Tell Me It's Real (38 page)

I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. That’s not an excuse. As a matter of fact, that should have prevented both of you from ever acting as you did. If you’re responsible enough to become a parent, then you should be responsible enough to accept your kid no matter how they turn out. It doesn’t matter if they’re disabled or gay or not as smart as others or green or black or blue or whatever the hell they turn out to be. You have them, you love them. Always. Being a parent isn’t about getting to pick and choose what you want your kid to be. Being a parent means protecting your kid from anything that could ever harm him. Being a parent means you shelter, but you also make them stronger so one day they can stand on their own. How old was Vince when he came out to you? To his dad?”

“Sixteen,” she whispered.

“And what was your reaction?”

“Anger. Indifference. We didn’t understand. We didn’t….”

“That’s right. You didn’t.”

She looked up at me, tears in her eyes, but not yet falling. “He came in here yesterday and told us about you. You know what I noticed, Paul? You know what I saw in him the most?”

“No.”

“Happiness. It was such a bright thing, such a fierce thing. He was so proud that he was able to find someone like you, that you belonged to him. I’ve never seen him so sure about anything in his life.”

How many more times did I need to hear that before I started to believe it? “Trust me, I’m not that great,” I told her honestly. “He was just talking me up. For whatever reason, he does that, though I don’t know why. I tend to trip and run into things like dogs and walls. I can’t control my mouth and end up saying things that make situations far more awkward then they really need to be. And I’m pretty sure that my ancestors once owned slaves and we’ve never made reparations for that, so my family is probably cursed by some ancient form of African voodoo magic. So… you know.” And then, almost as an afterthought, “And it’s only been a week.”

“You know, for someone who talks highly about the worth of another, you don’t seem to know your own,” she said.

I tried to stop myself from rolling my eyes, but I didn’t succeed. “I know you’re probably filled with a bunch of medicine right now, but I hope you’re not so high that you think you’re a fortune cookie.”

She laughed. “I like you, Paul.”

“You do?” I asked, surprised. “I’ve broken into your hospital room, chewed you out as I criticized your parenting skills, all the while reminding you that you probably only have a few days left to live and demanding that you do things the way
I
want you to. And then you say you
like
me? If I were you, I’d probably hate my guts and get the Secret Service in here to take me away and throw my body in a ditch near the Mexican border. If you do that, I ask that you tell them to make it quick because I think I’d be a big baby under torture. It’s probably why I could never be a spy.”

“And that’s the only reason?”

“I can act,” I said with a scowl. “I played a block of cheese once, you know.”

“Paul?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you care for my son?”

“More than I thought possible,” I confessed. “I tried to fight it. Honestly. My parents….”

She waited.

I pushed forward. “They married a week after they met. And the way they met was weirdly mirroring how Vince and I met, and it’s just so damn implausible and it doesn’t make sense. It’s like the universe is trying to shove your son down my throat and I’m trying to show I don’t have a gag reflex, and now that I think about it, I really wish I hadn’t just said that to you. That your son goes down my throat, not that I don’t have a gag reflex.” I blushed furiously. “Er. Both, actually. Look, can you please not think about me having sex with your son? It’d really make my day. Where is that fucking time machine when you need it?”

She grinned at me. “I don’t think I’ll get that image out of my head for as long as I live.”

I choked on my tongue. “Did you just make a
dying
joke?” I asked in awe.

“Too soon?” she asked, arching her eyebrow and looking so much like Vince that I wanted to see him so badly right that second I almost hurt.

“Well, at least we know that regardless of whatever else you could have been, a comedian would have been one thing.”

“Is he going to be hurt, after I’m gone?”

I frowned. “You’re his mother. It doesn’t matter what happened before. He’s still going to lose you. Yes. It’s going to hurt him.”

She nodded. “Then I need you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“That you’ll take care of him. That you won’t let him hurt for too long before you make him smile again. I am asking that you watch over my son, Paul. To make sure that he will come out of this okay.”

I started to backpedal. “What about his dad? Or Darren? Or anyone else who has known him longer than I have? What if we decide we hate each other next week? What if he decides he
hates
me like an hour from now? He doesn’t know I’m here. I’m pretty sure this constitutes as lying. Already.”

“My husband won’t understand,” she said sadly. “And maybe that’s my fault. I’ve sided with him for far too long. I’ve put his career ahead of things that I should not have ignored. I thought it was for the best, but I was wrong. Hindsight is a dangerous thing, especially this close to the end.”

“What about Darren?” I asked desperately. “He’s got to be able to do more.”

Her eyes hardened. “Darren,” she said slowly. “There’s something you should know about Darren. He and Vince are—”

“Paul?” A surprised voice. A confused voice. A hurt voice.

I closed my eyes.
Oh, fuck
.

“What are you doing here?” Vince asked. “Mom, what’s going on?”

“Paul was kind enough to stop by and bring me flowers,” Lori said lightly, her skin going a little paler than it was before. She knew as well as I did that we’d been caught. “Wasn’t that just sweet of him?”

Vince pushed past me until he was standing in between me and his mother, as if he was protecting one of us from the other, though I couldn’t say which one was which. I know which one I hoped, but it immediately made me feel like an ass, so I pushed it away. This wasn’t supposed to be about me.

“How did you know she was here?” he snapped at me. He looked angry, the first time I’d ever seen it. His eyes were narrowed, nostrils flaring. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his arms tense at his side.

“I was unaware that I couldn’t have visitors,” Lori said from behind him.

“The girl from the bike store,” I told him honestly. “She mentioned your mom was sick and who your parents were. I wanted to come see her before there wasn’t a chance to. That’s all.”

“That was days ago,” he said, taking a step toward me. “Why didn’t you say anything before then?”

I was on the defensive, though I didn’t want to be. Going on the defensive meant I felt I had done something wrong, and maybe I had, but I needed to find a way to stand my ground. “Why didn’t you just tell me who your parents were?” I asked him. “Jesus, Vince. You’ve met my whole fucking family already. For fuck’s sake. You told my
mom
about your parents. Why wouldn’t you tell
me
anything about yours?”

His eyes grew wary. “She told you about that?”

“No. She didn’t. I was on my way back in to rescue you and heard you talking to her. Don’t you try and blame her for anything, Vince. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I want you to go, Paul,” he told me coldly. Somehow, his tone hurt more than his anger. He sounded like he was talking to a complete stranger.

“Vince, you need to calm down,” his mother scolded. “Paul didn’t do a damn thing wrong. If anything, this should show you how much he cares about you.”

“Vince—”

“I can’t see you right now. Please.” His voice broke as he took a step back. “You shouldn’t have come here. You shouldn’t have gone behind my back.”

“I just wanted to make sure she saw you as I do,” I said helplessly. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected you to. You were right, after all. We’ve only known each other a few days. You said it over and over and I didn’t listen, so how could you possibly understand why this would hurt me?”

“The only way I’ll know is if you tell me.” I stood, rooted in my spot.

“Go away, Paul. Please.” He reached up and wiped his eyes
furiously. That hurt more than I ever thought it would, to see him upset and not able to do anything about it. Worse, being the
cause
of it, though I didn’t understand why. “I don’t want you here.”

And that broke my trance, my reluctance. Those five simple words were enough to bring me back to my senses. I nodded at him, wondering how I could have possibly allowed him past my defenses, how I could have thought this would have worked. Being in love after days was stupid. It was foolish. It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be, not really. Love at first sight was a sweet thought, a romantic notion, but it wasn’t real. Removed from the situation, I’d see that. I’d know. I’d see clearly. He didn’t want me here to help him through whatever he was going through, and who was I to argue with him about that? He’d made himself very clear.

“I’m sorry,” I said, but not to him, to his mother. I looked over his shoulder into her wet eyes. She shook her head at me, but I ignored it. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through, and I’m sorry I won’t be able to promise you anything. I wish… I wish I could have gotten to know you better. You seem like a very nice lady, and my heart breaks for your family.” I turned my gaze to Vince, just for a moment.
And for you. Somehow, you’ve gotten past all my defenses and you almost made me believe. My heart breaks for you most of all.

I turned and walked away.

Interventions: Not Just For Addicts And Hoarders Anymore

“G
O
AWAY
,”
I moaned from underneath my blanket as Sandy pounded on my bedroom door. “The light, it burns! I’m all alone and it
burns
.”

“I
knew
I shouldn’t have let you go into the bedroom!” he said through the door. “You open it right this minute or I swear to God I will break it down.”

“You weigh, like, twenty pounds,” I reminded him. “The only thing you’ll be breaking is the idea that you could break down anything. Now go away and let me wallow in my own pity. Or you could go out and buy me six boxes of Ding Dongs so that I can eat them all at once and drown myself in chocolate while I decide if I’m going to go find Christ as a monk in the Himalayas or if I’m going to turn straight.”

“I’ll buy you so many Ding Dongs,” he said soothingly. “Just open the door and we’ll go get them together. I promise. I’ll eat them with you and then we’ll go to Los Betos and I’ll buy you the biggest burrito your face has ever seen. Or if you decide to turn straight, I’ll find you so many girls and all the vagina you can eat. We may need to get you a couple of practice girls first just to make sure you’re doing it right. Or we could just go get a cantaloupe and cut it, and you can practice on that while we look up technique on the Internet.”

“You want me to perform cunnilingus on a
cantaloupe
? It’s like you don’t even know me at all!”

He pounded on the door again. “Open this door!”

“No! It’s all your fault! I
told
you!”

“
What
? It was
your
idea to go!”

“No, not that. When we were ten years old! I
told
you then! You
promised
me!”

“Are you doing lines of coke in there or something? What are you talking about?”

“The
promise
!” I bellowed at him. “When we were ten and I accidentally told Billy Harvey that I had a crush on him and he ran away screaming, I made you promise me to never let me think of ideas on my own ever again, and
furthermore
, if I
did
think of ideas on my own, you were
never
to let me act on them.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. Then he chuckled. “I saved you on that one, though. It turns out Billy Harvey wasn’t that great of a fuck. He had a small penis. Even at sixteen, I knew the difference.”

I glared at the door. “You had
sex
with him? You do
everyone
! I can’t wait until it’s your birthday because I’m going to buy a sign for your front yard that says, ‘Sandy lives here and blows everything that moves.”

“If you open the door, I’ll blow you,” he promised.

“I don’t want your love,” I said dramatically. “Ha, I bet I’m the only person in the free world that’s ever said
that
to you.”

“Open this door!”

“Allllll by myyyyyyselllllf,” I sang forlornly. “Don’t wanna be, allllllll byyyyyy myyyy—”

Something slammed into the door. “Ow,” Sandy muttered. “When did you replace the doors with sheets of steel?”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re not. They’re oak. Maybe that’s like your kryptonite. Or maybe you’re just a tiny, tiny man.”

“Oak? So if I was a superhero, all anyone would have to do is bring a log of oak to a fight and I’d lose? That sounds supremely lame.”

“Or, like, what would happen if your arch-nemeses lured you into the middle of an oak forest in the middle of fall? He would stand above you cackling as the orange leaves fell from the trees and you writhed in pain on the forest floor.”

“What would my superhero name be? The Oak Diva? Got Wood? Lincoln Log?”

I considered. “Got Wood works, only because it’s kitschy. But you can’t be named after your weakness. It’d be too easy to kill you. Duh.”

“And what would my superpower be?”

That one was harder. “Insatiable dance moves,” I finally decided. “You can woo anyone with the magic roll of your hips.” I started getting excited at the idea, already picturing the superhero costume in my head, complete with bitchin’ thigh-high boots. “And then you could have a catch phrase that’d be all like—Wait a minute… you’re trying to distract me!”