by Laurie Loft
“What changed your mother’s mind? I thought she didn’t want animals in the house.”
A semicrafty, semiguilty look came over Ryan’s face, not completely replacing the love and happiness. “Mom felt bad because I was acting depressed about what happened the Fourth of July? So she said I could get a puppy. So we got one.” He grinned, and the grin was so like Todd’s own that it was a bit disturbing.
“Tugging on the mother’s heartstrings to get your way, eh? Well done.” He ruffled Ryan’s hair, and they headed toward the house together.
“They feel bad for you too. Dad got you baseball tickets. I’m going to teach her to sit and beg and fetch and roll over, and I want to teach her some neat tricks that no other dogs know, like maybe you could think of some?”
“Baseball tickets?” He patted the wriggling mass of canine in Ryan’s arms. It licked and then gnawed on Todd’s fingers. They entered the house. “Hey, sis. What delectable repast have you prepared?”
“It’s chili!” Ryan said. “Mom, can Puppy have chili?”
Donna threw a look of mixed affection and annoyance at Ryan. “Hi, Todd. Ryan, chili is bad for puppies. And put him in the crate while we eat.”
“Her, she’s a her, Mom! And she doesn’t like it in there! She’ll cry. Can’t I just hold her in my lap while I eat? I promise not to feed her.”
“No, Ryan, into the crate! The puppy has to be crate trained, or you can’t keep it.”
Ryan groaned and whined and put the puppy into the crate, where it groaned and whined but soon quieted. The family, minus Kenneth, who was out with his girlfriend, seated themselves around the table. Christopher and Ryan bantered name ideas back and forth.
“I think you should name it Fart,” Christopher suggested.
Ryan giggled. “Chili Fart.” He shoveled a giant spoonful into his mouth.
“Or Barfbag,” Christopher said.
“Poopbutt!”
“Asswipe. ’Cause dogs wipe their ass on the carpet.”
“That’s enough,” Lloyd interrupted. “Todd, I got three tickets for the Rockies game if you and Sebby want to take Ryan.”
Todd blinked and somehow managed to keep his jaw from dropping open and displaying a mouthful of masticated cornbread. Ryan squealed.
“No fair!” Christopher protested. “Why should he get to go?”
“Did I say three? I meant four. Pass the honey.” Lloyd helped himself to a large slice of cornbread.
It was typical of Lloyd to assume that any American male would enjoy baseball. Todd knew that Sebby did not follow sports, but attending a ballgame was not necessarily about the sport. It was about soaking up the sunshine, eating hot dogs, yelling at the ump, and singing during the seventh-inning stretch. It would be petty to knock aside the olive branch Lloyd was extending, and so Todd smiled. “Sebby and I would enjoy that. Thank you.”
“You’re thinking about him again!” Sebby accused.
Todd started out of his reverie. “I don’t— I, ah— No, I’m not. I’m sorry. Jesus. How did you know?”
Sebby rolled his eyes. “Chingados. You’re so obvious. First you get this thoughtful look. Then you get this little smile. Then your eyes go all foggy, and then your face twists up like someone is pulling your guts out Braveheart style.” He huffed and folded his arms.
Todd was taken aback, but concluded that Sebastián was probably just better at reading him than most people. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s—it’s your teakettle, it’s the same as one Viv gave me, that’s all. It reminded me, that’s all, I’m sorry. I’ll throw that one out and buy you a new one, shall I?”
Sebby huffed again. “Everything reminds you of him. I can’t protect you from everything! Maybe you should go someplace where nothing will remind you of him. Dig yourself a hole in the ground, climb in, pull the dirt over you, and maybe then you won’t see anything that reminds you of him.”
Wounded, Todd got to his feet and fumbled for his keys, but Sebby stopped him, appearing at his side so suddenly that Todd took a step back.
“No, don’t go; I’m a bitch, don’t go, I want you to stay.” Sebby pressed himself all against Todd’s side. “You can’t help it. I thought I could make you forget him. It’s just taking longer than I thought.” He tugged at the sleeve of Todd’s T-shirt, smoothed it up, and pressed his lips to Todd’s shoulder. “It isn’t your fault that he did this to you. Stay.”
Todd groaned, dropped his keys, and pulled Sebastián close. He placed kisses over Sebby’s face, and Sebby made wonderful gasping, bleating noises, and then Todd did forget Vivian, at least for a while.
The elevator shaft had been completed, and the crew no longer had to climb to the higher levels. Todd adjusted his hard hat and goggles, grinning at Gus as the two of them ascended. “Just think of all the exercise we’re missing.”
“You’re banging Sebby,” Gus said.
Todd stammered. “I would not name it so crudely.” As many times as I’ve imagined or dreaded this moment, you’d think I would have a response prepared.
Gus’s lip curled. “You’re the worst kind of queer.”
Todd had fielded many insults in his life, but this was a new one. “I beg your pardon?”
“You think if you bang a boy now and then it don’t make you gay. Now, I’ve about had it with nancy bull queers taking advantage of Sebby’s good looks and sweet nature. I’ve a mind to pitch you off this building.” He pushed his face into Todd’s, their hats knocked, and Todd stepped back.
“Sir, you have it all wrong. I fully admit that I am queer, gay, light in the loafers, on the sway side, or any other epithet you care to assign me.”
“You two give each other bunny eyes and think you’re invisible. And you strutting around like a rooster. You’re horseshit.”
Todd ground his teeth. “I’ve been posturing out of uneasiness as to how the crew would react to discovering a homo in their ranks. They don’t seem to mind Sebby, but he has not invaded their territory, as I have”
“He ain’t such a pissant, neither.” The elevator stopped, and Gus shoved Todd through the opening hard enough that Todd had to run a few steps to catch his balance. “I got my eye on you.” He made a V with his first and second fingers, pointed at his eyes, at Todd, at his eyes, at Todd, and stalked off.
“The fuck’d you do, Addison?” Dean stared after Gus.
Todd shook himself. “Eh, I nailed his momma.”
The yawping of the phone roused Sebastián from a deep sleep, and he reached in the dark for his phone and pressed it to his ear before he was even fully awake. “Hello.”
“It’s me. Can I come over?”
Sebby rubbed a hand over his eyes, peered at his phone, and pressed it back to his ear. “Todd? What’s wrong?”
“Viv called. Can I come over?” The voice sounded strangled.
Sebby tried to wake up and think. He yawned. “It’s late, querido . . . What did he say?”
“Please can I come in? My heart is breaking.”
The plea tugged at Sebby’s heartstrings, but something was wrong with the words. He yawned once more and started to ask again what Vivian had said when it dawned on him mid-yawn. His jaw snapped shut. “Todd. Where are you?”
“I’m in your driveway. I didn’t want to frighten you, so I called.”
“Oh, Todd, what?” It was like a splash of ice water. “I’ll let you in.” He slapped the bedside lamp on. There was something creepy about Todd phoning him from his driveway, but Sebby pushed the thought out of his mind.
“I don’t mean to bother you. I . . . If you want me to leave, just say so.”
Sebby let out a sigh. “You call me at two in the morning and tell me you’re in my driveway and say you don’t want to bother me? Todd, you’re pitiful. Don’t move.”
He hung up, rolled out of bed, and thrust his arms through the sleeves of his robe. Knotting the belt, he trotted down the stairs and twitched aside the curtain that hung at the front door, flipped on the outside light and
peered out. Todd was coming up the walk, and Sebby opened the door and stepped out to hold the screen door with his body. “Todd. Mi casa es tu casa. Ven aquí.”
Todd mounted the steps, and as the porch light reached him, Sebby saw that his eyes were puffy and his mouth was drawn in pain. Sebby closed the distance between them, enfolding Todd in his arms and allowing the screen door to bang shut. Todd clung, and his hands twisted in the material of Sebby’s robe.
After a long moment, Sebby patted him. “Come in and sit. Do you want coffee?”
Todd shook his head ponderously against Sebby’s shoulder as though the movement required massive hydraulics. “I want to sleep.”
“You can sleep. Come in. Let’s not stand out here.” He backed away, fumbling for the door behind him. Todd plodded into the living room, sank to the sofa, and pulled Sebby to himself with the air of someone who would not take no for an answer.
Sebby recognized a man looking for forgetfulness in fucking, and this was not something Sebby minded. In fact, he had used sex to comfort Todd, offering his body as sort of a healing aid, so why should he be surprised now at the way Todd pushed him back into the sofa and slid his hands under Sebby’s robe? It would be simple to allow his body to respond, and it wouldn’t be the first time someone had fucked him on this sofa.
Something made him uneasy, though, and so he turned his face away from Todd’s kisses. He stroked Todd’s hair. “Wait, Todd. What did Vivian say?”
Todd sucked in his breath, and for a second, Sebby thought Todd might ignore him and continue on his merry way, but Todd, always the gentleman, did not. He sat up, once again as though it were a feat of engineering. “Forgive me, you are stunning—” there was a pause and visible swallow “—with your hair all tousled and smelling of bed. I’m afraid I nearly lost my self-control.” Todd flashed him a grin, quickly gone, and his mouth fell back into a line of worry.
Sebby sat up, tucking his robe around himself. “So you had the postbreakup talk. Was it so terrible? What’d Vivian say? Does he want you back?” Though he spoke lightly, Sebby’s rib cage tightened around his heart as it occurred to him that Todd might have come to say good-bye.
Todd’s mouth twisted. “He begged me to come back.”
Sebby’s ribs collapsed like Lincoln logs, piercing his lungs and halting his breath.
“He begged me and said he didn’t know what to do without me. He said he’d do anything I wished. He wanted to elope and be my housewife.” He dropped his head in his hands and groaned.
Sebby somehow got some air into his lungs and blurted, “He wants you back? What are you doing here?”
“I’d be halfway there if I thought he meant it! Oh, God. Jesus God.” Todd straightened and, taking a deep breath, met Sebby’s eyes. “Sebby, there’s something I neglected to tell you about him . . .” He hesitated.
“Yes?” Sebby’s heart was jumping all over the place like a Mexican jumping bean, and, ha, that was funny.
“Viv has a chronic health condition. Much of the time he’s fine, you wouldn’t even know anything was wrong, but at times . . . he suffers episodes of dreadful pain.” Todd squeezed his eyes shut as if he were feeling this terrible pain.
“And you took care of him,” Sebby guessed. “Kept him company.” Eyes closed, Todd nodded, and things clicked in Sebby’s head. This explained so much—Todd’s devotion and his anxiety. “No wonder you worry so. Is it . . . a fatal condition?”
Todd blinked and hesitated, and seemed to pick his words carefully. “Not precisely . . . It may shorten his life span, but no one is certain. The condition is so rare, its effects are virtually unknown.”
Sebby drew Todd’s hand into his lap. “And so he was having one of his bad times when he called you? He was hurting and you couldn’t help him.” Poor Todd. Sebby’s heart went out to him while his stomach twisted in despair, for he knew he could offer nothing so romantically tragic. “Why don’t you believe he wants you back?”
“Oh, I ache for him, it hurts.” Todd’s free hand settled over his stomach as if to hold his guts in. “And I knew— I think I knew he’d want me, and that’s why I left, because I would go. If I was there in New York, I’d go to him, and I’d be with him, and then the next day I’d see the look in his eyes, of remorse, of—of . . .”
Todd hadn’t answered his question, but the poor boy wasn’t thinking straight, and Sebby didn’t pursue it. “Remorse for what, that he broke up with you?”
“No! Remorse for asking me to come back, ruing that he called me. And all the recriminations and his family and, God, the horror. I don’t want to put myself through that again!”
“But are you so sure?”
“Pretty goddamned sure. No, not sure at all. It’s only . . . He’s in pain, and he’s vulnerable, and yes, he misses me, but does he in all veracity want me back? And if I did drive all the way to New York, by the time I arrived, the episode would be over, and he’d be in possession of himself again, and then he’d feel guilty for making me come back—God, the idiocy of it all.” He tore his hand through his hair and looked plaintively at Sebby. “Why did he have to call me? Why now, just when I was starting to feel that I could live through this? When I was getting over him?”
Only the deepest feelings of sympathy kept Sebby from laughing out loud. Todd thought he’d been getting over Vivian? Not from anything Sebby had seen. “I don’t know, mi chico tierno, but I know you need a drink.”
He stood, but Todd, from his seat on the sofa, grasped him and buried his face in Sebby’s middle, so Sebby put an arm around Todd’s shoulders and with his other hand smoothed Todd’s hair, and he let himself be cried on. “Querido, I hate to see you so sad.”
Todd’s arms tightened around him, and he leaned into Sebby, causing him to take a step backward.
Sebby could imagine what it would be like to have the force of this devotion turned on him. He could see how it could wear a person out, and maybe that was why this Vivian had broken up with Todd—he was just too young to stand up to the battering force of Todd’s love. It would be daunting to one so young, frightening even.
Sebastián had no such misgivings. To be adored beyond reason, to be idolized, treasured, these were things Sebby would gladly endure. He knew that Todd loved him a little, because he’d slipped and almost said it a few times, but it wasn’t the way he loved Vivian.
He kissed the top of Todd’s head and gently removed Todd’s arms from around his waist. “Stay,” he said, holding his hand out in a cautionary motion. “I’ll be right back.”
Retying the belt of his robe, he hurried to the kitchen, where he pulled out the stepstool in order to reach the liquor cabinet. He poured a measure of Laphroaig into a tumbler and returned to find Todd with his head in his hands. “Here, drink this.”
Todd accepted the glass and raised it to his lips as Sebby sat on the arm of the sofa and slid an arm around Todd’s shoulders.
Todd’s nose wrinkled, and his face twisted into an expression of revulsion as he turned accusing eyes on Sebby. “What is this!”
“It’s fifteen-year-old Scotch. I know you don’t drink, but it’s just what you need right now. Try it. It’s smooth as anything.” He patted Todd.
The look that came over Todd’s face was just short of panic. “I don’t need a drink! That’s self-medicating, and I cannot allow myself to fall into that trap.” He pushed the glass violently at Sebby, who made a successful grab and prevented spillage of the expensive Scotch whiskey all over his nice couch. “My mother’s an alcoholic; do you know how many times I saw her turn to the bottle seeking haven from her woes? If I can’t get through my difficulties without a drink, I’m no better!”
“That’s foolishness. You’ve gotten through all your difficulties all these months. I’m asking you to calm yourself down. Here, think of it as medicinal—”
“That’s just what I said! Self-medicating! I won’t do it, do you hear me, I won’t.”
Sebby huffed. “Coño, Todd!” Sebby lifted th
e glass and tossed back the Laphroaig. It warmed the whole way down, and that was what Sebby had wished for Todd: the soothing heat. “All gone. See? I saved you from the evils of drink.”
He set the empty glass aside. He flopped into Todd’s lap and took Todd’s face in both his hands. “I’m not the enemy!” Todd blinked, and Sebby was unsure if any words were sinking into that despair-soaked brain.
Todd’s eyes watered. “No, not the enemy. I apologize. I’m not myself.”
“I’ll make you some warm milk, yes? Like my momma used to make for me. And you’ll drink it, yes?”
Nodding vigorously within Sebby’s grasp, Todd said, “Yes. A good idea. Warmed milk is a natural soporific.”
Sebby didn’t know what that meant, but Todd had agreed, and that was all he needed. “Bueno. I want you to go upstairs and get in bed and wait for me. You can warm up my bed while I warm your milk. Yes?”
Todd nodded again, and Sebby got up and pulled on Todd’s shoulders until Todd was up. He nudged and shoved him to the stairwell and waited while Todd mounted the stairs.
“Ay caramba,” he said under his breath and continued talking to himself while pouring milk into a pan. The whiskey was coursing through his veins, and he was careful on the stepladder as he replaced the Laphroaig and rummaged for the Amaretto. Swirling the milk in the pan so as not to allow a skin to form, Sebby added sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cardamom, waiting until the milk was warmed through before adding a shot of Amaretto. If Todd wasn’t used to drinking, that should be plenty. He poured the concoction into a pretty Christmas mug and added a cinnamon stick. Sebby went up the stairs, carrying the mug on a large saucer. There was Todd, sitting upright under the sheets, with his clothes on.
“That smells good,” Todd said, blinking, and Sebby took this as evidence of Todd’s mental state, that he had lost his inner thesaurus, because, what, it only smelled good?
“Don’t you know that to warm a bed you have to be naked? Off with those clothes.” Todd just looked at him, and Sebby set the saucer and mug on the bedside table next to Todd, clambered over him, and began unbuttoning his shirt, but Todd took hold of his hands.