Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them.
Back to the story in progress.
Jack
I think Josh had been so caught up in listening to her, so focused on getting her to talk to him and maybe convincing her to come to the wedding, that he had honestly forgotten that I was awake upstairs, waiting for him to come back. The two of them stared at me in surprise from the table, her sitting, and Josh standing, already stepping toward me, reaching out to me. I glanced from him to my mother, or maybe not my mother, and stepped into the kitchen.
"Jack?" Josh asked, reaching out to me. I stepped into his arms, but didn't glance at him. My eyes were fixed on Evelyn. "Are you ok?"
"What did you just say?" I asked, my voice low and even. "What did you just say about me?"
My mother looked up from her interlaced fingers, and I watched her face slide closed again. Whatever vulnerable moment she had just shared in the kitchen with Josh was over.
"You heard what I just said," she replied. "Are you planning to make a scene now?"
Josh was staring at her now too, his mouth hanging open. His arms were firm around me, and I had my hands on his shoulders, just holding on. I couldn't help but notice the tiny moue of distaste that slipped across my mother's features before she flattened her features back into their smooth planes of stone.
"Am I going to make a scene?" I asked, stunned that it would be her first concern, but somehow not surprised. "That's the best you can do? That's all you have to say?"
"Was there something else you wanted to hear?" she asked, staring at me. "Please, give me my lines, tell me what to say, so I'll know how not to fail you again as I seem to have so many times before."
Was she actually trying to imply that all of the things I'd told Josh about my family had hurt her somehow? Nothing could hurt her, nothing. The woman was made of ice, carved from stone. I wanted to scream at her, wanted to grab her and shake her and demand answers. If nothing else I wanted to scream at her like a bad scene from "Mommy Dearest", moaning, "Why did you adopt me?" while she tried to strangle me or something. How could she just sit there?
"Why?" I asked. "Why didn't you ever tell me? Did you tell Brett?"
"No, I never told Brett," she said, shrugging. "It would probably just confuse him. It was always our intention to tell you, both of you, but as you got older your father and I realized there was no point to it."
"No point to it?" I asked, my voice rising. I felt Josh hug me a little tighter.
"Jack, please," he whispered. I knew he was afraid that I'd get worked up again and send myself into another attack, or something worse, but I felt very centered, actually.
"You realized there was no point to it?" I asked again. "You just figured, 'Oh, why bother telling my children I ordered them from the prop department somewhere and their whole life is a lie? There's no point to that.'"
"Would it have changed anything about your life?" she asked, staring at me, rolling her eyes. Perhaps I'd become such a drama queen in response to the utter lack of emotion in my parental figures.
"It might have," I answered. "It might have explained why you've always treated us like accessories. It might have explained why you've always acted like you didn't know what to do with us."
"I told Josh, while you were apparently in the hallway eavesdropping, that I never wanted children," she said impassively. "Fortunately I'm incapable of having them, but that didn't stop your father. He went away on a business trip, and came back with Brett. At least he asked before he brought you home."
I wasn't even sure what to say to this. I stared at her, wondering why she didn't even have the good sense to look sorry, or ashamed, or upset, or something. What was she thinking about? Was she looking back on our childhoods? Was she planning her day tomorrow? She could have been doing anything. I held up my hands.
"That's it," I said, not screaming, not even sounding mad. "That's it. I'm done. I don't want to talk about this anymore. I don't really want to talk to you anymore, either."
"Jack?" Josh asked, as I stepped away from him.
"Josh, I'm going upstairs," I said. "I'm going to go read, or watch TV, or something. I'm not staying down here, but you can if you want to."
Josh looked from me to my mother, still seated at the table, and shook his head.
"No, I don't think I want to stay down here," he said sadly, taking my hand.
"Mother, Evelyn, Mrs. Springer, whatever the hell I'm supposed to call you," I began, watching her impassively watch me. "We're going upstairs. We'll stay out of your way, and in the morning we'll be out of your house. I'd leave now, and go to the inn, but I know how people talk, and I wouldn't want them saying you don't love your unwanted children."
My mother didn't say anything as we walked up the stairs, and we left her alone in the kitchen. She was probably happier that way. When we got upstairs, Josh followed me into my room, and I pushed the door closed behind him. He held out his arms, and I stepped into them, feeling the muscles bulge as he folded them around me. I tucked my head under his chin, and we stood like that as he held onto me.
"Are you ok?" Josh asked, his hands tracing circles over my back.
"Fucking wonderful," I snapped. He started to let go, and I held him close. "I'm sorry, Josh. I didn't mean to snap at you, and I know you're just trying to help."
"Jack, I don't know what to say," he admitted. "I don't know what to say, and I don't know what you're thinking."
"It's ok," I said. "I don't know what I'm thinking either."
I leaned back and saw Josh looking down at me, his eyes wide. I leaned in and kissed him, closing my eyes, feeling his nose brush my cheek. He kissed me back, softly, not one of his sloppy wet kisses, a little, gentle one, his tongue just dipping in for a second.
"I'm sorry, babe," he whispered, his beard tickling my cheek as his lips brushed my ear. "I love you."
"I know," I answered. "I love you, too. Sleep in here with me tonight?"
"Jack, I don't know," Josh said, stepping back. He glanced at the door. "I mean, your mother said I was supposed to stay in the guest room, and she's really not very comfortable with, you know, us."
"Josh, I appreciate your concern, but she won't," I said, gesturing at the door. "Josh, I don't want to sleep by myself, ok? I'm not saying I want to make love in my parents' house, because I don't think I've ever felt, you know, less in the mood, but Josh, I just, I want you close to me right now, ok?"
"Of course," Josh said, hugging me again.
"I love you so much, Josh," I said, feeling like crying again suddenly. I swallowed back the feeling, but he must have caught the tremor in my voice.
"I love you, too," he answered, rocking back and forth a little.
Eventually we got tired of hugging, and settled down for a long night in my room. I pulled out my book, curling up on the bed, and Josh got his out, sliding up next to me on the mattress. We leaned on each other, our shoulders pressing against each other, not needing to talk. After a while, Josh put a pillow on his lap, and turned me so that my head was on it. I lay like that, feeling his strong legs under the pillow, as he stroked my hair with one hand while he continued reading. Every few minutes I would glance up at him, his face deep in thought as he focused on what he was reading, and he would glance down, as if sensing my eyes, and smile at me. After a while I glanced up and saw that his eyes were closed, and I grinned. They fluttered back open as I sat up, but he was busted, and he knew it.
"Come on, Mr. Sleepy," I said, pulling his book out of his hands, sliding the bookmark into his place. He yawned, smiling, as I took his hands and pulled him up off of the bed. "Let's get ready for bed."
We fished our toiletries out of our suitcases and went to the bathroom to brush our teeth. I watched us both side by side in the mirror, mouths dripping with foam, and thought again about how lucky I was to have Josh, but I felt something else, too. I felt a little unsettled. Thinking about the house I'd grown up in, and how there were so many secrets here, so many things no one talked about, I realized that I didn't want to keep any secrets from Josh. I didn't ever want there to be anything between us that I didn't tell him, but I worried as well that the things I needed to say to him might drive him away. We walked back to my room and stripped down, me to my boxers, and Josh to his boxer briefs. I switched off the light, and saw his necklace glimmer in the light from the moon. I felt my own, tapping lightly on my chest as I slid under the sheets with him, and remembered what it meant to us both.
"Are you ok?" Josh whispered, sliding an arm around me as I spooned back against him. "Are you sure you don't want to stay another day, and try to work some of this out with your mother?"
"No," I answered. "I don't want to work anything out with her. Maybe someday, Josh, but not now. I mean, why didn't she ever tell me?"
"Jack, she doesn't seem to think it really mattered," Josh said. "You heard what she said. She doesn't really think it would have made any difference."
"I know," I said. "And maybe it wouldn't have, but Josh, I feel like, I don't know, like I don't even know who I am right now. I mean, Jesus, when did my life start looking so much like a bad VC Andrews book? I mean, my whole life, I felt like my family didn't want me, like I didn't belong here, and now my mother just told us that it's all true."
"Oh, Jack," Josh whispered, his hand running up and down my arm. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not just that, Josh," I said, feeling his breath on the back of my neck. "It's like, not only did my family not want me, but now I know that there's some other family out there that didn't want me, either. There's some other mother that didn't want any kids either, and she gave me to these people, who just wanted me to smile for the Christmas cards. Josh, I feel like there isn't anywhere I belong. I don't have any family. I'm nobody."
Josh grabbed my shoulders, rolling me over so that I was facing him. I felt our legs brushing against each other as we sorted out the tangle, and his hands slid up to the side of my face and held it. I could see him, bluish in the light from the windows, and I could see how wet his eyes were, but he wanted to make sure that he could see mine, too.
"That isn't true, Jack," Josh said, his eyes locked on mine. His voice was firm, but I could hear underneath his tone that he was worried, and scared. "I never want to hear you say that about yourself again. I didn't know you were listening, but I meant everything I said to your mother. You are the most amazing, wonderful, caring person I've ever met. You're so strong, and so brave, and you don't even know it. Every day I fall more in love with you, Jack. Every night when I go to sleep I thank God that I met you, and that you love me."
"Josh," I began, feeling a little uncomfortable, caught in the intensity of his feelings for me. I felt the same way about him.
"No, Jack," he said. "I mean it. You do belong somewhere. You belong with me. I'm your family, and the guys are all your family, too. Maybe we're not the one you were born with, and maybe we're not the one you grew up with, but we're the family that loves you, and that's the only one that matters. That's all that's important, Jack. They love you, and I love you. I believe in you, Jack, and I believe in us, and I never want to hear you say that you're nobody, because you're always going to be someone special to me. I love you, Jack. I love you."
"I love you, too, Josh," I said, my hands over his as he held my face. I leaned in and kissed him. "But there are things you don't know. You might not think I'm so special after I tell you."
"Jack, whatever it is won't matter to me," Josh said, shaking his head. "Haven't you learned that by now?"
"This is different, Josh," I said, taking a deep breath. "Josh, I was going to kill Basil Morgan."
Josh blinked at me, and I could see that this was coming completely out of left field for him.
"I know that this isn't what you expected me to say right now, but I have to say it," I continued. "That shrink kept saying I should tell you, and I thought about it, but it never seemed like the right time. I realized tonight that there may never be a right time, Josh, and I can't let you keep thinking I'm perfect, because I'm not. I was going to kill Basil Morgan. After he was down, after he was on the floor and I got away, I still had the pan in my hand, and I was going to kill him, Josh. I was going to kill him."
"Jack, the police said it was self-defense," Josh said quietly, holding me.
"No, Josh, it wouldn't have been," I said, shaking my head. "He was already down. I was going to hit him again, and keep hitting him, until he was dead. I thought about it, Josh, and I stood there looking down on him, and I could see it. I could see it in my head, and I was going to do it. I was angry, and I thought about everything he'd done, everything he'd taken from me, and I was sure, completely sure, that it was the right thing to do, and he deserved it."
Josh swallowed, but never stopped looking at me.
"Jack, I know you told me what happened to you, but I can't tell you that I understand it," Josh said quietly. "I can't tell you that I know what it was like, because I don't. I wasn't there. I don't know what he did to you, and I don't know what it was like to wake up there, every day, and go through that over and over. I guess what I'm trying to say is that, well, I can't say if what you were going to do was right or not. I was raised to think that it's wrong to fight people, and it's wrong to kill, but Jack, I didn't go through what you did. I've thought about this a lot, too. I've thought about it at night sometimes, when I hear you whimpering in your sleep. I think about it when I'm holding you, when you're scared because you're having a flashback, or a panic attack, and sometimes, when I think about it, I think maybe you should have."
"You do?" I asked. Josh? My Josh? He couldn't hurt anyone, not Josh. I couldn't even conceive of him wanting to hurt someone, much less wishing someone was dead.
"I do," Josh answered. "I know it's wrong to think that, but I wasn't there. I can't judge you, because I don't know what it was like for you, and I don't know what I would do in the same situation. Sometimes I wish he was dead, Jack, because of what he did to you."
"But Josh, I was going to murder him," I said.
"But you didn't," Josh said. "You were going to, and you didn't."
"It doesn't bother you to know I thought about it?" I asked.
"Jack, it would bother me more if you hadn't thought about it," Josh said. "Does it bother me to know that what? You're human? No, Jack, it doesn't. You could have killed him, and you didn't. That you thought about it doesn't matter, because you didn't do it."
"I might as well have," I said sadly, feeling guilt twist through me again.
"No," Josh said, shaking his head. "I don't want to hear you say that anymore, either. What happened to him isn't your fault, and the way he is now isn't your fault, either. All you were trying to do was get away. You weren't trying to kill him, or turn him into a vegetable. That wasn't your fault, Jack."
"Are you sure?" I asked. "I was scared to tell you, Josh, because I didn't want you to think I was a bad person."
"Jack, you never have to be scared to tell me something," Josh said. He pulled me closer to him, kissing me, and holding me against him. "Besides, I think maybe he got what he deserved. I love you, Jack, and I will always love you."
"I love you, too, Josh," I said, pressing against him. I felt his warm, smooth chest against mine, and could feel his heart beating in time with my own. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
"But Jack, you just did," Josh said, kissing me.
We lay like that for a while, Josh holding me in his arms, and then we finally fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in the bed alone. I looked around and saw Josh's suitcase neatly packed by the door of my bedroom. Sliding out of bed, I pulled my undershirt back on, looking around, and saw him across the wall in the guestroom, sitting on the bed and talking on the phone. He was fully dressed, a little less conservatively than yesterday, and his hair was still a little gleaming from the shower, or maybe from the gallons of gel and product that he sometimes drenched it in. He saw me and smiled, his tanned face beaming, and I pointed toward the bathroom, pantomiming a shower. He nodded and gave me a thumbs up, still talking.
I quickly showered up, and sauntered back down the hall in my towel. I didn't hear Josh, but after I dropped the towel and slid a pair of boxers on he walked up behind me, rubbing my shoulders. I sighed, letting him work on them a little more, feeling his strong hands do one of the many things he did well. His fingers pressed and kneaded, and I felt the tension sliding away.
"How did you sleep?" he asked, working at my neck now, rolling my head from side to side.
"Good," I sighed. "You're amazing."
"So are you," he said, letting his hands slide down off my back. I turned around and he pulled me into a hug. "How do you feel this morning?"
"Josh, I don't know," I sighed, feeling his hands run up and down over my shoulder blades. "I don't know. I feel a little confused, and I don't know what else. I mean, how am I supposed to feel? What am I supposed to say? I'm looking around the room, and the house, and I don't know what to say. I just don't want to be here anymore, Josh. There's too much, and this time I feel like I don't ever want to come back here."
"I understand," Josh said, nodding. He handed me my deodorant, fishing it out of the suitcase. "Why don't we get dressed, and just get you home? OK? We'll get back to our friends, and the wedding, and everything else. We can think about this later, and if you want to talk to your mother about this, we can, but right now I think you're right, and we should just go."
"I think you're right," I said, putting the deodorant on and then taking an undershirt from the suitcase. Josh sat on the bed as I got dressed.
"How did you sleep?" he asked.
"Fine, I guess," I answered, wondering why he was watching me like that. "Josh? What?"
"Nothing," he said. "I'm just worried about you, Jack. I mean, you're taking it all really well."
"I'm not, though," I admitted, pulling my pants on. "I don't know how I feel, Josh. I just feel kind of numb."
"It's ok to feel that way, baby," Josh said, hugging me.
"Who was on the phone?" I asked. I had glanced at mine, but I didn't have any messages.
"My mom," Josh answered. "I called her this morning because I was worried, and I, um."
"What?" I asked. He looked guilty suddenly, glancing away from me. "Josh? What's wrong?"
"I feel bad telling you this," Josh said suddenly, jumping off of the bed to pace around the room. "I feel like I'm rubbing it in. When I woke up this morning, I was thinking about you and your family, and the way your mom talked to you, the way she treated you last night, and I missed my mom. I was thinking about how my parents accept me, and how much they love me, and how you don't have that, and I called my mom, because I wanted to feel better."
"Josh, why do you feel bad telling me that?" I asked, walking over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Because I feel like I'm rubbing it in," Josh said. He turned toward me, and I saw that his face looked tight, twisted with pain. "Do you remember what Justin said when we were at my family's house? Do you remember how he said that I always had everything, and my parents always loved me and supported everything I did? He's right. They always have, and now I feel like if I call my mom it'll make you feel bad, because you really don't have that. I didn't believe you, really, but now that I've been here, and I've seen, well, Evelyn, I feel bad, like I'm flaunting my parents in front of you."
I wanted to laugh, but I was also absurdly touched. I pulled Josh over to me and kissed him, smiling, so that he would know I was ok.
"Josh, I love you, but that's just silly," I said, shaking my head. He looked at me, confused. "Josh, I'm not going to hold it against you that your family loves you. I've been to your house. I know what your family's like, and I don't want you to feel bad because they're not mine."
"They are yours, Jack," Josh said, kissing me on the cheek. "That's what my mom and I were talking about. You know my parents love you, Jack, and my mom wants me to remind you that, when you marry me, you're going to be their son, too. You have a family, Jack."
"Thank you, Josh," I said, hugging him again. "But I'm not taking your last name."
"I'm ok with that," he said.
I finished getting dressed, and then the two of us quickly packed my suitcase and carried our bags downstairs. The house was quiet, and Josh explained to me that he had heard the housekeeper leaving in a station wagon while I was in the shower.
"Do you think she left us any breakfast?" I asked, setting our bags down by the front door. "We should check the kitchen."
"OK," Josh said, taking my hand. "I don't hear your mother anywhere."
"That could be a good thing," I said, laughing.
In the kitchen we found coffee in an urn on the counter, with two cups set out. Going through the cupboards, I located some tea bags, and pulled out the box for Josh, pointing at the microwave as he nodded. In the refrigerator I located some bagels, and handed them to Josh as he waited behind me. I realized he didn't know where anything was, so I went looking for plates and silverware as he pulled out the cream cheese and carried the bagels over to the toaster.
"Jack?" he asked. His voice sounded odd, so I turned, seeing him standing at the table. "There's a note here."
I walked over. It wasn't just a note. There was a large brown envelope on the table, obviously old. It was kind of tattered on the edges, and had a large water stain on the front, round, like someone had put a coffee cup or a water glass on top of it. The top flap was neatly closed with a fresh piece of scotch tape. Beneath that, though, there were several older pieces, brown, yellow, and brittle, clinging to the flap. It had obviously been opened and closed again many times. On top of it, written on the same rose scented, flower printed stationery she'd been using as long as I could remember, was a note card from my mother.
"You think it's an apology?" Josh asked, not touching it.
"I doubt it," I said. He put a hand on my shoulder as I reached for the card, and I realized my hand was shaking a little. I opened the card, and Josh looked over my shoulder, reading it along with me.
"Dear Jackson:
I realize many things this morning as I sit to write this. I realize that I should have been honest with you long ago, because, out of both of my children, you are the one to whom it is most important. You have always been the one who told us to speak our minds, to not beat around the bush, and to be the people that we are instead of the people that we feel that we should be. I realize that I have wounded you in my attempt to protect you, and I would like for you to know that it was never my intent.
In the envelope beneath this card are all of the documents pertaining to your birth and your adoption. I have looked at them many times over the years, searching them for some clues that might help me understand you, but I think that the person who should have been looking at them was you. There are no names in this file, but there is a date, a time, and a town. If someday you feel as if you would like to know about where you came from, and why, this is what I can offer you to help with your search. I can only hope that such a search, if you choose to undertake it, can bring you enough peace to cover the pain that I know I have caused you both by withholding this and also by the way I chose to tell you.
I realized last night, after you left the kitchen, that there is something else that needs to be said as well. I have told you many times that I love you, but I realized that I have never told you that I am proud of you. I have never told you that I am proud of the strong man of integrity that you have grown into, or of the life that you have built for yourself without giving a damn what other people might think of it. I have never told you how proud I am to see that you are brave enough to follow your heart to someone you truly love without listening to anyone, even your own mother, who might tell you that it's not right. I have never told you any of that, but I would like to tell you now.
I'm proud of you, and I may not be your mother, not your real mother, but I love you.
Evelyn"
I realized when I got to the end of it that tears were streaming down my face, and when I looked up, Josh was crying, too, but it was a good cry. I held onto him, and he held me, until we cried ourselves out. I put the note card back onto the packet, and carried the whole thing to my bag.
"You don't want to look at it?" Josh asked.
"Not yet," I said, zipping it into my carry on. "I don't want to look at it until we get home, when we can sit down and go through it together, ok?"
"I understand," Josh said.
"Josh, could you, um, if you wouldn't mind, could you put the cream cheese on my bagel?" I asked. "I'll be right there."
"Sure," Josh answered, watching me from the kitchen door.
I walked down the hall to the study, passing my father's desk as I walked over to my mother's smaller, neater desk. There was a box of her paper on the top, where I knew it would be, and I pulled out a sheet and a pen. Carrying them back to the table, I joined Josh at the table.
"Do you think we should go see her?" Josh asked. "Or call her?"
"No," I answered gently. "She left a note because she didn't want to make this kind of a scene, so I'm going to write her one, too. It's the best she can do, Josh, and she's trying."
"I know," Josh said.
We wrote the note together.
"Mother,
What you've given me, and what you've said, means more to me than I can say. I don't really have the words to express it, but I would like to offer you my apology. Last night I was disrespectful to you, because I was thinking more of myself than about how you must feel, and I thought more about my pain than yours. I've thought about Brett, and I will leave the decision of whether or not to tell him in your hands, because it's not my place. For myself, Joshua and I would like to say that the invitation to attend our wedding is still open to you, and to my father, but that we will not hold it against you if you still choose not to attend. We hope you can share this day with us, but even if you cannot, what you have already shared is more precious to me than any gift could be.
With love from your son,
Jackson"
We left the note on the table, where she had placed the package for me, and went to the airport. On the plane we mostly just read, and leaned on each other, although we did drag out the travel chessboard for a while after the snack that claimed to be a meal. I tried to think about what all of this meant, and how I felt about it, but mostly I just felt empty, and drained. My mother's note had been touching, and heartfelt, but all sorts of questions were rising inside me now, questions about my childhood, and my family, the one I grew up with and my other family, the one that gave birth to me. I felt empty, and overwhelmed, washed out and washed away by all of this.
I just wanted to be with Josh, and not think about any of this.
To be continued.