Another
Monday morning. Chris felt, as he heard his alarm blaring from the
nightstand to his right, that he hated Mondays far more than Ty did
at the moment. Maybe in time the boy would grow to despise those
retched days and to long for the weekends, but for now, Ty still
loved any and all days in which he attended school. Chris wanted to
throw his clock through the window and go back to sleep.
Instead, he blindly swatted at the alarm until he hit the off button.
Almost immediately after the sound ended, Ty burst into the room,
brighter than the block of sun which shone through the window and hit
Chris's eye as he turned on his side. The little boy skipped over to
stand beside the bed, sticking his face as close to Chris's as
possible.
“Good morning, daddy,” he giggled. Chris smiled and returned the greeting, though he made no further attempt to get out of bed. Ty waited a few moments, and then ripped Chris's blankets away from him. Chris curled up, still not willing to move, but Ty proceeded to poke Chris in the arm, exclaiming, “You have to get up, there is a surprise for you!”
“A
surprise?” He tried to sound intrigued, but his eyelids were
begging to close once more. Ty gave up on the poking and switched to
yanking on Chris's arm. Finally, Chris allowed himself to be pulled
out of bed, dragged down the hallway, and shoved into the kitchen,
where upon the table sat a full breakfast, eggs, bacon, sausage,
pancakes.
Stopped in the doorway, Chris shifted his gaze from the table to the
little boy at his side. Obviously, Ty could not have done this
himself – and if he had, well, Chris had better get the number for
Guinness. By the frown on Ty's face as he stared at the breakfast,
though, Chris could see that Ty was experiencing his own surprise at
the moment.
Ty dropped his hold on Chris and spun around, searching. He mumbled
to himself a bit, and then ran back down the hallway. Chris took a
few steps into the kitchen, marveling at the spread. From the hall
came the sound of a door opening; seconds later, Ty shouted, “There
you are!”
Chris backtracked into the living room as Ty hopped into the space.
He jumped to a spot just in front of Chris, gestured to the opening
of the hallway and let out a little, “Ta-da!” At first, Chris
watched Ty and wondered how he could have so much energy so early in
the morning, but the dark-haired figure which emerged from the hall
caught his attention.
Tristan stood next to Ty with a wide, slightly apologetic, grin. He
shrugged his shoulders and said, “Sorry, I had to fix my hair.”
The
breakfast made a lot more sense now, Chris thought. What didn't make
sense was why Tristan had come to their apartment on a Monday morning
to cook for them – or, more importantly, how
Tristan had been able to get in in the first place.
Perhaps sensing Chris's line of thought, Tristan stepped forward and
ran his hand down Chris's arm. “I thought maybe you would be up a
little earlier, but Ty opened the door and then we decided to let you
sleep while we made breakfast.”
Chris still felt confused, but the rumbling in his stomach demanded
priority. The three sat down for breakfast, and over the meal Tristan
explained in more depth exactly what had happened. He had brought
over some food, intending to surprise an awake Chris and spend some
time with his boyfriend while Ty slept. However, he had not
anticipated that Ty would be the one to answer the door, but figured
that it would be just as nice to spend time with Ty, and to surprise
Chris in a different way (which he concluded had been very
successful).
After Ty finished eating – or, rather, shoveling eggs into his
mouth until he could no longer cram in another morsel, and then
swallowing all at once, causing Chris to panic at the thought of Ty
choking – Chris sent him off to dress himself and gather his school
things. He and Tristan continued to talk.
“By
the way, we're spending the morning together,” Tristan announced.
“I have a few plans for us.”
In the middle of bringing a forkful of sausage to his mouth, Chris
paused. “But... you have to work...”
Tristan shook his head with a sly smirk on his lips. He stood up
straight, let his eyelids droop and let out a nasty-sounding cough.
“I'm not feeling well today,” he croaked. “I have to call out,
I'm sorry.”
Chris laughed as Tristan gave a bow. “You know what's going to
happen is, like in those sitcoms, when someone skips out on work and
then their boss catches them goofing off around town, and you'll get
fired.”
“They
can't fire me for taking one day off. I've called out maybe twice in
the whole three years I've worked there.”
“You've
worked there for three years?”
Tristan smiled, reached across the table to set his hand over
Chris's. “See, this is why we need to spend more time together.
Plus, I've hardly seen you since you came back.”
Chris recommenced eating. He ran his thumb under the palm of
Tristan's hand. “So, what are your plans?”
“You'll
see.” Tristan removed his hand, shoveled into his mouth the last
bit of eggs on his plate. Chris didn't pry further, as he knew he
wouldn't get an actual answer, but he did begin to feel the
excitement he should have felt earlier when Ty first mentioned the
surprise. He had missed Tristan a lot since that night they spent
together, and with the stress of speaking to his mother again for the
first time in five years, Chris felt he could definitely use a
morning like this.
After the men had finished breakfast and Ty had readied himself, the
time came to leave the apartment. Chris forced Tristan to stay behind
on account of the fact that he couldn't show up at his workplace
having called out for the day. Besides, he figured, the drive there
and back wouldn't take too long. Tristan could surely find something
to keep him occupied while Chris was gone.
Sure enough, when Chris reentered the apartment no more than half an
hour later, Tristan had disappeared from his spot on the couch, where
he had sat as Chris and Ty left. Chris slipped his shoes off at the
door and set out to find the dark-haired man.
Tristan wasn't in the kitchen. The dishes they had used for breakfast
had been washed and sat now in the strainer, so he must have been in
the room at some point, but not anymore. Chris moved on.
The bathroom was also empty. Tristan must have had his fill of
grooming himself earlier. Chris, on the other hand, realized that he
had yet to relieve himself that morning, and thus figured he could
take a few minutes out of his Tristan hunt to do just that.
Chris never thought about checking Ty's bedroom, as that seemed to be
a ridiculous place for Tristan to have moved into. In any case,
Chris's room was closer to the bathroom, so he peered into there
first.
That was when he saw it: Tristan lay on his bed, leaned back against
his pillows, legs stretched in an open V before him, wearing nothing
but a pair of boxers. Chris stood in the doorway and blinked at him
for a while.
“Could
you believe it?” Tristan began after several moments of silence. “I
thought I'd take a quick stroll around the apartment to get my legs
stretched, but some strange force sucked me into your room and took
off all my clothes!”
“Is
that so?” Slowly, Tristan nodded. Chris stepped into the room,
inched his way to the bed. As he drew closer, he suddenly leaped
forward, landed with his knees between Tristan's legs, his hands on
either side of Tristan's torso, their faces only inches apart. “Oops,
I tripped.”
Tristan smiled. “Your room is a dangerous place to be.” He pushed
himself up just enough to mash his lips against Chris's.
“Was
this part of your plans?” Chris asked in a low voice. Tristan
watched his fingers trail down Chris's chest.
“Actually,
no. But as long as we're here...” As the last word left his mouth,
Tristan's hands settled on the button of Chris's pants. His eyes
flicked up to Chris's and he bit his bottom lip. Chris leaned down
again to kiss Tristan, who started the hefty task of removing Chris's
clothes. Tristan managed to wriggle Chris's jeans down to just above
his knees, before shoving all of his weight forward and flipping
Chris onto his back.
Chris landed on the mattress with a gasp. He always underestimated Tristan's strength. Tristan held up Chris's legs, now wrapped around Tristan's waist, and slid the jeans the rest of the way off. He pushed Chris's shirt up over his stomach, but must have figured that was close enough, and moved his hands down to Chris's boxers. At the same time, Chris reached for Tristan's, not wanting to be the only one exposed.
The
rest was just a sweaty blur, albeit an awesome
sweaty blur. At least Chris thought so, as he and Tristan, on
opposite sides of the bed, slipped their clothes back on. Once fully
dressed, Tristan grabbed Chris's hand and led him out of the
apartment without a word.
They took Tristan's car, presumably because Tristan knew where they
were going. Chris stared out the window at the passing scenery,
desperately resisting the urge to ambush Tristan with questions of
where they were driving, what they'd do when they got there, how long
it would be before they arrived, how long before they left again.
Though he couldn't quite see it, Chris thought he felt Tristan's eyes
glance at him once or twice every few minutes. He wondered if Tristan
wasn't trying just as hard not to spill about the surprise.
Finally, Tristan parked the car in front of a plain brick building,
turned to Chris with a hint of a smile. “We're here.”
Chris eyed the building. He felt no disappointment at the sight of
such a seemingly uninteresting place; rather, he knew that Tristan
would plan something spectacular and try to pass it off as ordinary.
If anything, Chris felt even more excited now, itching to figure out
what was going on.
While Chris was busy staring, Tristan had managed to slip out of the
car, slide around the front, and open Chris's door. Chris started as
the door opened and Tristan came into view, but he smiled up – and
then down – at Tristan as he stretched his legs out of the car and
stood.
“Should
I close my eyes?” Chris asked jokingly as they approached the
building's entrance.
“No,”
Tristan replied quickly, “I want you to see it as soon as you walk
in. And you will
see it.”
Chris scrunched his eyebrows at the last remark, but did not
outwardly question what Tristan had said. He let the shorter man lead
him into the building, all the while still focused on the statement.
Did Tristan mean that Chris might refuse to walk into the building?
But Tristan was right. As soon as they entered the little shop, Chris
set his eyes upon a truly frightening sight. Right beside the door,
set on top of a small platform, stood a mannequin dressed in hippie
attire. The mannequin wore a baggy, tie-dye shirt, and an oversized
peace-sign necklace. Even more frightening was the mannequin's head,
which sported tiny John Lennon-esque glasses, a headband wrapped
around a long, dirty blond wig, and a wide grin which had clearly
been drawn on with a black permanent marker.
“Great,”
Chris said, eyes wide and still set on the creepy mannequin. “I'll
have nightmares now.”
Tristan laughed loudly, grasped Chris's arm and buried his face in
Chris's shoulder. “He's a cutie, i'n't he? I knew you'd love him.”
Chris shuddered, which caused Tristan to laugh harder into his arm.
Tristan let his hands fall to Chris's wrist, tugged on his arm to
pull him away from the mannequin.
Throughout the shop sat several long, wooden tables, all covered in
plastic sheets and supplied with bottles of mysterious colorful
liquids, boxes of latex gloves, and large basins. At either end of
each table was a kitchen-style sink. While Chris took in all of this,
Tristan sauntered over to a small counter on the side of the room
opposite the welcoming mannequin.
“Hey,
you made it back,” a deep voice said as Tristan approached. Chris
looked over to see a short blond guy behind the counter, smiling
widely at Tristan. But the man's smile quickly faltered as he glanced
over at Chris. “Where's your friend?”
“I
brought a different friend this time,” Tristan replied, waving
vaguely back at Chris. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Chris slowly walked up behind Tristan as the two continued their
conversation. He eyed the wall behind the blonde man and the various
articles of clothing pinned to the wall's surface. Plain white
t-shirts, tank tops, v-necks, and even several styles of underwear,
covered the wall from ceiling to floor. After looking over the
collection for a few minutes, Chris felt Tristan's elbow him in the
ribs.
“What?”
Chris asked, turning to Tristan, who smiled at him.
“I
said I'll do a tank top this time. You can pick yours.”
“Um...”
Chris glanced briefly at the wall, but looked back at Tristan with an
expression of uncertainty. Tristan watched him for a few moments,
laughed, and turned back to the blond man.
“Two
tank tops.”
The blond man ducked behind the counter. Chris thought he heard the
sound of a drawer being pulled out and then pushed back in seconds
later. Sure enough, the blond man returned with two white lumps of
fabric in his hands. He set the fabric on the counter, punched a few
buttons on the register beside him, and rattled off a number to
Tristan. While Tristan removed a few bills from his wallet, Chris
grabbed one of the tank tops and held it out for examination.
Tristan grabbed his hands, tilting Chris's arms back so that the
fabric was pressed against Chris's torso. He smoothed the cloth at
the bottom and held it against Chris's stomach.
“This'll
look really good on you,” Tristan muttered, almost to himself. He
grinned up at Chris. Chris hesitated before smiling back, not so sure
he agreed with Tristan's comment.
Actually, as he thought about it, Chris realized that he had never
worn a tank top in his life. He had worn sleeveless undershirts, but
looking over the cloth now in his hands, he could see that the two
were very different. The undershirts he wore always had a collar
which rested at the very bottom of his neck; this tank top had a
neckline which plunged so low that he wasn't sure it shouldn't be
called a pec-line instead.
In the midst of contemplating his fashion history, Chris had been
dragged over to one of the long tables. Tristan slipped two pairs of
latex gloves from the nearest box as the blond man brought over two
dye-stained aprons.
“If
you guys need any help, I'll be over there,” the blond man said,
pointing at the counter behind which he had at first been standing.
Tristan nodded and thanked him. He brought a second basin over from a
few feet down the table, and dunked both tank tops into the solution
in each basin.
The shirts had to soak for at least ten minutes before the next step.
In the meantime, the men tied on their aprons and snapped on their
gloves. Since Tristan had obviously been to the shop before, he
undertook the job of showing Chris exactly what to do, how to wring
out the cloth once it finished in the solution, how to tie up the
fabric with the rubber bands which Chris had not at first seen lying
on the tables.
Then came the time to actually apply the dye to the fabric. Chris
learned that the plastic cover on the table was meant to prevent the
messy dye from not only staining the table, but also affecting future
sessions. The last thing anyone would want is to accidentally dip a
shirt in a spot of someone else's dye.
Tristan grabbed the bottle of red dye first and began to make little
swirls on his fabric. He admitted to Chris that he had little idea of
what it would look like when it was finished.
“It's
not like I can go about sporting only a tank top in November anyway,”
Tristan said with a smile and a little shrug. “If it looks bad...
well, I can always turn it into a pillow case or something. I've seen
stuff like that in magazines, it's pretty cool.”
“You
read magazines like that?”
“They
were in Claire's mum's house. We were waiting for dinner to be ready,
and while I love Claire's family, I'd rather read stuffy magazines
targeted toward women than listen to her dad go on about his last
visit to the dentist. Oops,” he added as he squeezed the dye bottle
a little too hard, causing a splotch of red liquid to squirt over his
gloved hand. He set the bottle down and reached for the blue.
“Anyway, it's funny to see how seriously the articles take
themselves.”
“I
don't think the articles do anything by themselves,” Chris quipped,
splashing a dash of yellow dye onto his fabric. Tristan smirked and
elbowed him.
“Mr.
Writer. You know what I mean.”
No more than five minutes later, the tank tops were covered in dye
and the men were ready to leave. A second employee, this time a blond
woman, brought to them two plastic bags meant for the clothes. Each
tank top would have to sit for twenty-four hours before the dye could
be rinsed out.
After shoving the clothes in the bags, the two men proceeded to
remove their gloves and aprons, and to wash off any dye which may
have strayed onto skin. They bid farewell to the employees, grabbed
their bags, and headed back to Chris and Ty's apartment. Tristan once
again drove as Chris sat staring out the window. This time he didn't
wonder what Tristan had in mind for them; he figured that the tie-dye
workshop had been the big surprise, and that once it came time to
bring Ty back to the apartment, Tristan might leave and spend the
rest of the day on his own.
But as soon as Chris opened the door, car keys in hand, he realized
that Tristan stood right behind him, fully prepared to tag along on
the trip to the school. Chris stopped in the doorway and turned to
face the other man.
“What
are you doing?”
“Going
with you,” Tristan said with an obvious tone. Chris tilted his
head.
“I
thought you'd stay like you did this morning.” Tristan shook his
head. “But you can't go,
you're
supposed to be sick.”
Tristan inched closer to Chris. “Maybe I'm feeling a little better
now. Maybe I need some fresh air.” Chris gave him a look which was
meant to convey that his opinion on the matter had not changed.
Tristan made a little whimpering noise. “I just want to see Claire!
She might think I'm actually sick. She might be worried about me.”
“I'll
tell her you're fine.”
“Can
you also tell her to call me when she goes to lunch?” Tristan
batted his eyelashes at Chris, who nodded in return. Beaming, Tristan
stood on his toes and kissed Chris on the cheek. “OK, I'll wait for
you here.”
Tristan then swooped
over to the sofa and flopped down. He set his head in his hands,
rested his arms on the side of the couch, and smiled at Chris, who
shook his head with a smile in return. Tristan kept his eyes on Chris
as he headed out of the apartment.
As always, Ty jumped excitedly as soon as Chris walked into the
classroom, roughly ten minutes later. Within seconds of Chris's
arrival, Ty had gathered all of his belongings and bolted toward the
door. Chris almost didn't realized Ty had even passed him until the
little boy was standing in the hallway, tapping his foot impatiently.
Chris stared at him with wide eyes as the pair met in the hall.
“Come on, daddy, we have to get back home,” Ty said, in a tone much less chipper than normal. Chris briefly wondered if he'd stepped into some parallel universe where their roles had switched; Ty the parent, and Chris the child.
Chris stared at Ty for a while, lost in thought, as Ty slowly raised
both of his eyebrows. Once the brows reached their maximum height, Ty
let out a groan and latch his hand onto Chris's, tugging so hard that
Chris actually exclaimed in pain.
“Sorry,
but you weren't moving!”
“All right, calm down,” Chris replied. The desk where Claire stood quickly came into reach. Chris took back control and pulled Ty over to the desk. He informed Claire of Tristan's message, to which she simply rolled her eyes and asked Chris to let Tristan know she would call him.
Indeed, not long after Chris and Ty had returned to the apartment,
Tristan's cellphone went off. Ty had slipped into his room to put his
backpack away and to change into play clothes, while Chris and
Tristan lounged on the sofa in the living room.
“OK,
so once Ty is done, we're going to move on to Phase Two. I think he
named it 'Playtime,' but I can't remember exactly.” Neck leaning
against the back of the sofa, Chris let his head fall to the side so
that he faced Tristan. He raised his eyebrows.
“There's
more?”
“Is
that bad?”
Chris shook his head. “I didn't realize you planned more.”
Tristan gave a sly grin, and then glanced over his shoulder to look
down the hallway. At that precise moment, Ty bolted out of his room
and toward the men, sporting an old pair of jeans and a light
sweater. He stopped only inches from the back of the sofa, and
immediately proceeded to bounce in place, pressing most of his weight
down each time to lift himself into the air.
“Let's go, let's go!” Ty chanted this several times as Chris watched him with a careful expression.
Once the little boy settled a bit, Chris leaned toward Ty and
whispered, “Where are we going?”
Ty mimicked Chris, stifling a grin as he tilted forward. “I can't tell you.” He jumped back to his original position in a flash, and began to hop around once more. This time, though, he did not remain stationary; with each step, Ty brought himself closer to the front door, most likely with the intention of forcing the adults to follow him. It worked, of course. Ty couldn't open the door by himself, but once Chris turned the handle for him, the little boy shoved the piece of wood out of the way and ran out of the apartment.
For the third time in a few short hours, Chris slid into the
passenger seat of Tristan's car. They had to move Ty's car seat into
the back, but luckily the process did not entail much work, and Chris
was used to moving the seat every time Ty went to visit Kirsten.
Ty provided the music for the drive, belting several improvised songs
about surprises, excitement, and how it's not nice to keep secrets
from someone, especially a parent, unless the secret is a surprise,
in which case it is “lotsa fun.” Tristan joined in after a while,
trying to sing along with the chorus as Ty made it up, and even
contributing his own verse about watching boyfriends squirm as they
try to guess what your surprise is.
Chris wanted to sing a song about feeling like an outsider, but by
the time he thought of even a few lines, they had arrived at their
destination. Ty kindly informed him that singing would no longer be
permitted.
As soon as Chris unbuckled Ty from the car seat, the little boy
slipped underneath him and out of the car. Though he'd already had
Chris's attention, he tugged at Chris's jeans several times. With his
back against the open car door, Chris looked down at the boy.
“Can
I go play now?” Ty asked, using his free hand to point to the
playground which sat a few hundred feet away from the parking lot.
“Go
for it,” Tristan answered, before Chris could even open his mouth.
Chris shot a glare at Tristan, who returned an innocent look and a
shrug. “Kid's been waiting for it all day.”
Chris turned back to Ty with a hint of a smile. “Yeah, you can go
play.”
Ty squealed, released his grip on Chris, and bolted across the grass
stretched between the car and the playground. Chris kept his eyes on
Ty while maneuvering around to close the car door. Tristan walked
around the front of the car to stand behind Chris, who did not
realize until Tristan set his hands over Chris's shoulders. The
dark-haired man laughed at the fright he'd caused.
“That
was your second surprise.” Mouth twisted in a stifled grin, Chris
pushed his arm back to lightly elbow Tristan in the ribs. But Tristan
was much quicker, and managed to step back and dodge Chris's jab just
in time.
Tristan reached up to peck Chris on the cheek as he walked around the
taller man, headed for the trunk of his car. From within he removed a
half-used bag of bread, which now sported several patches of mold.
Chris stepped over, eying the bread with caution.
“Lunch?”
Tristan
let his head fall back as he let out an oddly loud cackle. Chris
didn't think it was that
funny. He shifted his cautious gaze from the bread to Tristan.
“We're
going to feed some duckies, Mr. Martin.”
Chris shook his head. “That's not good for the ducks, you know.”
Silence reigned over the men for several seconds as Tristan narrowed
his eyes at Chris, thinking. He tilted his head and let his eyelids
open again. “Really?”
“Well,
first of all, it's all moldy,” Chris said, flicking the bag with
his pointer finger, “but, anyway, ducks can't digest bread like
humans can. There's just not enough nutrients for them.”
Tristan glared down at the bread with a deep frown. “What am I
supposed to do with this, then?”
Chris shrugged his shoulders; Tristan sighed with great force. He
tossed the bag into the open trunk and closed the top with some
melancholy. Chris twisted up his mouth and leaned close to the
dark-haired man.
“Did
I ruin it?”
Tristan looked at him with a gloomy expression, his face unchanging
for so long that Chris began to fear he had messed up even more than
he thought. But then the corner of Tristan's lip quirked up, and
Chris felt a little lighter.
“We
can talk to them, at least.”
“I
think they'll like that.” Chris stepped forward to press a kiss to
the top of Tristan's head, as Tristan grabbed one of his hands and
began to lead the pair toward the small pond just to the side of the
playground.
“Besides,
this part of the plan was more for Ty,” Tristan continued as they
walked. Overcome with a sudden swell of gratitude, Chris leaned over
and kissed Tristan again, this time hitting just below his eye.
Tristan laughed and shrugged. “He never plays with the other kids
during recess. He stands off toward the doors and just sort of talks
to himself.”
“He
likes it that way.”
“Well,
sometimes there's this other little girl he plays with. Alicia, I
think.” Tristan glanced over at the playground, and Chris followed
his gaze. A group of kids crowded around the monkey bars, which drew
their attention first; however, Ty was underneath a little platform
by the largest plastic slide, his fingers brushing through the tufts
of grass at his feet as he mumbled to himself. “But other than
that, he's always alone.”
Tristan's words hit Chris a little harder with the image of Ty hiding
from the other children. He began to feel a bit sorry for the little
boy, even though he knew Ty really didn't mind being on his own. His
imagination was active enough to make up for the lack of company.
Besides, Chris could see that Ty chose this for himself. Ty wanted to
be away from the other children, for whatever reason.
Chris's thoughts were interrupted by an absurdly loud quacking noise.
Tristan whipped around to find a large, green duck waddling in their
direction. He bent down and stretched his arm out to the duck.
“Hey,
mate,” he began, only to be immediately interrupted by the ringing
of his cell phone. He exclaimed briefly, then jumped up and dug the
phone out of his pocket. He flipped it open and pressed it to his
ear. “Hi, Claire!”
The phone conversation continued as Tristan walked along the edge of
the pond. Chris placed himself in Tristan's position before the duck,
but the duck wasn't so willing. As soon as he set his feet down, the
duck turned around and waddled back to the water.
Chris heaved a sigh and sat himself down on the ground, knees to his
chest. He twisted so that he could observe Ty, who still sat in
solitude. Ty whispered something and began to crack up. Chris could
almost hear the little boy's laughter over the sounds of the other
children shouting to one another.
Moments later, another laugh sounded, this time from Tristan. Chris
looked over to the dark-haired man, who continued to smile and almost
giggle in a rather flirtatious manner. He spoke into his phone, but
Chris was so far into his own thoughts at this point that he did not
hear a word Tristan said. Instead, he kept hearing two distinct
voices echo in his head...
I hope he makes you happy –
Chris let his eyes trail over the grin consuming Tristan's face. He
thought about the evening they'd spent together during the book tour,
the way he almost had to force himself to think of his boyfriend as
he fell asleep that night. He liked spending time with Tristan, sure.
Tristan was a great guy.
–
when he doesn't, I hope you find someone else to make you happy...
But not quite enough. Maybe if the past month had gone differently,
maybe if Chris hadn't gone away, hadn't met up with the one person he
could never stop thinking of since the day they met, then the
relationship could have thrived. Maybe he and Tristan could have
formed some sort of family – Chris shifted his gaze over to Ty,
still in solitude – even if it may have been a non-traditional one.
Chris knew all of those things could still be possible, but the
amount of work he and Tristan would have to put into the relationship
didn't seem worth it in the end. Despite what the logical side of his
brain screamed at him, he remained hopeful that what Jonathan had
said to him would prove true, that the pair would one day be reunited
and stay that way forever; that not only did the concept of
soul-mates actually exist, but that he had found his already, even
though he had only barely lived his life so far.
Which brought him to the second voice:
It seems like
you're waiting for someone else, anyway...
It
wouldn't be fair for Chris to pretend he had never questioned the
strength of their bond, or wondered why they even decided to pursue
anything past the first date, which had been, if he was completely
honest, a disaster. On top of Tristan ditching Chris for a chance to
cling to the past, they had both realized even back then that
whatever relationship they might have would only be temporary.
Filler.
“There's
always that one person,” they had said to each other. Chris could
never deny it. He was waiting
for someone else – and, turning his gaze back to the dark-haired
man howling at whatever joke Claire had just made, he could see that
Tristan was, too.
What
he didn't know was why all of this had suddenly hit him, here, in the
middle of the day at the playground, after he and Tristan had spent
the morning together. He thought he had enjoyed the time, but perhaps
the numerous mentions of Claire had sparked something in his mind.
Ever since Chris had returned from the book tour, Tristan seemed
different. Now, Chris felt like his eyes were opened and he could see
exactly what had transpired: Tristan hadn't changed at all. His
devotion to Claire only appeared more obvious now, because Chris knew
to look for it. If he had the option to go back in time, he felt
certain he would have noticed it back when he and Tristan first met,
when Chris first brought Ty to the school for orientation.
The
way Tristan looked at Claire. The way he smiled whenever he spoke of
his blonde friend. And they were friends, clearly best friends for
who knows how long. Tristan and Claire seemed like the kind of duo
who would roam around and completely own the school hallways, despite
being the biggest outcasts in their grade.
Of
course, Chris may have borrowed from fiction for that mental image;
he had grown through his teenage years with a very different school
environment, surrounded only by boys who tried to impress him simply
because his father had power. Chris never had a best friend like
that. He might have considered Jonathan for the role, but their
relationship still couldn't match, since they had at first only known
each other in a romantic sense, and became friends later. Chris had
no idea exactly how long ago Tristan and Claire had met, but they
acted as if they had grown together since birth.
So,
Chris and Tristan both had attempted to fill a void that the other
simply could not fill. It was hopeless to even try, and unfair for
all of the parties involved. It couldn't go on.
Chris
was brought back to the moment by the loud snap of Tristan closing
his phone. His eyes followed Tristan as he stalked back toward the
water and sat down beside Chris.
“Claire
and I are going out for dinner later. Would you and Ty like to join
us?” Chris could not answer, or at the very least had no desire to
answer. He stared at Tristan as blankly as possible, until Tristan
finally cracked and asked, “What happened?”
“You
and Claire should go by yourselves.” Though Chris had not inflected
any malice into his tone, Tristan still looked at him as if he had
accused the dark-haired man of some terrible crime.
“Chris–”
“Tristan,”
Chris immediately retorted. “It's OK.”
Tristan
kept his gaze on Chris for only a moment longer. Then, he looked down
at his feet, scratched at the back of his neck. His shoulders sagged
just slightly, but enough for Chris to notice. When Tristan next
spoke, his voice was much lower, much sadder.
“I
thought it was going to happen this time. I thought, this is a
brilliant guy, very sweet, very dorky in an endearing way. There's a
lot to admire about you, but... Well, to be honest, sometimes you
make me feel stupid, and not the kind of stupid that people who are
in love are supposed to feel.” Quickly, Tristan glanced up at Chris
and reassured, “Not that it's your fault. You're just too smart for
me.”
“You're
really intelligent–” Chris cut off his argument as Tristan began
to shake his head.
“I
wanted to be a teacher. That's all I wanted, ever since I first went
to school. I wanted to teach kids.” As he continued to speak,
Tristan's voice started to crack, and his eyes began to water. “But
I couldn't even make it through my second year of college. I spent
all of my time doing schoolwork, but I was still failing almost all
of my classes. I gave up. I dropped out.
“Don't
get me wrong. I love my job. It's really working with children that I
like the most. Except, when I'm at the school, sometimes it feels
like too much. There's all these people who made it, who are doing
what they love, and then there's me, who can't do more than make
photocopies of permission slips for the next class trip.” Tristan
squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face in his hands. “God, I'm
sorry. You don't want to hear about all that.”
“Sure
I do.” Chris set his hand on Tristan's back. Tristan dropped his
hands with a sigh.
“I
think part of why I like Claire is because we're in the same boat. I
don't have to feel so bad when she's there making photocopies with
me,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“If it makes you
feel better,” Chris began, brushing back a bit of Tristan's hair
with his fingertips, “I'm in love with someone else, too.”
Tristan nodded, nudging his head into Chris's hand. Chris wrapped his arm around Tristan's shoulder and let his chin rest on the back of Tristan's neck. He would miss this, definitely; there still existed a great amount of attraction to the dark-haired man on Chris's part, but every time he thought about a future between them, a real future, his feelings just sort of crumbled away.
After
a while, Tristan pushed away, smiled up at Chris. “Let's go keep Ty
company,” he said, grabbing Chris's hand and using his other arm to
push himself off the ground.
The
crawl space under the slide just barely fit one grown man, let alone
two and a small child, but the trio somehow managed to make it work.
With Tristan and his father there, though, Ty became a bit more
outgoing, and decided to venture outside of the hiding spot. Chris
and Tristan were too large to really run around and play with Ty, but
they did at least wait for Ty at the bottom of the slide, or stand by
the monkey bars to help the little boy swing across. A few of the
other kids made an attempt to talk to Ty at one point, but they
quickly lost interest and ran off without him.
Nearly
two hours later, Ty flopped down in a bit of grass and buried his
head in his knees. He hadn't seemed upset, but Chris grew a bit
worried at the sight of the boy curled into himself like that. When
Chris approached Ty, however, he could see almost immediately that
the boy looked more exhausted than anything else.
Ty
blinked slowly a few times as he stared up at Chris. “Daddy,” he
said in a quiet voice, “I don't want to play anymore.”
“Do
you want to go home and watch a movie?” Ty nodded his head, and
then proceeded to fall forward into Chris's torso. Chris laughed, and
heaved the boy up so that he could carry Ty back to Tristan's car.
Tristan, who had been standing a few feet away, must have understood
that it was time to leave, as he headed for the car just as Chris got
to his feet. Within five minutes, they were all packed in the car,
buckled up and ready to leave.
Ty
ran into the apartment building as soon as Chris let him out of his
car seat. Tristan stepped out for a moment; he and Chris shared one
last goodbye hug and kiss, before Chris mentioned that he needed to
make sure Ty hadn't been kidnapped by the neighbors. Tristan laughed
and shook his head, went back into the car without another word.
Of
course, Ty had remained completely safe within the building. He stood
by the door, waiting for his father, and when Chris finally appeared,
he grabbed his hand and the two ascended the stairs in silence.
Ty
curled up on the sofa while Chris stuck a disc in the DVD player. He
hit the play button, and then slipped into the kitchen to prepare two
wholesome grilled-cheese sandwiches. The film was already well into
the exposition by the time he returned, but he and Ty had watched the
movie so many times that they both knew every line and action by
heart.
Once
the sandwiches had been consumed, Chris set his and Ty's plates on
the coffee table. Leaning back, he stretched his arm over the top of
the sofa. Ty shifted over several inches, laid his head on Chris's
chest. The pace of the movie had slowed considerably, now that the
build-up of the main plot had shifted into the execution of the
story, and Chris knew that for the moment Ty's attention had worn
thin. Chris reasoned that he was also probably still tired from
playing all afternoon.
“Daddy,”
Ty said in a voice so quiet that Chris almost didn't hear him.
“Tristan won't be coming over anymore, will he?”
Surprised
yet again by Ty's intuition, Chris stared down at the boy, blinked a
few times as he thought of how to respond. He figured an honest
answer would be best. “No, he won't. But we'll still see him at the
school.”
Ty
sat straight up and glared into Chris's eyes. His unidentifiable
expression left Chris feeling a little uncomfortable after only a
short while; eventually, though, he broke the eye contact and
muttered, “OK.”
“Are
you sure?” Chris asked, a reflex of sorts. He didn't really want to
push the subject, but he didn't want Ty to be upset, either.
Now
looking toward the TV – though Chris could see that his attention
hadn't shifted back to the movie just yet – Ty tilted his head to
the right. His eyebrows scrunched ever so slightly toward one another
as he appeared to become lost in thought. Chris fidgeted in his seat
while he waited for Ty's reply.
By
the time Ty finally did speak again, Chris had gone back to watching
the movie. Once again, he almost missed Ty's soft voice.
“Ms.
L. read us a story that said when a door closes, then there's a
second door that also opens.” Chris glanced down at Ty, who had
pushed his eyebrows even closer to each other. His mouth twisted.
“Tristan isn't a door, I think, but it means that something else
good will happen soon.”
Stifling
a bit of a laugh, Chris bent forward and pressed a kiss to Ty's
forehead. Ty smiled, apparently pleased that he said the right thing.
He turned his beam to the TV and spoke with a much louder voice.
“Maybe
Jonny will come back.”
Chris
felt a squeezing and burning sensation in his chest at the mention of
Jonathan. He knew he had already gotten his hopes up that Jonathan
would return one day – but surely it wouldn't happen any time soon.
It had only been a few weeks since they ran into one another at the
coffee shop, and only a few hours since Chris and Tristan broke off
their relationship. Even if Jonathan's speech were to become true,
they probably would not even meet up again for another few years.
Jonathan was off performing in his jazz band; there was no reason for
him to suddenly show up anywhere near Chris and Ty's apartment other
than during a tour, in which case he certainly wouldn't be sticking
around for very long.
No,
the door had closed on Tristan, but the next one would not open to
reveal Jonathan. And even if it did, well, Chris didn't want to think
about it, because he knew he would drive himself crazy if he did.
He'd be alert everywhere he went, eyes darting around in search of
those brilliant green eyes. Every man over six feet would catch his
eye, every tuft of light brown hair would send his heart racing and
his mind whirring – Was that him? Could that have been Jonathan?
What about that guy over there?
But
he could let Ty hold onto his hope. It might not be easy to hear the
little boy talk about Jonathan, but Chris knew he could suffer
through it. Plus, Ty seemed so certain when he spoke. Knowing Ty's
knack for this sort of thing, Chris thought it at least plausible
that the boy could be right.
Chris
had been internally fighting himself for so long that he far passed
the chance to add any comment to Ty's statement. Instead, he kept
silent, and tried to rein in his thoughts as the rest of the movie
played. Once the first movie had finished, Ty selected another DVD to
watch; then another as the end credits rolled on the second movie.
Chris thought about sitting at his computer and working on the
article due the following week, but ultimately he decided to spend
the time with Ty. One night wouldn't hurt.
Anyway,
he was able to write the bulk of the article the next day while Ty
was in school. It hadn't been as awkward running into Tristan that
morning as he thought it might have been. Of course, Claire had been
elsewhere when Chris and Ty entered the building. Perhaps if the
three of them had been in the one area, Chris might have felt
differently. In any case, their interactions went smoothly, and so
Chris lost barely any time fretting, and was able to get even more
work done than he had expected. He only stopped once it was time to
retrieve Ty.
For
roughly another week, Chris and Ty's schedule remained this way.
Chris brought Ty to school as usual, sometimes stopping to talk to
Tristan, other times just waving as he walked past. He didn't believe
anything had happened yet between Tristan and Claire, but he could
see they had already started to grow even closer. Oddly, Chris felt a
deep sense of happiness for Tristan. He'd be far better off with
Claire than he ever would have been with Chris.
After
doing any schoolwork he had brought home, Ty would either watch a
movie, or play some sort of game with Chris. One night, in the midst
of an intergalactic heist, their concentration was broken by a loud
knock on the door. Despite the interruption, Ty never broke
character.
“It's
the Space Police!” he said in a hushed voice. “Quick, put on your
disguise and answer it. I'll hide.”
Chris
dropped the imaginary gun he held and headed for the door. He was
stopped by an odd squeaking noise Ty made. He glanced over to see the
boy frantically waving to him.
“Daddy, the disguise.”
Ty
pointed to his pocket, and then his upper lip. Chris blinked several
times. He hadn't thought Ty was serious about the disguise – though
he should have known. Ty always took playtime seriously.
Chris stuck his hand into his pocket. He removed from it a small piece of paper with a fake mustache attached, a cute little strip of false facial hair which Chris had bought for Ty from a gumball machine. Little did he know as he pulled the plastic cup from the gumball machine that he would be the one to wear it. He peeled the mustache away from the paper and stuck it over his own stubble.
Ty
was really lucky that Chris loved him so much.
With
a bit of a sigh, Chris pulled open the door to the apartment. He
hoped that whoever was on the other side would understand, that he
wouldn't have to be embarrassed as he explained why exactly he donned
a fake mustache, especially when he was clearly capable of growing a
real one.
What
he didn't expect to find behind the door was a man over six feet with
light-brown hair and green eyes. Chris felt his entire body freeze,
everything except for his heart. Jonathan looked a bit scruffy, even
more so than when they had met at the coffee shop. His clothes seemed
a little baggy and dirty. But Jonathan himself stared at Chris with
quite a smile on his face. Chris forgot all about his mustache, and
jumped forward without hesitation to wrap his arms around Jonathan.
To make sure this was real.
“Nice
mustache,” Jonathan spoke, a soft laugh under each word. He let a
few seconds pass before speaking again. “I'm glad you guys didn't
move, or I wouldn't know where the hell you were.”
Chris
couldn't speak; he couldn't do anything more than squeeze his arms a
little tighter around Jonathan's shoulders. Jonathan responded with a
similar move, though his arms were around Chris's midriff. The two
stayed that way for a long time –
Until
rustling sounds broke the silence and Ty shouted, “What's going on
over there?” Chris slid his hands over Jonathan's shoulders as he
pulled away, staring into the green eyes he had missed for far too
long. Ty appeared around the edge of the door, still standing to
accommodate the imaginary space armor he wore. But he quickly dropped
the facade as he stared up at Jonathan. Instant recognition lit his
eyes.
“Jonny!”
Ty
bolted for Jonathan's legs, probably meaning to hug Jonathan's
kneecaps, but Jonathan knelt to the ground just before Ty reached
him. They shared a hug similar to the one Jonathan had just shared
with Chris. Jonathan laughed as Ty did a bit of a dance in his arms.
“You've
gotten a lot bigger since the last time I saw you.”
“When
you saw me, was I really little?”
“You
were really little,” Jonathan affirmed, leaning back and setting
his hand down toward the ground to show Ty how small the boy had
been. “About that tall, and you could talk, but not exactly
English.”
Ty giggled. “I always speak English now.”
“I'm
sure with your dad being a writer, you probably know how to speak
English better than I do.”
“I
wouldn't say that,” Chris interjected. Jonathan looked up at him
and smiled.
“Hey,
I didn't know you could say anything at all!”
Chris
tried to smile back, but still felt too shocked to really move. “Why
don't you come in?”
Jonathan
glanced over at Ty, who stepped back far enough to allow Jonathan
into the apartment. He stood and walked past Chris. Chris thought his
legs might turn to jello if he tried to use them, but he knew he
couldn't just stand in the doorway for the rest of his life. He
closed the door and took a few steps forward. Sure enough, he did
feel shaky on his legs, but was able to cover it up by holding onto
Jonathan's shoulder for support.
With
a quick announcement that he would be right back, Ty ran off to his
room, leaving the two men to themselves. Chris had so much he wanted
to say, so much he was trying to say in his head, but which he could
not bring himself to actually utter. When he opened his mouth, he
found he could only get out one question:
“Is
this it?”
Almost
immediately, he wanted to hide his head in embarrassment; as it was,
he could already feel his cheeks redden. It was something which under
normal circumstances he'd have thought about saying, but would have
decided against actually letting the words out. This time, he had no
control. It had just sort of shot out of his mouth, and now he had to
deal with the consequences.
The
three small words seemed to convey enough meaning to Jonathan, at
least. He shrugged a shoulder and replied, “My band split. We knew
it was coming soon. We've been fighting like mad. Thought I'd live
with my mum for a while...”
Then
he looked at Chris, as if to say that it was Chris's decision from
there. The pressure sent a terrible burning sensation up Chris's
throat. “I don't have a boyfriend anymore.”
Jonathan
nodded, thought for a quick second. “Are you sure?”
Chris thought he saw one of Jonathan's eyelids flutter down in a wink, but he wasn't entirely certain, and he couldn't ask, because Ty came rushing into the room only moments later. Judging by the smile on Jonathan's face, though, Chris hadn't simply imagined the gesture.
Ty
explained to Jonathan that he had gone to grab an extra set of armor
for the man. Jonathan accepted it with a polite nod, and suited up
within seconds. Next, Ty handed him a gun, as well as a duffel bag –
Jonathan would be the one to carry the loot from the job.
Chris
stood dumbfounded for a while, until Ty tapped him on the arm and
told him that he needed to get his armor back on. As Chris moved his
hands over his body to mimic dressing, he realized that the fake
mustache still stuck to his face. Realizing then that he had just had
a serious semi-conversation with Jonathan while wearing a mustache
meant for children, Chris momentarily lost the desire to continue
playing with Ty, instead wishing he could shove himself under the
sofa until so much time had passed that no one could possibly
remember he had ever even been close to a fake mustache in his life.
He
couldn't do that, of course, and a voice in the back of his head told
him that braving such embarrassment would provide a good example for
Ty. He could push through this if he convinced himself he was doing
it in the name of good parenting. He ripped off the mustache, shoved
it back in his pocket, and resumed putting on his armor.
The
heist went off with only a few minor mishaps: The Space Police really
did come after them, but Ty was able to shift the spaceship into
manual control and navigate toward a large patch of meteors, where
they proceeded to lose the officers. When they landed back on the
home planet, Ty accidentally drove right into a parked spacecraft. He
made sure to leave his space insurance information and a note of
apology.
Finally,
they arrived at their space apartment, safe, sound, and in possession
of over ten billion British space pounds. They celebrated a little at
the successful completion of the job – Chris wrapped Jonathan up in
a hug, so excited that he actually lifted Jonathan a few inches off
the ground, and then became embarrassed again – after which they
settled that they would split the money three ways, each person free
to do whatever they pleased with their share.
For
a while, they imagined ways to spend their money. Chris said that he
would buy a nice mansion for he and Ty to live in (throwing furtive
glances at Jonathan every few seconds to judge the other man's
expressions). Ty would invest his money in the space stock market and
let it go from there. Jonathan bought with his money an array of
musical instruments, not only for jazz, but for any and all possible
genres. He spoke with much more passion about his purchases than
either Chris or Ty did; Chris felt a swelling in his chest, and even
Ty seemed to be in awe of Jonathan's demeanor.
Eventually,
it drew close enough to Ty's bedtime that they had to end their play.
Ty frowned, but did not fight. As he once again dropped his act, Ty
scuttled over to Chris. He leaned in close and gave his father the
best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. “Daddy, can Jonny sleep here
tonight?”
Chris
smiled with a slight sigh. He directed his answer at Ty, though
clearly he was speaking to Jonathan. “He can stay if he wants.”
He
glanced over at Jonathan just as the other man threw him a smirk.
Their eyes met, and he knew: They would never have to be apart again.
