The Long and Winding Road

by TJ Klune

  Too bad things don’t work out that way.

  “I want to get you so pregnant,” I blurted out.

  His eyes bulged. “You want to what?”

  And of course, I panicked. “Oh my Christ, that is not what I meant to say. Holy shit! I mean, aside from the obvious fact that I can’t get you pregnant, because of all your man parts, that’s not what I was going for. And that’s not to say that if we could that you wouldn’t be the one getting pregnant, because fuck gender roles, right? I mean, yeah, I’m smaller than you and tend to flail more, and you’re all big and grr and look at me, I just did six thousand squats for no reason whatsoever. And I know I told you to get me pregnant when we saw that stupid little kid in those stupid checkered Vans doing that stupid fucking dance, but why would it have to be me getting pregnant? I mean, fuck what society says about our roles, right? Fuck that. But then I got weird again, and I think I won’t ever stop being weird about it, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry that it’s taken me this long to get to this point. Because here you are, you’re forty, you are forty years old, and by the time we get this done, what happens when they graduate high school? You could be sixty years old, and we’ll be there, all proud and happy, with signs made of glitter that say things like I MADE YOU AND I AM PROUD OF YOU and YOU ARE SO COOL, and everyone will be happy and merry, and then some stupid little shit will look at you and say oh, that’s so nice that your grandpa was able to come to your graduation. And then I’ll get arrested for the murder of a recent high school graduate, because no one calls you a grandpa, even though you’d totally be the hottest grandpa ever. And then I’d have to go to jail for murder, and you’d be a single dad, even though they’d already be a high school graduate, and I don’t even know how conjugal visits work! Like, are those even a thing? You just get to come into the prison with a bottle of lube and bone me in some weird little room that stinks of semen from everyone else that used it? I don’t want to have sex in a room that smells like other people’s spunk, because there is no way in hell that could possibly be hygienic. I mean, what if someone shoots on the floor and I accidentally put my hand in it when I have to bend over, because you’ll be old and we’ll have to do it standing up because your hip could break? I don’t want to touch a semen-soaked floor in a jail where I’m at for murder because of your bad hip, Otter.”

  I gulped down air.

  Otter looked like he was going to pass out.

  He said, “I’m… just… what.”

  I groaned. “That was not how this was supposed to happen.”

  “I’m…. Before I make assumptions, maybe you could explain exactly what this is supposed to be.”

  “Shit,” I muttered, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Just… stay there. Don’t move.”

  “I don’t know that I have enough synapses left to even think of moving,” he said faintly.

  “Good,” I said as I pushed myself up and ran to the hallway, where I’d put the box I needed earlier in the day. I’d placed it under a couple of other boxes to make sure he didn’t accidentally find it and ruin the surprise.

  “No,” I mumbled to myself. “Because you can just do that all on your own, can’t you, Bear? Fucking idiot.”

  I found what I was looking for and clutched it close to my chest. I took another deep breath and went back into the room. Impossibly, Otter’s eyes widened further when he saw what I carried. His chest hitched a little, and I told myself that I absolutely could not cry, because that would be fucking lame.

  “Look,” I said, then cleared my throat. “Just… sit there. And let me talk. I had this whole thing planned out in my head, and everything I said before isn’t what I was trying to say.”

  “You told me that you wanted me to fuck you in jail with my bad hip,” Otter said.

  “Yes, yes, and I’m sure you’ll never let me forget that. It’s probably going to be one of those stories we tell our kid down the road and it’ll—”

  “Our what?” he asked, and I almost died right there, because never in my life had I ever heard Oliver Thompson sound so hopeful.

  I was going to cry.

  I had no chance.

  “You asshole,” I hissed at him, trying to blink away the burn. “Would you just listen?”

  He nodded dumbly.

  “Okay. So. Look. Just. You are—fuck, I totally forgot what I was going to—wait. I remember. Most of it. Okay. So. You are super cool.”

  He coughed roughly.

  I pretended that wasn’t a critique at my delivery. “No, you are. In fact, you might be the coolest person I’ve ever known in my life. And I know now, and I’ve known for a long time, that I will never love anyone as much as I love you. You have put up with so much shit from me. From the Kid. This life… we’re—we can be a mess, Otter. The two of us. We got fucked over and dealt the worst hand, and the hits kept on coming. It didn’t matter how much happiness we tried to hold on to, we were battered again and again and again. She didn’t give a damn about us. She left me. She left the Kid. She fucked off and ran because she couldn’t deal with the reality she’d made for herself. And that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. And I did my best. I really did. And I made mistakes. Jesus, I made so many fucking mistakes. And sometimes I didn’t even learn from them. I did what I thought was right, even when it was wrong. And then you came back and—”

  “Bear—”

  “No, please. Please just let me finish. Because you have to know what you did for me. For us. Otter, we wouldn’t be alive now if it wasn’t for you. I really don’t think we would. Not as we are now. Maybe we would have survived, but we wouldn’t be alive. Because we didn’t have a home. We didn’t know how to live. And then you came back and you showed us how, and you protected us and kept us safe and made sure that no matter what, we would always be safe and happy, regardless of what else happened.

  “And then there was… just. Jonah. And my mom. And Isaiah. And your stupid ex-boyfriend teacher who apparently still wanted to bone you, and I really fucking hated that guy. Like, you don’t even know how much. And then—and then Mrs. Paquinn, and you, and I had your fucking ring around my neck, okay? I stood above you when all those machines were beeping and you had a goddamn tube down your throat, and I thought you were going to die. And it wasn’t fair. After everything we’d been through, it wasn’t fair. But you didn’t, okay? You didn’t, and you opened your eyes, and then we got married and then the Kid was gay and got addicted to drugs, and you know how that went.”

  “Holy summarizing,” Otter said, voice rough.

  “I know. And when I say this all out loud, it sounds fucking ridiculous. I mean, how was any of that real? But it was. This was our life. And we made it this far, and I just—I fucking love you, Otter. I love you because, no matter what happened, no matter what got thrown at us, you made sure to shield us as best you could. You’re my husband, okay? And my best friend. And I want to get you pregnant. Fuck. Not you. I want to get someone else pregnant. And not by having sex with them! By having the doctor put some jizz in a vagina, or however that works, because honestly? I’m not really clear on the specifics yet. Like. Is it a turkey baster? Is that a real thing? Because that sounds disgusting. So. Here. This is yours. You made most of it, but since we’re going back to Oregon, I updated it. Just. Flip to the page I marked with that sticky note I had to use because I couldn’t find the stupid I’m completely anal tabs that you used.”

  And then I thrust his binder at him.

  He gaped up at me.

  “Take it!” I demanded.

  He did. He reached up slowly and took the binder from me. He set it in his lap, and even though I thought I should sit back down next to him, I couldn’t figure out how to make my legs work. So I stood above him. Like an idiot.

  He ran his hand reverently over the cover of the binder before opening it and flipping to the page I’d marked.

  “It’s not as comprehensive as all the stuff you did,” I said, chewing on my thumbnail. “And there’s probably a lot of
stuff I’m missing. And it’s seriously going to be fucking expensive. I mean, how hard is it to get a chick pregnant, right? High schoolers do it all the fucking time. Creed did it to Anna and they didn’t have to pay seventy grand. I mean, what the fuck? But it’s called the Northwest Surrogacy Center, and it’s based out of Portland. It’s supposed to be the best, and we go in, tell them we want to knock up a woman, and then they’ll trot them out like an auction or something, and we have to judge them, which seems really mean, but I don’t want our baby to come out with beady eyes and a hook nose, so I get why. Though I’m still fuzzy on the auction, or how that works, because that seems sort of demeaning. But then we give them all our money and we’ll have to live on ramen and Fig Newtons for the rest of our lives, because once you have a kid, you’re broke and don’t ever get to have privacy anymore ever. But I want that. With you. I want to eat ramen and Fig Newtons with you forever, because I’m ready. I’m sorry I took this long to get here. I’m sorry you thought I didn’t want it. But I’m ready now. And I know there’s the Kid and his whole deal, but we can’t put off our lives because of him. We can’t. It’s not fair to us. And he wouldn’t want that. I don’t want that. And I hope you don’t either. So yeah. The end. Can I please get you pregnant?” I sighed and put my face in my hands. “I don’t know why I keep saying that.”

  I heard him close the binder.

  I heard knees pop as he pushed himself up.

  And then I was surrounded by him, his big arms around me, squeezing me so tightly that I thought my bones were creaking. And he was shaking, so much so that I thought he was laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked suspiciously.

  And then I heard him choke out a sob.

  That’s when I realized that I, Derrick Thompson, had made my husband, Oliver Thompson, cry.

  “Whoa,” I whispered fervently.

  And that’s when I felt it, the wetness on my neck from where his face was pressed against me. I wiggled my arms out from where they were trapped between us and stood on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around his neck. He shuddered against me, and we swayed back and forth while he shook. I would have been worried about his reaction if I hadn’t heard him mumbling, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” against my skin.

  Eventually, he pulled back. His eyes were red and leaking, and he looked like the best thing I’d ever seen. “Are you being serious?” he asked me hoarsely.

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling my own lip trembling. “Let’s make a baby.”

  And he laughed then, and he was crying at the same time, but it was such an awesome sound, made all the better when he picked me up, hollering in my ear as he spun me around and around and around, my feet knocking boxes over but neither of us caring.

  He set me back down and took my face in his hands before leaning in and kissing me fiercely, and it was like that first kiss all over again, so wonderful and frightening and unexpected that it knocked the breath from my chest. But this was different. I didn’t know who I was the first time.

  I did now.

  “You’re sure about this?” he asked again.

  For a moment, I was offended that he could even ask such a thing after all I’d said, but then I realized just how extraordinarily important this was to him. That I had finally agreed to the one thing he’d wanted for a very long time. But I’d been selfish, wrapped in my own insecurities and those belonging to my brother, but it couldn’t be just about him or me. Otter owned just as much of my heart as the Kid did, and I promised myself I’d do everything I could to make sure he knew that.

  “Yeah,” I said, sniffling just a little. “I’m sure.”

  “We’re going to be parents,” he said, sounding awed. “Bear, we’re going to be parents.”

  “Damn right we are. Not only that, we’re going to be the best parents. Like, our kid will be the most well-adjusted, normal, and—why the hell are you laughing!”

  He shook his head as he wiped his face, his crooked smile bright and wide. “Bear, that’s probably not going to be a thing. And that’s okay, because our kid is going to be so loved. Just you wait. I’m going to show you, okay? You and me, Bear. We’re going to do this, and it’s going to be so, so good.”

  “I’m still probably going to freak out,” I warned him, already getting caught up in his joy. “Probably all the time. And I can’t promise I won’t throw up anytime the kid shits itself. Because—and I am being honest here—poop is gross, and I don’t care who it comes from. And don’t even get me started on vomit. Why the hell do babies leak so much? It’s fucking gross.”

  “We’ll get used to it,” he promised me as he kissed my cheeks and my forehead and the tip of my nose.

  “That’s not reassuring,” I said, laughing a little hysterically. “At all.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

  “Um, it matters a lot.”

  “And we really need to talk about this whole woman auction thing you’ve got going on in your head, because it actually frightens me just how wrong you are.”

  I scowled at him. “Well, I don’t know. I’ve never done this before!”

  “I love you,” he said again. “I love you so much.”

  “Yeah?” I said, arching an eyebrow. “How much?”

  Then he growled against my mouth, hands going to my ass as he lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist. “Why don’t I show you?” he said.

  “We have to finish packing—”

  “I’m gonna pack you—”

  “That’s not even sexy. Why the hell is it working? Take off your pants!”

  And he kissed me again and again and again.

  TWO DAYS later, the house was empty, the keys turned in to the landlord. The sun had barely breached the horizon and we were driving past the house one last time, having stayed in a hotel the night before. Otter pulled the SUV to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the house and put it into park. Kori was blinking blearily in the back seat, her hair pulled back, a frizzy scarf around her neck, even though the morning was already warm. The Kid had told me once before that he thought Kori was a shield for Corey, someone he sought comfort in when he was nervous or scared. I didn’t know if that was quite right, but then I wasn’t an expert on bigenderism. I hoped that even if she was scared or nervous, she was as excited as we were to start something new.

  “It was good,” Otter said quietly, staring up at the dark house with the FOR RENT sign on the front lawn. I reached over across the center console to take his hand in mine. “For what it was.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It was. But I think we’re ready. Kid, what do you think?”

  He didn’t answer at first, and I turned around to glance back at him. His face was paler than it usually was, and I was reminded of the weeks following the confrontation over his addiction. Some days were harder than others, but I had faith in him. Once we got home, things would be even better. Anna and Creed and JJ. Stephanie and Ian Grant. Alice and Jerry Thompson. And Corey too, at his side.

  “Kid?” I asked again.

  “Yeah,” he finally said. “I think I’m ready.”

  “Home?”

  “Home.”

  Otter squeezed my hand and pulled away from the house. As we drove on, the sun rising at our backs, I wondered if we’d ever come back here. For some reason, I didn’t think we would. Not like we had before.

  I shook my head, chiding myself. Now wasn’t the time for that. We had a long trip ahead of us, and it felt like a first step into something greater.

  But as we left our old neighborhood behind, I couldn’t help but feel like we’d forgotten something. It was a feeling scratching at the back of my mind. For the life of me, I couldn’t think what it was.

  It was fine, though. It’d come to me if it was important.

  “Good?” Otter asked me, one hand on the steering wheel, the other warm in my own.

  “Good,” I said, smiling over at him.

  And we drove on.

  4. Where Bear Lear
ns the Art of Breathing

  IT WAS important.

  What I’d forgotten.

  Because after everything we’d gone through, after all that had happened in the last year, the one thing that I should have remembered was the one thing I’d forgotten.

  And the moment I saw him, I knew we were in deep shit.

  Ben Miller.

  Dominic Miller’s son.

  AND IT probably didn’t help matters when the first time Tyson Thompson became aware of Ben’s existence was after he’d been handcuffed in the back of a cop car after hiring beach vagrants to protest a chain restaurant that I’d never even heard of before.

  I should have remembered. I should have planned for it. But with the homecoming we’d had, starting with an awkward dinner that ended up with me drunkenly announcing that Otter and I were going to try and have a kid, immediately followed by Creed announcing that Anna was pregnant again, then the Kid being weird about the plans we’d made seemingly without him, I’d just… forgotten. Put it out of my mind. Didn’t even think about it.

  And maybe that made me a bad person. That I could forget the existence of an entire person so integral to our family. I told myself there was no excuse for it. That while it was planned to hide this from him as much as we had, we weren’t trying to be malicious about it. For the longest time, the Kid’s health and well-being had been my top priority, to the point where I sometimes wondered if I was doing too much for him. Instead of letting him figure things out on his own, I shielded him from the worst of it.

  I know what you’re thinking. For a time, Dominic Miller wasn’t exactly my favorite person, and so that could have led to the decisions that were made, however subconsciously. I didn’t know exactly what had gone on between the Kid and him, but I had a pretty good idea. Because regardless of how the Kid often insisted he was nothing like me, our stories were weirdly the same. The big difference was that the Kid knew how he felt, whereas I had been blind to most of it.

  He never said anything to me, but he had treated Dom the same way I had treated Otter. But the Kid had a level of self-awareness that I would never achieve, so if there’d been the type of feelings there that I thought there were, then Dominic and Stacey must have been a slap in the face, regardless of how inappropriate it would have been for any relationship other than friendship to have happened between the Kid and Dom. He’d been sixteen years old. Dom would have never laid a finger on him, not in that way. I knew that. I knew that. But if he had, I would have torn him to pieces and not felt bad afterward.