by Kaylee, Katy
I got into the house and slung my coat and scarf on the hook, heading straight for Nathan’s bedroom. A part of me wanted to hear what would be said, and a part of me wanted to leave and never look back. I felt a very strange sense of betrayal, almost jealousy. Both men had been my lovers and yet they would be loyal to one another first. Where did I fall in that? Every sense screamed for me to leave, but I knew if I even tried, it would require explanations and that would rip off the scab and perhaps forever distance these two men I loved. I chose to let it go and take care of itself.
Their voices were low, non-confrontational and the sort of sounds people made as they were saying goodnight and locking up, deciding where they’d sleep and what they had planned for the morning. They were, essentially, normal. I normally slept naked so I didn’t have a nightie with me. I opened Nathan’s closet and pulled a MSU t-shirt of its hanger and slid it over my head. I was between the covers when Nathan came in and I heard an unusual sound; the click of him locking the bedroom door.
He went through his bedtime ritual silently and then the light went off and I felt his weight on the mattress next to me. I had to say something. After all, he didn’t share the weight of discovery Macon and I both carried at that moment. “Everything okay?” I asked finally after he’d settled into the pillow.
“Sorry about that. Macon always gets me down.”
Damn! There was a mountain of conversation that I could have launched at that point. I could tell him that Macon was confused, childishly romantic until you’d given in and then petulant and lazy once you’d become his servant. He probably knew that. I could say that Macon took advantage of kind-hearted people who were used to picking up stray kittens and taking them home. He probably also knew that. I could even tell him that Macon was a lousy lover and could stand a year’s session in Nathan’s classes. That part, I knew Nathan didn’t know. That was also the part I wasn’t anxious to share.
I had to say something. “Why is that?”
“His mother and I had huge dreams for him. I guess every parent does. And every parent thinks their kid is special, that they’ll beat the odds for all the bad things. Wait until you’re a mother—you’ll see.”
I didn’t respond. If I pretended to not know Macon now, eventually it would come out and then it will be deception on my part. As it was, I had until morning to fully recognize him, or concoct some reason I didn’t. Most of all decision depended on Macon himself.
Nathan’s hand slid into the crotch of my panties, but it felt wrong and I gently pushed his hand away and turned over so my back was to him. I knew it didn’t make him happy, but maybe he’d make Macon go away sooner.
I slid out of the bed earlier than usual and dressed. Nathan had tossed most of the night and slept poorly, so I was careful not to wake him up as I left the room. I shut the door quietly behind myself and looked up. To my surprised, although it really shouldn’t have been, Macon was sitting on the sofa. He was deeply embroiled in a video game and didn’t hear me. Around him were the remnants of an all-night game fest. Crumpled bags of snacks, several beer cans and a pillow behind his back suggested he’d sat there all night, eating and playing. Just like a 14-year-old. I walked up to the sofa and cleared my throat. He jumped when he saw me. “How long have you been standing there?
“Long enough to see nothing has changed.”
“That’s mutual. You’re still as bitchy as always.”
“I wonder why. Doesn’t matter. You going to tell him, or am I?”
Macon pretended not to hear me until he was ready to answer. “That depends.”
“On…?”
“I take it you’re fucking him?”
“The same might be said for you, you know.”
He looked up sharply. “Like I said. Bitchy as always.”
“He’ll be up soon and if we don’t decide this, I’m going to tell him here and now.”
“No!” His response was immediate.
“Give me one reason why not.”
“Do I have to? How do two men act when they discover they’re sleeping with the same woman?”
“That’s past tense.”
“You’re hedging.”
“They fight.”
“Exactly. That means I’ll be out on my ass. Nowhere to go.”
“Huh… imagine that.”
“You want him to know?”
I didn’t have to think as long. “No,” I shook my head, “not really. It’s enough to have a failure of a son to put up with. I’ll stick around to see if I can soften the blow.”
“So, in other words, we don’t want him to know but it’s because we’re selfish, not kind.” I had to admit. Macon got right to the point.
“Look at however you want, but if you tell him without letting me know, you’ll regret it.”
He pulled his head back and craned his neck to look at me. “Woah, now she’s threatening. Okay, Miss Goodie Two Shoes. Have it your way. Just stay out of my way.”
“Ditto.”
That’s how we settled it and when Nathan came out sleepily a little later, I’d made coffee and some sweet quick bread from supplies I found in the cupboard. From the corner of my eye, I saw him look at Macon and shake his head. I turned to shut off the oven and felt his presence behind me. His breath was in my ear as he kissed my cheek from behind. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, yourself.” I brushed my lips on his cheek. “You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Me, too!” piped up Macon without invitation.
“Coffee and some breakfast bread here on the counter. I’m going in to shower and then Nathan, would you mind driving me home?”
“Might not let you go after I try that sweet bread.”
“I can come back another time.”
I scooted from the room before a witty exchange picked up and someone would say something awkward. It seemed better to put distance between Macon and myself. It was safer. When I stepped out of the shower, Nathan was waiting for me.
“You don’t have to leave, you know.”
“I’d like to, for now. I have work and there are things I need to catch up on. That will give you and your son a chance to make plans, or whatever.”
“The plan is for him to leave and the sooner the better,” he pointed out.
“I know. I can come by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll cook dinner for the both of you. By then, maybe you’ll have more figured out.”
“I love you.” His voice was quiet and reverent.
“You should; I’m loveable,” I joked and picked up my little travel bag; a sign that I was ready to go. “Meet you outside.”
I didn’t need to look at him to feel his surprise. I couldn’t even get into the car since it was locked. It was still snowing and my feet were instantly soaked. He emerged from the burrow and opened my door. I snuggled in to wait for the car’s heater to warm up. I desperately did not want to talk about Macon.
“I can’t believe it’s snowing this early in the year,” I tried as he turned the key and the engine came alive.
“It’s Wisconsin. You have to expect these things.” He didn’t put the car into gear, but turned toward me. “Okay, what aren’t you saying? Are you angry because Macon is here, or what?”
“Me? Not mad. Why would I be mad?”
“C’mon, Christina. We’re talking about the weather? What’s going on then?”
“Not a thing. It was probably just putting a face to your having talked about Macon. Kind of strange. He looks about my age.”
“Oh, the age difference thing, is it?”
I just shrugged. Inside, I felt relief for having steered him wide of where he was headed, which was straight into forcing me into an admission of knowing Macon. “It’s not a thing, I’m just saying it sort of struck me when I look at him. I guess I envision that you must have looked like him when you were that age.”
“Are you intentionally trying to start an argument?”
“No, sorry, maybe I just di
dn’t sleep well. I’ll take a nap this afternoon and be back to my normal self.”
“You’re not coming over this afternoon, then?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t think that’s a great idea. I’ll let the two of you have some time to say what you need to say. I’ll come tomorrow, though.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want it.” He started the car finally and drove me home. I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and opened my own door. I went inside and could hear his car running for several minutes outside. I knew he was deciding whether to come inside and finish our discussion. Thank god he decided against it.
I took an Uber from work to Nathan’s burrow. He’d shown me where he hid the spare key and when no one answered after my third knock, I waved the Uber drive off and used the key to let myself in. I was wrong; there was someone home—Macon. He was passed out on the sofa. Once again the scene was typical with empty bags of snack foods and the tv was frozen with a game on. I flipped off the television, walked around the sofa and went into the kitchen. I thought I’d make Nathan a nice dinner as a peace offering for keeping my distance.
When Nathan came in, a pot roast was happily simmering in the oven, red potatoes and carrots waited on the stove and I was frosting a chocolate cake. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he kicked Macon’s feet off the sofa. “Wake up, Macon,” he growled. “Clean up.”
I was careful not to look in Macon’s direction. Nathan came up and gave me a kiss. “Going to shower. That all smells delicious!” he said comfortably.
“Don’t tell me she can cook,” Macon muttered. “Well, that’s a second reason to keep her, I guess.”
Nathan’s face grew dark. “Apologize, Macon.”
“Why should I? This is more my home than hers.” He got to his feet, grabbed all his trash in an armload and deposited it on the counter where I was frosting the cake. I grabbed the pedestal and pulled the cake away or it would have been showered with potato chip crumbs and the bottom of a Doritos bag.
“Hey!” I protested. “Put that in the trash, will you?” Nathan had already left to shower and I was left to my own resources. Macon’s face was taunting me.
“Oh, dear, did I make you mad?” he mocked me. “Gee, maybe you won’t put out for Daddy tonight.”
“I hate you,” I murmured under my breath.
“I already beat you there,” Macon sneered.
“You think I care? You’re garbage. Who else has to run home to daddy at your age?”
“Oh-ho… you’ll pay for that remark, I promise you.”
“I’m scared. Run along and play, Macon. It’s all you do, anyway.”
“Macon is done playing for the day,” came Nathan’s voice from behind Macon. I hoped he’d just walked in at that point. “Macon, the shower is open. Use it.”
Macon skulked into the bathroom, shooting me a pretend gag reflex behind his father’s back. I ignored it.
“Dinner is ready. Shall I serve it or do you want to wait for Macon?” I asked with a considerate tone.
“He’s on his own.”
That was great as far as I was concerned. We made plates and instead of sitting at the table, we set up tv trays and took over the television. It was subtle, but Nathan and I had subconsciously taken a side against Macon.
In bed later that night, Nathan rolled up against me and his hand went down to my crotch, petting and gently prodding me. I tried to summon the relaxation and respond, but it was no good. “I can’t,” I whispered.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“It’s too crowded here in the burrow.”
“Christina, you’re not letting Macon get to you, are you?”
“I can’t help it. I…uh… I see him disrespecting you and I can’t stand it. He’s a lousy example of my generation and I’m embarrassed on his behalf.”
“Christina, he’s my problem, not yours. You don’t have to take responsibility for him. You’re here to be with me, and I’m here because this is where I live and I want you here with me.”
“I know. I want to be here with you, too… but not with people listening in.”
“People? Or Macon?”
I didn’t answer.
“That’s what I thought. Sleep well,” he told me and turned to his far side while I lay in the bed, miserable.
9
Nathan
I drove Christina home. She was working very hard at not discussing what had happened the night before. She kept up a stream of meaningless jabber aimed obviously to keep me from asking personal questions. She seemed to be very determined not to talk about my son. Why was that?
All day long as I sat through my appointments, I was there in body only. It’s a good thing that my job involves listening and little speech. I don’t think patients realize that the room is always filled with their words alone. The psychologist’s mind is drifting to problems of his own; in fact he may even be finding his own answers in the patient’s droning on and on. After all, even with all those years of schooling, he’s still just like everyone else, except he gets paid to listen. It’s really that simple.
There was something bugging me about the interaction between Macon and Christina. She’d never been around him and yet her sensitivity to his habits, even though they were annoying, didn’t deserve the off-the-wall reaction I’d seen from her. If anything, I’d expected her to be extra nice to him as all my dates had been—trying to win his approval. I stopped on the way home and picked up some steaks and a nice bottle of wine. The store was busy. The checkout lane was ten carts long but there weren’t any options, so I stood and just watched the people around me. It was a contrast from seeing patients, who were always on their best behavior as though I was the people police who would have them locked up for lying or admitting they smoked pot. Patients were on their guards. People in the store weren’t. Mothers spoke sharply to their kids who reached for candy on the nearby shelf. Men came in and bee-lined it for the liquor aisle. There was a young couple ahead of me, roughly Macon’s age. He was trying to tell her about his day at work. Someone named Raymond had apparently overstepped his authority and he was ranting about the unwanted attention it had brought his way. She, on the other hand, was reading a dog-eared magazine from the rack in the check-out, totally ignoring him. When he finished with Raymond, he began in on her, complaining that she never listened. She told him he was a broken record and that launched a whole new conversation that anyone with twenty feet of them heard plainly.
That was when it hit me.
Macon and Christina had bickered like a married couple.
I tossed the steaks and wine back and burst out the door of the store and headed home. Macon was on the sofa, as expected. I pulled the plug on his gaming console and he looked up in protest.
“What the hell?”
“Okay, Macon. Be straight with me. You already knew Christina, didn’t you?”
“What the shit?”
“Tell me the truth, damn it!”
“Let her tell you.”
“No! You tell me. Where did you know her from?”
Macon chuckled, like an monster with a wonderful secret that he savored and played with mentally to seek its greatest advantage.
“Wouldn’t you just love to know. It seems that for the first time in my life, you really need something from me instead of the other way around. What do you know? So, the question comes, am I going to tell you what you want to know? Should I lie and tell you everything will be okay, just like you told me so many times in my life. Why are we pretending? Do you think I don’t know my life is messed up? Do you think I don’t realize I haven’t amounted to anything? Why do you suppose that is? I’m the son of a God damned psychologist and probably symbolize the biggest failure in his professional career. I spend my days on the couch playing video games and eating junk food. That’s really what’s getting to you, isn’t it? You can’t figure out why Christina and I are at odds after just a couple days. Oh, you think you might know, but it would be ju
st too horrible to believe. Shall I put you out of your misery, Dad? Okay, here goes. Steel yourself, yes, I knew her before you did. You want more? It’ll cost you the truth always comes with a price, you should know that. Just like you charge your patients, a big flat fee. This is really going to cost you. Here it is, ready? Yes, she and I were a couple. Yes, she and I lived together. No, we were never intimate. Why, you ask? Because, Dad, among all the other fouled up things in my head is an aversion to women. I’ll let you sort that vent out. So, take her. I never took her, not in that sense, because I’m simply not interested. I don’t want to be around her and I know the side of her that can be a bitch. She’s all yours.”
I listened to his diatribe, my stomach rising and sinking with every sentence. How could I have known him his entire life and not seeing what was right there before me? Now, there we were, psychologist and son. The son feels unwanted, disrespected, overlooked, and his response has been to fulfill the promise of being worth little, even to his own parent. Was I shocked that he was telling me he was gay? I have to be honest. Maybe just a little more shocked than I would be with a patient, after all, this was my son. I thought I knew everything about him. I felt naked and blind.
“Why did you never tell me?”
“Is that a question that comes with concern or disgust?”
“It’s a question coming from a father who feels he may have let you down.”
“May have? Let’s count the ways, but then, oh, your reputation would suffer, wouldn’t it. No, we mustn’t do that. If you’re not earning money that means I starve, too. Let’s just call it a draw, shall we? One of those chicken or the egg things. It doesn’t matter, there’s nothing you can do and neither can I. It is simply who I am. The question is, can you accept it?”
“Of course.”
“Now, now, don’t be too hasty. Can you accept it because you feel required to professionally or is this accepting it like the fact that I eat junk food and play video games all day? Are you acknowledging it with the hopes that you can change my mind down the road?”