Wednesday, March 10, 2004

Justin

I drew a picture of my roses before they faded, I wanted Brian to take a photo of me holding them but he balked at that and said if I told anybody he bought me flowers he'd deny it. So I made a sketch for myself, to remember. To maybe look at on those days when I want to strangle Brian, or drown him in the shower, or push him down the stairs. Things have been good the past couple weeks, but it's always an uphill battle with Brian. Just when we get to the top, something topples us over and we go rolling back down to the bottom of the hill. Sometimes I ask myself why I don't give up the struggle but I know the answer. I love Brian. And in spite of everything, I know that he loves me too.

Brian's gone back to tricking, but sometimes I think he does it just to maintain his reputation, his image. I should challenge him with that but I won't. He doesn't pick up guys in front of me or bring them home, though of course, I see his eyes wandering all the time. That's okay, my eyes wander too and I've had a few guys on the side, but we're both careful not to flaunt it. I just want him to know that I'm not playing stay-at-home wife. That kind of backfired on me, though, last week.

We'd had dinner at Deb's on a Wednesday night, taking separate cars because I'd had to work late in the studio finishing up a project and he was staying late at the office, something he does too damn much - since he's partner he puts in about twice the hours he did before. He makes a lot more money now but he earns every penny. After dinner when we went out to our cars, Brian stopped next to my open door and casually mentioned that he'd see me at home.

"See you later," he said carelessly, "There's something I need to do."

I was surprised that he'd go off tricking on a weeknight, something he rarely does since he's often working on agency projects at home. Usually, he'll announce on a Friday or Saturday that he's going to Babylon and when he doesn't encourage me to go with him, I know what's up (his dick, twitching in his pants). I was annoyed that he was going to start tricking on weeknights but I bit back a sarcastic rejoinder and just said, "Okay. See you later." When I got in and fastened my seatbelt, put the key in the ignition, I realized that I was grinding my teeth.

Being caught up on my school assignments and not being in a mood to drive home and spend the rest of the evening cleaning the kitchen or watching tv alone, I thought 'fuck it' and drove to Liberty Avenue, parking behind Woody's. Luckily none of the gang were there, I had a drink at the bar and then saw a guy I know slightly from school playing pool with two others. Greg's a year ahead of me, his field is sculpture, I've talked to him a couple times at school art shows.

Wandering over to the pool table, I said hi and was invited to join the game. The other guys, Reg and Simon, are regulars at Woody's and I was aware that they were giving me questioning looks, they know I'm Brian's lover, but I don't have to explain myself to anybody, and I'm sure they see Brian tricking when I'm not with him. We played for a while - I'm pretty good if I do say so; I learned from a master.

Reg and Simon left and it was just the two of us, having one last game. I hadn't decided if I'd go off with Greg or not - he'd made it clear he was interested, giving me looks and a few casual pats on my shoulder after I'd gotten off a good shot or two. He's a bit taller than me, with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and thick eyebrows like caterpillars curling above dark green eyes. I was attracted to him - anybody would be, he's beautiful in a rugged sort of way.

We finished the game and I knew I'd have to decide soon what I wanted to do. I took our cues and racked them, and then when I turned around and glanced over at the bar, there was Brian, staring back at me. Despite my determination to be casual about our semi-open relationship, I did jump a little inwardly, but outwardly I just smiled and gave him a wave across the room. Then I stood there and waited to see what he'd do.

Greg was acting guiltier than me, I heard him gasp when he looked to see at whom I was waving, and he leaned toward me and whispered urgently, "Do you want me to take off?" When I shook my head no he took a step backward and leaned his hips on the pool table, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Then Brian was standing right next to me.

"Hey," he said, unsmiling.

"Hey," I answered. "Brian, this is Greg, he goes to my school."

Greg straightened up and murmured, "How's it going?"

Barely nodding at him, Brian turned to me and said, "I thought you were going home."

"I thought you were going to Babylon. Or the baths."

"No," he said. "I told you I had something to do."

Shrugging, zipping up my jacket, I raised my eyebrows at him. "I can add two plus two. And I didn't feel like sitting home alone."

"Good at math, aren't you?" he said evenly, then glanced at Greg and asked, "How about two plus one?"

I looked at Greg uncertainly, I'm not crazy about three-ways, for some reason, I don't like sharing Brian with other guys.

Greg blinked, looking back and forth at Brian and me, then he shook his head. "Not my thing," he said hastily, grabbing his jacket from a nearby chair. "But thanks for the game, Jus, see you around."

I said nothing as I watched him pull on his jacket and head for the back door. We stood in silence for a moment, then Brian said, "Sorry I spoiled your fun, 'Jus.' "

"You didn't, 'Bri,' " I answered briskly. "Are you heading home now, or do you still have something to do?"

Brian frowned. "My mom asked me to come by and check the pilot light on her water heater. I don't have to explain every little thing I do. I'm not always fucking around, you know."

"Oh." I was surprised. "Of course you don’t have to explain things, but I don't have to sit around waiting for you either - wondering if you're out tricking or just changing a light bulb for your mother." I turned away and headed for the back door. Brian was right behind me, he put a hand on my arm and stopped me just outside the door.

"Wait." We stood in the alley in silence, then he sighed heavily. "This is veering into lesbian territory, Justin. You said you were okay with me fucking around. Sort of discreetly."

"I am okay with it." Which is pretty much true, I know it means nothing to Brian. Yet being okay with it and liking it are worlds apart. "But if you're going to fuck around, then so am I. Anytime I feel like it, not just when you go to Babylon alone. Okay?"

We stared at each other in the dim light of street lamps. Brian sighed again. "Okay. Except. . ."

A couple guys came out the back door and we moved away, across the alley, to stand next to my car. "Except what?"

Brian shook his head. "You don’t do it right."

"Huh?"

"You do it with guys you know, guys you like. That leads to - complications."

"Brian," I said softly, "I promised no more violin music. Remember? I promised."

He stared at me for a moment, his forehead wrinkled, then his face relaxed and he said, "Yeah. I remember."

Then I thought of something. "Brian, if you were just fixing something at your mom's, how come you turned up at Woody's?"

"I saw your car."

"You took a shortcut on the way home to drive down this alley?"

Brian huffed. "Fuck you. I went home and you weren't there. I thought maybe you went to the diner. Sometimes you park here when you're working there. I was hungry so I thought I'd drop by."

That wasn't exactly true, I don't park at Woody's unless I'm going there after work; but what totally amazed me was, that Brian had come looking for me. I opened my mouth to laugh, to say something snarky, then quickly I snapped my mouth shut. Some things are better left unexpressed. "Okay," was all I said, then I pulled out my keys and unlocked the car door. "I'm going home now."

"Me too. Probably." Brian turned away and walked off down the alley. I knew the 'probably' was for form's sake, and pride would ensure that Brian would speed all the way home, to beat me there. He loves showing off his racy sports car that's older than me.



Monday, April 12, 2004

Brian

Phone calls in the middle of the night are never good news. The first thing I do when I hear the phone ringing is to flip over in bed and reach for Justin. He’s there beside me, I can breathe again. I sit up and throw back the duvet, reach for the phone just as he’s coming awake.

“Brian, it’s Mel – “

My heart stops again. “Gus?”

“Gus is fine, so is Lindsay, but we’re at the hospital and she asked me to call you.”

Justin sits up next to me and grabs my arm.

”He’s okay,” I whisper and hear Justin exhale a loud sigh.

“What?” I say, clearing my throat and asking again, “What?”

Mel’s voice is cool; sometimes being a lawyer is a good thing, she sounds perfectly calm. “A false alarm, more or less.”

“False alarm?” I don’t understand, Linds is only four months pregnant.

“Lindsay had a little bleeding, the doctors aren’t real concerned but they’re running all kinds of tests anyway, we’ve been here an hour, and – “

“I’ll be right there,” I cut her off, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

“There’s no need, there’s nothing you can do.”

“Is Gus with you?” When she says yes, I tell her, “I can take him off your hands, if you want.”

“Well, that would be a help, actually. He was sleeping for awhile but he’s awake now, he’s keeping everybody awake in this part of the hospital.”

I can believe that easily enough and besides, I can hear him in the background. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I click off the phone and throw it on the bed. Justin’s already up and pulling on his jeans. Part of me is pleased that he didn’t even ask, just assumed he’d come along to help, but another part of me, the contrary part, is vaguely irritated that he assumed I needed him. I decide it’s in my best interests to keep the contrary part silent, and I fill him in on the little I know while we finish dressing and hurry out the door and down the stairs to the garage.

“Let’s take my car,” he suggests, and when I make an annoyed tsk-ing sound, he reminds me, “In case we need to bring Gus home, his car seat doesn’t fit in your ‘vette.”

“Oh yeah.” So we take his car but I insist on driving; I drive fast but not too fast, all I need is to smash Justin up in another accident, Jennifer hasn’t forgiven me for the first one. I know she’s got a secret notebook stashed away someplace where she writes down all the terrible things I‘ve done to her son.

We hear Gus even before the electric doors burp open and let us into the hallway near the emergency room – a place I know all too well. It’s three in the morning, Gus must be exhausted, maybe he’s scared, and he’s screaming his head off. When we’re twenty feet away he sees us – Mel’s got him slung over her shoulder – and his screams change tenor – now he hollers “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-deeeeeeeeeeeeee!” and Melanie turns around and see us too.

“Thank God,” she exclaims, handing him off. Gus throws his arms around my neck and hangs on tight.

“Be quiet, sonnyboy,” I tell him sternly, and amazingly he quiets down, his screams changing to loud gasping sobs as he hiccups himself into a state approaching calm. I don’t know why I have this effect on Gus, normally it annoys the shit out of Mel but for once she’s glad enough of it. Justin’s got a comforting hand on Melanie’s arm and I notice that he’s hanging on to one of Gus’ feet with his other hand. Somehow that moves me, that simple gesture of love; Justin loves Gus and it’s mutual.

Mel’s rubbing her hands hard over her face, she looks frazzled. “What’s happening?” I demand, as stern with Mel as I am with Gus and to similar effect.

“She’s okay, the baby’s okay, some kind of fluke thing, I guess it’s not uncommon. She had a little bleeding, nothing much, but it scared us so we rushed over here and they’ve been doing tests and things – I couldn’t be in there with her because of Gus.”

“You should have called me sooner,” I say mildly, “But I’m here now, so go to Linds, if they’ll let you.”

“They’ll let me all right,” she answers with a determined nod, turning around and heading to the nurse’s station. Over her shoulder, she gestures to a chair loaded down with jackets and Gus’ visiting bag.

I sit down in the next chair and pry Gus’ arms loose from their stranglehold, settle him on my lap. “You’re okay now,” I tell him.

“Probably he’s hungry,” Justin suggests, kneeling at my feet and brushing the baby’s hair off his forehead.

“Food is your answer to all of life’s problems.”

Justin smiles but tells me seriously, “He’s a toddler, toddlers eat a lot.”

“I know,” I answer, just as seriously, making him laugh. He digs around in the baby’s bag and comes up with a package of graham crackers. Gus reaches eagerly for a cracker and shoves it in his mouth.

“See? Told you.” He rummages in the bag again but comes up empty-handed this time. “I’ll go see if I can find some juice for him, the cafeteria’s closed but there’s lots of machines down the hall.”

I know. We both know this hospital inside and out. Justin comes back with a container of apple juice and a plastic cup. Gus has eaten three crackers but he’s almost too sleepy to deal with the juice. After one swallow, his eyes close and he gives in to sleep, collapsed in my arms and leaning against my chest, his hard little shoes digging uncomfortably into my thighs.

Justin takes the chair next to mine and I notice that his eyes are heavy too; sure enough, he leans back in the chair resting his head on the wall behind us and he’s out like a light, still clutching the cup half-full of juice. With my free hand, I manage to remove the cup before he drops it, and I drink it down in one swallow, just to be rid of it. I watch as Justin’s head slides down the side of the wall an inch at a time, till it’s resting on my shoulder. I allow myself one brief caress of my cheek against his hair, it’s soft against my face.

By the time Melanie returns three-quarters of an hour later, my arm’s completely numb and my back’s beginning to ache from the weight of what feels like a hundred pound four-year-old. Mothers have to be pretty strong to lift and carry little buggers like Gus around all day.

“She’s fine now,” Mel answers my unspoken query with a whisper, “But they’re going to keep her overnight. I’ll take Gus home and come back in the morning.”

“I can – we can take Gus home, if you want to stay with Linds tonight. Or what’s left of the night.”

Justin and Gus wake up at the same time, Gus starts fussing but stops immediately when I tell him to hush. I see the wry expression on Mel’s face and I smile to myself, pleased that I have this effect on my son.

I wonder if I’ll have the same effect on the new baby? Another son, we already know he’s a boy. I’ve joked about calling him Brian Junior and I know that Linds is considering it. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I know it pisses Mel off, which is a plus. Will I feel about the new baby like I do about Gus? Like I did from the first moment I held Gus in my arms when he was just a few hours old? I didn’t want to father another child, or any way I couldn’t have cared less one way or the other. Now I’m starting to look forward to the new baby. Not that I’ll ever tell anybody of course.

“Thanks, Brian, but it’s okay – Linds is already asleep, and I’ll come back in a few hours, it’s almost morning now.”

“I’ll carry him to the car for you.” Nodding, Mel leans down to gather up all the baby stuff, Justin helps me put Gus’ jacket on, and he slings the baby’s bag over his shoulder as we accompany Melanie outside into the chill air of near-dawn.

“She wanted to see you,” Melanie graciously admits as we get Gus settled in his car seat, “But she was so exhausted from worrying and from all their damn tests that – “

“It’s okay, I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon, I mean this afternoon. Call if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Brian.” Melanie almost gives me a smile before she closes the car door and drives away.

Justin slips an arm around my waist and I put my arm around his shoulders as we cross the dark and silent parking lot. “Sleepy?” I ask him.

“Mmm-hmm,” he agrees, yawning to prove it. “But I’m kind of hungry too, it’s been a long time since dinner.”

“You can have some crackers and juice when we get home.”

Justin laughs and half-heartedly punches me in the side. “Shut up.” After a moment he adds, “That sounds good actually. Can we stop at the all-night supermarket?”



Monday, May 3, 2004

Justin

"For the last time, Justin, I'm going to LA, so shut the fuck up about it."

Brian's voice is cold, his face hard with no trace of emotion. But he won't look at me. He keeps moving away, he won't let me look inside. He continues packing his small carry-on bag, the leather suit bag's already zipped shut and thrown across the bed.

"But Brian," I keep my voice as unemotional as possible, "This is not something you can just walk away from, you need to be here. For - especially for - "

"No."

And for yourself, Brian, for yourself. And for me too. "And for me too," I add, partly to get a reaction from him. I could have predicted his response.

"This has nothing to do with you." He raises his eyebrows and glances in my direction, being careful to avoid my eyes.

Of course, it hurts that Brian's repudiating my part in this or any other episode of his life but I've had to accept those jabs for what they are, attempts to deflect me from getting too close. I'm closer to him than anybody in his life except Michael, and even Michael hasn't been able to make Brian see reason right now. Maybe we’re too close to him, Michael and I.

Slamming shut his underwear drawer, he pulls open the drawer above and grabs the wad of cash he keeps there. Peeling off several hundreds, he returns the rest and slams that drawer shut too as he pockets the bills. "Use the stash cash for whatever's needed, use the ATM too, you don't have to ask me first."

"Brian." I try another tack. "Can you finish your business and come home tomorrow night?"

"The arrangements are made. I'll be back Wednesday." He turns to survey the closet, checking to be sure he hasn't forgotten anything.

"I can call the airline, change your reservation - "

"Stop. Justin - stop it." He turns toward me then and lets me see his face. It's granite hard and cold.

It reminds me of the masks we made in art club when I was still in high school. We'd taken turns laying our heads on the workbench while strips of gauze were draped over our faces and quick-drying plaster hastily applied. Once the plaster set and the mask was lifted off, we each had a smooth replica of our face to paint. I remember that it creeped me out. It was lifeless, still, unbreathing: a moment frozen in time; a death mask.

That's how Brian's face looks now: Cold and hard. Emotionless. Unfeeling. Only Brian's mask doesn't creep me out, instead it twists my gut, because I know that he is not cold, not hard. And not unfeeling, though he wants to appear that way.

With a sigh, I accept the inevitable. "At least let me drive you to the airport."

"I'm leaving from the office, that's why I'm taking this stuff with me." Brian picks up the suit bag, throws it over his arm and grabs the smaller bag. As he swings by me he adds, "You know this already."

As he passes me I put a hand on his arm but he pulls away roughly. "Fuck off, Justin," he growls, and I feel myself beginning to get angry. Which of course is exactly what he wants, what he's counting on. If he can alienate me enough, if he can get me mad enough, he thinks I'll walk away and leave him alone.

Taking a deep breath and hanging onto my temper, I follow him to the door. Quietly I ask, "Will you call me tonight when you get to LA?"

"It'll be too late." He drops the bag and pulls open the door.

"Call me anyway. Please?"

"Goodbye, Justin." And he's gone, down the stairs, while I stand in the open doorway watching him leave, frustrated and sad and just plain pissed off. Won't he ever let me in?



Brian

I've got to get the Hanover presentation ready so that when I leave this afternoon, Cynthia will only need to finalize the finance charts and fax them to my hotel in LA for my meeting with the company execs tomorrow morning. I skip lunch and by three o'clock I've nearly got it all wrapped up, I'm striding around the office with my tie loosened and my sleeves rolled up while Cynthia straightens the piles of papers stacked on my desk and the chairs and the floor.

Then there's a knock on my door that makes me close my eyes and growl "Fuck," though I really want to scream it right out loud, there's no time for fucking interruptions. "Get rid of them," I order Cynthia, who's already headed for the door.

I keep my back turned resolutely and pretend not to hear Cynthia's gentle but determined voice saying, "I'm sorry, Mister Kinney can't see anyone right now, he's working on a deadline." So it's not Vance, and it's not (as I halfway expected) Justin; I can relax and concentrate on putting the stacks of paper in order while Cynthia deals with the intruder.

Then I hear a murmured response, "I'm sorry, I'll come back another time."

Turning my head abruptly to stare over my shoulder, I catch sight of Jesse moving away from the door, I hesitate as I watch him walking off, then I close my eyes and tell myself no-no-no even while I'm hurrying to the door to intercept him.

"Jesse," I call, he doesn't hear me so I raise my voice, "Jesse - it's okay. Come back." Of course, Jesse's just about the last person on earth I want to see right now, so why the fuck am I calling him back?

He stops then and turns around. "Brian," he says, coming toward me as I move back into my office and gesture him inside. "You're busy, I'll come back later."

"No, I'm leaving for LA in a half hour, come in now." Then I turn to Cynthia. "Take the papers to your desk and get them in order, can you? Then make a file copy."

"Of course." If Cynthia's surprised that I'm allowing this interruption she doesn't show it, just moves beside me as we gather up the stacks of papers and carry them out to her desk. Closing the door behind her and locking it, I turn to regard Jesse, who's standing in the middle of my office.

Striding to my desk I open the bottom drawer and pull out the JB. "Brian - no thanks," Jesse says quietly, "I didn't come here for a drink."

Maybe Jesse doesn't want a drink, but I unscrew the lid and lift the bottle to my lips, not wasting time on a cup. I need it even if Jesse does not. Swallowing a big gulp, I sit down behind my desk and gesture him toward a chair. "Who told you?" I keep my voice conversational. Before he can answer, I ask, "Justin?"

Jesse sits down and crosses his legs. "Yes."

Staring at the bottle of JB, ordering myself to screw the lid back on and put the bottle away, I say mildly, "He should mind his own business."

"You're not his business?"

"No."

My voice is harsh, and when I glance at Jesse I see him shaking his head. "No?"

Fuck me. "What did he tell you?"

Jesse uncrosses his legs, leans forward and stares at me earnestly. "He said that Lindsay lost the baby two days ago."

"Yes. And?"

Jesse regards me for a moment, then says gently, "And that you won't talk about it."

"So?"

He doesn't answer, just sits there looking at me. The silence between us stretches out almost unbearably, finally, I have to look away. "Jesse," I say, at last, determinedly putting the JB back in my desk and closing the drawer, "Not everything needs to be talked about."

Quietly Jesse contradicts me. "Losing a child needs to be talked about."

Now I really can't look at him. Can't answer. Swallowing hard, taking a couple deep breaths through my mouth, I just shake my head but for a minute I can't speak. After a few moments, I clear my throat. "He wasn't really a child yet. Linds was just - she was just five months pregnant. And I didn't want him anyway."

"Why is that, Brian?"

Finally, I can look at Jesse. I lean back in my chair and relax, then force a laugh. It sounds almost normal. "I'm nobody's idea of a father. So who needs a second kid?"

"Lindsay did. And obviously, you agreed."

"She nagged me into it. For some reason, Lindsay always suckers me into doing stuff I don’t want to do."

Leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs again, Jesse asks, "Will she talk you into having another?"

I feel my throat close then and I can't answer. I desperately want to pull out the JB again but pride keeps my hands clasped tight on the desktop. I'm not a fucking alcoholic.

"Brian?"

Shaking my head, I murmur, "There were – complications. She can't have any more now."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

The sympathy in Jesse's voice twists my gut. All I can do is shrug carelessly. What I told him is true, I didn't really want another child, so it's no big deal to me. Of course, it is to Lindsay but I can't think about that right now. Silence spreads out between us, I really have nothing else to say about it. About anything in fact. I need to get my mind back on work, and I tell myself to stand up, to tell Jesse he has to leave now. He'd do that, he'd understand. But instead, I keep sitting here staring at my fingers twisting together on top of the desk.

Finally, Jesse breaks the silence. "Justin said the funeral is tomorrow."

"Funeral!" I hear my voice almost shouting, and I glare at Jesse, adding more quietly, "You don't have a fucking funeral for a fucking baby that was never fucking alive. It's fucking ridiculous."

"Some people do. It's comforting for some people, Brian."

"Hunh," I snort, giving in finally and pulling the drawer open roughly, grabbing the JB and taking another gulp. That calms me, or anyway, the action of drinking calms me even before the liquor hits my stomach. "I'm not going."

"Funerals are rough. Especially funerals for a child."

"Why does everybody keep calling him a child?" My voice is strident, I sound too angry. Speaking more calmly I add, "He never even took a breath. You can't be a child if you've never even taken a breath." Why does this logic escape everyone but me?

When Jesse says nothing, I add, "Besides, I have business in LA, I'm leaving this afternoon. I won't be home till Wednesday."

"Brian, I wasn't leaning on you to go to the funeral - did it sound like I was? I suppose Lindsay will have her family there to support her, I can see that it's not something you want to do."

Determinedly putting the liquor bottle away again, feeling calmer now, I tell Jesse, "It's not exactly a real funeral anyway. Mel said it's just a private ceremony of some kind. Just Lindsay and Mel, and - and she wanted me to be there. Lindsay. I. . . Jesse, I can't." There, I've admitted it. I can't do it.

Nodding, Jesse says seriously, "Probably she'll understand. You say you've been friends for many years, she'll understand that it's too hard for you."

"Yes, she'll understand," I agree. "Probably. Besides, it's ridiculous, a funeral for a non-baby. For a little boy who never even breathed once. Who was born," I gulped, "dead."

I'm not aware that Jesse has stood up; when I feel his hand on my shoulder, I jump slightly.

Without looking at him, I say gruffly, "I've got a plane to catch, I know you'll understand that I can't talk anymore."

"Of course," Jesse agrees, squeezing my shoulder slightly before turning away from the desk and heading for the door. I force myself to lift my head and look at him as he says goodbye. "Safe journey, Brian. I'll see you soon, okay?"

I nod and lift my hand in a wave, before turning to the computer and bringing up my e-mail. I stare at the screen for a while, not really seeing it, and a few minutes later Cynthia comes through the door and plops down a portfolio on my desk with the Hanover presentation. "Here you go," she says brightly, "You're all set. I'll fax the finance charts to your hotel as soon as they're ready."

"Okay."

"Brian, you wanted to leave by three-thirty. It's three-forty-five now."

"Fuck, I'll be late." Quickly I stand up and set my briefcase on the desk, Cynthia loads it up while I roll down my sleeves and pull on my jacket, then I grab my suit bag and head out the door for the garage.



Tuesday, May 4, 2004

Justin

Lindsay called to ask me to come to the funeral home in Brian’s place. I felt so bad that he wouldn’t be there – couldn’t be there. I dreaded hearing Melanie spout off about the absent father, there was no way I could defend Brian and yet I knew that I would try, if she started in about him not being there. I know that Linds understands – or anyway, she accepts Brian the way he is. But I also know she really needed him to be there. It’s the least I can do – for them and for Brian too – to be his stand-in.

I remember how upset Brian was three weeks ago when we got the call in the middle of the night that Lindsay was in the hospital. We were all afraid she was losing the baby then, but that was just a false alarm. Or anyway that’s what the doctors said. So when Melanie called Saturday night just as we were going out the door for Babylon, we expected it would be the same routine, but when we reached the hospital we discovered that this time, Lindsay really had lost the baby.

Brian’s face had gone blank in that moment when he got the news – had gone blank and had stayed that way ever since. He’d turned around and walked out of the emergency room, and when I went looking for him a minute later, I saw him burning rubber as he peeled the ‘vette out of the hospital parking lot. I didn’t see him again until Sunday afternoon, and since then he has refused absolutely to talk about it.

Driving slowly to the funeral home, stuck in stop-and-go commute traffic, I give myself strict orders not to cry. It will be only Mel and Linds and me, and since I’m a man I have to be strong for them. A receptionist at a desk in the lobby directs me down a hallway to a small room, Mel and Lindsay are already there, they stand up and pull me into their arms and despite my best intentions, I start to cry, we all hold onto each other very tight and cry together. Mel’s the first to pull away, and we sit down together on a bench, me in the middle.

In a few minutes, the door opens and a woman comes in, it’s the minister who performed the commitment ceremony for Mel and Lindsay a few years ago. I’m introduced again, I’d forgotten her name, it’s Reverend Mitchelson but she asks me to call her Sarah. Lindsay tells her that I’m standing in place of the baby’s father, who couldn’t be here. I hear Melanie whisper, “who wouldn’t be here” and brace myself, but she doesn’t go on.

Sarah explains that we’ve come together to acknowledge the loss of Lindsay and Melanie’s son. It’s not a funeral but a validation of the existence, however brief of a beloved child. She talks for a few minutes about life and how precious it is and how children are sent to regenerate life on earth and how every life matters even if that life only briefly touches other people with love. She asks us to hold hands and pray and I sit there biting my lips trying not to cry anymore, trying to pray even though I’m not really sure I believe in God, and it’s so quiet in that little room with just the four of us, I can hardly breathe from the scent of burning candles and from a large bouquet of roses on a table in the corner.

Just when I think I can’t stand it anymore, the overpowering scents and the sadness that makes my chest ache, there’s a tap on the door and then it’s pushed open. We all look up and I gasp with surprise as Brian moves into the room and closes the door behind him.

“Can we help you?” Sarah asks.

”I’m – the father,” he says, moving into the room. Lindsay and I stand up and he puts his arms around us. Even Melanie comes close and puts a hand on Brian’s arm, and I look at Sarah and see that she is gently smiling.


```````

The ordeal is finally over and Brian and I drive home in our separate cars. He asks me to call and have dinner delivered, he’s too tired to go out, he takes a shower while I unpack his bags and dinner arrives as he’s coming out of the bathroom.

While we’re eating Brian talks about LA and I tell him that on his next business trip to California, he has to take me with him.

“I have to?” He pauses before forking a last bite of chicken alfredo into his mouth.

“Yes,” I quickly agree, before he can swallow the chicken and argue with me. “We should go back to San Francisco to celebrate our anniversary in June.”

Brian swallows and gives me his raised eyebrows look. “Anniversary? Of what? The time I got seasick on the boat to Alcatraz?”

“You know perfectly well anniversary-of-what. When you gave me this bracelet,” I flash my wrist in the air so that light reflects off the etched gold.

“Oh that,” he says, nonchalantly wiping his mouth with the napkin.

“Maybe, if we went back to our beach near the Golden Gate, maybe this time you could actually say the words instead of reading them. Do you think?”

“Justin - you’re pushing again.”

Yes, I’m pushing again, I’m always pushing. But I won’t apologize, and I won’t stop either.

Brian wants me to push, though he’d never admit it in so many words. I remember when he gave me permission after I broke up with Ethan, right before Brian and I got back together again. “Stand up for yourself,” he’d told me, almost shouting. “Have some balls.”

I understand Brian – as well as one man can understand another, maybe better than he understands himself. So I’ll go on pushing. Just like Sisyphus, who was condemned by the gods on Olympus to forever push a heavy stone up an impossibly steep hill. Every time Sisyphus reached the top, down would roll the stone again. And each time he would get behind that rock again and push, push it toward the summit.

“Come on, rock, let’s go to bed,” I urge Brian now.

Surprisingly he laughs, throws an arm around my shoulders and leans his forehead against mine. “Been reading Camus, huh?” he murmurs. “Show off.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just lightly kisses my lips and stands up, carries his plate into the kitchen and dumps it unceremoniously in the sink.

“Well, come on then,” he urges, moving across the polished floorboards and glancing at me over his shoulder. “Come push this rock uphill to the bedroom.”

Stopping at the foot of the steps, Brian gives me a wicked grin. With a throaty laugh he adds, “Come on and I’ll show you what it feels like - to be caught between a rock and a hard place.”