Chapter 27 Benji
My condo smells like a life on pause. It has that stale, sealed-up scent apartments get when the windows have stayed shut for three weeks and the AC has done nothing but cycle the same dead air through empty rooms. Standing in the living room after dropping my bags, I feel like a trespasser.
The decor belongs to a version of me I used to know.
I head straight for my bathroom. My God, the bathroom. I signed this lease for the rainfall showerhead alone, and standing under it now for twenty minutes, the water pressure is a revelation. I can almost hear Mickey’s laugh. He’d probably tell me this much water is an indulgence.
I collapse into my own bed. My phone buzzes at six on the dot.
Mickey’s face fills the screen. He’s on the patio, the evening light behind him. Every time his face appears I have the same reaction, which is that a four-inch screen cannot do him justice.
“How’s Miami?” he asks.
“Deliciously wet. My shower has a rainfall head and I stood under it until I pruned. How’s George?”
“He’s thriving. Two nurses have asked about him. He’s the most popular resident on the second floor.”
“George is a rockstar. I knew it.”
We talk for an hour. He tells me about Jason’s session and the tilt table, which is a board that straps him in and tilts him toward vertical. He held at seventy degrees today. I tell him about the three weeks of mail mountain and how my condo smells like an abandoned building.
After we hang up, I lie on my bed with the phone on my chest and the sound of his voice still in my ear. After everything we’ve been through already, I’m confident we can do this long-distance thing.
The next morning, I meet Dante early for coffee. He lives two blocks away in a building that’s much nicer than mine. When I walk in, he hands me a cortado without asking and we sit on his balcony. The view from his place is the bay, flat and blue. It’s pretty, but not as pretty as the Gulf.
“You look different today,” he says. He’s leaning back in his chair with one ankle crossed over his knee, the espresso balanced on the armrest the way Dante balances everything, casually and without looking.
“How?”
“More rested. Less frazzled than when I left you in Panama City.” He sips his espresso and studies me over the rim.
“That place literally and figuratively beat the shit out of me. But yeah. I’m better now that I’m here.”
“How’s Mickey?”
“He’s good. He’s working hard. His arms are getting huge.
He held seventy degrees on the tilt table yesterday and he told me about it like he’d summited Everest and honestly, for him, it is.
” I wrap my hands around the cortado and let the warmth settle into my fingers. “We made out in his bathroom.”
“I assumed he couldn’t do that,” Dante says.
“Not everything. Not yet. But everything still works perfectly fine from the waist up. That’s enough.
” I stop and look at the bay. The water is doing the flat glassy thing it does in the morning before the wind picks up.
“He’s been lying in that hospital bed convincing himself that the bullet took everything away and now he knows it didn’t. ”
Dante is quiet for a moment. “You’re already completely gone for him.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You’re a very sexual person. I’m not saying that as a negative, it’s just who you are. Who you’ve always been.” He uncrosses his ankle and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “And for you to say it’s enough for you that things only work above his waist says everything.”
“Maybe it won’t be forever,” I say. “Maybe he’ll get some function back.”
Dante raises his eyebrows. “And if he doesn’t?”
“We’ll work it out.” I shrug. “Dicks are overrated.”
Dante bursts out laughing. “Says the gayest man in Miami. Are you straight now? I have to admit. That is one line I never thought I’d hear coming out of your mouth, Benji.”
“I know. I’m not trying to make a joke out of it because it’s serious.”
The laughter fades from his face. “Is there any real chance he can get better and regain some function?”
“Yeah, there is. These things take time and there’s no guarantee. And there’s also a chance nothing gets better too. Then he’ll need to learn how to function the way he is now.”
“And then what?” Dante asks. “Have you thought about it?”
“Where are you going with this? I thought you liked Mickey.”
“I do like him. What’s not to like? He seems like a decent, solid guy.” Dante turns to face me fully, one arm draped over the back of his chair. “But I have concerns.”
“What about?”
He takes a breath. “I don’t want to see you chip away pieces of yourself to fit into his life until there’s nothing left of you,” he says.
“I want you to be happy and I’d love to see you with someone who made you feel that way.
If Mickey makes you happy, then great. I can’t see that happening any time soon though if you’re having to put in ninety percent of the work to keep the relationship alive. ”
“I’m not doing that.”
Dante tilts his head and lifts his brows at me. “You drive to him. You bring the food. You book the hotel. You rearranged your calendar.” He counts each one on his fingers. “What has Mickey done for you?”
My mouth opens and nothing comes out for a second. “He’s in a wheelchair, Dante. He’s injured. What exactly is he supposed to do?”
“I’m not talking about grand gestures. I’m not asking him to fly to Miami and show up on your doorstep with roses.
I know he can’t do that right now.” Dante leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his face close to mine.
“But at some point, when he’s able, I would like to see him step up.
He needs to fight for you the way you’ve been fighting for him.
You deserve someone who pursues you, Benji.
Who plans something for you. Who figures out how to make you feel chosen and special.
He can still do that from a wheelchair or a hospital bed or the moon.
You deserve someone who wakes up in the morning and thinks, what can I do to make Benji smile today? ”
Dante is naming out loud what I haven’t let myself think about.
“I think he does care for me,” I say. “In his own way. And he insisted that I let him pay for my hotel room when I visited in Jacksonville. He gave me a credit card.”
“Okay, that’s a good step,” Dante says. “And I’m not saying he doesn’t care.
I’m saying that right now the dynamic is you giving and him receiving and that’s fine while he’s recovering.
It has to be that way right now. But it can’t be that way forever or it’ll eat you alive.
” He leans back in his chair. “When Mickey is able, I want to see him figure out how to be the man for you. Not just the man you take care of. The man who takes care of you. That’s what you deserve and I will not apologize for wanting that for you.
And I won’t expect anything less from him because he’s in a wheelchair. ”
I look at the bay. My cortado is getting cold in my hands and Dante’s words are something I need to think about.
“Okay,” I say. “I hear you. I do.”
“Now. Separate question. You and Mickey have been in a bubble. What happens when the two of you go back out to the real world together? Where will he live when he gets out of rehab?”
“Tex and Stormy are renovating the second floor of Tex’s bar for Mickey.
Tex showed it to me. It’s beautiful. A big, wide open space with windows overlooking the Gulf.
Tex put in an elevator for Mickey already and they’re adding a handicapped bathroom and shower.
It’ll be perfect for Mickey. Plus, they’ll be there if he needs help. ”
Dante nods slowly. “How will he get around? Can he get in and out of a car? Can he bathe himself? Will he be able to live independently? Will he be able to go back to work?”
Each question lands and sits there. He’s not being cruel. He’s being Dante. He’s building the list of things I haven’t thought about yet and the list is getting long.
I shake my head. “I don’t know the answers. You’re right. It’s a lot to think about. The only thing I know is that Mickey is not going to be dependent on anyone for long. Not if he can help it. He hates needing help. That’s part of the problem.”
Dante reaches over and squeezes my hand.
“I’m not trying to discourage you,” he says.
“I see how you feel about him and I’m all for that.
I just want to be the voice of reason. You ran yourself ragged trying to do your job and visit him every day.
For this relationship to work, you need to let him figure out a lot of those things for himself.
It’s always been your first instinct to jump in and try to save the day.
Because you’re great at it. But you can’t do it this time. You’re physically too far away.”
“What should I do? He’s all alone. Except for Tex, I was the only person who visited him in the hospital. His cop buddies didn’t come. His parents weren’t able to come. He needs me. He’s a big, tough guy and yet, I have this weird compulsive need to take care of him.”
“That’s not weird,” Dante says. “That’s you.
That’s how you love. You love by showing up with food and a plan.
It’s beautiful, but it’s also how you burn out.
Take things slow. Don’t make any rash, impulsive decisions.
It’s still wedding season here. You have more weddings coming up.
And Mickey is going through intensive rehab that he needs to concentrate on.
You can still be supportive by phone and drive to Jacksonville if you have an off weekend. ”
I turn to study him. The morning light is catching the side of his face and his jaw is set in the way it gets when he’s holding something back and deciding whether to say it.
“You’re worried I might do something stupid,” I say. “What is it?”