it that far. He’d always had the determination and the drive with his studies. I felt a twist in my gut that I’d missed him going through the process. I’d wanted to help him study for his exams, and if life as a resident was anything like Grey’s Anatomy…

  But I lost that privilege when I let my cocky attitude get in the way and treated Brandon like crap. To make matters worse, I’d been with someone else while Brandon was being beaten by his homophobic, asshole father. I felt guilty that I’d tried to convince Brandon to come out when he wasn’t ready. It was all so easy for me, and I thought it should have been just as easy for him. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I deserved to lose him; he was worth so much more.

  When we’d sat in the hospital cafeteria and he’d told me that he had been in therapy to deal with his own coming out, I’d been floored. It was like talking to a different person, yet I saw glimpses of the person I’d fallen for so long ago. I’d never had the feeling with Tom as I did with Brandon; the heat that would rise up from the tips of my toes all the way to my cheeks whenever Brandon would show me his shy smile. However, the shyness he’d had back then had been replaced by something different, something much more… dominate. Then came the nauseating feeling that Brandon had met someone who’d brought that side of him out. I wanted to be that person, the one to bring my beautiful Brandon out of his shell and into the safety of my arms. Instead, I’d acted like a Grade A asshole.

  Brad Pitt: You know, Ryan, if you put someone ahead of your own needs, this would never have happened. But it was more important to you to show you were right and that you had all the answers, wasn’t it?

  Steve Buscemi: He wanted to get his junk sucked— nothing wrong with that.

  Brad Pitt: Maybe so, but he lost the one who mattered. Think with your head, Ryan. And I don’t mean the one in your pants. By the way, we need to talk about these new boxer briefs. I think we’d be better with tighty-whities.

  I had to make a decision. Man up or keep running like a pussy. After seeing Moxie’s vag on full display during childbirth, that option didn’t seem viable. Should I call or should I text? Calling seemed more formal, whereas texting was like, “Hey, friend. Let’s chill out and eat cheese puffs until we both puke.” Yup, text messages it was.

  Hey, Brandon. It’s me, Ryan. Remember, we met in the cafeteria three weeks ago for coffee.

  What the fuck was that? Like he doesn’t know who the hell I am? Or maybe he knows several Ryans. Shit! What happens if he has all of us Ryans marked A, B, and C. Can you delete a text after it’s sent? I was about to grab my computer to Google that question when my phone chimed.

  Hey. Glad you finally got the nerve to text. Although, I do accept phone calls too ;)

  Was he teasing me? Who the hell was this guy?

  Well, I didn’t want to bother you. Just in case you had your hands up some woman’s vagina.

  He replied fast.

  No, I’m on a lunch break, and I haven’t been called down for any deliveries. But having my hands up a woman’s vagina is strictly work and doesn’t do it for me. Why? You jealous?

  Well, fuck me with a two-by-four. He was… flirting? I reread that last part of the text and considered how to respond. I wanted to tread lightly because I didn’t want to scare him off. At the same time, though, this Brandon seemed to be a whole new ballgame. I decided to take my chances.

  Jealous? No. A woman’s vagina is certainly not the place I like to stick anything in.

  I laughed at myself.

  Oh yeah? Where do you like to stick things in?

  He was sexting me! That little shit was working the power of text to turn me on. I glanced down at my crotch and saw how Brandon’s words affected me. Two could play at that game. He was about to find out who the master was.

  I like to stick things in a man, a real man, who can take what I give him.

  I smirked when I hit send.

  Ryan, I don’t think you have the balls to give me what I need. I like it hot, dirty, and deep. If memory serves, you like to bring those twinks home, and baby, I am no twink.

  I almost dropped my phone. I just got my ass handed to me on a platter courtesy of Brandon.

  Why don’t we meet for dinner and talk about this further.

  Seven excruciatingly long minutes passed before my phone vibrated.

  Fine, I’ll pick you up at 9. Be ready.

  I gave a little fist pump into the air, and texted my address. Then my phone buzzed again.

  Ryan, no underwear.

  I instantly stopped my p
rivate dance party, and suddenly I felt like the floor was going to drop from under my feet. Did I feel excited? Definitely. Was I petrified? No question. I needed someone to talk to about this right now or I was going to bust. I pulled up Moxie’s number on my phone and pressed it.

  “Ryan, do you not realize that I’m in the midst of Shitageddon.” Her breathing sounded rushed.

  “Do I want to know what that means?” I winced into the phone.

  “That’s when you have two babies who, in their little twin brains, decide it would be funny to have explosive poop at the same time.” She yelled, “Miles, we need more wipes, pronto! Jaxson is going for round two.” I heard Jaxson wail in the background.

  “I can call back at a better time.”

  “Ryan, I just had two babies explode through my Cooch Cannon. If you think there is going to be a better time anywhere in the near future, let me know. The way I see it, this is life as I know it until they are eighteen. Unless what you have to say can wait until then.”

  “No, it can’t.” I let out a slow breath.

  “Does this have anything to do with a certain doctor who has an intimate relationship with my vagina?” She paused. “Yes, Miles, I realize you are the number one fan of my vagina and have a shrine to pray to it. Geez, you would think that man will never see my pussy again. Although, it’s probably all Jell-O-like and looks like a roast beef sandwich.”

  “Moxie!” I screamed into the phone. “Concentrate. Yes, it does have something to do with Brandon.”

  “Oh, I see. We are on a first-name basis with my doctor, are we? What, did my giving birth turn you on so much that you grabbed any willing participate to have sex with?”

  I brought the phone to my forehead and shook my head at the absurdity of the question.

  I placed the phone back to my ear. “No, Brandon and I have a history together.”

  “What?” She shrieked so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear again.

  “Do you remember the time when you, Renee, and I talked about the ones who got away?”

  “Yeah, mine was Danny Goldberg in the first grade. That’s until I met Miles, of course, and we had that short disturbance in our relationship.”

  “You mean when you guys broke up.” I let out a small laugh.

  “Listen, Debbie Downer, I’m giving you thirty more seconds to spit it out or I go to the doctor directly for information,” It was a thinly veiled threat.

  “Fine. He’s the one who got away.”

  Admitting it out loud brought me back to that fateful meeting in the doorway of my old apartment. Brandon, bruised and broken with a split lip, holding his bruised ribs because they ached from walking up the steps to my apartment. The look on his face when that nearly naked guy answered my door… I’d been so angry before when I thought he ditched me, but that look of hurt, mixed with disgust and disappointment, will be forever be ingrained into my brain.

  “No fucking way.”

  “We met in high school, stayed friends in college, and then some stuff happened between us and we lost contact.”

  “What kinda stuff? He wanted to tea bag you, and you weren’t into it?” She snickered.

  “No, I wanted him to out himself in order to be with me. I thought he was going to, but then I thought he ditched me. I ended up hooking up with a guy from the club we use to go to. The next day, Brandon showed up at my door all beat up. His homophobic dad had found him the night before, demanded money, and kicked the shit out of him.”

  “Did you come clean about cheating?” Her voice dropped to a serious tone.

  “I didn’t have to. The guy I’d hooked up with answered the door half naked. I think the idea was pretty evident.”

  There was silence on her end of the line. And then she blurted out, “You stupid piece of shit. What the fuck were you thinking? I swear, Ryan Keller, if I didn’t have two newborn babies playing a game of who can squirt their pee the farthest, I would come beat your ass myself.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ve been flogging myself for years since then.”

  “Fuck the flogger. You need to have your nuts put in a vice grip.”

  “Fair enough. But the problem is he wants to go out with me… tonight,” I added.

  Moxie let out a whistle sound. “The gay pool must be really low if he’s willing to give you another shot.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be supportive here?”

  “I am. Just not for you. Hashtag: Team Ford.”

  “Remind me why we’re friends again?”

  “Because you would be helplessly lost without my honesty and fine looks.”

  “Questionable.” I sighed.

  “Look. Just go out there and see what’s up. If anything, it will give you the chance to redeem yourself. God knows you need it. And make sure you wear that gray, V-neck sweater. That looks sexy on you.” She yelled away from the phone, “Not as sexy as you, Miles. You look better with nothing on.”

  I smiled. “Just for the record. I completely agree.”

  “Hey! Go get your own man.”

  And that was exactly what I was planning to do.

  I stood in my closet, wrestling with what I was going to where on this… date? Was it a real date or a friendly, getting-to-know-you-all-over-again meeting of old friends? I thought back to the first time Brandon and I sat at the diner, playing twenty questions. He’d been so skinny and timid; I had to pry information out of him like a dentist extracting a tooth. That person seemed to have disappeared and had been replaced by a man who was confident and knew exactly what he wanted.

  I decided to go with dark jeans, a striped dress shirt, and a sweater. As I pulled the sweater over my head, another memory popped into my head. I was wearing almost the same thing the first time I had kissed Brandon. I remembered it because it was the first time I got to taste those sweet lips I had been itching to kiss.

  I went into the bathroom, threw some gel in my hair to give it the I-look-like-I-don’t-give-a-shit look and sprayed on a touch of cologne. Closing my eyes, I took a deep, cathartic breath.

  Brad Pitt: You look good. Do you think you can behave longer than three minutes?

  Steve Buscemi: Forget behaving; that’s for pussies. Get him in here and screw his brains out.

  Brad Pitt: You know, it’s your fault Ryan lost him in the first place.

  Steve Buscemi: My fault?

  Brad Pitt: You’re the one who told him to get drunk and screw the twinkie.

  Steve Buscemi: I didn’t tell him to buy a pack of Twinkies and stick his dick into the cream-filled center. That’s just perverted.

  Brad Pitt: I’m seriously considering turning in my resignation letter.

  The knock at the door tripled my anxiety. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and opened the door. Brandon leaned against the doorframe, dressed in a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and black slacks. His glasses framed his chocolate brown eyes and his brown hair was neatly styled. In other words, he was walking sex.

  “Hey,” he said, casually looking me up and down. “You look nice. Isn’t that the same outfit you wore to your high school graduation party?” He winked and gave me a devilish grin.

  He remembered, too.

  “Uh, different clothes, same set up.” I chuckled and rubbed the back of my neck.

  “We better get going; we have dinner reservations at a Greek restaurant I like.”

  “Umm, okay. I just need to grab my keys.” I pointed behind me, my hand slightly trembling.

  Of course he noticed. “Ryan, you don’t have to be nervous. I’m not going to bite you. Yet.” The corner of his mouth curled up.

  My eyes went wide, and I felt air sweep into my open mouth. “I’ll be right back.” I stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed my keys, and said a little prayer before meeting Brandon back at the front door. He moved out of the way so I could exit and lock up the house. As we walked toward his car, he put his hand on my lower back, which sent goose bumps up and down my whole body.
He opened the passenger door for me.

  “Aren’t you the perfect gentlemen,” I said, sliding into the seat.

  “I like to show my dates that I can behave myself,” he replied, closing the door.

  Well, that answered the date question.

  Brandon got into the driver seat, and I took a moment to really study him. My heart wanted to burst with pride because he’d been able to do what many couldn’t. He fought his demons, pursued his dreams, and in the process, became the man he was always meant to be.

  “What?” he said after he caught me eyeing him.

  “I’m just really happy for you.”

  He chuckled. “Why is that?”

  “Because you got everything you wanted for yourself.”

  He looked straight into my eyes and melted the clothes right off my body. “Not everything.”

  I drove to my favorite Greek restaurant, Santorini, in Chicago’s Greek Town. It was small, but I thought it would be a good place for us to eat and talk without the noise of a large crowd drowning us out. I wanted to know more about the Ryan I had missed out on all these years. What he was doing, his work, his friends, and how he had tamed the cocky, egotistical boy he had been into a calmer, more considerate person.

  Ryan’s love for Moxie had been apparent in the delivery room. It certainly wasn’t the type of love she had for Miles, but more of a trusted best friend or a brother. I knew, without words, that they would do anything for each other. It was similar to what we had once shared. The difference was Ryan wanted everything his way, and if that didn’t happen, there were consequences.

  I thought about the conversation we had in the hospital cafeteria. I’d craved that apology for so long; it was the final piece I needed to let go of the past. I also knew I need to tread carefully. Ryan could very well revert to his old self. One thing was for sure: My attraction to him was still very much alive and evident judging by the erection I sported under the table while we talked.

  The conversation flowed through dinner once the initial awkwardness was behind us. Ryan updated me about his family, who were still in Iowa. His sister graduated from the University of Iowa and was now a middle school teacher in California. I told him about my father being arrested, my time spent at the Halsted House, and even my time in therapy.