Wes and Toren (29 page)

Wes & Toren

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“Of course they would! It’s your birthday!” I answered, trying to sound upbeat.

The machine stated the time of the second call and the quiet room was filled with a lively rendition of the birthday song in a duet. One voice was distinctively Scott’s and the other voice must’ve belonged to his girlfriend, Michele. At the end of the song, Scott’s loud voice boomed: “Happy birthday, little brother! Nineteen years old! Man, when did you get so old? I just wanted to let you know that we’re thinking about you and that we love you. Happy birthday!”

I looked at Wesley and he was smiling. Scott’s message stripped away the darkness from Mrs. Carroll’s message and I was relieved. I wasn’t going to misuse the timing of their calls and let Wesley remember his mother’s message. I took his hands, leaned into him, and kissed him, rolling my pierced tongue between his lips.

“Oh, I kinda like that,” he said, after I pulled my kiss away. “It’s all healed then?”

“Yup,” I answered. “I can’t believe I waited a whole week before I could kiss you like that again.”

“I know; it was a long week, but fortunately there were other things we could do,” he said with a grin.

I kissed him again. “Well, now there’s more stuff we can do.

C’mon, I’ve been dying to try this out,” I said, sticking my tongue out.

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“DO I really have to go?” Wesley asked, crossing his arms and pouting.

“Oh, c’mon. It’s only for a couple hours. It’ll be over before you know it,” I said, pulling on a pair of black socks. “Besides, you haven’t seen your parents since you moved out and it’ll be good to talk to them.”

“No it won’t. They’ll start bitching at me just like always.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” I said, getting a narrow glare from Wesley. “And your brother’ll be there too. You haven’t seen him since graduation,” I added, safely changing the direction of the conversation.

“Don’t you want to know what his big announcement is?”

It took everything I had to convince Wesley to go home for Thanksgiving. Fortunately, Scott called the Monday before and told us he was coming home for the holiday and that he had a big announcement, but he wouldn’t say a word unless Wesley came to Thanksgiving dinner. He finally relented after a lot of coaxing, but he was still trying to get out of it.

I stood up from the bed and faced Wesley with a salacious grin.

“C’mon. If you go, I’ll make it worth your while,” I propositioned, stepping closer and running a fingertip down his cheek to his lips. His resolve was already beginning to waver. “And, I’ll make sure to put this to good use,” I added, sticking out my pierced tongue.

Wesley sighed and kissed me. “You’re so unfair. You can’t use sex as a bargaining tool,” he complained.

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“Sure I can, ’cause you’re perpetually horny.”

“So are you….”

“Yeah, but I can hold out longer than you,” I said, giving him a light kiss.

He wound his arms around my waist and grinned. “Then, how about some motivation beforehand?” he asked, leaning in for another kiss.

“Hey, don’t go getting all hard now,” I said, stepping back. “We gotta get going. Mom’s expecting me around two.”

We drove to my Mom’s and Wesley dropped in to say hi, and then went on his way. I sent him off with a good-luck kiss, but I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach as I watched him drive away. I felt nervous for him, but I hoped for the best.

A small turkey was already in the oven and I got the apron hanging in the pantry. I made stuffing and mashed potatoes from boxes and threw together a green bean casserole and then dinner was served. We even sat at the kitchen table to eat, discussing our Christmas wish lists.

Until six years ago, Thanksgiving was a big event gathering both sides of the family together. We always celebrated at our house and used the good china and cloth napkins, and had lit candles on the table. Dad would carve up a big turkey and save the wishbone for Alycia and me.

Uncle Steve, Aunt Carolynn, Uncle Jack, and Grandpa would be glued to the TV watching football, Mom, Grandma, and Aunt Robin usually stayed in the kitchen, and Dad entertained all the kids. It was strange how distant those memories seemed to me now, like I was remembering a movie, not my life.

After dinner, Mom, Alycia, and I sat down on the sofa and watched movies, our new holiday tradition in the past six years. Mom made some chocolate pudding and we put in another movie.

Around eight, the phone rang and Alycia jumped to answer it. I knew it was Dad; he called every holiday to say hi. It seemed like a forced pleasantry, as if he could make up for leaving us with holiday telephone calls. But he did seem genuine and wanted to hear all about 220

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our lives since the last conversation. It was a sweet-tart feeling though; part of me forgave him, but the other part still hated him for breaking Mom’s heart.

“Happy Thanksgiving! Yup, yup. I love you too. Here’s Tor,”

Alycia said, handing me the phone.

I took a deep breath then smiled so that my voice would sound chipper. “Hi, Dad. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Hi, Toren! Happy Thanksgiving! How are you?”

“Pretty good. How about you?” I said, picturing my dad from a twelve-year-old’s memory. Six years later, I was almost as tall as he was, but I remembered him towering over me. I also remembered medium brown hair and a muscular frame, but in recent pictures of him, I had noticed his hair had grayed a little and he had gained some weight. I supposed I would always remember him through a twelve-year-old’s eyes.

“Doing good. So, how’s school, college man?”

“I like it. I like my classes, except pre-calc, and I’ve got some really good professors. It sure beats high school, anyway,” I answered, glancing at the TV. I remembered Dad’s voice being deeper. “Oh yeah, thanks for the check for graduation,” I said, though I sent him a thank-you card, in which Mom forced me to put a cap and gown photo.

“You earned it. I’m really proud of you, Tor. Have you thought of joining any clubs or school activities? You know, Mom and I were both on the newspaper in college. We had so much fun! You should….”

“Mom said the exact same thing,” I said with a laugh. They really must have had fun together in college. Then I blushed thinking about Mom telling me to join the gay club.

“Well, we did have a lot of good times,” Dad said, “but it doesn’t have to be the newspaper. You could join a history club or something.”

“Yeah, I’m looking into it for next semester.”

“Good. You should really consider it. You’ll have a lot of fun. Oh, I heard you got a job too. Where at?”

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“Yeah. A place called the World Store.”

“World Store? Oh, I love that place! They have so many great wines!” Dad said, very nearly squealing. There was a momentary silence and I blushed for him. “Um, well, in a couple years, you’ll see what I mean,” he added with an awkward laugh.

“I really like the place too.”

“So, um, got any girlfriends?” Dad asked, lowering his voice an octave. Was he that concerned about coming off as gay to me? I nearly expected him to add “sport” or “champ” to the end of the question.

“No, no,” I answered quietly, staring in my lap and feeling my face flare. I remembered Dad being an outdoorsy, hands-on type of guy, but with some effeminate qualities that he usually joked about. Did he always try to cover up “that side” of himself or did he just try to hide it from me?

“Well, it sure was good talking to you. Keep up the good work and remember to find out more about the history club, okay?” Dad said, segueing quickly to the end of the conversation. “Happy Thanksgiving, Tor. I love you.”

“Happy Thanksgiving. I…love you too.”

I handed the phone to Mom and she kicked her feet up and started chatting like a teenager. Alycia smiled slyly and sat down next to me on the sofa.

“So when are you gonna tell Dad?”

“I dunno. When I feel like it,” I said, shrugging my shoulders before resting my chin in my palm. It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about it, and I knew he’d accept it. I mean, I was preaching to the choir. But something always held me back.

“You gotta tell him!” Alycia urged with wide eyes. “Dad’d be so proud of you.”

I shook my head dismissively and stayed quiet. I would tell Dad someday; I just didn’t know when.

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Alycia drove me home around nine and I found myself a little nervous to see Wesley. I hoped his day went well, but I had a strange feeling still. I fumbled getting the key in the lock with two bags of leftovers weighing down my arms. I pushed open the front door and caught it with my hip, holding it open. “Hi, I’m home! And I brought leftovers!” I shouted. The apartment was dimly lit and quiet. “Hello? Are you here?” I called out, setting the two plastic bags down on the kitchen counter. I peeked into the living room and saw Wesley sitting in the recliner holding a can of beer on the armrest. “Hi. What are you doing?”

I asked, stepping in front of him with my hands on my hips.

“Nothing,” Wesley answered, shrugging his shoulders. The TV was on but the sound was low and the light shadowed his face. There were six empty beer cans on the coffee table and Wesley finally looked up at me. “How was your Thanksgiving?” he asked, looking back at the quiet TV and taking a long drink of beer.

“It was good,” I answered, stepping closer to Wesley. “How was yours? What was your brother’s announcement?” My chest felt tighten and my stomach was tied in knots. I tried to sound upbeat, but I’d had a despairing premonition following me all day. I felt like I sent Wesley into the lion’s den and it was foolish of me to think he would come out unharmed. But I tried to remain optimistic.

“He’s getting married,” Wesley said.

“Really? That’s great!” I shouted, clapping my hands together.

“He’s getting….”

“We’re not invited,” he added and took another long drink.

My smile fell flat and I looked at Wesley blankly. “What? Why?

What do you mean?”

Wesley finished the beer and tossed the can onto the coffee table with the others. He looked at the floor and shrugged his shoulders. Then he narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “My parents don’t want us making a ‘mockery’ of Scott’s wedding.”

I stared at Wesley, unsure if I should believe what I heard. “What?

But…what do you mean?”

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“My dad—my fucking dad—he heard me and Scott talking. Scott said he hoped you could get time off school to go and my dad heard and started yelling—fucking screaming. In front of everyone. Every word out of his mouth was fag-this and fag-that and so I told him to fuck off and I left,” Wesley explained, balling his hands into fists.

“What? Wesley,” I murmured, stepping closer. He sat still, staring into his lap, his brows furrowed, and then he shook his head.

“Fuck this. I’m sick of it. My fucking parents…. So I’m not going.

Fuck it. I don’t care anymore,” Wesley said, holding his head up with his hand and shutting his eyes.

Tears brimmed and I reached down and petted Wesley’s head. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.” I felt guilty, if I hadn’t forced him to go, this wouldn’t have happened.

“What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault. It’s my fucking parents’,” he said through clenched teeth.

“But…I made you go, even though you didn’t want to.”

“No you didn’t. So don’t even think like that,” Wesley scolded, taking my hand and pulling me down on his lap. “If you can’t go, then I’m not going,” he said defiantly, wrapping his hands around my back and burying his face in my chest.

“Don’t say that,” I whispered, gently kissing the top of his head.

Wesley looked up at me quickly and shook his head. “No. I’ve made up my mind, Toren. If you can’t go, then I’m not going. There’s no room for argument here,” he said definitively, staring in my eyes.

“Wesley.”

“No. It’s my folks or us. That’s it,” he said, shaking his head. He rested his forehead on my chest again and I ran my fingers through his hair. “I’m just so fucking sick of this. Why won’t they get it? Why can’t they just be fucking happy for me?” he asked, his voice muffled by my chest.

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“I’m sorry, Wesley. I’m so sorry. I’ll never make you do anything like that again. I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to do,” I said, hugging his head tighter against my chest.

“I need another beer,” Wesley muttered, pulling away from my embrace. I looked at the coffee table and the seven empty cans and shook my head. “C’mon, just let me drink tonight.”

“You don’t need it. Let’s just go to bed and let this day be over,” I said, cradling his face in my hands. Wesley looked at me with lonely eyes and I kissed him warmly. “C’mon. Let’s just go to bed.”