Work Text:
Tom took the train to Minneapolis.
He usually flew home, but he needed the train this time. Those long hours in a comfortable compartment with a book and his thoughts were exactly what he needed. A plane would be too fast, too routine. He needed to change things up. And not just with his modes of transportation.
The past year had been something of a blur. And when it wasn’t a blur, when things were clear, the picture wasn’t very pretty. The divorce from Shiv had ruined him in more ways than one, he’d had to move out of his home, and things with Greg were…
Well. Things with Greg were the whole reason he was on that train.
Maybe he’d been in denial all these years. Not just about how he felt about Greg, but about how he felt in general about things. About romance and relationships. About love. Not that he was in love, of course. Or… not that he knew if he was or wasn’t. It was all very confusing, really. And he just needed a break from it all, to get away, to go back home. To see his parents. To see the city he grew up in.
When he arrived at the station and found his luggage - a single suitcase he had Greg pick up for him since Shiv had all the good luggage - he made his way to the curb for his Uber and waited, phone in hand, for his driver to arrive. When the phone buzzed, he glanced down at the screen.
1 Unread Message from:
Greg
He winced at the name. Not because he didn’t want a message from Greg, but because Greg’s name in his phone hadn’t been “Greg” for a long time. It had, until he found himself thinking about it on the train, been Sporus. But it didn’t feel right anymore. The bit was over, wasn’t it?
He opened the message.
Let me know when you get there
He considered a reply. His thumb hovered like a UFO over the keyboard before finally resisting, turning the screen black, looking out for the driver.
Ted, red Ford Focus, pulled to the curb a moment later. He helped Tom place the suitcase in the trunk, and he drove him silently, as per Tom’s request, to his childhood home in the northwestern suburb of Lake Morris. A nicer neighborhood than most, it now seemed almost quaint to Tom. Felt like forever since he’d seen it, and after the life he’d been living in his time away, these upper-middle class homes looked like outhouses.
But he knew his home the second he saw it. It had been painted a light blue after all those years of being a cheerful yellow that his father hated. The old wooden porch swing had been replaced with a more comfortable option. The peach tree was twice as high now. But it was home. It would always be home.
He rolled his suitcase up the drive, those hollow bumps sounding over every crack in the pavement. At the corner of the garage he spotted his initials still etched in the cement from when they’d had it reset when he was in ninth grade. And the welcome sign his grandmother had painted before he was even born still rested securely above the front door.
He stopped on the welcome mat and reached into his pocket for the phone. He answered Greg’s text.
Just got here.
When he rang the doorbell, he watched through the door’s etched glass as two disproportionate figures gradually started to make sense. And then he saw his mother’s face, smiling ear to ear at him, as soon as the door opened.
“Tommy!”
Only a second behind her, his father echoed the greeting. And Tom smiled into the embrace on the doorstep, wiped his shoes on the mat before depositing them on the tray on the tile entry, and closing the door behind him.
“How was the train?” his father asked. “Any troubles?”
“Yes, we were just reading about the accident rates on those cross-country train lines,” his mother said with a tsk tsk and a shake of her head. “Did you know the rates when you booked your trip?”
“Well, they’ve made improvements in recent years,” Tom told them, hoping his voice was reassuring.
“Do you want fudge?” his mother asked.
“Nearly a thousand people a year die in train-related accidents, Tommy,” his father told him.
“Fudge sounds lovely, Mom. Thank you.”
Jim Wambsgans, midwestern born and bred, was always obsessed with statistics. Even grim ones. And his wife, LuAnne, was always getting caught up in his little facts, obsessing over them. As a lawyer, maybe she thought it was nice not to know every little detail about everything the way Jim seemed to. Maybe she liked only ever having to know those things that came across her desk. And for Jim, keeping track of numbers in any area was a given. He had run the largest and best-reviewed accounting firm in the state of Minnesota for thirty-five years before he retired. And with no numbers at work anymore, other numbers sort of crept into his mind and latched on. Old habits die hard, et cetera.
“So you had a good trip, then?” LuAnne asked, leading the men toward the kitchen.
“Yes, very. It was comfortable and quiet and the view was magnificent.”
“Did you count the farms?” Jim asked.
This was a game they always played on road trips. They would pass farms and see what kinds of animals were being raised there. Sometimes, most times, it was cows. But there were also horses, pigs, sheep, even occasionally Alpacas. Sometimes goats or bison, too, depending on the region. And at the end of the trip, they’d tally how many of each they’d seen and they would have to make the sound of the winning animal at the end of every sentence for the next hour.
But Tom had forgotten that game.
“The farms?”
“You remember. The farms.”
Tom shook his head. “Sorry, Dad, it’s been a long trip. I think I’m a little tired.”
LuAnne brought the container of fudge to Tom as he sat at the table. She peeled back the lid, and immediately he could smell those years so long ago. He could smell Christmas Eve at Aunt Jackie’s and Easter Sunday at St. Luke’s and his mother tucking him in bed at night. The memories forced a smile onto his lips, and he pinched a generous square of fudge between his fingers and brought it to his lips.
“Well, your room’s all made up for you, Tommy,” she told him. “Daddy even got some new bedding, nice and clean.”
“Tired?” Jim asked him. “Are you taking your iron supplements?”
“Yes, Dad, I’m just…” he closed his eyes and paused to savor the too-sweet taste of the chocolate. “I feel alright. I just haven’t slept much recently.”
“Well, you’ll sleep alright this week,” Jim nodded. “We’ll be sure of that.”
“Oh! Warm milk!”
His mother’s apparent epiphany sent her toward the fridge again. And Jim, for some reason, followed after her. Tom took the phone from his pocket and glanced down. No new messages. But he snapped a picture of the bowl of fudge and sent it to Greg. Because he had to. For some reason, he just had to.
“We’re having some work done in our bathroom, Tommy,” LuAnne called from across the room. “So we’ll have to share the one in the hall. Hope that’s alright.”
“Of course. Not a problem.”
She set the timer on the microwave, and Tom felt the phone buzz in his hand. A message from Greg. He opened it.
DUDE is that fudge
Tom could almost see Greg asking this, the exact look he’d have on his face, the exact tone of his voice. Those eyes of his growing twice as large. The smile, the shine of his teeth.
“Work call?” Jim asked.
But he wasn’t really asking if it was a work call. That was Jim’s way of saying “Put the phone down, son. We’re having family time.”
Tom pocketed the phone. “Sorry,” he said with a sigh. “Catching up on office stuff.”
“But you’re out of office,” his mother said. “You shouldn’t have to work right now.”
“I don’t have to. I don’t. I just… wanted to check in, you know? Can’t always trust the minions to do the job properly."
The room fell silent. Tom sipped the warm milk and finished the last, rich bite of his fudge. He noticed his parents looking at one another, some kind of secret language they’d developed over time clearly taking place in hidden dialogue that Tom chose not to decode.
“So, uh…” Jim cleared his throat. “Speaking of… work. Everything. How’s it been there since it all happened?”
“Since the divorce?” he asked.
“I see them every day, Tommy. Nothing to be ashamed of.” His mother reached a hand over and rested it on his forearm. “We just want to know you’re getting a fair shake there since it all went down.”
This was a bit tricky. It all went down, as she put it, long before the divorce happened. There had been that train wreck of a wedding weekend, the affairs, the disregard for Tom’s autonomy or position. There had been the fear of prison and the ignored calls for comfort, the blatant disregard for the part of their vows where she had promised to cherish him. There had been that broken promise of having kids, which wouldn’t have been the end of the rope all on its own, but in its delivery and her deceit, it was just the end for him. He had always hoped that the next time he visited his hometown it would be to tell his parents they were going to be grandparents.
Then there had been the ultimate betrayal. His choice. His moves.
There had been Greg.
And there had been Tuscany.
And there had been wine. Lots of wine.
And kisses.
There had been an agreement not to repeat. The we were drunk conversation. The attempted return to normal, even the attempt to pretend the marriage worked.
Until he just couldn’t do it anymore.
So yes, things had been going down for a long while now. And then there was the divorce, the mess, the process, the change of address, the forfeiture of certain properties. Money for lawyers. And then there had been a breaking point, and Tom had to come out here. He didn’t even know why, didn’t know what he planned to do here. He just knew he needed to come home.
“Things have been fine,” he said with a smile. “It was what she and I both needed.”
“I couldn’t agree more, honey,” LuAnne grinned. She leaned over and kissed her son on the cheek.
“You want to go fishing tomorrow?” Jim asked. “Good day for the boat.”
Tom nodded. “Sure, Daddy. I’d love to.”
“And I’ll take you to that peddler’s mall. The new one I told you about.”
“Alright,” he agreed, still amiable, still smiling for their benefit.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” Jim said. And his wife nodded along.
And at last, he felt happy to tell the truth about something. “I’m glad I’m home, too,” he said.
…
Up in his bedroom, he was pleased to see most of his things had been taken from the room. His baseball trophies, his science fair medal, his Top Gun poster. The walls were still that pale blue color they’d always been, though, and the furniture was the same. The side of the dresser even had all his stickers on it, too. He wished he could remember where he’d gotten any of them.
He began to change, so he set the phone on the bed as he slipped into pajamas.
1 Unread Message from:
Greg
He opened it.
Bring some back please I haven’t had fudge in forever
Tom responded.
With walnuts or peanut butter?
He finished dressing, but he didn’t have to wait long for Greg’s reply.
Yes.
He smiled at the screen. A real smile. A for-Greg smile. He moved to his gallery and thumbed through until he found a photo of Greg, a recent one. One Tom had taken at a painfully boring conference they’d been forced to attend. Greg was folding papers into origami cranes, one after the other after the other, no mind for anything going on around him at all. In the middle of a talk about technological advances in online bookmarking.
The way his eyes studied the paper. The way his fingers worked nimbly at the creases and folds. The small pile of cranes on the empty chair beside Greg. For the first time ever, Tom had been grateful to not have been seated with Greg. He was sure he couldn’t have appreciated this sight if he’d been any closer to him.
And maybe it was being in his childhood bedroom that made him do it, but he kissed his phone screen. And then he got mad at himself for kissing his phone screen. He felt pathetic, called himself names under his breath while he tucked himself into the double bed.
He sent one more text to Greg.
Goodnight, buddy.
Tom waited for the reply before putting his phone down for the night.
Sleep well boss man
And for the first time in years, he did.
…
Jim’s boat was new. It was a post-retirement purchase, though they’d had boats before. But those had all been little boats, two-seaters, barely space for the rods and buckets. This one was entirely different, big enough for six, maybe eight. Plenty of room for fishing gear. It even had a steering wheel and a windshield, which was fancier than any sort of boat Tom had ever seen his father in.
“We’ve got bluegill for sure,” Jim said, tucking the bait bucket under the seat. “And check this out, Tommy.”
Tom watched as his father opened a little compartment, similar to a drink cooler but all-white with a chrome lock. Inside, water flopped and lulled around, and Jim stared at Tom expectantly, waiting for a compliment or comment.
“For the fish,” his father supplied. “We can keep ‘em alive right up to suppertime. Doesn’t get fresher than that.”
“Oh,” Tom nodded. “Yum.”
Maybe it had been too long since Tom had done this. He’d been fly fishing a few times upstate in the past few years, of course. Kendall had taken him twice, Shiv once, and naturally it was one of Connor’s favorite regular-guy pastimes. But it was different on Lake Morris or Lake Pleasant or Wolf’s lake, the few places his father would take him on long weekends to go camping and fishing, to tell him stories about his childhood or give him life advice.
But that was years ago. Decades. Tom was out on the boat in goddamn Ralph Lauren, a button-up shirt that cost more than Jim’s last boat, shoes he hadn’t quite broken in yet. He wasn’t dressed for fishing. He was dressed for a wine tasting. And in an embarrassing moment of self-realization, Tom understood that his father must think him a fool. Must see him as ruined by the life he’d had for the past ten years or so.
He picked up a rod anyway, sat on one of the vinyl-covered seats, and maneuvered the line in his hands.
“How’d you sleep?” Jim asked, the motor on the boat starting quietly, pushing them gently out onto the water. “How do you like those new sheets, huh?”
“Oh, I slept great, Daddy. Thank you. Sheets were great.”
“And this morning at breakfast? Got enough eggs?”
“Enough eggs, yeah,” he nodded. “Great breakfast.”
He knew he was saying "great" too much. He couldn’t stop.
Jim wasn’t much for small talk. Not unless it was about obscure or frightening statistics. Or the history of Swedish government. A few times, he looked back at Tom while Tom stared down at the line, or as Tom examined the hook, or as Tom dug through the bucket of live bait to find the right kind of worm. But he didn’t say anything for a while. Not until they were finally settled in a place, the motor stalled, each with a baited line out somewhere ahead of them, disappeared beneath the water’s stone-gray reflection.
“So how are you, Thomas?”
Thomas. The name his father only called him when he was working his way into a deep conversation.
“I’m alright,” Tom answered.
“Well, I’m not sure I would agree with you. You’re looking sort of… well…”
“Haggard?” Tom asked.
Haggard. A word Greg’s grandfather had used once. The delivery of it still stuck with Tom. The old man Tom thought he’d love, but who had hurt Greg more times than Tom could count. He still loved to use the word haggard, but he no longer cared for the man who’d said it.
“No, no. Not haggard. Just… well, overworked, I’d say.”
Jim stood to throw the line out again, a little further this time. Tom just watched from where he sat.
“I don’t think I’m overworked,” he answered. “I think I’m just tired. Not the sleep kind of tired, you know? But I’m tired.”
Jim nodded. “I understand.”
“How have you and mom been? Everyone healthy?”
“Well, your mother’s been getting migraines lately. I told her it’s because I’m home more now than before I retired.”
“You could be onto something there,” Tom smiled. “She should retire, too. The two of you could live out your years in exotic lands.”
“Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to us!”
“Then why hasn’t she retired yet?” Tom asked. “I never got the impression she loved her job enough to stay there longer than necessary.”
Jim reeled in the line a bit, staring out over the water. “She doesn’t.”
“Then why?”
“Oh. You know your mother.”
But Tom didn’t, really. Not anymore.
“I guess we wanted to be here for you,” Jim finished. “So you’d have somewhere to come to when you needed to get away.”
“You’re both still here on my account?” he asked. “Dad, I would never ask–”
“Well, now, it’s not just you. That’s just one reason of many. When you’re doing better, I’m sure she’ll consider retirement again.”
“I am doing better,” Tom lied. “I’m–”
“Oh! Got one!” Jim tugged against the line, reeling it in, longer and longer, carefully until he had the fish dangling from his hand. Not an impressive catch, but a meal for one. “Look at this!” he laughed, freeing it from the hook. “This one’s mine.”
Jim tossed the fish into the water compartment. Tom wondered how he ever found this activity enjoyable.
“Hand me the bait, will ya?”
Tom pushed the bucket closer to him.
“And you’re not doing better, Tommy. I know that much.”
Tom opened his mouth to refute the claim. But he closed it again. He never was very good at lying to his father.
“Have you thought about getting yourself back out on the market again? Dating?”
Tom coveted the wounded fish in the sealed container beside him. He wished they could swap places, struggle for breath in an enclosed space instead of speak to his father about his romantic life.
“I’ve thought about it,” he replied simply.
“You know, Mary’s daughter is recently divorced, too. Great girl. She’s got those two kids, too. I know you’d be a great stepdad.”
“Amanda?” Tom laughed. “Really? With the laugh and the teeth?”
“She’s grown into the teeth.”
“Still,” Tom shook his head, smiling a bit. “No. But thank you.”
As if on cue, Tom felt the phone buzz in his back pocket. He reached for it and stared down at the screen as a second buzz happened.
2 Unread Messages from:
Greg
“I’ve heard some of those dating apps are pretty nice. There’s even a Christian one.”
Tom ignored him, opening the message instead.
I don’t know if you were looking for your black coat but you left it here just fyi
And I’m still getting brunch today even though you’re not here because Damian’s has the chocolate scone things again
He missed brunch. He missed brunch with Greg. He missed Greg.
“Well hey now, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looks like you’ve already got someone on the phone there.”
Tom looked up as his father spoke. He smiled. “It’s just Greg,” he said. “Checking in.”
Jim nodded. “How’s he doing?”
A simple question with a loaded answer. Greg was doing just fine, Tom thought. He’d been working harder, he’d been happier, he’d been more social. He had gone on a couple of dates, both with women. He’d gotten his own apartment. He would sometimes say things to Tom that sounded like they might be affectionate. He would stop the moment Tom reciprocated. To be fair, Greg did that with everyone. But with Tom, it meant something. It was personal.
“Same as ever,” Tom smiled. And it was a real smile, the one he had when he thought of Greg. The one he had when he didn’t know he had it.
“Anything biting?”
It took Tom a second to realize his father was asking about the line. “Oh, uh… no. No bites yet.”
“Toss it on the other side. See if anything picks it up over there.”
Tom started reeling it in. But before he tossed it back out, he grabbed his phone and replied to Greg.
You should see this lake I’m on.
Because the lake reminded him of Greg, the color of it, the calm of it, the memories it held. Because Tom could really see himself bringing Greg here someday, having him spend time in this town, showing him off to family and friends. Until he remembered that Greg was from a place like this, big and busy and cold. He had run away from it with no desire to look back. Maybe that’s what held him back from Tom. Maybe Tom reminded him of home, but not in the way Greg reminded Tom of home. Because Tom’s memories from here were good ones, pleasant ones, comforting one. But Greg’s memories of his home were about as different from that as they could possibly be.
Send me a pic
Tom considered sending one, but he didn’t.
Not the same. You’d have to see it.
“I got another one!” Jim cheered. “And this is no bluegill!”
Tom turned to watch his father haul it in. Sure enough, it was no bluegill. It was a walleye, easily two feet long, biggest Tom had ever seen in person.
Jim wrestled against the fish to remove the hook, and he and Tom wrangled it enough to get it into the compartment. Afterwards, his father sat atop it, catching his breath and laughing, the biggest catch he’d had on this lake since the bass he’d caught almost twelve years ago.
And all Tom wanted to do was tell Greg.
But what would Greg care? Did Greg even fish? Did he enjoy it? Would he know what a walleye was without googling it? He’d probably read a text from Tom about the fish and make that face, the one that scrunches up in confusion. And then he’d probably shake his head and go back to whatever he was doing. Probably chatting up some girl he didn’t have to hide from Tom while Tom was away. Or play one of those video games Tom was too old to understand.
“So where you at today?” Jim asked. “Because you’re not here.”
Tom looked at his father and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not really sure.”
“You know, you can talk to me about this stuff. Marriage stuff. I’m old and wise, Thomas, let me put it to some good use.”
“I’m not sure what to say,” he answered honestly. “I mean, it’s done. It’s over. Nothing to talk about.”
“Nothing?” Jim asked. “You’re sure?”
Tom felt the phone buzz again. He knew it would be Greg. He couldn’t answer right now, not in this moment with his father, a moment he knew he should cherish.
“Truth is,” he started quietly, “I… met someone.”
Jim was stone-faced. Shocked, Tom supposed. And yes, it was fast. But it had been fast with Shiv, too. Tom wanted to marry her before they’d had their third date. He didn’t like to waste time, and his parents knew this.
And then, slowly, Jim started to smile. Just the corner of his mouth first, then all of it.
And Tom smiled back.
“Is it serious?” Jim asked.
Tom shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
“Oh, well, Tommy. You shouldn’t already have complicated. It’s too soon.”
“I’m the complicated one, Dad. I’m newly divorced, I’m full of all this baggage, I’m an emotional tsunami.”
“But if she’s right, and if the time’s right, none of that will matter.”
She.
“Yeah, I think it’s the timing, honestly. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”
Jim stood again and held his arms out. They both held their rods at their sides and gave one another an awkward one-armed hug.
“I’m happy for you, kid.”
Tom let him go. “Thanks, Dad.”
He watched his father return to the rod, baiting the hook again, his careful study of it, his natural precision.
“Can I ask you a question?” Tom said.
“Of course. Any time.”
“You and Mom,” he started. “Were you always…” he stopped, cleared his throat. “Well, I guess… I guess what I’m asking is whether you always knew with Mom. That she was The One.”
“I’ve never doubted my love for her a day since I’ve known her.”
“Right, but… but when did you know?” he asked. “When did you know that you and mom were meant to be?”
“‘Meant to be’?” his father echoed through a smile. “Tommy, don’t tell me you still believe in Fate.”
“So it’s not Fate that brought you and Mom together?”
His father reeled in the line a little, looked back out over the lake. “Tommy, love isn’t predetermined by some heavenly force. It’s human. It’s as human as breathing. It’s an emotion, but… but it’s also a choice. You wake up every day and feel things, and you also go through your day making choices. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, the emotions you feel and the choices you make are in perfect harmony. That’s how loving someone works.”
Tom squinted against the sun, watching his father work the line. “What?”
“Thomas,” Jim sighed. “I don’t know what you want to hear. I only know the truth. I loved your mom and she loved me back. I didn’t choose to love her, but I chose to pursue her. Just so happened, she chose to pursue me back, and that how I knew she was the right person for me. Because the way I felt for her and the choices I made to show her my love all worked out.”
“And… what?” Tom scoffed. “It’s not hard work? It’s not confusing?”
“Now, hold on.” Jim held up one hand to his son. “I never said that. I just said it felt natural. Natural and easy aren’t the same.” He tossed the line in a different direction now. “But I’ll tell ya this, buddy. When it’s right, it doesn’t feel like work.”
Tom nodded. He looked out over the water, felt suddenly aware of the way the boat rocked beneath their feet.
“I… knew that Siobhan wasn’t right for you, Tommy. I’m sure that’s what you’re thinking about now, and let me tell you something. It’s not going to help. I believe you loved her and all, but she wasn’t the one. Too much work.”
Tom couldn’t help but smile a little at his father’s concern, his hesitancy to bring Shiv up in conversation. “I’m not asking because of her,” he said.
“Oh?” Jim cocked a distinctly Wambsgans eyebrow at his son. “Is this about the new girl?”
Tom shuffled a little on his feet, shivered at a gust of wind. “I don’t know how to answer that,” he said.
“Well, if you don’t wanna talk about her, I understand. It’s all pretty new.”
“I want to talk about it, Dad. I really do. You have no idea.” He brought in his line, ultimately conceding his luck to the fish. “I just don’t know how.”
Jim smiled. “Well, whenever you’re ready. Whatever you want to say. I’ll be more than happy to hear about her. I’m just glad you’re moving on after everything. I know how–”
“Him,” Tom interrupted.
Jim turned toward his son. “Hm?”
Tom hesitated, a sharp pain suddenly filling his chest, a lightheadedness he couldn’t attribute to seasickness. He looked into his father’s eyes, mirrors of his own, and nodded once firmly.
“Him,” he repeated.
He watched as his father’s confused expression relaxed into realization, the wrinkles in his forehead smoothing, his mouth closing. He turned away from Tom and pulled in his line.
“I think maybe we should head back,” Jim said quietly. “See what Mom’s up to.”
Tom sat in his seat and felt his heart break. And as his father took the wheel and turned the motor over again, Tom checked his phone and read the message from Greg.
Wish I was there with you
…
His father didn’t say anything else about it. Tom couldn’t imagine his father hating him for loving a man, but then again, stranger things had happened. Maybe his dad was one of those parents who supported other peoples’ kids being queer, but not his own. Maybe he thought this was just Tom going through some kind of post-divorce midlife crisis. Maybe he thought Tom was experimenting and would get over it.
But he didn’t know, because his father didn’t say anything.
Only when they reached the dock did Jim speak. He told Tom to grab the gear while he tied up the boat, and Tom obeyed, eager to get back on solid ground as quickly as possible. He trudged up the hill to the house, and when he stepped inside, he could smell pot roast.
His mother didn’t often cook homemade meals. As a lawyer, she was often busy in the office or at depositions and hearings or playing referee between two people in a bitter divorce. But as she’d taken more time in the past few years to whittle down her caseload, she had started to cook more. And her favorite meal had become pot roast with potatoes and carrots, so tender off the cooker that it fell apart at the touch of a fork.
But Tom headed straight up to the shower. Maybe he smelled like lake and fish, or maybe he just felt dirty in general, his secret out in the open. Besides, it gave his father a chance to tell his mother, which wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but he couldn’t deny it would make it easier if his father came out on his behalf.
So he stepped into the shower. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, like he’d been on a six-day journey in the wilderness and not a two-hour fishing excursion with his father. Maybe he felt like his father would never look at him the same way again, and how could he? His middle-aged son had just told him that he was falling in love with a man. Certainly Jim had never expected that. Even if he was completely accepting, how could he adjust to such a monumental change?
In fresh clothes, he descended the stairs. He stopped at the landing to watch his parents murmur together as they set the table. And then his father noticed him. He smiled.
Tom smiled back.
“Seems Mommy had different ideas for supper,” Jim said cheerfully. “The fish will have to wait.”
“Well, forgive me for not being confident you’d have a catch out there,” LuAnne joked. “C’mon, Tommy. Don’t let it get cold.”
He sat in his place, the place that had always been his and only his. At a dining table with six places, but only half of them ever used. At the head of the table, a parent on either side. He couldn’t remember when he’d started sitting there, but he always had. He now found it slightly absurd that in a home as traditional as theirs, his father never sat at the head of the table.
They passed around the food, and each took their own desired helping. Tom commented that it smelled delicious, and Jim joked that Tom should’ve been around the first time she tried making it - he wouldn’t have been complimenting that smell! And they were smiling and joking and laughing, and everything was sort of wonderful. But there was an elephant in the room, and he was rainbow-colored and sitting directly on Tom’s chest.
“So, um…” Tom started, shredding away a little bit of meat. He glanced over at his mother. “I suppose you’ve heard?”
“Heard what?” she asked.
Tom looked to his father. The man was, as usual, stone-faced, unreadable.
“About the conversation I had with Dad on the boat.”
“Oh, Tommy, uh…” Jim cleared his throat. “I haven’t said anything to your mother about that.”
Tom smiled, grateful.
“About what?” she asked. “I feel so left out now.”
Jim watched his son expectantly. “I’ve… met someone.”
“Already?”
“Lu.”
She looked at her husband. “Well, don’t you think it’s early? Do you have any idea how many divorces are the result of rebound unions?”
“This isn’t like that,” Tom said, shaking his head. “This isn’t a rebound.”
“You’ve been divorced three months. And already you’re seeing someone.”
“I think it’s good for him,” Jim interceded. “Get back on the horse.”
“I think it’s too early. You never were able to be single, though. Always had to be paired up with some girl.”
The room fell silent. Tom looked down at his plate. Jim looked at Tom. And Lu felt sort of awful for what she’d said. Even if she meant it.
“I’m sorry,” she spoke after a while. “I don’t mean to bring you down.” She reached over and placed her hand on his forearm. “I just love you very much, and I don’t want you getting your heart broken before it’s had time to heal. No woman you’ve ever been with has ever been worth that.”
When Tom looked up, it was to see his father’s reaction. But Jim said nothing.
“It’s actually someone I’ve known for years,” Tom offered carefully, testing it. “And I don’t even think it can be categorized as romantic. We’re just talking a little. You know. We’re… figuring it all out.”
“You’ve known her for years?” Lu asked. “Tom, please tell me you weren’t running around on Siobhan.”
“I don’t think that’s any of our business,” Jim said.
“I wasn’t, Mom. I promise.” He dared to take another bite. “Like I said, it isn’t even romantic, really.”
“But you’d like it to be?”
Tom shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess that’s something I’m trying to figure out.”
“I’ll tell you what will help,” she told him, leaning in closer. “Bring her up here to meet us. We’ll read her right away, I can guarantee.”
Tom chanced a look at his father.
“Lu, how much wine have you had?” Jim joked.
“I’m serious!” she laughed. “And I’m only on my third glass.”
“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Tom answered.
They both looked at him. His mother was positively beaming. His father seemed almost scared.
“Really?” Jim asked.
“Yes. You know, you two always had a good sense for this kind of thing. I think you’re the perfect vetting system.”
“Then it’s settled!” LuAnne exclaimed. “When can she be here? Can she fly out?”
“I’ll have to make some arrangements,” Tom replied. “But I think in a day or two.”
And then it all went back to small talk. LuAnne telling Tom to eat his potatoes, Jim telling his wife that he might head out again at sunrise to see if the fish were biting. And Tom, not for the first time today, was completely overcome with love.
…
Up in his bedroom, Tom decided to reply to Greg. Now that he had something to say.
I’d like you here, actually. Can you fly in on Wednesday?
Wednesday would give Tom two days to prepare his mother. To tell her. To gauge how she’d react when he ultimately told her.
Wait are you serious
Like to MN
You want me there
Tom shook his head at the triple message.
Your lack of punctuation is terrifying. But yes, I’d like you here on Wednesday. I’ll have a car come for you, just send me the flight details.
He told himself that if Greg balked against this, if he seemed at all hesitant or talked about how weird it would be, Tom would rescind the invitation. At this point, he would probably just take that as a sign that he was on the wrong track with Greg, anyway. To give up because it just wasn’t meant to happen.
Sounds like fun, Tom!!!!! I can’t wait!!!! Will I get to meet the family???? Will we see the lake?????
Tom was giggling like a child at the message when there was a knock at the door. His dad, as it turned out.
“Just saying goodnight,” Jim said.
“Oh. Well, goodnight, Dad.”
“And…”
Tom had a feeling there would be a discussion. His father wasn’t really the type to just let things go.
“I just want you to know I love you. I loved all you ever were, and I love all that you are now, and I love all that you’ll ever be. You’re my favorite child, and nothing can change that.”
“I’m your only child, Dad,” he answered, grinning. “But thank you.”
“Are you really bringing him here to meet us?” His voice was hushed now.
“I’d like to,” Tom answered. He left out the fact, and planned to keep it that way, that they’d both already met him. That they’d spent a lot of time with him at the wedding. His mother was in for a hell of a surprise. Might as well give his dad something to be shocked by, too.
“Alright. And will you tell Mom before you have some man at the doorstep claiming to be your lover?”
“Not my lover,” Tom said. “And he won’t just show up. I’ll find a way to explain it to her beforehand.”
“It’s not that she won’t accept it, Tom. It’s just that–”
“I know. I know. The grandchild thing.”
Jim clenched his jaw. “She’ll bombard you with questions about how you’ll ever have kids. She’s a good woman, but she focuses on all the wrong things.”
“Well, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I mean, I’m not even dating him.”
“I know. But only about eight percent of same-sex male couples become parents. That statistic might bug her.”
“When did you look up that statistic, Dad?”
His father froze, caught having to acknowledge that it had been something he’d been thinking about, too.
“Before I came in from the boat,” he admitted.
“If I promise you a grandchild, will you stop looking up statistics and go to bed?”
Jim agreed, and with a hug, he left Tom on his own.
The first thing Tom did after that was answer Greg’s text.
Smartass.
And then, because he liked to say what he felt, even when it wasn’t convenient, he added
I miss you.
He regretted sending it the moment it was delivered. But it’s not as if he didn’t sometimes tell Greg he missed him. When Greg took that week off for vacation and drove up to see his mom. Or when Tom took two days off with a stomach virus. Or when the three-day weekend felt longer than it was.
But then a reply.
Miss you too!!!!!!!
For the second night in a row, he slept soundly.
…
By Wednesday, Tom still hadn’t told his mother the truth.
They had spent most of Tuesday together at a peddler’s mall, gone out to eat at one of their favorite restaurants, and had shared a piece of cheesecake on the couch while watching his mother’s favorite three episodes of Downton Abbey . So he told himself he’d simply run out of time to tell her.
On Wednesday morning, he woke up wondering what excuse he’d make up that day.
Greg’s flight wouldn’t arrive until three, which was good because it gave him plenty of time to think of something. But it was also bad because, well… there wasn’t actually that much time to think of something.
“We should make dinner tonight,” Tom suggested to his parents. “The three of us. Make it a true Wambsgans welcome.”
“If it was a true Wambsgans welcome, we’d ply her with fudge and carryout,” Lu laughed.
“I think it could be nice,” Jim said. “What do we know how to cook?”
Here, they were stumped. They'd just had pot roast, and his mother’s other best dish was meatloaf, but that was hardly a way to welcome and impress. Other dishes included more formal preparation, much of it taking too much time to have completed by this evening’s supper.
“I make a mean eggplant lasagna,” Jim offered. “If you think that would suffice.”
“Too messy,” Lu said with an upturned lip. “What about when you took all those cooking lessons, Tommy? Didn’t you learn anything useful?”
The cooking lessons, LuAnne had said at the time, were entirely impractical. Certainly he was wealthy enough now to afford a cook, et cetera, something about keeping his hands busy elsewhere after marriage. He thought she had meant something sexual, and she scolded him and said she meant working. He thought that sex with Shiv was work sometimes, more work than he wanted to do most nights. But he didn’t say it out loud, and he was always glad he hadn’t.
Not that they were talking about that now, because they weren’t.
“Pork chops,” Tom said after a moment’s thought. I can do those. We’ll need to go to the butcher, then find some butter, rosemary–”
“We’ll do it all!” Jim smiled. “We’ll make a day of it!”
So they did. Or, well, they made a morning of it. Tom even left his phone at home to avoid distraction, more focused now on how he might break the news to his mother that it would be a man, not a woman, stopping by their house sometime after three that afternoon. Saddened by the fact that he was worried about how to tell her. Angry at the reality that he wouldn’t have to fuss at all if he was bringing home another woman. Any other woman.
They stopped first at the farmer’s market for fresh herbs and home-churned butter. Tom plucked rosemary and parsley straight from the plants and into neat little boxes, a far-off experience from the farmer’s markets he’d known as a child. Jim found fresh spinach he hoped to saute for a side dish, while his mother knocked her fingers against the squash, pretending she knew how to check them for ripeness.
Tom hadn’t had a chance to tell her there. She was so busy with the squash and all…
Next, they went to their favorite butcher, the one that had been a Twin Cities staple for going on a century. They toiled over the selections, Jim more than Tom, while his mother walked to the bakery next door for dessert.
“We’ll take four of those, please,” Tom pointed to a row of chops thick as his arm. “And a half pound of bacon.”
“Bacon?” Jim asked.
“For breakfast in the morning,” Tom clarified.
As the butcher wrapped each delicate item in white paper, twine bundled and stacked neatly in a brown bag, Jim placed a hand at the small of his son’s back.
“You’re visibly flustered,” he said close to Tom’s ear.
“I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be. She’ll be nothing but happy for you.”
Tom sighed. “I know, but… but telling you came out so easily. I don’t know why telling her feels so different.”
Jim accepted the bag over the glass partition and led Tom over the the till. “Because she was hardest on you about marrying Siobhan, probably. You’re not eager to accept her criticism again, I think.”
Tom paid for their meats and they stepped outside, waiting by the door for LuAnne’s return.
“I don’t know,” Tom said, shaking his head. “I think it’s… just... I don't know.”
What he thought was that he was worried she’d accuse him of fooling around with his wife’s cousin to get revenge on her. More than that, he was worried she was right. Even if he didn’t think that was what he was doing, even if he was sure that never had anything to do with it, there was still that nagging feeling that he was making a stupid, impulsive decision. He had a history of that sort of thing, after all.
Compounding that was the fact that he’d always thought maybe this was the only reason Greg ever reciprocated, too. Greg, always more hesitant to show affection, always showering Tom with compliments and praises but withdrawing when they were returned. Greg, who had let Tom kiss him on the balcony of his Tuscany hotel room, who had held Tom’s face in his hands and whispered against his lips that maybe this was a bad idea.
Maybe Greg was trying to play some sort of power move over his family, too.
After all, it was all terribly complicated. Even if Greg felt something for Tom beyond the professional and the fraternal, even if Greg was in love with him, even if Tom ran away with him to some far-off land, Greg was still a part of that wretched family. He would always be, no matter how far away they went.
And truth be told, Tom never really wanted to get away. He hated a lot of things, but not his job. Not the power it gave him, not the position he held. He loved the respect his presence commanded. He loved the way his name looked on a letterhead. He loved being the keynote speaker at business conferences. He loved being in Logan’s good graces.
And he loved Greg. Greg who was, in many ways, a part of everything Tom loved.
His mother would have opinions about all of this. She’d represented hundreds of clients who were neck-deep in divorce battles, and she hadn’t always been able to keep them from drowning. Tom included. He’d lost so much of himself and his possessions in the divorce, and his mother had warned him it would happen.
So, when it came down to it, he worried she’d make a similar prediction about Greg. Because she was, unfortunately, always right about these things. And he wasn’t sure he could ever deal with her predicting a dirty end to the two of them. If she didn’t approve of Greg for any reason at all, it would be just as well if she’d hung a noose around his neck and dared him to jump.
“I got the strawberry pound cake and the baklava,” LuAnne’s voice broke through her son’s daydream. “Couldn’t decide which, but I figure she’s bound to like one of the two.”
Tom beamed. “Very thoughtful, Mom. Thank you.”
As the car rounded the street into their cul-de-sac, Tom saw something beside their home’s front door that stopped him cold and filled him with dread.
Greg.
He couldn’t understand this. Greg’s flight wasn’t supposed to get in until three, and with transportation from the airport, he shouldn’t have been to their home a minute before three-thirty. Yet there he stood at ten 'til noon, obvious as anything, on their porch swing. Just waiting. Lighting up when he realized their car was pulling into the driveway.
“Is that Greg?” LuAnne asked.
Tom watched as his father’s face relaxed into the realization.
“Um… yes,” Tom said. “That’s Greg.”
“Well, I hope you bought enough for him, too,” she answered. “And I wish you’d told me he was coming.”
Tom opened his mouth, ready to tell her everything. But then his eyes shot over to the porch as Greg stood, a hand raised in that little wave of his, wearing a sweater Tom had bought for him.
“Mom, I should tell you that…” he sighed, looked to his father for reassurance. Jim nodded encouragingly. “I asked Greg here because… Because I…”
“Tommy, please. We have groceries to get inside. What do you want to say?”
He looked to his father again, then to his mother. “I can’t do anything without him. You know that.”
“Don’t I know,” she rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s a bit unusual needing your assistant with for introducing someone new to your folks, but it’s your business. Come on now,” she turned away and opened her door. “Make sure you grab those bags back there, Tommy.”
He couldn’t bear to look his father in the eye. There it was, the opportunity to tell his mom that Greg was their guest of honor, that it was Greg he had his eye on, that he hoped it was Greg she would approve of. And he still couldn’t do it.
Though, to be fair, he had hoped his mother would piece it all together. She was one of the smartest people Tom had ever known his whole life. But it was as if the moment she left the office, she shut off all critical thinking. Maybe she just saw so much sadness in her work that she wanted her personal life to have room for hope.
“Greg!” she greeted him with a smile. “What a wonderful surprise! Tommy hadn’t told us you were coming.”
Greg looked at Tom. “Oh?”
“Well, we’re glad you’re here to join us all,” Jim said. “How was the flight?”
“The flight was… was good,” he nodded, glancing at Tom again. “Plans got changed at the last minute, but it all worked out.”
“Well, come on in,” Lu told him, lacing her arm through his and encouraging him inside. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“No, no. Not long. Just, like, a… an hour, maybe? Or an hour and a half?”
As the two of them disappeared inside, Jim stopped Tom at the doorway and turned to face him. “Greg?” he asked, his brows dipped low.
Tom nodded. “Greg,” he confirmed.
His father reached a hand forward and rested it on Tom’s shoulder. “Good. I was sort of hoping.”
Tom couldn’t contain the burst of relief, manifested in a laugh parenthesised by tears in his eyes. “Thank you, Dad. But truth be told, it’s not your opinion that worries me.”
Jim led his son inside, even taking one of the bags from him to ease his burden. “Just stick with me, let the two of them talk. Let him warm her up. She adores him.”
“She does?”
“She was calling him ‘baby boy’ at the wedding. Of course, she was half a bottle deep at the time, but there was real sentiment there.”
Tom smiled. “Well, I guess this is happening,” he said quietly.
“I guess so. Are you ready?”
Tom thought about it for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, then you don’t have to do this. Just say you wanted him in for supper.”
“And what about my mystery girl?”
“Well,” Jim thought, “She’s fake anyway, right? So just say she stood you up. Or got hit by a bus.”
“Dad, I’m not going to kill my imaginary girlfriend.”
“It wouldn’t be so far-fetched. Bus-related deaths are entirely common.”
At this, and before Jim could cite statistics, Lu peeked around the entry at them. “What’s holding you boys up?” she asked. “Come on, let’s get cooking!”
…
Jim and Tom managed to encourage LuAnne and Greg away from the kitchen. Jim suggested a house tour, then a tour of the grounds. The meal could not be rushed, so as a last resort while they finished preparing it, they sent Lu and Greg out into the family room with a bottle of rosé and a couple of glasses.
Jim tried to offer a few suggestions for how to segue into the truth. Or even some creative lies that might throw suspicion off. But nothing felt right, not even the truth. And Tom realized as he sauteed the sauce that he’d never cooked a meal with such ennui.
“I want to tell her the truth,” he told his father, who was chopping squash into inexpert, uneven squares. “I want her to know who I am.”
“She knows who you are,” Jim assured him. “She just doesn’t know she knows.”
At this rate, supper would be ready early. Very early. Half-past four, probably. But fuck it, Tom thought. Everything was different now, everything was fucked. He was a ball of anxiety and the man he was falling in love with was a room away from him sharing drinks with a woman who had no idea of any of it.
And then Greg entered the kitchen. Alone.
“Hey, Tom,” he called softly.
Tom and Jim both looked up from their respective stations.
“Greg,” Tom nodded.
“Uh, your… your mom went up to use the restroom, so I thought I’d check up on the old boss man. Th– uh, the.. Tom.”
“You know, I need to check on the… uh…” Jim started, clearly just looking for some kind of excuse. “In the… basement. I’ll leave you both to it.” He excused himself and left through the door leading downstairs.
“I thought your flight came in at three,” Tom said.
“Yeah, there was a mixup? I guess I was also booking your flight to Portland for next month, and I had the times confused. Almost missed my flight today.”
“You could have told me,” Tom said, his tone measured and calm. “You could have texted.”
“I did,” Greg explained. “You weren’t answering.”
Tom remembered then that he’d left his phone home while they were out all morning. In fact, he hadn’t even thought to retrieve it from upstairs since he’d been home. The only person who might try to reach him, the only person Tom would want reaching him on vacation, was standing just ten feet in front of him.
“Right,” Tom acknowledged. “I’m sorry, I’m a little out of it today.”
“Th-that’s… Are you okay?”
“Yes, Greg. I’m fine.”
“Do you need any help in–”
“No,” he stopped him. “My father and I have it covered.”
Greg watched Tom’s eyes shift around the room, down to the floor, only briefly landing on Greg before tearing away.
“Food smells good,” Greg said.
“Greg, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I’m sorry.”
Greg exhaled, worried his brows as he watched Tom still avoiding eye contact. “Why? Did.. did I do something wrong? Are you, like… mad at me or something?”
“No, I’m not mad. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just fucked up again.”
Greg hesitated at first, but then took a step forward. “You’re being too hard on yourself, dude. I think it’s nice that you asked me here.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“Well,” Greg told him, close enough now that Tom couldn’t help but look at him. “I’m glad you did. I like it here.”
Finally, Tom caved. He let himself look into Greg’s eyes, which was usually how all his weakest moments came to fruition.
“And I like your mom a lot,” Greg smiled. “She told me about Tommy Two-hands.”
“Oh god,” Tom winced, a smile hanging on the end of it. “We need to stop giving her wine before dinner.”
“Tommy two-hands, because you always drink your drinks with two hands holding it?”
“Well, not anymore,” Tom insisted. “You’ve seen me drink, Greg.”
Greg leaned his backside against the counter, crossed his arms in front of him. “Yeah. I’ve seen you drink.”
“So you’re going to let my mother feed you all that propaganda about me based on fleeting moments from my childhood?”
“I’m gonna let your mom tell me stories about you, yeah.”
Tom took a step closer to Greg. “She likes to exaggerate,” he said, his eyes involuntarily shifting down to Greg’s lips.
“Like mother like son, right?” Greg smiled.
Tom looked back up. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He closed it again.
“Two drama queens in the same family?” Greg whispered, grinning.
Tom still stared, adoringly gazing into eyes like the lakes he grew up on. Eyes that felt like home.
“Greg,” he started quietly. “I should be honest about why I–”
“Found it!” LuAnne’s voice rang aloud. “Tom’s baby book!”
Greg turned toward her. “Oh, man,” he giggled. “This won’t be embarrassing for you at all,” he told Tom.
“Are you drunk?”
“Gettin’ there,” Greg winked.
“Say no more,” Lu said, and she reached down into the cooler for another bottle. “Come on, Greg. Let’s let them do all the sweating.” She reached for his hand and gripped it tight, leading him out before Tom had a chance to tell him anything real.
Then Tom turned and walked to the basement door. He opened it. “Coast is clear!” he shouted down.
Moments later, Jim reemerged. “Anything eventful?” he asked.
“They’re buzzed and looking through photo albums,” Tom answered. “I’m sure that can’t go awry.”
…
“So she’s not coming?” Lu asked as Jim guided her to her seat at the table.
The lie had been Jim’s doing, a moment of panic when she wandered into the kitchen and asked why there were only four chops in the oven. Tom looked like a deer in headlights, so Jim stepped in and told her that the young lady’s plans had changed.
Tom could save the coming out for another day. Maybe this was better, anyway. She seemed to like Greg, even if she couldn’t possibly know why he was really here. Maybe in time she would come to see him the way Tom saw him, though. Tom hoped she could, anyway.
“Plans change, Mom,” Tom said, all he could muster in the way of an explanation. “But we have Greg, so it seems this extravagance isn’t going to waste.”
“Wait, I’m confused,” Greg said, sitting in his own assigned seat now. “Who’s not coming?”
“We’ve got squash, greens, and chops!” Tom announced too loudly, setting the food out on the table. “And I made the sauce myself, a recipe I’ve been perfecting over time.”
“Yes, and I believe everyone’s glasses have been topped off,” Jim said. “Let’s eat!”
The meal itself was a success. Everything was cooked perfectly, seasoned expertly, smelled like heaven. But Greg was only a few bites in when he asked again.
“Was there supposed to be someone else coming?”
Tom and Jim both had their mouths too full of food to answer, so LuAnne happily interceded. “It seems Tommy’s met someone,” she said. “And we had planned to have dinner here, all of us. Tom thought it was time we meet.”
Greg looked over at Tom, swallowed the bite of food in his mouth. “You’re seeing someone?” he asked.
Tom waved his hand, fork and all, in front of him a little. “It’s nothing.”
“Well, it was important enough that we had dinner together,” Lu said, cocking her head to the side. “I wouldn’t call that nothing, would you, Jim?”
Jim looked awkwardly at his son, then his wife. “Uh… no, I would say that sounds like it means something.”
“Greg?” she asked next. “Does it sound like nothing to you?”
“Meeting the parents is a big step,” he acknowledged. “Definitely not nothing.”
“LuAnne bought two desserts for after supper,” Jim said, hoping for a change in subject.
“He’s falling in love,” Lu continued anyway. “Can you believe that, Greg? Tommy’s in love again.”
Greg set his hands down on the table, the silverware falling from them involuntarily. He looked at Tom.
Tom looked down at his food.
“You’re in love with someone?” Greg asked, his voice quieter than he’d intended.
Tom chanced a glance up at Greg. And now, across the table, they were locked in a gaze.
“Yes,” Tom said finally. “I think I am.”
“Yes, and we’re all very happy for Tom,” Jim broke in. “Tell me, Greg. What do you prefer? Baklava or chocolate pound cake?”
“It’s strawberry,” Lu corrected.
“Who is it?” Greg asked.
Tom stayed silent.
LuAnne looked at Tom, waiting for the answer.
Jim looked, too. Hoping his son could survive this moment.
But Tom said nothing.
“Who is it?” Greg asked again.
Tom blinked, embarrassed, caught between a rock and... fucking Everest. He had to say something. He knew he did.
“An old friend,” was all he let out.
Slowly, Greg smiled.
“These pork chops are incredible!” Jim said, practically shouting. “Now, I know you used butter and rosemary, but tell me again, Tommy: what else did you use?”
Tom had a chance to get out of this conversation now, and he took it. He explained the process for cooking, the sauce, the marinade, the seasonings. His mother asked how they made the squash taste like, as she put it, “potatoes but cleaner,” and Tom explained that, too. Jim fished for compliments on the spinach he had sauteed in olive oil, but received none. And at the other end of the table, Greg finished his meal slowly and silently.
When they’d finished the meal, LuAnne began to clear away dishes. Tom announced that he would help his mother, and that his father and Greg should chat for a while since they hadn’t had a chance earlier. Jim trusted his son’s plan for whatever this delegation of duties was, and he took Greg out to the dock to see the boat while Tom helped his mother clean up and place the dishes in the dishwasher.
“I like Greg,” she said at last. “He’s smart, he’s funny.” She rinsed off a tray and handed it to Tom. “He’s very cute.”
Tom pulled his lips inward at her mention of his looks. Not that he minded her saying that, but he agreed. And he couldn’t say so without telling her everything.
“So what’s the real story, Tommy? About the girl? Did she flake?”
He arranged a few plates in order as she handed them to him. “It’s not a big deal, Mom,” he said, his best casual voice in tow. “Plans change.”
“Yes, you’ve been saying that,” she said, a charged look directed at her son. “You know, I learned something years ago in law school.”
“I imagine you learned a lot of things.”
“When a story is true, it will be consistent all the way. But when a story is a lie, it will simply be repeated.”
He paused as he slipped the silverware into the compartment. He turned to face her.
“Repeating the same phrase about the same situation over and over is one of the most common tells.”
Tom shook his head, a reluctant smile starting on his lips. “I wish you’d been a tree surgeon.”
“Tell me the truth, Tom. Please.”
He felt as if his heart might explode in his chest. He never was a very good liar. Especially not with her.
But he couldn’t speak at all.
“Thomas,” she went on, her voice firm. She placed her hands in front of her, folded on top of one another. “Why do you ever feel like you can’t be honest with me?”
He let his weight fall against the counter. Right where Greg's had earlier.
She sighed, then moved to stand beside her son, one arm around his broad shoulders. “Did you know that I was with someone when I met Daddy?”
“You were?”
“Mm-hm. His name was Neil. Good man. I probably would have married him if I hadn’t met your father, and I’m sure I would have been perfectly happy.”
Tom’s eyes grew wider. “What? Wh… Okay, well… why did you marry Daddy, then?”
“Because Neil wasn’t right, and Daddy was,” she explained. “But, you know, these things are never so simple.”
He couldn’t believe he’d gone forty-two years without knowing this.
“Your father and Neil were good friends, actually. And I loved hanging out with the two of them. They had a wonderful dynamic, you know? Funny and witty, always trying to one-up the other. And the more they hung out, the more right it felt that I was with Neil.”
“Do you mean, ‘the more wrong it felt’?”
“No. I meant it felt right. Because if I married Neil, that meant I would always have Daddy close by. And I realized I wanted to know him the rest of my life.”
Tom tried to reason with this logic.
“But then I wondered if maybe I should cut out the middle man. Just be with Jim. But then, I’d have to break Neil’s heart, and I would feel terribly guilty. And then there was the chance that Jim wouldn’t even like me. So you know what I did?”
Tom shook his head.
“I broke up with Neil when I went to law school. And then I left. I got as far away as I could, went to a wonderful school, and I was completely miserable.”
“Because you felt guilty for dumping Neil?”
“Because I felt stupid for not letting myself love Jim.”
A smile ghosted over Tom’s lips. “So you… called him up? Asked him out?”
“I ran into him at an alumni reunion,” she said. “And I told myself that I wouldn’t leave that shindig until I had told him how I felt, because I knew I might not get that chance again. But I was so scared, Tommy. So, so scared. I was sure he wouldn’t feel the same way. And I was sure it would cause all kinds of problems because he and Neil were still very close friends. It was inconvenient, and it was terrifying, and it wasn’t easy. But natural and easy aren’t always the same thing. And at the end of the day, being with your father was what felt natural.”
“Dad said something like that to me the other day,” he told her. “But… why are you saying it?”
“Because you’re clearly in love with Greg,” she answered quietly. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t wait for you to tell me, but you can be such a mule sometimes!”
“Mom! You knew?”
“Only since this afternoon when we saw him on the porch. And I’ve spent the past six hours waiting for you to tell me the truth.”
“I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said, slapping his arm. “Tommy, I’m sorry if you didn’t feel like you could tell me. I hope I never made you feel like I would judge you for who you love.”
“You judged me for loving Shiv.”
“Well, sure. But she was awful."
He felt a tear fall down his cheek, maybe from laughter, maybe from relief. “You’re really okay with Greg?” he asked.
“Why do you think I told him all those stories and showed him those photos? Do you know how long it took me to dig out that baby book?”
Tom turned and grabbed his mother into a hug, holding her close and crying into her shoulder.
“Tommy, please,” she pushed him away a little. “This is cashmere.”
“I’m sorry,” he sniffled.
She reached down the counter for the paper towels, grabbed a few from the roll, and layered them on her shoulder. “There,” she said, holding him close again. “Cry all you want.”
…
“Hey, Greg. Wanna go for a walk?”
Tom and Lu had just finished the dishes, and they joined Jim and Greg in the study, where Jim was showing Greg his extensive map collection.
“Yes, Tom, I would,” he answered.
“We’ll be back in a bit,” Tom told his folks. “Save us some pound cake.”
“Will do,” Jim smiled. And Lu was already excitedly gesturing at her husband before the study doors closed.
Tom and Greg stepped down off the porch and began their stroll along the curved sidewalk of the cul-de-sac. The night was crisp but pleasant, nothing two boys from the north couldn't handle. The sun was only beginning to set, but for now, there was a pleasant pink-gray hue to the sky, a few clouds scattered about like confetti. A celebration.
“I thought you’d want rescuing from the atlas room,” Tom said finally, side-by-side with Greg out of sight from the house now.
“Thank you,” Greg sighed. “I mean, your dad’s cool and all, but–”
“Cool isn’t an adjective I’d use for him,” Tom smiled.
“Well, I… He’s nice, is all. Better than my dad.”
“Greg, a feral hog would be better than your dad.”
Greg chuckled. Only Tom was allowed to make those jokes, because only Tom understood the extent of their complicated relationship.
“Point: Wambsgans,” Greg said.
They continued on, a school building in sight now. Greg pointed at it.
“Did you go there?” he asked.
“No, I was at a private school about twenty minutes south. That’s just a regular old commoners' school.”
Greg nodded. “It’s nice.”
“Well, it’s a nice neighborhood.”
“It really is. You must’ve liked growing up here.”
Tom thought about that for a moment. “Not always.”
“No?”
Beside the school sat an expansive park. Elm trees shaded a winding cobblestone path, benches were placed strategically throughout. Tom directed their walking that direction.
“I grew up with this grand idea that I would be exactly like my parents,” Tom explained. “House, marriage, kids. Nice neighborhood. Good job.”
“You haven’t done so bad for yourself.”
Tom nodded. “I know. But I think I had my sights set on the wrong things.”
“How so?”
Tom faced forward, his mind jumbled, his heart sore. He didn’t know what to say or how to explain it, didn’t know how to tell Greg that he didn’t even know what he was looking for until he met him. He breathed a little harder thinking about all those nights he spent as a husband where he had everything he could ever possibly want but almost nothing that he needed. How he didn’t even think there was a name for what he felt. How he had so long denied himself the truth that he had come to believe he was destined for an empty, shallow forever.
He didn’t know how to say any of it. But he reached across the space between them and grabbed Greg’s hand, interlacing their fingers as they moved further down the path.
“I think,” he started finally, “That I was trying to find the easiest way to happiness.”
Greg was still a bit taken aback by the hand contact. He wasn’t ready to respond.
“I was so focused on getting those things I wanted that I accepted them as they came. I never questioned anything. I never challenged their long-term benefits.”
Greg cleared his throat. The path was growing darker the deeper into the shade they wandered, the further down the sun set. “I’ve done that, too,” he said. “I mean, why not go for what’s easy, right?”
“Sure,” Tom agreed. “But… it’s like this sweater you’re wearing. I gave it to you… what? Three years ago? Four?”
“Something like that.”
“And it’s still as good as the day we got it. Because it’s quality. And I taught you how to clean it properly. And you take care of it.”
Greg blushed at the compliment. “Thank you.”
“Now, think back to those cheap polyester things you used to wear. They’d get moth-eaten and hole-ridden in months.”
The blush disappeared. “Okay…”
“My point is, I’ve never looked forward when I’ve loved anyone. I’ve had dreams, maybe. Goals. But I never actually took the time to think about whether the people I was with could make me happy five, ten years down. Or if I had what was needed to make them happy.”
Greg stopped suddenly. He stared forward for a few seconds, then at Tom. “Do you really love me? Was that real?”
“Greg,” Tom whispered. “Have I ever not loved you? In all the time I’ve known you, have I ever not been yours? All yours?”
“You were married to someone.”
“I was in denial,” he said. “I was a mule.”
Greg looked down at him, puzzled. “You… smuggled drugs?”
“I was stubborn, you oaf.”
“Oh.”
“And I was always in love with you. Before I was married, while I was married, and certainly now. Now more than ever. And do you know how I know this love is right?”
Greg shook his head.
“Because I’ve loved you even when it wasn’t easy. I loved you because that was what came naturally to me.”
Greg considered Tom, the words he was saying. But slowly, he unlaced their fingers, withdrew his hand. He wandered over near a tree and paced for a moment.
“Tom,” he said. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to say you love me, too. But I’ll settle for you saying you’ll give it a shot with me.”
Greg rested his back against the tree, watching Tom as he approached him.
“I want you to say you want me. You want something with me.”
Greg looked down, kicked his shoe against the dirt. “And if I say–”
“If you say no,” Tom interrupted, “I’ll deal with it. I’ll be sad. Maybe take some time off work, go on vacation. I’ll probably grow a beard or get a piercing or something, but I’ll deal with it. I’ll get over it. Not anytime soon, but someday. Eventually. I’ll be alright.”
“No,” Greg smiled, shaking his head a little. “I… I was gonna ask what you’d do if I said yes.”
Tom felt every bit of breath leave his lungs, a sudden floating sensation take over his being. “Well,” he said, almost whispering. “If you said yes, the first thing I’d probably do is kiss you.”
“And then what?”
“And then run home. Literally run. And tell my parents.”
“Do they know?”
“They figured it out before I did,” Tom laughed. “I’m not exactly subtle, apparently.”
Greg laughed. “And after you kissed me, and after you told them, what would you do?”
Tom closed the space still left between them, chest to chest with Greg, and his arms slowly snaking around Greg’s neck. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I’ve never let myself believe we'd get that far.”
“But… the first thing? The first thing you’d do is kiss me?”
Tom nodded.
“Okay,” Greg smiled. He brought his arms up, holding Tom there, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. He leaned forward, his forehead pressed to Tom’s.
“Okay, what?” Tom asked.
“Okay,” he answered. “So go ahead and kiss me.”