Second Chances (18 page)

Holy fuck, what was I doing?

I snatched my hand back and fell on the floor when I tried to get up off the couch. I started to remember what the hell was going on and where I was about then, and didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, ashamed, or angry. All of those emotions ran around in my head.

I was so disgusted at myself I didn’t know what to say. How the hell could I be putting my hands on another man, especially
Antonio
, who was being such a good friend to me? Was I that big of an ass, that fucked-up, that I was all horn-dogged over my straight best friend? And right here in mine and Brian’s home too, just a few months after losing him?

Some of those dark emotions must have showed on my face because Antonio, who must have woken when I flopped so gracefully on the floor, turned pale and started to stammer and apologize. “God, Mark, I’m so sorry, man. I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that and, shit, I don’t know what happened.”

“Don’t worry about it, man. I just… I better just go take a shower and go to bed.” And I couldn’t even look him in the eyes. All I could do was shake my head.

He got up very carefully, and I saw him start to reach out toward me, and I flinched a little. His hand stilled and he took a couple of steps back, then went to the den where he had left his table. He picked it up by the handle and walked to the front door.

“Mark,” he started, “I….” I looked up and he shook his head and opened the door. “I’m so sorry, man.” And I knew I heard tears in his voice and real pain. But I was so wrapped up in mine I couldn’t make myself do anything about it, and he closed the door and left.

I just sat there on my knees, trying to get up enough energy to get into the bedroom. Finally I did, and crawled under the covers, clothes and all. I just laid there, curled in a ball and looked at the shadows cast across the room. I wondered what to do, how to fix this thing that was going on with me.

Where did I go wrong?
Was it that I forgot what Brian meant to me, how much I’d lost? I knew there was no question of my love for him, or his for me. Was it just too soon to try to be normal again? What the fuck were the rules?

I knew how to grieve for friends, because God knows I’d lost enough of them in my life. AIDS, suicides, accidents. I even learned the slow scabbing over of the heart when I lost my mom. But nobody tells you how you’re supposed to act or feel when your other half’s gone. How long it takes ’til the hole there starts to maybe fill in some.

Or maybe it never does get better and that’s why they don’t tell you. Maybe you just walk around, do all the
doing
stuff, and pretend that you’re okay until either you lie down and don’t get back up, or you believe it. Like some kind of half-life or something.

Part of me wanted to be okay again. Be normal, whatever the fuck that was. Okay, I knew what some of it was. It was having dinner, making jokes, getting a little drunk, and not getting your guts ripped out when you remembered you weren’t supposed to be having fun. It was hanging out with your best friend. It was being touched again, for fuck’s sake.

I’d read about a study one time where scientists said the average human being needed to be touched by another person something like ten times a day. That people who were deprived of touch, not conversation, not food, just simple human touch, could and would go insane after an extended period of time.

Was five months enough? Was I on the downhill slope to crazy town? Was that why it felt so good and so, so safe and right when Antonio held onto me?

I owed him a lot. He was trying to be the kind of friend who was patient and didn’t pass judgment. Who didn’t treat me like I was made of fucking glass and would break, or ignored it and tried to be all fake cheery. Here I went and shit all over that, made him feel weird, and that just wasn’t right.

He deserved better than to have been felt up and laid all over like some cheap date. He didn’t seem to mind it, I know, but he had as much wine as I did and fuck, it wasn’t like we didn’t almost cuddle sometimes anyway. I had to smile, and thought about how his buddies from the street would give him shit for hanging with me like we did. But then the guilt hit me and I remembered how hurt he looked when he left.

All because I couldn’t keep my fucking hands to myself.

I decided I’d call him the next day and try to apologize. Maybe even get him to come to Thanksgiving dinner at Dad’s house. He wouldn’t say no to a chance to see Robbie.

Yeah, that sounds good
, I thought, and drifted off to sleep.

Thanksgiving 2005

“
A
LL
right, bitches, move away from the turkey and keep your hands where I can see ’em,” I shouted into the gaggle of family that took up all the space in the kitchen. I brought in the dressing and saw that Patty and Robert’s wife, Jennifer, had pulled the foil back and were pinching little bits of goodness off the bird.

I heard giggling and looked around and there was Robbie, standing back like he usually did when there was a crowd of Jennings around. But at least he looked relaxed and not so worried about being noticed.

“Hey Robbie, buddy, how about going out to my car and bringing in the box of drinks in the back seat for me, okay?” I asked.

“Will do, Mark,” he said and ran outside.

“At least he doesn’t call you
Mister Mark
anymore.” Patty laughed and slapped me on the arm. “It was tough getting all the kids to stop trying to call me Mrs. Patty.”

“But you look like such a Mrs. Patty. Elementary school librarian. Lunch lady. Spooky old witch in the haunted house. Miiiissssuuuuss Paattttyyyy….” I played, then ducked the slap aimed at the back of my head.

“You’re in a good mood. How’re you doing? What’s going on?” she asked around the mob of kids that came running through the kitchen and out the door. I unpacked the dressing and put it in the oven to keep warm. As many as were already here, the whole family wasn’t completely here yet.

I shrugged. “Okay. Some good days, some not so good. Finally got my hands back around things at work. The temp guy did okay on the accounting side, but you know how it is. I like things my own way and it felt weird having somebody’s shit on my computer.” She knew how funny I was about that.

“Oh, and this guy was—” I looked around and leaned in because of the rugrats everywhere. “—totally a fuck-up. He had straight porn downloaded on my computer. Apparently
somebody
liked women stepping in pudding. Just… shit, Patty, I about pissed in my pants when I opened the files and saw what was there. At least nobody else had access to it. Can you imagine if the kids’d seen that?”

Her eyes were bugged out and she looked about ready to lose it. “Pudding? You. Are. Shitting. Me? Did you keep a backup copy?”

“In my car, on a disc. Remind me to give it to you later,” I told her. She loved stupid stuff like that as much as I did. “Oh, and Antonio is coming for dinner.” I messed around with the gravy for my dressing, because mine was the best. Really. Just like Mom used to make. She didn’t say anything and I finally glanced up and saw she looked at me a little funny.

“What?” I asked.

“You two’re good friends, huh?” she said.

“Um, yeah, and remember, Robbie likes him a lot. Trusted him enough to come back with him when Brian died,” I said.

“Um-hum.”

“What?”

She started to dish out the cranberry relish and made a pickle tray. Kept her hands busy and ignored my look and my question. She had something to say and was trying to figure out how to say it without pissing me off or hurting my feelings. Or the heifer was trying to ignore me. So I did what any red-blooded American man would do and ignored her back, right?

Yeah, not me. I grabbed her and half carried, half pushed her passive-aggressive little ass into the bathroom and closed the door. She sputtered and acted all indignant, but I knew better.

“Spill. I’m not up to playing twenty fucking questions. Now tell me what’s on your mind or I’m gonna tell Ray about what
really
happened to his truck and why you and Jennifer had it detailed and sanitized,” I threatened. I only knew part of the story, but Ray would never let her in it again.

“You bastard. Bitch. Whatever. A lady doesn’t say what I want to call you,” she said.

I choked and snorted. “Yeah, you’re a real fuckin’ lady, Princess Patty. Start talking.”

She breathed in a long sigh and looked me in the eye. “You know I love you, little brother, and I’ll kick anybody’s ass who tries to hurt you. You know that, right?”

The thing was, she meant it. She’d take on anybody she thought might hurt somebody she loved. She reminded me so much of Momma right then and my heart ached a little with missing her still, and then that reminded me of who else wasn’t at the table this year. Another time, another year I would’ve stomped it down and shoved it into a vault, locked it away and not looked at it. This Mark was a little more bruised, a little wiser. A little braver.

I pulled her into a quick hug and whispered my thanks for the reminder of what family does. “But nobody’s trying to hurt me, sis. I don’t know what you mean. Unless Sam or Brenda have something up their sleeves. And I can handle them,” I said, totally confused.

Brenda had prayed on our argument and decided to forgive me, according to all accounts through the family grapevine. As if I cared. I’d forgiven her but would never forget. And Sam seemed… okay, so I wasn’t worried about anybody here family-wise. That left Robbie, and Patty loved him. And Antonio.

“What do think Antonio would do to hurt me?” I asked.

“Are you ready for a relationship? I don’t know what you’re feeling, but I can only imagine how I’d feel if I lost Ray and somebody was after me—”

“What the fuck, Patty? Did you hit the crack pipe or something? Antonio isn’t interested in me for a
relationship
! He’s my best friend. And darlin’, he’s more likely to want to get
you
in the sack than me.” I laughed. “That man’s straight. He talks about women and going down on them and licking girl toes.” I shuddered.

“Listen, I know all that. You’ve told me before all about HetBoy’s magic carpet rides, but think about it. Have you heard about any women lately?” she asked. I thought and shook my head no.

“But he’s been really sensitive about what we talk about and, you know, tries to not get me upset and thinking about stuff,” I said.

“Think, little brother. He’s sensitive to
your
moods,
your
words, not mine. As far as we know, he isn’t seeing anyone, and from what you told me he hasn’t in years. Anyone serious. He mentioned something once to you about being interested in somebody but never told you who. He doesn’t mind gay guys, seeing as he’s your best friend,” she said, ticking all this shit off on her fingers.

“And,” she looked up at me and grinned, “he didn’t mind a little sumthin’ sumthin’ with Mr. Happy—at least he didn’t mind the one time.”

Fuck, I know I turned as red as a fire truck. I never should have told that hussy about what he did the first time I got a massage. I never wanted my sister talking or thinking about me having sex. Unless she was gonna loan me Ray and that tight, tight cowboy-looking ass and then she could talk all she wanted to.

She started up again after I took a breath. “But most of all, Mark,” and her voice got really soft, “I see how he
looks
at you when you don’t see him looking. He might be straight, but I don’t know, maybe his heart knows something his body doesn’t yet. And Robbie thinks so too.”

Fuck-fuck-
fuck
.

“Do
not
tell me you have been talking about this with that boy? Patty, I’ll fucking strangle you. He’s fifteen years old for God’s sake. What the hell does he know about love?”

“Who said anything about love, sweetheart?” her voice so, so loving and wistful and sad all at the same time. “
That’s
why I’m worried. You think about it, okay?”

She opened the door and went back to the kitchen and left me to wonder what the fuck just happened.

W
HEN
I finally went back out everybody was home and Robbie stood talking to Antonio in the dining room. They picked at the appetizer table that looked ready to collapse from the weight of all the food. I decided to shelve the Antonio question and focus on Robbie. I threw up a hand in greeting to Antonio. He and Robbie both waved back and started talking again.

I went in search of Dad and found him in the family room—that’s what we always called the den. The walls were paneled, and two of them were lined with pictures of family. My grandparents, aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters and all their kids. All surrounding a big blown-up candid picture of Mom and Dad taken at some cookout or something. They were facing each other and laughing in the picture, the love between them caught so plainly for everyone to see.

There was a similar picture of all of us kids with our loved ones. I looked at mine and Brian’s and felt such a warm rush of memory. We were each holding one of Linda’s kids, and they were asleep on our shoulders, and we were walking on the beach holding hands. My sister, in one of the most generous gestures I’d ever seen from her, caught the moment, had it framed and gave a copy to us for my birthday and one to Mom and Dad for the wall.