Homecoming

*14*

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Memories and Mementos

Brian

Well, that could have been a lot fucking worse.

Now if we can just get through the dinner tomorrow night with little Sunshine’s latest admirer - that old fossil who’s selling us his house - then I might get through this week without killing anybody.

We still haven’t talked about the bombshell he dropped the other night. There’s been so fucking much to do and to sort out. Physical stuff - like trying to find room for all the shit he just can’t do without for the next few weeks till we move into the house, and some financial stuff that he doesn’t need to worry about; freeing some money up for Mikey, and making sure there’s enough there for the new place.

Fortunately the group that are buying the fucking mansion want a quick settlement as well, but there still might be a week or so between the time we have to have the money ready for the old fossil and when the check for the other place clears. It’s not a problem but it does mean that I have to sign shitloads of fucking forms and have had Theodore buzzing around like a demented mosquito till they were done.

Thank God we sorted out all our other legal shit before he left for New York. We’d got living wills and survivor stuff all signed and sealed before the New York offer came up - practically as soon as we got off the plane from Chicago. Just because we’d decided not to get married didn’t mean that we could get by without all that stuff. If something happened to me then I wouldn’t trust Joanie and Claire an inch not to try to circumvent whatever I’d put into a will, unless it was accompanied by a whole lot of other iron clad contracts that clearly signified that I fucking meant him to have everything - except what would go into trust for Gus. And I sure as fuck didn’t trust that if he had some kind of accident or illness, his father wouldn’t turn up at the hospital with the sole intention of keeping the ‘pedophile’ away from his little boy - the son the asshole has pretty much ignored for the last three years, except when he was trying to have his ass thrown into jail.

So getting all that shit sorted was our first move when we got back from the trip where we decided not to get married. And the irony of that wasn’t lost on either of us.

I almost regretted we’d done it when the New York thing happened, but I didn’t have the balls to tell him we should turn around and reverse it all, and it’s been a fucking godsend this week.

Plus, of course, I do have an actual business to run; and although Cynthia and Ted can handle most stuff, there’s a big presentation coming up next week that I need to oversee personally.

Then there’s the problem of finding him some temporary studio space. Long term, he’s going to be using the loft. But there’s shit loads of stuff that will need doing first and he’s got a fucking show coming up in a few months.

A fucking New York show.

The thought, which once would have had my gut twisting with - I don’t know - anxiety, or some shit, now just leaves me feeling fucking proud. That’s how fucking solid it feels we are right now. Like for once I know, fucking know, that he’s home and this time to stay. And more importantly, this time I know that’s the right thing for him. Meanwhile, I’m so fucking proud of him I’ve had to just about chew my tongue off to keep myself from telling everyone we know.

He wants to keep it quiet for a while. Partly because things can go wrong (though I’ve seen the offer and if they fucking try to cancel on him, I’ll sue their asses off), but mainly because everyone will be all over him once they find out.

Questioning why he’s here and not there, questioning why he’s not working every minute, questioning whether now is the right time to take on a new house - all that shit that he can do without. He knows where he wants to be. And if I’m finally ready to let him make that decision for himself, then they should pay him the same fucking respect. And he works in his own time. Always has. But that won’t stop them with their fucking ‘shouldn’t you be …?’ bullshit.

So he hasn’t even told his Mommy. But he did manage to persuade her to find him some studio space. Not that fucking rat hole he was in before but an apartment that’s empty at the moment, part of the wreckage of yet another divorce battle. It’s not far from the loft and has some great windows and the owners seem to be relieved to have found someone who just wants it on a short term lease so there won’t be any problems selling it with vacant possession when they finally get their shit together.

So everything is just fine and dandy and we’re both busily putting together the building blocks of a future.

Assuming we have one and I don’t manage to fuck the whole thing up over something so fucking ridiculous that I can hardly believe it’s even a blip on my radar.

The fucking problem is that all the while I’m dealing with all the shit that’s about our future together, bubbling away underneath ready to explode like a fucking retarded volcano, is some bullshit sense of resentment over his-so-casual dismissal of the fact that he’s remembered his Prom. Remembered the most romantic fucking thing I’ve ever done in my whole fucked up life. Remembered the way I fucking put it all on the line for him.

Remembered all that and then just shrugged his shoulders and dismissed it as if it was fucking nothing. Zero. Nada.

And I know that’s fucking bullshit. I know it that in the grand scheme of things, he’s right. It is nothing. It means jackshit compared to what we have now. I know that.

But …

It means something to me.

It means … it means feeling hope and joy and fucking love for maybe the first time in my life and then having them horribly smashed in front of me in one fucking instant.

It means not being allowed one single fucking hour to relish those feelings, or even be allowed to remember them except with fucking guilt and self-loathing.

No one else ever had any clue about what those few moments were like for Justin and I - what they represented, what they could have led to. And all I got from any of them afterwards wasn’t any sort of attempt to share in that joy, however brief it might have been - it was just blame - blame for going, condemnation for having those moments with him.

But no one, not even Jennifer Taylor, could blame me as much as I blamed myself.

For months, while he struggled to recover from what that bastard Hobbs had done to him, I had to bury all those feelings, bury my guilt at bringing that violence down on his beautiful head, bury my anger at Hobbs for what he’d fucking stolen from us, from me; and bury my resentment. The resentment I felt towards the poor fucking kid who was so fucked up he could hardly bear anyone, even me, to touch him, because he didn’t remember the most … the most stupid idiotically fucking ridiculously romantic moment of either of our lives.

There was nothing else I could do with those feelings, except bury them deep. But I guess I didn’t do a good enough job.

Because right now that resentment is just oozing its way to the surface, ready to fucking blow and spread its shit all over this new fucking happiness that’s right here in my reach.

And I don’t know if I can stop it.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Justin

Things have been really busy, and I know that it’s been even worse for Brian, because he’s had to deal with all the money and legal stuff as well. But he’s been edgy about something all week and I think I know what it is.

I hope I do.

Because if I’ve got it wrong he’s likely to think I’ve lost my fucking mind, or worse … that I want us to turn into some romantic “couple” or something.

That’s not it. Not at all.

I don’t want that.

I might have thought I did, once.

But now I know that what we have, what we give each other, is worth a million stupid fucking romantic gestures that mean nothing, because they have no integrity behind them.

I keep getting these comments about my art - about its maturity, its sense of authenticity, and I’ve been asked about where that comes from.

I just shrug and say things like, “Being gay in a world that’s often hostile to you means that you have to develop finely tuned senses to what’s real, what people around you are really thinking.”

But what I really want to say is that I learned it from my partner; that what I know about authenticity and integrity I learned from Brian. Because beneath that façade that he’s constructed and wears like armor, he is the most authentic person I know. He has more integrity than anyone else I’ve ever met. Knowing Brian has made me see that most people do the “nice” things on a surface level but when it comes to anything that requires sacrifice or takes a real effort, they go missing. Whereas with Brian - the surface things can sometimes be pretty shitty. I should know. I’ve been the victim of them enough. But when it comes to anything real - whether it’s taking me in after the bashing, or giving up his rights to Gus to help Mel and Lindsay or even taking Ted on after he came out of rehab - Brian’s there. That, to me, is authenticity. That, to me, is someone for whom loving isn’t about empty gestures, it’s about how you deal with people when it takes some effort, when it requires more of you than just dishing out the symbols.

So empty gestures mean nothing to me now. I can’t believe that I fell for them ever. My brain must have been more scrambled from that damned bat than anyone, even Brian, understood.

But I need to do this. I need to give him this gesture. And hope that he sees it for what it really is, and doesn’t read it as some sort of meaningless bullshit.

Because it isn’t.

To me, it’s the most real thing I can give him to show that I understand what my remembering that night means. Means to me, means to him, means to us.

I’m nervous. And, waiting for him, here in the loft, where I’ve waited for him so often, I feel like … like this moment is huge.

I don’t want to feel like this.

But I do.

I feel like if we don’t get this sorted now, get it straight between us - then someday, sooner or later, it’s going to turn on us and trip us up big time.

I hear the elevator pull up and take a deep breath.

As he opens the door, I turn on the CD.

I made it deliberately with a little blank space at the start, so he has time to get his head around what I’m wearing, and how the furniture is all pushed back before the music starts.

He stands staring at me and shaking his head, I can see one of those major Kinney queen outs about to erupt, but I move towards him and, taking the silken tether from around my neck where it shines against my tux, I toss it up over his head. The white scarf settles softly, gleaming against the dark grey Armani jacket as I slide the briefcase from his hand and toss it over onto the couch.

He’s still staring at me, like a rabbit caught in a headlamp, but when I take his left hand in my right, and putting the other on his shoulder start to sway with the music, he finally moves. At first it’s jerky and awkward, but then suddenly he is holding me more firmly and then we’re moving the way I remembered in my dream back in the hotel in Chicago. We’re gliding together so fucking smoothly and easily and when he dips me I laugh, and when he lifts me and holds me to him while he spins us round I am breathless with sheer exhilaration. And when he kisses me, it lasts a long time.

When we finally ease apart a little, the music has long since stopped. He presses his forehead to mine and whispers my name. Just my name. But it says so much - tells me of so much hurt, so much loss, so much lonely pain and so much love that my heart nearly breaks.

“I love you,” I tell him, and take his face between my hands. “I am so fucking glad that I remember - at least something of what that night was like.”

His eyes are the muddy color they go when he’s upset and I go on quickly. “I know ‘sorry’ is bullshit … but I am so fucking sorry that I left you alone with those memories for so damned long.”

He shakes his head, shrugs, looks away, so I know how right I was that this has been eating at him.

“Brian, I never meant to make you feel like it was nothing, like it didn’t matter.”

“You didn’t remember.” His tone is balanced somewhere between exoneration and accusation.

“No. No, I didn’t. And maybe if I had …”

He shrugs again, and this time moves away.

“But Brian …” I go on, forcing the words out, willing him to hear me. “I know it meant … huge things at the time. Back then.”

He turns now, and almost glares at me, but I force myself to go on.

“But nothing like what other things have meant since.”

“I fucking know that!” he snaps.

“Do you?” I ask. “Do you really know what it meant to me when you took me in after the bashing? When I felt so useless and damaged and you brought me here and made me feel … not just safe, but … like I could learn to be myself again?”

He looks away again, but stands still and lets me come to him. I touch the scarf around his neck - this one white, pristine, not pocked with rusty stains.

“Do you know what it meant to me when you were so gentle and patient with me, so loving that night?”

His eyes almost meet mine then.

“Do you know how it made me feel about myself when you stayed friends with me during the Ethan thing? Do you know how … how valued you made me feel - that you didn’t just toss me away like the piece of garbage you had every right to treat me as?”

He meets my eyes now, alright. He glares at me.

“How many fucking times do I have to say it?” he demands. “You had every right to get the fuck out if your needs weren’t being met.”

It’s my turn now to shrug and look away. But he grabs my chin and forces me to look at him.

“Sunshine … you had to do something. We were fucked. And we were digging ourselves deeper into the shit every day. I was fucked.”

He touches his forehead to mine again briefly. “Something needed to change. And I didn’t have the balls to do it. Even then,” he finishes with a breath of a laugh.

His hand circles my neck and he gives me the wry grin that can twist my heart inside out, “You always were the fucking brave one,” he says softly.

I let myself press close to him then, and nuzzle into his neck.

“Brian,” I tell him as his arms come round me. “It was a special night. It was magic. We were magic. I wish I could remember properly - all in one piece instead of in sound bites.”

I pull back a little then, so I can look into his eyes again. They’re clearer now. Closer to green than brown.

“But compared to giving me back myself after the bashing, and letting me give you chicken soup after the cancer and taking me back after Ethan and being here when I came home from LA. Brian, compared to everything we’ve been through since, compared to all that it’s …”

I run out of words and stop, not able to find the ones I want; the ones that will make it clear to him that I’m not dismissing that night, and what it should have meant to us, but that I’m trying to put it into perspective.

He gives a sad, silly little grin. “Just a fucking dance exhibition, huh? Something to make the straights wet their pants in envy.”

I grin back at him. “Well, that too,” I agree.

Then I wrap my arms around him and fumble his shirt from his pants so that I can slide my hands up the smooth skin of his back. “But I was going to say it was just a ridiculously romantic evening. Maybe the most romantic thing anyone will ever do for me.”

“You think?” he asks with that tongue in cheek smirk.

I nod. “’Fraid so. My boyfriend isn’t really into all that romantic stuff.”

“Ah,” he nods understandingly. “Well, that’s sad.”

“Yes,” I sigh. “He’d never take me away for a romantic weekend, and wine me and dine me and take me to a show, or go on a boat trip with me or anything like that.”

He laughs then and grabs me, pulling me hard against him and then he stops for a moment and looks at me, intense and direct, and gives me the smallest nod of acknowledgement before his mouth is pressed against mine.

And I know then that we’re going to be alright.

That he’s heard what I was trying to tell him.

That I’ve given him back at least a little of the magic of that night that Hobbs had stolen from him.

And when, just before he comes, he breathes my name again, so soft and deep it seems to come right from the inner core of him, I say this back to him.

“Brian,” I whisper. “Oh, Brian.”

Because that word is all of it - our first night and our Babylon nights and my Prom and the time after it and being away from him and him taking me back and nearly losing him for real to that fucking cancer and mornings in the diner and dinners at Deb’s and days spent drawing or painting or on the computer and night after night after night spent here, in his arms.

‘Brian’ is everything I could possibly say about all of that in one word.

And I know it’s the same for him.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
 

Brian

Okay - so it was incredibly fucking schmaltzy and stupid - almost as stupid as the queen out I was building up to.

But at least now I know he …

I know that he fucking cares … that he understands … or at least acknowledges what it was like to be the only one left standing who could remember how ridiculously fucking perfect everything was in those moments in that cheesy ballroom.

So now we move on, boys and girls.

By the time we fuck and then have something to eat and then talk about where we are on all the various timelines we’ve got running simultaneously, and then fuck again, it’s after midnight and too late to go out even if I wanted to.

Which I don’t.

We haven’t opened the ‘monogamy’ discussion again. I guess neither of us really wants to. And for once I don’t mean that we’re avoiding the issue. I just mean that we don’t feel the need anymore to set things down in rules that … that are fucking pointless, really. Because if one of us wants to break them then … then even if they don’t, the damage is still there. So the rules don’t achieve anything except give you a false sense of security. It’s like doing a high wire act with an imaginary net underneath you. It might give you some sense of comfort while you’re up there, but if you come crashing down it does fuck all to stop you.

There are some things that we both just know aren’t going to happen anymore. No more tricking as a way of life; and definitely not in front of each other. Unless maybe it’s a three way or something that we’re both involved in. (Wouldn’t shut the door on that. With the right guy - or guys - it might be hot.) No more looking outside for something that we’re not getting at home - not unless we make some sort of effort to deal with what the real problem is. And definitely no more violin music - and all that that shit represents. That sort of stuff we both just know now. Anything else, we’ll work out when it comes along.

We’re not Mikey and Ben. I’m sure as fuck not - but neither is he (despite what all the ‘Sunshine is a saint’ brigade think, he’s just about as sexually voracious as I am).

But we don’t have to be a pair of Stepford fags to know that we’re as much “together” as anyone else who’s committed to the long haul. And to be honest, I think we’ve got a better shot at making it than most. Because we’ve already been through so much shit.

I’ve been a total dick and he’s managed to forgive me. He cheated on me and then left me and I managed to … not forgive him, there was noth … well, yeah, maybe forgive him. Not for leaving me. But for dicking around with Ethan behind my back and against all his own fucking rules - that I needed to be able to forgive before I could trust him again. We’ve dealt with all the physical traumas of the bashing and the fucking cancer; all the emotional traumas of him going to LA, of the bombing and the wedding that didn’t happen and him going to New York. Not to mention the minor little problems of the fact that when we met he was an infant and I was … damaged … I was a sorry excuse for any sort of human being who could only tell his ass from his elbow because no one had tried to fuck his elbow.

But after all that - we’re still together, and I feel like we’re stronger than ever.

So I think we’ve got a shot. Especially when he can pull rabbits out of the hat like he did last night. Now if only he hadn’t made these plans for dinner tonight with the old fossil who’s selling us the house we could maybe take a breath and appreciate that fact.

But, as things are, I have to get my ass home on time or he’ll be fucking prissy all night - and hiding it under all these airy fairy sunshiny smiles that make me want to puke.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
 

Justin

I know Brian doesn’t understand why I want so much to go out to dinner with Dan before he leaves for England. But I … standing in that house, looking up at that amazing window space and realizing that it was a representation of Dan and his Billy - and at the same time recognizing that it was also Brian and I … it just … it was so intense. Like for a moment I could almost feel Billy there with us. I felt like they were … I don’t know … friends … family … something. Connected to us somehow.

And tonight is probably the only chance I’m ever going to have to get to know them.

Brian gets home more or less on time, thank God because I totally didn’t want to have any sort of row with him tonight. Not after last night. Last night was just so perfect - so how I want us to be together. I don’t mean the soppy romantic bit at the beginning. I mean in how honest we were with each other, and that he let me talk about how I felt and even tried to express some of his feelings - even if not in a whole lot of words.

He shrugs out of his suit jacket and tries to persuade me to join him in the shower, but we’re supposed to meet Dan in forty minutes, and if we get in the shower that’s not going to happen.

I wanted to pick him up, but he insisted that he’d meet us at the restaurant. I let Brian pick somewhere and he chose a restaurant up on Mt Washington. I haven’t been there before, but Brian says it has good seafood dishes, or chicken if I prefer and that I’ll like the desserts. He likes to pick on me for my sweet tooth, but the truth is he enjoys that stuff just as much as I do, he’s just too paranoid about putting on half an ounce to eat it. Unless it’s off my plate, of course - that doesn’t seem to count.

I keep an eye on the time, but he doesn’t even fight to be deliberately late for a change - just gets us down to the car and off to the restaurant.

To my relief, we get there before Dan. I know Brian would make one of his snarky comments about my “country club manners”, but he is a lot older than us and … it would just be rude to keep him waiting.

Instead, we’re sitting in the bar waiting for him when he walks in. He walks very slowly, but … he looks so much different from the man who first opened the door to us that I’m almost not sure that it’s him.

I risk Brian’s snarking and stand up to greet him, but a little bit to my surprise, Brian stands up as well.

Dan gives us a smile that somehow reminds me of Brian, and then he sits down to join us for a drink before we go in to dinner.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
 

Brian

The old fossil looks less, well, fossil-like tonight. He gives a slow smile when we both stand to greet him and holds himself a little taller. I guess you never do get over enjoying the attention that being with a hot guy gives you. And even more so when it’s two of them.

Talk is a little stilted over our drinks, but once we get seated on the higher level of the tiered dining room, with its view out across the rivers, somehow things go more smoothly. Justin asks about his trip home - where the boat stops (it doesn’t till it gets to England), how long it takes, what the boat will be like, all sorts of shit.

Then Dan asks about his painting, and Justin tells him about his New York show later in the year. Dan smiles and says that he’s sorry he’ll miss it. Justin promises to send him a catalogue and then blushes like a fucking girl and stammers out something about “if you’re interested”.

Dan laughs and pats his hand and says, like some fucking old movie star, “I’m always interested in beautiful young men who take time to be kind to an old fossil like me.”

I roll my eyes which makes little Sunshine frown at me, but Dan laughs; one of those laughs that makes me feel like I’m fucking transparent, and that he’s fucking enjoying that fact.

To my surprise I hear myself asking if he has everything organized for his trip, or if he’d like me to get my admin staff to take care of any details for him.

He looks surprised himself, but then gives me a real smile, not one of those snarky ones that make it clear that he thinks he can fucking see right through me, and says, “Brian, that would be very kind. There are so many issues with shipping all my goods and chattels that I can hardly care to think about it.”

I nod. I can imagine. I fucking hate all that paper shit, and I bet he does too. But what Ted can’t take care of, he can delegate to one of the countless fucking admin staff I’m told we need. Fuck knows what they do most of the time. They can earn their keep for once.

Then Justin says, very tentatively, like he knows where this is going to take us, “You said that you wanted to go back by ship because that’s how you came over.”

Dan’s face clouds for a moment, but then he smiles, like he’s remembering, and nods. “Yes,” he says. “Although I think this trip might be a little different.” His mouth tightens in a way that’s familiar from too many fucking hours spent looking in a mirror, and goes on, “It had better be. Given what I’m paying for it.”

That makes me laugh, and we share a look that puts us both on the same page with that.

Then he says, “We came out just after the war. The ship was full of troops coming home. And the wives they’d picked up along the way. My father had to pull all sorts of strings to get us passage, but …”

His eyes lose their sparkle and he says flatly, “He was happy to do it. He was more than glad to see the back of his faggot son.”

Justin touches his hand, and Dan looks down at him blankly for a moment, and then pats his hand again, smiles.

“Oh, it was a long time ago. And to be honest, I was just as glad to get away.”

Justin nods, and I find myself reaching out to touch his other hand. He looks at me, his eyes swimming a little, at both Dan’s pain and his own.

Dan’s story might have happened a long fucking time ago, but things haven’t changed all that fucking much.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Justin

I try to get the tight feeling in my chest under control. This night isn’t about me. And I can feel Brian getting all antsy the way he does when he goes into protective mode.

Dan picks up on it, and gives Brian a look that’s almost an apology, then says, “You’d think for a young queer that being on a boat filled with men would be some kind of heaven, but you wouldn’t be taking into account the fact that Billy and I had just really found each other. Well, we’d known each other a good while, but it had taken me a bit longer than Billy to come to terms with the fact that we were going to be together.”

I find myself grinning a little and trying not to look at Brian. Especially when Dan continues.

“With all that temptation everywhere, of course I fucked up. It was inevitable. I’m lucky that that ship didn’t stop either or Billy might have got off and left me. As it was, I’m surprised he didn’t toss me overboard.”

“But you worked it out,” Justin prompted.

“Oh, I fought it. Told him we weren’t a cozy married couple, all sorts of idiotic shit, made a complete arse of myself.”

I really can’t look at Brian now.

“But the closer we got to New York, the more I realized that there was every chance he’d leave me on the docks and lose himself in a city neither of us knew and I’d never see him again.

“I didn’t have any choice but to get my shit together.”

He raises an eyebrow at Brian.

“What did it for you?” he asks.

Brian sucks his lips in and for a moment I’m almost holding my breath, trying to work out in the jumble that my brain has suddenly become, what I will do if he just gets up and walks out.

But instead he laughs, and relaxes, and says, “He left me. For anther guy. And then for a job that took him off to Hollywood, and then I fucking got cancer and whatever fucked up ideas I still had about how I didn’t need anybody and all that shit pretty much got kicked to the curb by that - either cut out with my ball, or tossed into the toilet with all the other crap I threw up when I was puking my guts up every day for weeks.”

Dan looks a little shocked by that, and then he seems to look at Brian with new respect. So he should. Brian is … it’s easy just to dismiss him as someone who has always been really self-centered. In some ways he was. But, if you don’t have anyone you can really rely on to be there for you, no matter what, what choice do you have but to rely only on yourself?

I find myself putting my hand over Brian’s and meeting Dan’s eye in a way that I hope he knows, hope he sees, how proud I am of my partner. How much I respect him.

Dan smiles at us both, and before he can say anything else, they serve the appetizers and after that the conversation just flows really easily.

Dan tells us a little about those early years in New York with Billy. His eyes light up a little when he talks about him, and I realize that even after all this time, even after Billy’s gone, Dan still loves him. And I also realize that he probably never gets to talk about him, so I encourage him to tell us more.

But it’s pretty obvious that by the time we get to dessert, he’s getting tired. I look at the dessert menu - there are so many things I’d like to try. But I say that I’m full.

Brian gives me a ‘yeah, right’ look but doesn’t say anything. Dan pats my hand and gives Brian one of those wry smiles of his that I’ve gotten used to over dinner.

“He’s a treasure. You keep close hold of him.”

Brian sucks his lips in, but then he nods. “I plan to,” he says.

Just when we’re getting ready to go, asking the wait staff to call a cab for Dan because he refuses to let us drive him home - well, I guess Brian would have to drive him, and I’d have to either get a cab myself or wait for him to come back - one of those cheesy photographers comes around.

Dan doesn’t say anything, but I ask if he’d mind if we had a photo taken. I can feel Brian’s eye roll, even though he’s standing behind me because he was getting ready to help Dan into his coat, but Dan smiles…

“I would like that very much,” he says. “It’s not often at my age that you get the chance to have your photograph taken with two beautiful young men.”

That makes Brian smile, of course - partly because of the flattery, but mainly because he knows it’s something he might say. Or maybe not. It’s hard to imagine Brian letting anyone take a photo when he’s as old as Dan - he’s bad enough about it now.

But we stand together behind Dan’s chair and the guy takes the photos.

Dan had given me an address in England so I can send him the catalogue of my show, so I promise that once we get the shots I’ll send him a copy. And I’ll email one to him as well.

We see Dan into a cab, and go home, and I know that Brian must have wound up really liking Dan and enjoying the evening, because he doesn’t make a single snarky comment.

Just when we’re in bed, he pulls me close against him and says, “If you die and leave me alone like that, Sunshine, I’ll kill you myself.”

Which doesn’t make any sense, but I know what he means.

So I just nuzzle even closer and kiss him with everything I am.

Return to Homecoming