Better Than Friends (27 page)

“Who’s Shane?”

“Ex.” Jack’s sharp tone told me they were not still friendly, but I asked anyway.

“Oh. Bad breakup?”

Jack stopped in his tracks and gave me a funny look. “Yeah, you could say that. We’ve been over for a couple of years. And there is nothing more to say on that subject. New category. Do you remember any commercial jingles?”

I stared at Jack’s wide retreating shoulders before I trudged along after him. I listened as he sang a line or two with the hopes I could name the commercial it went to. When that proved hopeless, he switched to television sitcoms from the ’80s. I laughed at his off-key singing while I appreciated his extreme efforts to keep my mind from dwelling on my body aches and toward topics that were taboo, like exes whose names I hadn’t known before today.

I realized as we walked on how gently balanced our worlds are. Time heals old wounds and eventually allows the heart to open when the possibility of something special comes along. But we all have pasts, and some things could be shared and others were for us alone.

As Jack launched into a painfully pitchy rendition of a theme song from an ’80s sitcom, I knew I’d fallen for him. Utterly and completely. There would be no trying to convince myself of all the reasons we were wrong for each other. He was fourteen years older, he owned a bar and a motorcycle shop, he had tattoos and strange penchant for keeping things neat and tidy. None of it mattered and it wouldn’t change the fact that simply being near him made everything okay. Blistered feet and an aching belly… who cared? All I heard was his deep voice urging me forward with wisdom from
The Facts of Life
.

“You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life….”

I laughed appreciatively and told him he was an idiot, but there was no disguising the way I felt. My voice was a little too high, my eyes were a little too bright. There was no way he couldn’t see what was happening here. I was in love with him. It felt too amazing for me to bother with worrying he might not feel the same. I would deal with reality later.

B
Y
GENERAL
consensus and a little help from Mother Nature, we spent the remainder of our stay at the little log cabin inside, out of the rain. Thankfully, it didn’t start to pour until we returned from our never-ending hike. By then we were in bed with the covers pulled around us as we sighed and moved together, our bodies joined in sweet ecstasy. I heard the first heavy drops of rain on the rooftop as I surfaced from the intense wave of a powerful orgasm. Jack shuddered on top of me and buried his face in my neck until the aftershocks passed.

As I lay in his arms later with my hand over his heart, I wondered where we’d go from there. It had been a decade since I had been “in love” with someone. Kyle and I had been teenagers and we knew nothing about how cruel and unkind life could be. But Jack knew and I sure as hell did too. What I didn’t know how to do was let go of fear, let go of the past, and concentrate on building a future. If I let myself dream, I would acknowledge I wanted Jack in mine. I didn’t know how to start. I didn’t want to rock the boat and scare him. I was scared enough for both of us. So I’d wait and see where this thing between us led… and hope for the best.

“If we open a quarrel between past and present, we shall find that we have lost the future.”

—Winston Churchill

O
UR
RETURN
to civilization made me yearn for the simple pleasures of life in the wilderness. It’s funny how quickly I could forget blisters, hunger, and the elements when confronted by a messy apartment with an empty fridge and two messages on my phone I didn’t look forward to listening to. I purposefully waited ’til Jack dropped me off in Georgetown Sunday afternoon to deal with reality. Groceries and tidying were manageable. It was returning calls to Cary and Paul that seemed daunting.

I listened to Paul’s message first. His lovely accented voice informed me he was back in the US and would love to see me sometime this week. Did Friday work? I sighed, thinking I’d never been in a situation where I had to put the brakes on with one guy because I was involved with another. I amended “involved with” to “in love with” in my head, but I wouldn’t share that with Paul when I returned his call. I saved his message, thinking I’d deal with him later, and listened to my brother’s instead.

“Hey, Curt. We brought Dad back home. Um…. We arranged hospice care because… it’s time. I know it’s hard, little brother, but I was thinking you might want to come back and maybe say good-bye. I don’t know how much longer he has. Maybe a week, more or less. But I wanted you to know. Call me, okay?”

My hand shook as I brought my phone away from my ear and looked at it as though it were a foreign object. I didn’t know what to think. I wasn’t sure how to feel or even act. A very real part of me wanted to get up, shower, go to the grocery store, straighten up my apartment, and get started planning my week at work. Fuck him. How dare he make me care about him when he had proven he couldn’t care about me if I couldn’t be what he wanted?

Another part of me remembered being the kid who’d looked up to his larger-than-life dad. The megastar technology exec whose very presence created a stir in any room he walked into. Any bit of attention from my busy father was like being given a piece of gold. I hoarded those pathetically few memories like a miser and turned them over and over in my mind until he was practically a legend, a god to my teenage self. I liked who I was when I worshipped my father. I liked the simplicity of my life then. Finding out who he really was when he realized who I was… that was devastating. Could I mourn the man I had thought he was? Or was it too late?

I picked up my keys, deciding my empty fridge really needed my attention. Real-life shit could wait.

J
ACK
WAS
the first person I told about my father being in hospice care. He could tell from the sound of my voice something was wrong when he called later that night. I loved him a little more when he showed up at my door a half hour later and drew me into his strong, protective arms, warding off my demons when I proved helpless to do it on my own. He stayed with me that night, watching sports highlights and making idle conversation to distract me from darker thoughts. I slept fitfully while tucked closely at his side.

Other than a quick word about the cap being off the toothpaste, he didn’t say one word about my messy apartment. A sure sign of some cataclysmic shift. I was too emotionally drained and confused to try to figure what any of it meant. I was just grateful Jack was with me.

The next few days were oddly disjointed with no real flow. I was distracted at work and not as productive as usual. I finally gave in and told one of the partners about my dad’s waning health when he was forced to ask me the same question three times in a meeting. He was sympathetic and told me to take whatever time I needed to be with my father. I thanked him and kept the “fuck that” to myself. I wasn’t going to San Francisco to watch him die. No way. I hadn’t even decided if I’d go to his funeral. I couldn’t think clearly at all. Past and present were crashing and colliding at a frenetic pace. I was a control freak who was losing control. I had no idea how to do anything more than the basics, and I was more than a little pissed that it was my father instigating this mental spiral on his death bed. It was all so irrational, so selfish. I was never so glad to have the amazing friends I did, who seemed to like my company when I couldn’t bear to be alone with my ugly thoughts.

My friends rallied around me, calling and offering support by way of a drink, dinner, or an ear. I had always counted myself lucky to have people like Matt and Jason in my life who knew me and cared about my well-being. Along the way, our circle had expanded to include Aaron, Jay and Peter, and Jase’s wife, Chelsea. Each one of them made a point to let me know they were there for me. I wasn’t alone.

But Jack was my rock. He didn’t have to say a word. He was just there. Ready with a word of wisdom, a quick joke, or comforting hand on my shoulder. I knew when this mess was over I’d tell him how I felt. I’d tell him I loved him. I didn’t want to say it when my emotional stability might be questioned. I knew my words were true but I didn’t want him thinking I was speaking in the heat of the moment.

T
HURSDAY
MORNING
I sat at my office desk, rereading a memo while sipping my fourth cup of coffee. When my cell rang, I picked it up without looking at the caller ID. When you were constantly braced for bad news, what difference could it possibly make when it came? I was a stress case, a nervous strung-out mess. No doubt a visit with a reputable therapist was in my cards.

“Curt Townsend,” I answered.

“Curt? Hello. It’s Paul. How are you?” The lilting, lovely British accent threw me for a minute. I had completely forgotten about Paul in the midst of my family drama. I’d never returned his call from over the weekend and I hadn’t thought twice about it.

“Paul. Uh. Hi.”

“I’m just back in the States this week and I was hoping I’d see you. Are you free tomorrow night? There’s a jazz band playing at—”

“Paul, I…,” I interrupted him but was immediately interrupted myself when my office phone buzzed. “Sorry, I have a call coming through I have to take. Can I call you back later?”

“Don’t worry. Just be ready. I’ll be by to pick you up tomorrow at seven. Cheerio!”

I stared at my cell for a second before turning to my office phone. I was easily and gratefully distracted by the caller requesting contract details for my current project. I didn’t think about Paul again until later that afternoon, when I struggled to remind myself to call him back before the day’s end and let him know I wouldn’t be going anywhere with him.

I forgot to call him. I didn’t even realize my oversight until I was back at my desk the next morning and had one of those strange déjà vu feelings come over me. Before I had a chance to deal with Paul, my cell rang again. This time I looked at the identification of the caller and froze for a second before answering.

“Hi.”

“Curt, he’s gone. Just now. I….” Cary’s voice cracked with grief. “Come home, Curt. Please.”

I swallowed hard and closed my eyes against the wall of pain, sorrow, and fear. I was surprised at the strength of it. If I weren’t sitting I would have fallen to my knees. Speech wasn’t possible. I opened my mouth but quickly closed it, leaning heavily forward with my elbows on my knees.

I tried again and said the only thing I could think of. “Okay.”

I
HAVE
no idea how I maneuvered through the remainder of the morning or afternoon. I took care of some basic e-mails, made a reservation for a direct flight from DC to San Francisco for the next morning, and somehow made my way back to Georgetown. I packed a light suitcase, knowing the visit would be short, and turned my energy to tidying the stacks of magazines and newspapers when my mind began to drift to unpleasant thoughts.

When I heard a knock at my door later that afternoon, I had another one of those out-of-body “return to the present” sensations. I hoped it would be Jack but then realized I hadn’t told him yet. In fact, I hadn’t told anyone but work associates. I looked through the peephole to see Aaron and Matt. I quickly opened the door.

“What are you—”

Aaron launched himself into my arms while Matt stood by with his hands deep in his suit pants pockets. His expression told me they had somehow found out… most likely through the law-firm grapevine. Aaron pulled out of my arms for a minute and looked me over carefully, his dark hair falling artfully into his sad eyes.

“I’m sorry, Curt. Just sorry. I know this isn’t easy, whether or not you were close to your father. Losing a parent is….” He shook his head mournfully. “Very difficult. Let me make you some tea or something, okay?”

Aaron stood on his toes to plant a gentle kiss on my cheek before making his way to my kitchen. Matt watched him, probably wishing he would come back and supply a cue card or give a hint about what one says to someone who’s just experienced a death in the family.

“You okay? What are you going to do?”

I took a deep breath and walked over to my sofa. I shook my head and ran a frustrated hand through my hair, wanting to answer my friend but not really knowing how.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine, anyway. I… I’m going back.”

“Good.”

“Why do you say that?” I gave Matt a sharp sideways glance. He knew about my less-than-stellar relationship with my family. I didn’t tend to go into detail, but he knew enough to know I didn’t get along with my father in particular.

“Closure.”

“I’m going for Cary. He asked and….”

“Go for your brother, yes. But go for you too. Say good-bye to your past.”

Aaron walked into the living room and handed me a cup of tea before taking his place on the sofa next to Matt. I watched how closely they sat and how effortless they were together. When Matt’s arm dropped, Aaron filled the offered space at his side. When Aaron shifted on the cushion, Matt made room for him. They weren’t showy or overly demonstrative. They were a couple and they moved as one. I felt a sharp longing for Jack. I wanted and needed him in an almost physical sense that had nothing to do with sexual desire.