Remission
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I’d fucking beaten it.
I had.
I was in remission, my hair was growing back and I was starting to gain back some of the weight and the tumor on my arm had disappeared and I wasn’t throwing up anymore and—Jesus—it felt so fucking good.
OK, my clothes were still hanging on like heroin chic, but at least I was walking under my own power and the first morning that I walked into the diner you’d have thought that I was returning royalty or something.
Deb did the expected, screamed and threw her arms around me like I was a long lost love or Ed McMahon and even Michael was pretending to be happy to see me. OK, I knew he was just glad that it all meant that Brian was back, but at that point I was willing to take what I could get.
The others, everyone who was in the place all made their way over to me at some point while I was there to tell me they were glad that I was back—it made me feel good, you know?
Emmett kept his arm around me and went on about how the baldy-locks look would become all the rage once everyone got a good look at my chrome dome and he wouldn’t let me get a wig or anything no matter how I pleaded, so don’t bother trying, but he did know a place to get some really fabulous hats and he was dying to take me. Ted was his usual quiet, cynical self, but did say that if I needed any help figuring out the insurance or the bills, just let him know.
They’re good guys.
Deb was trying to insist that I eat everything on the frigging menu, so I told her that I was doing better, but my appetite still wasn’t what it had been—like anyone could maintain that standard forever, for God’s sake—so she grudgingly went easy on me with eggs over easy, dry toast and some weak tea. I did manage to eat all of it, though, which I thought was pretty good.
I was about halfway though the food when Deb seemed to notice that I’d come in alone and asked, in her subtle way, “Where the fuck is Brian?”
So I explained it to her.
My Mom had dropped me off. I was staying at the condo. Brian needed a break, even though he never said that and wouldn’t have admitted it, and he had a shit load of work that he had to catch up on. We’d agreed that, as long as I felt well enough, I’d probably stay with him on the weekends. Yes, sure, of course. I’d rather have stayed with Brian at the loft full time, but I couldn’t ask him that. I just fucking couldn’t after everything he’d already done for me the last few months. I mean, fuck me, he’d practically tanked his job, moved to New York City and all to play nursemaid to me while I threw up and looked like skank and couldn’t even begin to give back a tenth of what he was giving to me.
So I was staying with Mom and she was happy about that and I was pretty much OK with it, too—as long as she stayed off my case and backed off when she started getting nuts.
I knew that she had to do the Mom thing. It was important to her; I knew that my being sick, especially after the bashing had just about killed her and she needed to know that I was really getting better.
Hell, I was even happy to be living with Molly again—shit, OK the fact was that I was just Goddamned happy to be alive and living anywhere.
I don’t mind admitting that there were more than a couple of days when I didn’t think I’d make it—and there were days when I wasn’t sure that I even wanted to, but as soon as Brian saw that I was getting to that point, he’d do something to get me going again. He’d take me to a museum or he’d kiss me or he’d tell me about all the great places we’d go to when I got better and he was so Goddamned sure about it—like it was just an assumption, that there was no question about it at all, that dying wasn’t an option, that I would get caught up in it and make it through another day.
So Deb stood there, hands on her hips and asked if “The asshole fucked up again”, and I told her the truth, that he’d been a fucking saint and if it hadn’t been for him I wouldn’t have made it.
I didn’t bother to go into all the details like about how he had
cleaned up my puke and piss and shit and how he had washed me and fed me
and made sure that I got out of the McDonald House to see some of
I didn’t tell her any of that because she probably knew it anyway.
She’d know Brian for seventeen years and if she really thought that he was a hopeless jackass, she would have dumped him sixteen years ago.
She knew what he’d done without my telling her and I knew she knew when he walked in twenty minutes later and saw her go over to him. It was his first stop in at the diner since we’d gotten back and she put her hand on his arm, reached up to kiss his cheek and I heard her whisper “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”
He gave her that embarrassed half smile he has when he’s busted doing something nice and just said, “Thanks, Mom.” Before kissing her cheek in return and joining me for his breakfast.
He looked across the table at me, asked me how I was doing this morning and I guess he liked what he saw because he gave me one of his real smiles.
He ate his whole-wheat toast and black coffee with a ton of sugar, kissed me goodbye and asked if I would be up to company later, after he got off work. I guess that I just gave that stupid dumbass smile of mine as an answer because he looked happy enough with that, said “Later” and left to get to Vanguard.
Mom had said that she’d pick me up after some errand she was running and I saw her walk in, go over to talk with Debbie for a few minutes then come ask me if I was ready to go.
Well, to tell the truth, I was fucking exhausted. I wasn’t just ready to go home, I was ready to be there right this minute and sleep for a week, thanks. I didn’t say that, needless to say, just smiled, said “Sure” and we were gone.
When we got back to the condo I did just about what I wanted to, which was to take a four hour nap. When I woke up around one in the afternoon, I was on my way down to the kitchen to get something to drink on the way was stopped by Dad who was sitting reading in the living room. He asked me what it was I wanted and offered to get me the juice.
When he handed me the glass he sat down on the couch with me and—Jesus—he seemed to want to actually have a nice talk.
And all it took was a little cancer to break the logjam.
He asked how I was feeling, told me how worried he’d been—even though he’d never bothered to pick up the Goddamned phone or drop in, of course and told me how happy he was that I seemed to be doing better.
Yeah, right. Whatever. OK, fine. I guess he was trying, more or less, so I decided that—what the fuck—“I couldn’t have made it if Brian hadn’t been there—but you knew that, right?”
He looked at me like he wished that I was still maybe ten years old and I thought that he could do anything he fucking wanted because he was my father and he was fucking superman and then he surprised the shit out if me.
“I know. Your mother told me about it, she told me about what he
did—that he moved to
Fuck me.
“Look, Justin—this whole thing with you getting sick, it’s put some things in perspective for me. I know that sounds like bullshit—.” Obviously he’d caught the look on my face. “But it has.”
“So because I almost died from cancer and the treatment, you’re ready to let bygones be bygones?”
That was when I noticed that he looked old. He was only like a dozen years older than Brian, but he looked all gray and dry and used up, sort of how I always pictured that Willy Loman would look if he didn’t look like Dustin Hoffman.
Well. Maybe.
“OK, I take it you’re saying that you’d like to be friends again, that you want to be my father even if I’m a fag?”
“Look, Justin…the fact is that I am your father and I love you. I want to help and I want us to be able to talk like we used to before—all the shit happened.” He actually looked out the window, taking pause—and they call ME a drama queen. “Please, Justin.”
Christ, I never thought that I’d see my father beg. Jesus.
“What about Brian? Can you accept that he’s important in my life and that I’m in love with him?”
He nodded...and you know what? I believed him. Who the Hell ever thought that would happen?
“Would you have dinner with me? And Brian, too.”
This was just my day for surprises, wasn’t it? To tell the true, I was pretty frigging tired and all I really wanted was another nap, but I knew that this was a big step for him so, “I’ll call him and see if he can make it, OK?” Fuck it, I could sleep all afternoon. The phone was on the table, I punched in the number, told Cynthia that I felt better, thanks and could I speak to him for a minute? It wouldn’t take long. I was put through and explained the situation. Brian—after a couple of comments about how he was certain that it was indeed the apocalypse, said that he’d look forward to it—sort of, and that he’d be there. In fact, he said that he’d pick me up, if I wanted.
I’m sure that he would have rather eaten glass, but I think he knew that I wanted to give it a shot.
So at seven Brian and I were walking into the burger place that my father had suggested. Brian and I both ordered salads and Dad got this big mother thing that had used about half a cow, with cheese and bacon and half the produce aisle thrown on top.
There was some reserve on both of their parts—no shit, but at least they were being polite. Dad was surprised that I didn’t want what he was having and I explained to him that I was still sort of off my feed and that I was happier with something lighter. Brian almost never eats a lot, not that Dad would have a reason to know that.
Then he—Dad, I mean—sort of cleared his throat and started talking about how he had misjudged Brian and that he had been hasty in his first assessment. He said that he’d been doing a lot of research and he had found out a lot of things about homosexuality, that’s what he called it—the whole big word—and he now knew more than he used to and he understood that I was probably born the way I was and so was Brian.
He did qualify it all by saying that he still thought that Brian was years too old for me but that he wouldn’t do anything to stand in our way or anything.
Then, right in front of me, he thanked Brian for all the help he’d given after the bashing and with the cancer and all the rest.
OK, I got a little pissy and asked if he thanked Brian for taking me in after he—Dad—had thrown me out of the house? He looked sort of embarrassed and said that he did, that he was grateful that I had found someone who would stand by me the way Brian had.
Well, you could have blown me over with a fucking feather.
I glanced over at Brian, not sure what I’d see there, and he had this look on his face. It was the look he gets when he knows something is going down that isn’t obvious and you know that his mind is going about a hundred miles an hour figuring out just what the Hell it is.
I asked him about it once, years ago about something and he just said “Don’t trust anyone and get it in writing.”
He looked like he was trying to figure out what Dad’s angle was. “So, you’re alright with me and Justin being together? The last time we really spoke, you seemed somewhat against it.”
Well, Brian always did have a way with words.
“I didn’t say that I’m completely alright with it, but I understand better now and I think I can accept it.”
Without meaning to, I started yawning. Shit. I didn’t mean to give Brian a reason to cut out.
“That’s good of you, Craig, but I think Justin needs to get back now, if you’ll excuse us.” He stood up, holding the chair for me.
“Justin, I’ll call you tomorrow and if you need me, please—just let me know.”
I thanked him and he knew I meant for more than just a meal and we left.
In the car on the way back to the condo Brian asked me how I was feeling and I admitted to him that I was pretty fucking tired, then I asked him what he thought about Dad’s peace offering.
He drove for about half a block then answered. “I think that he’s full of shit, Justin. I believe that he misses you, sure he does, but he’s afraid that your mother will take him to court to attach his wages for your medical expenses.”
That pissed me off. Dad had been trying, Goddamnit. “Christ, you don’t know that and that’s bullshit. He’s still my father and he’s worried about me. That’s what’s going on. You’re just being a cynical asshole.” But even as I was ranting at Brian, I knew that he was probably right. I knew that Mom was worried about the costs that weren’t covered and they were up to close to two hundred thousand dollars. Brian had offered to help and Mel had offered to talk to the hospital and the doctors to work out payment plans and all of that, but there were still enormous bills coming in—and the fucker was that the insurance had actually paid over three hundred thousand already. I didn’t understand it all, but I knew they were balking at some of the treatments and Sloan wanted payment.
Shit.
Like she didn’t have enough to deal with.
Fuck.
Brian was right.
Dad missed me and might even be willing—sort of—to accept me and Brian, but he had his reasons.
Like always.
Some things just never fucking change.