by Sam Elswit
"You're welcome honey. Dad, you take care of yourself now. For your son's sake."
"Oh, uh... uh... yeah, sure. Of course," Alan stammered, flushing, trying to look contrite. "Let's go... son."
"Okay, Daddy." Thomas laced his fingers with Alan's and led him out of the hospital. "I'm taking you back to Wendy's place. No way she can still be mad with you in this condition."
"Condition? What's that supposed to mean? I'm fine. I'm walking aren't I?"
"You're gray," Thomas said. "You look like death warmed over. Your face looks like a Halloween decoration--"
"All right, all right, I get the picture," Alan muttered.
But when they got back to Wendy's place, she still wasn't there. It had been several hours since their altercation, and Alan had fully expected her to be home. His stomach twisted with anxiety. He wanted this shit settled, he wanted to make his baby girl feel better however he could, but now she was gone, she probably hated him, she'd probably never even speak to him again after seeing him naked in the apartment of the boy she had just told him she liked last weekend and--
"Unnnnghh," Alan groaned, clutching his head. He felt dizzy, though he wasn't sure if it was his body or his emotions causing the sensation.
"You should get some rest, babe," Thomas said, urging Alan over to the couch.
"I kind of want to go for a run just to spite you," Alan muttered, mostly joking. He sat down with a sigh of relief. He was tired, and he probably felt even worse than he looked. He leaned against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. "Where the hell is she?"
"I'm staying with you," Thomas announced, flinging himself down on the couch beside his lover. He wrapped his arms around Alan's waist, eliciting a smile from the (understandably) cranky older man.
"I appreciate it," Alan said softly, too tired to argue any more, too tired to care for his wounded pride and bruised ego. He slid his arm around Thomas and relaxed. He entwined their fingers together with his other hand. His own hand was large, thick-boned and thick with muscle, the skin rough and tanned from years of playing, running, and working in the sun. Thomas's hand was the perfect contrast, small, long-fingered, fine-boned, with only the amount of sinew and muscle required to be a prodigal pianist. Alan brought Thomas's hand to his lips and kissed it sweetly. Thomas was stronger than he looked, but in moments like these, when his voice was gentle and his grip was weak, Alan could pretend that the younger man was more fragile than he was, and that he needed Alan's protection and care (even though, at the present moment, it looked as though Alan was the one who needed caring for).
"What happened to you?" Alan asked quietly, fingering Thomas's fine little knuckles.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean with your ex. You were getting ready to tell me when..."
"Oh."
"Yeah. You said it was a long story."
"I guess we have time, if you really want to know," Thomas sighed.
"Yes, I do," Alan said earnestly. "I care about you, Thomas."
"I care about you, too," Thomas said bashfully. "Okay then. Well, last year I was a senior in undergrad, and I had been dating this guy for almost two years. We were really in love. Well, I was really in love. I was thinking... kind of... that we'd maybe settle down together, maybe get married or something. You know?"
"Sure," Alan said, patting Thomas's hand comfortingly.
"I brought it up to him multiple times. I was wedding crazy, to tell the truth. He always kind of... evaded me, without letting me lose hope. Looking back on it, I have no idea how he strung me along like that. But it went on for months. We kept dating and everything and kept having sex. He was staying with me by then, and he was a full-time student-- well, I mean, so was I, but I had this gig at the Goldfish to keep me going financially, and I kind of... supported him. You know? He worked a little, but mostly he just went to school and smoked a lot of pot. He was an art student. He said it made him more creative, but I never saw him paint a damn thing when he was high." Thomas hung his head and nuzzled Alan's shoulder with his cheek. "Jason was his name. Anyway. Jason had met my family loads of times. My family told me later that they never liked him much, apparently he was a total douche-bag, but they accepted him, for my sake, you know?"
"That's very sweet," Alan murmured.
"Not really. I wish they would've told me." Thomas rolled his eyes. "Not that I would've listened but hindsight is twenty-twenty... or whatever. But I started insisting that I meet his family, since he'd met mine, it didn't seem fair. And he kept putting me off. And then I realized I had never really met any of his friends, even though he'd met pretty much all of mine-- in almost two years I had barely met any of his friends! And it took my stupid ass two years to notice! Can you believe that?"
"Aw, Thomas..."
"So I started hounding him about that, too. I started getting kinda mad about it, so finally he promised to take me to dinner at his parents' place for Thanksgiving that year. I... I was so excited, Alan, I started trembling every time I thought about it. I thought, This is it. He's going to marry me. We're gonna graduate and get married and adopt half a dozen cute little brown babies just like Brangelina. He'll be a famous artist and I'll be a famous musician and we'll ride off into the sunset in his rag-top. He always talked about wanting to own a convertible, but never got one.
"Well, Thanksgiving weekend finally rolled around. We were supposed to drive up to his folks' place on Wednesday. It was a long drive so we were gonna get up early and go together, but--" Thomas's voice hitched, and he swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with tears.
"Sweetheart..." Alan said softly, putting his other arm around Thomas's delicate shoulders, enveloping him in a protective embrace.
"I woke up that morning and he was gone," Thomas said hollowly. "He left a note on his pillow. Sorry hun, you can't meet my folks. I want us to see other pepple. I'm sorry that you care so much about me but if I'm honest, I just don't feel that much for you. The sex has been great. Thanks. Will come get my stuff on Monday. Xo Jason. I read that note so many times, it's burned into my retinas. I can still see it. The crumpled yellow legal paper, his shitty handwriting, his careless spelling. He misspelled people, for fuck's sake!"
Alan issued a single, soft laugh. "Wow."
"Yeah. A real prize, that one. A real winner. A real champ-- champ at smoking weed and eating cereal in your underwear, Jesus Christ, Alan, what did I ever see in him?" Thomas rubbed his face and buried his nose in Alan's neck, inhaling deeply. "I didn't get out of bed for a week, I was so heartbroken."
"Oh my God, babe--" Alan murmured, hugging Thomas tighter. "I'm so sorry..."
"He never did come back for his stuff," Thomas muttered. "I threw most of it out. Even the shit I needed. I just couldn't stand to look at anything that was his. I lost like fifty pounds that year because I was too depressed to eat or sleep..."
"So that's why you... er..."
"Yeah. That's why I'm so skinny," Thomas muttered. "Believe it or not, I've gained a bit since my lowest. I actually wound up in the hospital..."
"From not eating?"
"Yeah, malnutrition. My organs started to shut down." Thomas rubbed his hand across Alan's muscular chest with a sigh. "I'm kind of... kind of damaged from it. From all of it. Physically, mentally, emotionally. I'll never be the same."
"Of course not," Alan said. "We'd be insane to stay the same after life's painful experiences. They're there to change us."
"All that happened a little over a year ago. You're the first person I've been attracted to since then, Alan. I've always been attracted to the salt-and-pepper look, but it's not just that I find you sexy. You're so... so gentle, and smart, and hapless--"
"Hey--"
"Sorry," said Thomas, sheepishly. "I just meant that you're... kind of... innocent, almost. I feel...." Thomas bit his lip. "I feel safe with you," he whispered.
"Good," Alan said. "You are safe with me."
"Not if you don't stop landing your ass in the hospital," Thomas grumbled. "I can't han
dle that kind of grief right now."
Alan bit his lip and ran his fingertips through Thomas's smooth, downy blond hair. "I'll do my best, babe. Seriously. I've been acting crazy lately... midlife crisis kind of thing, I think..."
"Go ahead and have your midlife crisis, just quit the heart attack shit," Thomas said. His words were chiding, but his voice was so soft and tender that Alan felt a strange, bittersweet pang of affection in his chest.
"All right, babe. I'll do my best."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They had come home from the hospital (again) just before lunchtime on Monday. They sat together for a long time, hoping Wendy would reappear soon, but soon the two men-- exhausted from their exertions on the dance floor and on Thomas's couch, in addition to Alan's latest cardiac event-- fell into a peaceful, dreamless doze.
They woke around dinner time, confused, groggy, and starving. Thomas fussed at Alan and made him stay put while he went to the kitchen and started poking around in Wendy's fridge.
"You need to teach your kid how to buy groceries," Thomas called, bent over in front of the refrigerator. "She doesn't have anything remotely edible in here."
"I know," Alan sighed heavily. "I tried. Her mother is the laziest cook I've ever met. I'm the second-laziest. I guess it rubbed off on her."
"That's a damn shame." Thomas started looking in the cabinets. "Hmm, nothing in here, either."
"Let's just order something," Alan said, waving his hand.
"I wanna cook for you," Thomas said, pouting and turning his toe into the linoleum in a way that made Alan's stomach flip-flop. "Let me run to the store right quick. I'll get some real groceries for Wendy. She has Spam in her fridge, Alan... Spam! Half a can of it, just... sitting there... open..."
"Yeah," Alan sighed, "for a while there when she was in elementary school we had Spam night for dinner..."
"That is positively barbaric," Thomas said. "Well." He marched right over to the couch and pressed his hand to Alan's shoulder, and planted a tender kiss on the older man's forehead. "I'm going to take care of you, Daddy. You wait here and rest and I'll go get something good. You like salmon?"
"I guess..."
"You do now." Thomas shrugged into his jacket. "I'll have my phone if you want anything or need me. Let me know if... if Wendy turns up."
"Sure." Alan smiled faintly. Ordinarily he would have insisted on going to the store with Thomas and buying the groceries as well, but Alan was tired. The last couple of days had completely worn him out. His limbs felt like lead, and the idea of getting up from the couch and walking around the store for an indefinite period of time made him wince. So he acquiesced. He relented. He decided to let Thomas take care of him, because frankly, it felt good to let the cute young thing make a fuss over him, it felt good to feel like someone gave a shit. Kitty hadn't given a shit in years. As he curled up on the sofa for a nap, Alan realized that the thing he had been missing for all this time was exactly what Thomas gave him.
Alan felt wanted. Not tolerated, not borne out of obligation, not begrudgingly accepted... Thomas wanted him. Alan drifted off to sleep with a smile on his lips.
Ten minutes later, right after he'd fallen fairly deeply asleep, the door opened and startled Alan awake.
"Huh? Whuh? What is it?" He sat up and groggily peeked over the back of the couch, his eyes bugging when he saw his gorgeous red-haired daughter standing there, leafing through her mail. She looked tired but otherwise all right. "Wendy?"
"Dad!" Wendy dropped the mail and raced over to her father, flinging herself down on the couch, throwing her arms around him. "Daddy--"
"I'm so sorry baby--" Alan choked, his eyes filling and spilling with tears as Wendy buried her face into his chest.
"No, I'm the one who should be sorry!" Wendy bawled, sniffling into his shirt. "I acted like such a jerk, Daddy, I feel just horrible about it, that's why I stayed away, I... at first I was angry, but then I calmed down and realized what I'd done and I felt like a damn fool--"
"Oh, baby girl!" Alan cried, kissing her half a dozen times in rapid succession. "I was so worried about you! Where have you been? Are you okay? You're not hurt are you?"
"No, nothing like that, I just went to a friend's house," she said, blushing faintly.
"Oh, really? What kind of friend?" Alan murmured teasingly, smoothing her wispy curls back from her forehead. "You blush like your mother."
"I blush like you," she laughed.
"I don't blush!" Alan cried, blushing.
"Suuuure you don't."
"Who were you with?" Alan asked again, his eyes shining. "Someone special?"
"This boy," Wendy admitted, "from one of my classes. We'd hung out a few times before, and... I-I don't know, none of my girl friends were answering me and I was so upset I couldn't wait for someone to answer, so I called him, and he invited me over for pizza and Mario Kart--"
"Is that some kind of freaky sex act?" Alan demanded sternly.
"Dad, it's a video game!" Wendy cried, giggling. "Although we did... er... uh... never mind."
"Sure, never mind about that part. What's his name?"
"Bobby," Wendy said softly, averting her eyes.
"Bobby McGee?" Alan joked.
"Oh my God, yes! Do you know him?" Wendy asked, her mouth forming a curious, perfectly round O.
"Uh..." Alan laughed and shook his head. "No, I don't. Lucky guess, I suppose."
"Daddy... I'm so sorry about what happened..."
"Oh, princess, stop apologizing," Alan sighed, "you didn't do anything wrong. You were right to be upset that I disappeared on you."
"But what I said about... a-about your--" Wendy trembled and her lashes fluttered as she spilled more tears. "You know I don't care that you're gay, Daddy, I didn't mean any of that-- any of it--"
"I know, baby, I know," Alan said, hushing her tenderly.
"-- I was just... I-I was jealous of you! I've had a crush on Thomas for so long, or... or so I thought I did..."
"I don't blame you. He's very attractive."
"So is Bobby. But-- but Dad, I've known for a while now that you... wait a second." Wendy looked down and her father's wrist. "Is that a hospital bracelet?"
"Oh, er." Alan raised his wrist and shook it self-consciously and shrugged. "I, uh... I guess so, yeah."
"You guess so?" Wendy clasped her father's hand in both of hers. "What's wrong, Daddy? Are you okay?"
"Baby, I..." Alan sighed and looked away from her huge, innocent brown eyes, his stomach clenching as he tried to think of how to tell her that he'd come this close to dying in two days. "It's not that serious, really, they're putting me on medicatoin and--"
"Dad. Just tell me what's wrong."
"Yes. Yeah, it's... uh, my heart. You know how granddad had all that heart trouble when you were a kid?"
"He died in his sixties," Wendy said softly. "But you take such good care of yourself!"
"I do," Alan admitted, "but I inherited some kind of... I don't know, it's genetic, all the men in my family have had heart problems by fifty-- some even younger. And that, on top of all the stress of the... of the divorce and everything..."
"Aww!" Wendy threw herself at her father and hugged him as tight as she could. "You had a heart attack!?"
"... yes..." Alan said. Thomas had been right. Not only had Thomas been right about wanting Wendy to know, but Alan felt horrible for not calling her when it happened. Her voice was tremulous with hurt.
"Why didn't you call me!?" Wendy demanded, giving him a squeeze. "Oh my God, Dad..."
"I... I know," he sighed wearily. "I'm sorry, babe, I didn't want to interrupt your little vacation--"
"WHAT IF YOU HAD DIED!?" Wendy yelled into his chest.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "Wendy, sweet pea, I... I don't want to live like that any more. I don't want to hide. No more secrets. No more evasions. No more anything. Just the truth. So let me just... spill it."
"Okay."
"Okay. Here I go." Alan drew a deep breath.
/>
"Okay," Wendy prompted during the interval of deafening silence.
"Okay." Alan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I'm gay."
"I know, Daddy."
"Yeah, I know-- just... let me say it all out loud. In plain words. I'm gay. I'm really gay. I mean I'm like, Liberacci at a college wrestling match gay. I'm so gay--"
"I get the picture," Wendy said with an uncomfortable laugh.
"Okay, sorry. It's new to me, too. I just feel so... so free. Your mother and I are getting divorced because I'm gay. I think I'm in love with your little friend from downstairs--"
"I had noticed..."
"Yeah, sorry about that, hon. And while you were camping, yeah, I... I had a heart attack." Alan bit his lip. "A... a pretty bad one, in fact."
"No!"
"And a second one last night-- er, this morning, I guess."
"Twice in one weekend?"
"I've been really stressed," he said sheepishly.
"It's all my faul--"
"Don't. You. Dare." Alan said firmly, planting his finger over Wendy's lips. "None of this is your fault, Wendy Ann Marie Linton. Say it after me. Out loud."
"N-n... none of this is my fault," she mumbled.
"Good. Now keep saying that to yourself until you believe it. Because it's true. You mustn't blame yourself, sweet pea. It... it was bound to happen sooner or later, you know. The timing is just bad. I have heart problems because of crappy genes."
"Those jeans are pretty ugly," she joked.
"What is with you kids hating on my bootcuts!" Alan cried, laughing.
"Because they make you look like a goddamn wannabe urban cowboy," Thomas cut in as he came in the door, laden with grocery bags. He cackled to himself at the joke until he saw Wendy, then choked on his cackle, dropped the groceries, and ran over to her, throwing himself at her in a hug.
"Wendy, I'm so sorry--"
"We've already had that conversation," Alan informed him quietly, too tired to endure another round of desperate apologizing and tears. "Everything's fine. Right? We're fine."
"Fine," Wendy agreed with a gentle smile. "Better than fine."