Patchouli For Christmas (7 page)

Chapter Three

Michael paused on the stoop of the old brownstone in Brooklyn. A green wreath with red bows decorated the door. He could hear the kids arguing and the TV in the background. It sounded like it usually did when he visited.

After staying the night at Jude’s, he’d left early in the morning and then spent the day getting caught up with work. He felt tired, but last night had certainly been worth it. He felt less certain about the dinner date they’d made for that evening.

Knowing he’d have a few hours free early in the evening after he wrapped up some things and before picking up Jude, he’d left one more message on Lauren’s phone to let her know what time he planned to visit. That gave her the opportunity to call him back and tell him not to come. Or to be gone when he got there. He still worried he might come across as stalkerish, but then again, what kind of friend didn’t offer to help when someone they knew was going through a hard time?

True, he and Lauren weren’t exactly BFFs. They only saw each other on family occasions, but they had always gotten along well. He appreciated that she accepted him as he was and encouraged the kids to spend time with him.

Anyway, he wasn’t just a friend. He was the uncle of those kids screaming at each other about hogging the PlayStation. Smiling, he recalled the fights every Christmas over whose new game got to be played first. Then his smile faded. Would he be there this Christmas morning when they opened their presents? Would their father?

He rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately. Did that mean she’d been watching him from the window? He winced inside. He sure hoped not. No telling what his face had looked like.

“Hey,” she said. She didn’t smile at him. She seemed even more tired than he felt. “Come on in.”

He hung his jacket in the hall closet and followed her into the living room past the Christmas tree in the corner. The kids sat on the couch in front of the TV, playing games.

The older one spotted him first and ran to him, yelling, “Uncle Mike!”

Dougie threw his arms around Michael’s waist. Michael ran his fingers through the kid’s hair affectionately. They were the perfect ages. Doug Jr. had just turned nine and his little brother, Davie, was seven. Old enough to do fun stuff, but not yet at that phase when they didn’t want to be seen in public with parents—or uncles.

By then the other one was on him too, and they had his waist locked in a stranglehold.

“Ugh.” His breath left him with a gasp as they tightened their grips. “You guys are getting too strong. You’re gonna squeeze me to death, like those boa constrictors we saw on TV last time I was here. Remember?”

They did, and Davie went to get his rubber snake to throw on him while he pretended to recoil in horror. Then they pushed him onto the couch, and before he knew it, he had a controller in his hands and was battling the monster du jour. He didn’t even know what they were playing, but they explained what he was supposed to do in extremely loud voices. They shrieked with laughter every time he got his butt kicked, so he guessed that made it worth looking like an old idiot uncle.

As he played, he saw Lauren out of the corner of his eye as she passed through the living room now and then, carrying laundry or bringing them snacks. Did she think the kids would distract him all afternoon? He wanted to speak to her, and she knew it. If she had led him straight to the living room in an effort to avoid that, it wasn’t going to work for long.

He wanted to talk to the kids too, to see how they were coping and to give them what reassurance he could that both he and their father would always be there for them. But he needed to talk to Lauren first. He didn’t want to contradict anything she had already told them regarding the reason their father didn’t live with them anymore.

After he had gone down in flames several times and was about to bust a gut from eating too many cookies, he declared himself defeated. The kids switched to a new game, and he wandered into the kitchen and then took a seat at the table. Lauren wasn’t there, but he knew she would return soon. With two growing boys, there was always something to be done in the kitchen, or so it had seemed to him on previous visits.

She’d been a paralegal before having the kids. He remembered when she’d stopped working to stay home and take care of them. She’d seemed happy with that decision. He wondered if she would have to go back to work now, and who would watch the kids after school if she did.

Lauren returned to the kitchen carrying a load of kitchen towels and washcloths. She hesitated for a second when she saw him sitting there. After putting the towels away, she took a seat at the table.

For the first time, he noticed that a few strands of gray had appeared in her brown hair. The dark circles under her eyes matched the ones her soon-to-be ex-husband had sported. A matching set, if only they knew it.

He’d always thought her a lovely woman. As she approached forty, she seemed more attractive than ever. The air of maturity only enhanced her good looks. Would she marry again? That thought made his stomach clench. What if her new husband didn’t want her or the kids to have anything to do with her ex-husband’s family? What if he didn’t like gays? What if—

For God’s sake, Michael. Focus.

But he didn’t know how to start, and she didn’t give him any help. Reassurance first? “I’m not here to bother you. Doug told me what’s going on, but maybe not the whole story. I thought maybe you’d want to…you know…talk.” Michael winced. Could he possibly sound any more Dr. Phil?

He felt a little relieved to see a ghost of a smile cross her face. Nothing like making a fool of yourself to make someone else feel better.

“There’s not much to talk about.” She sat back in her chair, seeming to relax a little. “Although I will say I’m a little surprised at the way you’re behaving.”

He stared at her, puzzled. Hadn’t he been perfectly calm, while inside he was screaming,
What the hell are you doing?

She nodded as if answering his unspoken question. “I expected you to be a lot more upset. I’m sorry about not answering the phone or returning your calls. I thought you might need a little time to adjust to the situation before we talked.”

And here he’d been trying to give her time to calm down. “Maybe you were right. But that doesn’t mean I’ve accepted it. It just means I can talk about it without having a complete meltdown.”

“See? It worked.”

“And that was the only reason?”

“Not really. I felt too upset to talk to anyone. Besides, you’re going to try to get me to change my mind, and I don’t want to hear it right now.”

Michael shook his head, baffled. “I know you have your reasons for doing this. What he did in Denver—hell yeah, I’d be mad. I’d be furious. But he didn’t actually sleep with her. Isn’t this something you two could work through?”

She was shaking her head before he’d even finished, and as he looked at her closely, he saw the tears start to well in her eyes.

His voice softened. “You still love him. You wouldn’t be so upset if you didn’t.”

“Damn. Just when I think I’m done crying, it starts again.” She got up and went to the counter to pull a paper towel from its rack. “I was afraid this would happen if I talked to you. I should have given it another couple of days.” She sounded cross.

“Would that really have made a difference?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” She dried her face with the towel. “I don’t want the kids to see me like this.” She tossed that towel and grabbed another one from the rack. Twisting it in her hands, she sat again.

“I know it wouldn’t be easy, but have you at least considered seeing a marriage counselor?”

“I don’t see the point. Besides, I’m tired of being the only one working at this relationship. If he thinks he can do better, then he can go for it.”

“But he said he tried to explain what happened and you wouldn’t listen.” He felt as if they were having two different conversations.

“That’s true.”

It finally clicked. “You mean you’re not getting a divorce because of what happened in Denver?”

“Of course we are. But it’s never only one thing. He must have been unhappy before then, or he wouldn’t have kissed that girl.”

“What do you mean? He never seemed unhappy. At least, he never said anything.”

“Of course he never said anything to you. It’s not like you would have been any help.”

He stared at her, stunned.

“Doug doesn’t know much about what it takes to keep a relationship going, but you know even less. I understand”—she raised her hand as if to forestall a protest he was too speechless to give—“neither of you has had a good role model.”

He finally got his voice back. “I don’t have time for a relationship. I’m damn busy running my business.”

“Now you sound like him. You have to make time. You have to be willing to sacrifice something to get something, and you have to feel the sacrifice is worth it.” She frowned at the shredded remains of the paper towel. “Or everyone ends up getting hurt.”

So that was that. Michael looked down at the table without seeing it. He’d known that being with Jude was a bad idea, and now he had the proof. The situation was hopeless. They would both end up getting hurt when he inevitably screwed up. He cursed himself for letting those big brown eyes, the smile that came out of nowhere, and that sweet, sweet ass pull him into bed against his better judgment.

She continued, but he had a hard time concentrating on her words. “I’m always the one who has to find time for us to be together. When we argue, it’s me that has to make up. He forgets about it like everything is all right. Well, it isn’t, and I’m tired of him not caring. Now he’s gone beyond not caring to just plain unhappy.”

That caught his attention. “He does care! You should have seen how torn up he was when he told me about the divorce.”

She seemed a little surprised at that. “He sure as hell never shows it. And he’s obviously not happy with me. I’m not young anymore, and he’s at that age when guys start looking for a younger model.”

“That’s crazy,” he protested. “You’re more beautiful now than when you first met him.”

That made her smile even though she seemed like she didn’t believe it. “That’s sweet of you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get upset—certainly not with you. I guess it’s been bottled up for a while. Feels kind of good to get it out, actually.”

“Glad I could help,” he muttered. He glanced toward the living room where the kids had switched off the game and were watching some movie with roaring dinosaurs.

She followed the direction of his gaze. “Don’t worry. I don’t know how it’s all going to work out yet, but I do know the kids need their father and their uncle. They’re very attached to you, and I still want you to spend time with them. I’ll make sure you’re invited to the birthdays, the school plays, the baseball games. You come whenever you can.”

“Thanks.” He could barely choke out the word past the lump in his throat.

She stood. Clearly time for him to go. He went to the living room, stooped down to hug his nephews, and then gave them each a peck on the cheek. “I’ve got to run.” He hesitated as he realized he hadn’t asked her what she’d told them.

Maybe it didn’t matter, after all. There was only one thing they needed to know from him. “I’ll see you soon, okay? I promise. Christmas will be here before you know it.” He glanced at Lauren. They hadn’t specifically discussed it, but she nodded. “I’ll be over first thing Christmas morning. I want to see what Santa brought you.”

Michael walked out of the brownstone and down the short flight of stairs in a daze. He stumbled on the last step and caught himself quickly on the cold metal of the iron railing.

The few blocks to the N train seemed insurmountable. He found a rare unoccupied bench in the deepening twilight and sat heavily. With nightfall came a cold wind, and he shivered into his jacket.

He stuck his hand in his pocket and gripped his phone. After pulling it out, he stared at it blurrily, barely able to make out the time. If he rushed, he could make it to Jude’s place without being late. But his legs felt paralyzed. He pulled the coat closer around himself and then tugged a hand through his hair. At least he wouldn’t have to give up leather.

He called Jude’s number. Like the wimp he knew he was, he prayed that Jude would be in the shower scrubbing off paint so he wouldn’t be able to answer the phone and Michael could leave a message. If there was a patron saint of cowards, he heard the prayer, because Jude’s voice mail picked up.

Michael wasn’t even sure what he said. Something stupid, like something came up and he had to work. Work was always a good excuse, wasn’t it? He’d used it in the past, come to think of it. But he didn’t recall ever having this weird, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Maybe Jude would be angry enough to go out without him. Michael hoped so. He’d meet someone younger—someone he had more in common with. An artistic type in some pretentious coffeehouse, maybe during one of those god-awful poetry slam things. Then he’d forget about Michael pretty quickly. Chalk him up as a mistake. That thought should have made Michael feel better, but it didn’t work. In fact, he wanted to kick hypothetical artsy guy’s ass.

Michael slowly put the phone back in his pocket.

That’s it then. I’m officially a hopeless, pathetic old queer my nephews will barely tolerate as they grow up
. Michael rubbed his temples. Between his situation and his brother’s, it all seemed too depressing, and the only thing he wanted to do was snuggle down into a warm bed with a tight little Jude body in his arms. Except he’d just made sure that would never happen again.

Stop wallowing
. He stood and headed for the train station. Michael would get over it. Jude would get over it. His business would be fine. Jude’s grandmother was rich, but she wasn’t the mayor of New York, for God’s sake. She didn’t have that much power. He had plenty of clients already who didn’t know her at all.

Everything would work out for the best. He felt sure of it.

So why did he feel like he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life?