Now, sitting in the kitchen in the wake of Ron's visit, he let himself go and cried.
Hours later, Tristan drove the truck back to his mom's house and emptied his things back into his old room. He called his mom and told her he wasn't going to be moving for a while, and that he'd explain some other time, but that she shouldn't worry, everything was fine.
Emma was waiting when he arrived at the hospital that afternoon, smiling so fiercely with her eyes shining that he knew something must be up.
“They're going to let us take him home tomorrow,” she said in a rush as he got off the elevator. “We can spring him for Christmas Eve; isn't that just the best news?” She hugged him tightly around the waist, and they walked together to Michael's room. “They say he'll just need to take it easy for a while and that he needs someone to stay with him. He can't drive for four more weeks, can you imagine? He'll be beside himself.”
“That he will,” said Tristan, heartened by the news. “Is it really all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “They've been gradually giving him water and food, to make sure everything goes where it's supposed to, and the doctor says his body is beginning to function normally. He's passing things properly, and they expect him to continue recovering as long as he rests at home.”
“Look, Emma, I didn't get a chance to tell you. I didn't move into Michael's today.” He looked at her apprehensively.
“What?” She seemed shocked. “Why not?”
“I guess I…didn't think it completely through. It's a huge step, and everything's so crazy right now. I need a chance to think, some time when I'm not scared to death.”
“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “It's been a shock.”
“Emma, I love him,” he said sincerely. “It's just that this is huge, and I'm not ready.”
“It's okay to feel that way,” said Emma, squeezing his hand. “If you need to wait till you're ready, I understand and so will Michael.” Privately, Tristan thought Michael would never understand until he understood it himself.
Emma opened the door to Michael's room. “Which lazy policeman do we get to take home and spoil rotten for Christmas?” she asked, grinning like a lunatic.
“Did you hear that, Michael?” asked Tristan, seeing him smile. “You get to go home!”
“And rest!” emphasized Emma. “We will look the word up when we get home to refresh your memory, but I'm already certain there are no power tools involved.”
“I plan on staying in bed for a month,” said Michael, looking at Tristan, who pinked right up.
“And
res
t
!” Emma reiterated.
“I can assure you, I'm not good for much else.”
“Don't be a baby. You can knit scarves for orphans or something,” said Tristan.
“See?” said Emma. “He'll keep you plenty busy.”
Michael fairly leered, but Emma was busy digging a phone list and a cell phone out of her pocket.
“I have to phone all these people. There have been so many people who have called and e-mailed. I'm going to let them know the good news, and maybe they'll bring casseroles so we don't have to cook too much the first few days,” she said. “I don't know. Do people still do that?”
“Yes,” said Tristan. “My mom does. Tell them we're good to go for desserts.”
“Will do,” said Emma, waving on her way out the door.
When the door closed behind her, Tristan took Michael's hand in his. “I'm going to bring the Beemer to pick you up tomorrow. I'm thinking it will be hard for you to get up into the truck. Still the Beemer's kind of small. I feel like Goldilocks. This one's too big…”
“Yeah,” said Michael. “But it's just a short drive. Small is okay. Did you get your things moved in yet?”
“No, I didn't. I've been Christmas shopping, helping Mom out, taking the kids to get stuff, and on top of that, I have this gorgeous man I have to daydream about all day. Who has time?”
Michael worried his lower lip a little. “Didn't your mom get Lily a car yet?”
“No, not yet. We're going car shopping between Christmas and New Year's when my mom has the time off.”
“Oh,” said Michael, looking a little sad. “I guess I was thinking that when I got home it would be
our
home, you know?”
“It
is
our home,” said Tristan. “Even if I don't live there. You're my home, Michael. I live here.” He placed his hand carefully over Michael's heart. “The rest is just stuff.”
Michael smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess.” Tristan leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips, their tongues touching briefly.
“I love you so much,” said Tristan. He heard the door open and jumped away, startled. Michael looked surprised, but turned to the newcomer.
“Hey, Doc,” said Michael. “I guess time's up, and you can't hold me any longer without charging me with a crime.”
“That's right,” said the doctor, shaking his hand. “We seem to have fixed you, and tomorrow is Christmas Eve, after all.” He winked at Tristan.
“I still have all the lights to put up and the tree to buy and decorate,” Michael joked. “Can't I go today? There's all that last minute shopping to do. And there's the baking. Where does the time go?”
“Are you trying to get me to rescind the order letting you leave?”
“No!” said both Tristan and Michael at the same time.
“Good, then you behave, or I'll come to your house and bring you back here myself. I have spies everywhere. Try not to forget that.” The doctor left the room.
“I did want to do one thing,” said Michael. “But now it's out of the question for a while.”
“What, baby?”
“I wanted to go ring shopping before Christmas.” He took Tristan's hand in his. “I was hoping…”
“Let's just get you home,” said Tristan gently. “I think you just need to get well.”
“Yeah,” said Michael. He looked tired again. “That's right. I'm sure to have more energy soon. They still wake me up at all hours, and it's cold in here sometimes.”
“Well, when you get home, I'll wait on you hand and foot. I'll keep you warm, I'll compose epic poetry to the dimples in your buttocks, and I'll take care of your every need,” said Tristan. “You just wait.”
“Don't want to wait, Sparky,” said Michael, drifting off to sleep. “Can't sleep well unless you're with me. I'm sure that's why I always feel so tired.”
“I'm sure,” said Tristan, stroking his hair. “Love you,” he murmured, blinking back tears.
“Love you. Gonna get matching rings and tell the whole world. Won't be lonely anymore…” Michael drifted off.
Tristan pulled his BMW around to the patient loading zone and saw that Michael was not the only person in a wheelchair waiting to be picked up. He was chatting amiably with a woman who was holding a brand-new infant in her arms, waiting to be picked up, presumably by the baby's father. The nurses who held their wheelchairs were also smiling and talking. The air was cold and crisp, the sun shining. It was a beautiful, clear Southern California kind of Christmas Eve, the kind where Santa shows up in khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt and shades, flashing a peace sign with one hand and sipping a Corona with the other.
Tristan's heart was pounding hard in his chest as he and the nurse, whose name was Tammy, helped Michael into the front seat of the Beemer. It was obvious that Michael still had plenty of healing to do. The pain when he moved was etched on his face. Several of the other nurses had drifted down from his floor to say good-bye. It wasn't hard for Tristan to imagine that they were all half in love with him. Everyone was. Tristan most of all, and he was sure he would explode with it the minute they were finally alone, causing chunks of himself to fly all over like so much lovesick shrapnel to ruin all his hard work decorating the house.
Once Tristan was behind the wheel, the nurses said their final good-byes and closed the car door, leaving them alone for the first time in weeks.
“I can't wait to go home, Sparky,” murmured Michael, who was maneuvering the seat around trying to get comfortable. “I want to be alone with you in our house.”
Tristan smiled. “I'll bet it will have to wait. I think everyone and their little green dog will be coming this afternoon to welcome you back. Are you up to lying on the couch?”
“Sure. It's comfortable, and I need to be lying down.” Michael got quiet for a long moment. “Sparky, I know you didn't sign on to be my nurse. You don't have to take care of me, you know. My mom…”
“Michael, just so you know, I'm going to be on you like white on rice until you're well, so don't even bother.” Tristan made the left onto Chapman. “I almost lost you. I can't tell you what that did to me.”
“I'm sorry,” said Michael quietly.
“Not something you did on purpose, is it?” asked Tristan, but he was gritting his teeth. Tristan's heart could beat at a steady pace now, while he was driving the tree-lined streets of Michael's neighborhood, but it began a skittering, frantic tattoo when he thought about Michael getting well. Michael back on the job, and Michael leaving in the morning and maybe not making it back home at night. Tristan tried to put it away, to think about it later when he had more time.
“I drove these streets alone for days after your…when you were hurt, not really knowing whether we'd be here together again.” He stopped the car for a minute to let his roiling emotions settle. “I will thank God every minute of every day that you're here with me. If you don't let me take care of you now…” The thought made his stomach churn.
“I'm sorry, Tristan.” Michael reached out a hand. “I'm so sorry.”
“Will you stop saying that?” Tristan wiped the tears from his eyes. He started up the car again, weaving through the familiar streets until he pulled into the driveway behind Michael's truck.
“Home,” Michael said aloud.
Tristan gazed at it.
“Let's go in. Will you make a fire?” said Michael, grinning.