It's All Relative

by J. M. Snyder

  Something warm sighs into my ear, and then I hear my lover’s voice fill the world around me. “Michael?” he asks, concerned. I give him a sleepy smile but when I reach up to brush my fingers over his hair, he catches my hand and squeezes it tightly. “Are you okay?”

  “So cold,” Penny’s saying. I’m fine. “I didn’t know—I called Dr. Hartsell, first thing. She was so cold. I couldn’t get her warm, I used all the blankets. She wouldn’t wake up and she was so damn cold.”

  Dan touches my face, his fingers warm. My chest is heavy and I can’t breathe, I can’t seem to draw in air and it’s making me sleepy. I can’t breathe…the world fades around the edges of my vision, people and things rubbed away, erased from my sight. My head is so heavy, I can’t keep it up. I’m still incredibly thirsty. Handing Dan my glass, I whisper, “I think I need some more.”

  He takes my glass away. “I don’t think so.” Then he’s on his feet and helping me up, his hands made of steel, his arms iron bars that I lean against for support. “If no one minds,” he says softly, “I think we’ll be heading on to bed now.”

  A dozen people turn towards us, two dozen, three—everyone’s staring at me again, I feel their gazes like lead weights dragging me down, my mom’s worst of all. But Dan doesn’t buckle under the pressure. Instead, he helps me from the room and my relatives move aside as we pass, close again behind us as if we were never there at all. A few whisper to us, “Good night. Nice meeting you. See you guys in the morning.” I wave at them halfheartedly. It’s all I can do to raise my hand.

  The hallway is dark. As we leave, others push into the living room, vying for the loveseat we just vacated. I feel Dan against me, his hands on my hips, his chest on my back as he guides me to the kitchen. The liquor bar is in the den, though. “I thought we wanted more drink,” I say, pointing back towards the stairs. The den is that way.

  Dan doesn’t let me turn around. “We’re fine,” he tells me. “Aren’t you tired, babe?”

  “A little,” I admit. In the kitchen, I stare at the refrigerator longingly, my throat still raw. “Aren’t we thirsty?”

  “Are we?” Dan asks. I nod and he stops at the sink to pour me a glass of water. It’s cold and sharp as ice, and he holds the glass for me while I drink, pulling it back before I can choke and then letting me have more, just small sips that I swallow greedily. When the glass is empty, he sets it in the sink but I want more. “Come on, Michael,” he sighs. “Why don’t we get to bed?”

  I try to think of a reason, but nothing comes to mind. “I don’t know,” I murmur honestly. My words slur together. Aren’t we supposed to be in the living room now?

  Gently, oh so gently, Dan takes hold of my elbow and leads me to our room. Once inside, he closes the door behind us and turns on the lamp, dispelling the shadows. Then his hands are on my body, tugging at my shirt, fumbling with my pants. The air is cool on my nude flesh, raising bumps on my arms that I try to rub away. “Cold,” I breathe, I’m freezing, and I move closer to Dan just to feel the warmth of his body against mine. “Hold me.”

  “In a minute, Michael,” he tells me, but his arms come up around my bare back in a quick hug. Then he’s stripping his own clothes away, dropping them to the floor, until we both stand in our underwear in the chilly room. Pulling back the covers on the bed, Dan says, “Lie down.”

  I slip between the sheets and back up against the wall to make enough room for him to join me. He does, pulling the blanket halfway over my head. I cuddle up against him and now he holds me, his arms strong, his lips tender on my face. Vaguely I remember this afternoon, how Ray interrupted us, how Dan probably wants to get back those few moments we normally share after making love, the snuggling, the sweet talk, the kisses. But I can’t seem to keep my eyes open, the pillow is so soft, and he holds me so close, all I breathe in is him. I love him.

  I don’t know if I say the words out loud or if he replies. But I hear his voice inside me, I see his eyes behind mine—even the bed disappears beneath me, leaving just his touch, his strength, his love.

  Chapter 19: Wake Up Call

  Soft hands caress my face. A gentle thumb curves over one eyebrow, smoothing it down, then follows along my cheekbone, down to my chin. Tender fingers brush across my forehead, trail down the slope of my nose, over the tip and into the dimple above my upper lip. I feel the touch in half-formed dreams, someone out of sight stroking me, petting me, comforting. Even though I hear no voice and see no one, I recognize the sensation of hands on me, it’s a touch I know intimately. Dan.

  When I open my eyes, he’s beside me, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking down at me with such love that it makes me dizzy and weak. Or maybe it’s the alcohol—how much did I drink last night? I’m not usually that bad. Then again, the extent of my drinking repertoire is beer when we eat out, wine at classier restaurants, mixed drinks at business parties or clubs. Straight up rum? Never. No wonder I feel woozy and sick. “Hey,” Dan murmurs.

  I kiss his thumb as it traces my lips. He’s dressed in his PT shorts and a white t-shirt, his company mascot emblazoned on the front—a snow leopard growling at me. Despite the slight headache that pokes behind my eye, I extract a hand from beneath the covers and, rubbing at the downy hair on his thigh, ask coyly, “Who said you could get out of this bed?”

  His smile falters as behind him someone says, “Morning, Michael.”

  It’s Aunt Billy. Now that I realize she’s there, I can hear her, rummaging through papers as if searching for something. Slowly, so I don’t aggravate my headache, I raise up on my elbows and look past Dan at my aunt, who squats in front of a small file cabinet partially hidden in one corner of the room. “Billy, hey,” I say, chagrinned. Here I am trying to get frisky with my boy and there’s someone else in the room. Welcome to Evie’s, I think, lying back down. No such thing as privacy among family.

  I stare at Dan and he at me, his smile back again. “You’re bad,” he whispers. His hand rests in the center of my chest—I can feel the beat of my heart where it lays.

  “I thought we were alone,” I reply.

  Aunt Billy laughs. “Don’t mind me, guys. I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Take your time,” Dan tells her, ever polite. He laughs at the look I give him. “What?”

  I just shake my head. When I close my eyes, he touches my face again and I sigh into his hand. “What are you looking for, Aunt Billy?” I ask. Whatever it is, I wish she’d just find it already and get out. Close the door behind her, leave us alone. The mornings are my time with Dan—from the moment his alarm goes off to when he kisses me before he leaves, all that time belongs to me. I’m the one who wakes to his lips, his touch. I’m the one who makes him breakfast, I’m the one he talks to while he eats, I’m the one who lies on the bed and watches as he gets dressed. Me. And sure, we’re off from work, we’re in Sugar Creek and our daily schedule has been interrupted, but I still want our time. It’s still early. I’m not ready to let the rest of my family in just yet.

  As if sensing this, Aunt Billy tosses her hair over one shoulder the way Caitlin does and asks with a laugh, “Am I busting up your groove, as my grandkids say?”

  Rubbing Dan’s leg, I admit, “Well, now that you mention it…”

  Dan slaps my arm playfully. Now it’s my turn to feign ignorance, though I can’t keep the grin from my face. “What?”

  “He’s just kidding,” Aunt Billy says. When I don’t reply, she glances back at me, her eyebrows arched high over the frame of her glasses. “You are kidding, Michael, aren’t you?”

  I give her a wink that makes her smile and turn away. Taking Dan’s wrist, I press the back of his hand to my lips. As he watches me, I open my mouth and lick out at his flesh, soft and slightly salty, a wonderful taste. The feel of my tongue on his skin makes him grin, almost embarrassed because we’re not alone. “So what,” I ask him, “she just came knocking this morning? Woke you up and forced her way in? Did my mom put you up to this?”

  The last stat
ement is directed to Aunt Billy, who shakes her head. “You’ve figured it out, Mike,” she says. Dan laughs and I kiss the damp spot I’ve made on his hand. “Laura caught me in the kitchen and was like, make up something, Billy, any reason to get into that room. My son will not be happy as long as I have anything to say about it.”

  I laugh so hard that my headache flares to life and I have to press a hand against the side of my head to keep it from splitting open wide. Concern flickers across Dan’s face. “Are you—”

  “Fine,” I assure him between giggles. “Hung over a little, that’s it. Damn, how much did I drink last night?”

  “Just like your mom,” Aunt Billy says—I thought she said she’d just be a minute? What’s the hold up here? “Laura never could hold her liquor. Beer, yes. Wine, a little. But give her the hard stuff and she keels right over.”

  Dan smoothes the hair back from my brow, his fingers riffling through my bangs. “Aren’t you done yet?” I ask, impatient. Some time alone with my boy before the day rushes in, is that too much to ask?

  “I’m looking for insurance papers,” she tells us, leafing through files in the cabinet. “Evie used to keep them here but jeez, Louise, I can’t figure her system out. She could’ve at least kept them all together, you know?”

  I frown and close my eyes, my headache blooming again. I don’t know how she does it, where this strength of hers comes from. “Michael?” Dan asks softly. I roll away from him, fist the blankets up to my face, hiding from the rest of the world.

  Dan strums my back with long, loving strokes. “Lie down with me,” I whisper. If Aunt Billy overhears me, she doesn’t say anything this time. I need the comfort of my lover’s body against mine. I need his arms right now, his warmth, his strength.

  I know he’s thinking about my aunt in the room, because he likes to keep our relationship between just the two of us—we don’t show off in public, mostly from fear of him losing his position in the military if anyone found out about me. But he knows me well enough to realize that if I ask him to hold me or kiss me or touch me in front of others, it’s not an idle or vain request. He knows there’s more to it than that. So he stretches out on his back beside me, on top of the covers, his arm pressed between my shoulder blades, his hand trailing down my spine. The blankets are all that separate us.

  Aunt Billy continues through the cabinet, the rustle of papers the only sound in the room. Every now and then, Dan shifts beside me, settling his body closer into mine, and I scoot back until I’m right up against him. He’s looking at me, I know it, because I can feel his breath tickle like a feather over the back of my neck, and he keeps a hand on my arm, rubbing a smooth place in my skin with his thumb, over and over again, a circle just above my elbow. It’s a barely-there touch and I find myself drifting back to sleep, my headache ebbing away like the sea at low tide.

  The noise of the file drawer rattling shut wakes me. “Michael,” Dan murmurs, sitting up.

  I blink my drowsiness away as I roll over to find Aunt Billy on the edge of the bed. She shuffles the papers in her hands and smiles at us. Beside me, Dan sits cross-legged, his knee on my arm—some part of him touching me at all times, because he knows this is our time, he knows what it means to me. With a sigh, Aunt Billy says, “Mike, honey, I was only kidding, what I said about your mom earlier. I’m not here to spy on you two.”

  Giving her a quick smile, I assure her, “Oh I know. I didn’t mean—”

  She pats my leg through the blanket to quiet me. “Your momma means well,” she says. I nod but don’t quite believe that. “She’s just worried for you, Mike, that’s all. When you have kids of your own…”

  She trails off, as if remembering that I’m with Dan, I probably won’t have kids of my own, and that’s part of my mom’s issue with my being gay. Her mouth twists into a tight half-smile. “She’ll get over it,” she tells me. Her hand drifts to Dan’s knee, and suddenly she looks old to me, older than her sixty-some odd years, ancient with her soft words, a wise woman who knows all, sees all. I can still feel her touch burning through the blankets to sear my leg. “You’ve got a good boy here, Michael. Don’t let your mom or Harry or any of us drag you down or tear you apart, you hear me? I want a front seat at your wedding.”

  I feel my cheeks heat up and I curl onto my side, pressing my face into Dan’s hip so she won’t see my blush. “Aunt Billy—”

  Ruffling my hair, Dan laughs. “We’re not quite that far yet,” he admits, but his hand lingers on the back of my neck, as if she has him thinking now.

  “I just want to make it through today,” I tell her, resting my head on Dan’s thigh. His shorts feel impossibly thin against my face, and his hand still toys with the ends of my hair. “And tomorrow, and the next day. Once this is all over with, we’ll see what we can do about the rest of our lives.”

  I don’t mention the funeral, but Aunt Billy knows that’s what I mean. “Michael,” she says carefully, her hand returning to the insurance papers in her lap. “Penny’s not…I don’t know if you remember what all she said last night? But she was the one who found Evie—”

  “I know,” I interrupt. I don’t want to hear it all over again. Can’t we just move on without rehashing what happened? “I wasn’t that drunk—I remember.”

  She gives me an arched look. “You just about staggered out,” she says. “If Dan hadn’t been there…”

  “He would’ve fallen out on the couch,” Dan finishes.

  “Hey!” I cry, smacking his knee. “Who’s side are you on here anyway?”

  My lover laughs and catches my hand when I try to smack him again. In a dramatic whisper, he tells Aunt Billy, “He would’ve fallen out.”

  She whispers back, like I’m not supposed to hear their conversation. “I know.”

  “I don’t like you two,” I mutter, childishly hiding my face in Dan’s shorts. Aunt Billy says my name, but I burrow deeper into my lover’s leg. “I’m not listening.”

  But when she says my name a second time, the tease is gone from her voice. “Listen, Mike. Penny’s not handling this whole situation well, you know?” She rubs my shoulder to get my attention—I’m listening, but I don’t look at her, I don’t want her to see that maybe I’m not handling things very well myself, either. “Bobbie and I are going to Morrison’s today. We’ll make all the arrangements, and Sarah will call the insurance companies now that I’ve found the paperwork. Laura said she’ll take care of getting everyone else organized. There’s so much that needs to be done, so much to go through. Just…don’t bother Penny with the details, if you can help it, okay? Don’t mention the funeral around her.” She talks to me like I’m a brave little boy, trying to imbue me with a sense of purpose to help me get through this, too. “Can you do that for me?”

  I nod into Dan’s thigh, but she can’t see the gesture. “Michael?” she prompts.

  “Yeah,” I mutter, sure, fine, whatever. Just leave, I add silently.

  As if she hears the thought, Aunt Billy pats my leg and leans heavily on it to push herself up from the bed. “Help out around here,” she tells us, finally heading for the door. “Evie always said family helps family out, you heard it often enough growing up. When you boys get dressed, there’s a lot of stuff to do. The rooms upstairs need emptying out, the yard needs to be spruced up, get the leaves up and pull out the veggies, plenty to do. Sarah’s making pancakes to get us all started.” She pauses and I look up—she has one hand on the knob and the hint of a smile on her face. “I’ll give you two fifteen minutes until I send the kids in here to drag you out of bed, deal?”

  Dan laughs. “We don’t really need—” he starts.

  Sitting up, I cover his mouth with one hand and grin at my aunt. “You’re eating into our time.”

  “I’m gone,” she laughs. When she opens the door, noise from the kitchen that had been muted before rises to a crescendo, spilling into the room. A dozen different voices shouting and laughing and talk talk talking, the clank of silverware, someone openi
ng the fridge and someone else telling them to close that door, they’re letting all the cold air out. Drinks poured into glasses, the sizzle of food cooking in a pan, and through it all threads the smell of pancakes and warm maple syrup, butter, sausages, I’m starving.

  And then Aunt Billy really is gone, the door closed behind her, leaving the din of my relatives and the heavenly scents of breakfast outside. Now we’re alone at last, but Dan’s hand still rests on my cheek, and it’s a comforting touch, it makes me lay my head down on his leg again. I wrap my arms around his waist, try to hug him close, but I only succeed in pulling myself into his lap. With a laugh, Dan runs his fingers through my hair and I nuzzle into his crotch, nipping playfully when he hardens beneath me. “Why did you let her in?” I want to know. I close my lips over the erection starting to poke at me through his shorts.

  Slipping a hand beneath my chin, Dan raises me up and I go willingly, climbing over him until our lips meet in a tender kiss, the first of the morning. “She knocked,” he murmurs, kissing me again. “What was I supposed to do, tell her to go away?”

  Yeah, like that would’ve worked. “You could’ve tried,” I say. But knowing my aunt, she probably knocked while opening the door, and by the time Dan was out of bed, she was already in the room, excusing herself with a whispered, “I’ll just be a minute, dear.” And knowing my lover, he would have never turned her away. When we made love yesterday and he told Caitlin to leave? That was rare for him, a sign that he’s accepted her as someone it’s okay to let in past his defenses. It means a lot to me, that he can feel comfortable with my family, or at least my sister…my dad I’m not too sure about yet, my mom is out of the question, and Ray? Let’s not even go there.

  We could go back and forth for the next fifteen minutes, Dan defending his position and me trying to wear him down, until he concedes that yeah, he should’ve kept the door shut. Then I would win—sometimes I think he lets me win just to shut me up, and he’ll kiss me hungrily, his lust driving all talk from my mind. I can’t think when he touches me, I can’t breathe when we kiss, I don’t know how I manage to survive him, he’s so good to me, it makes me ache with a sweet pain. I love him.