Chapter 36 Progress
Progress
Josha
“Echo is coming into town for a couple of days, and he wants to take us out.”
Gem glances over from where he’s slicing pickles to add to our dinner of fried chicken sandwiches. “You mean he wants to take you out.”
“His exact words were: ‘Bring Gem. I need to congratulate him for getting his head out of his ass long enough to make room for your dick.’”
“You told him about our sex life?”
“More like I barely survived an interrogation with my dignity intact.” I scoop the cutlets from the pan and set them on a paper towel–lined plate to drain.
A myriad of emotions flickers across his face, starting with mild horror, but by the time he turns back to the cutting board, a smug smirk lifts the corner of his mouth.
Which means I have to kiss him, and the chicken gets cold. Luckily, that works fine for sandwiches.
It’s been three weeks since Shilo showed up on my doorstep, and things are going surprisingly well.
Gem has been attending meetings—both AA and the occasional NA—almost every day.
Sometimes Oscar accompanies him, and the two of them have developed a shorthand of support that’s slowly morphing into a deeper friendship.
I’m proud of him, but more importantly, I can tell he’s proud of himself.
It shows in the way his youthful cockiness is reemerging as confidence after so many years of being shadowed by self-doubt.
It reminds me of those first few weeks at Mendo High, when he charmed the entire student body with his earnest exuberance, but this time, I’m not jealous.
How can I be when I get to take him home to my bed every night?
The first time we had sex in the bedroom, I ended up with a bite mark on my ass from a jealous Zombie.
After that, we tried locking him out of the room at night, but he yowled at the door incessantly until we relented.
Now we feed him at bedtime and let him in when we shower after, and he seems to have forgiven me.
Most mornings, we wake up with him wedged into the meager space between our tangled bodies.
Gem’s progress is especially apparent in the tent as we work to build the show and the last few performers trickle in from various parts of the globe.
To no one’s surprise but his own, they all adore Gem, and as the days pass and he finds his place in the chaos of set building and act refinement, they start to respect him too.
With his family, it’s more complicated. Shilo is trying her best to repair a lifetime of subtle expectation with actual encouragement, drawing him into discussions with Oscar to plot the third act and making sure to invite him to run-throughs.
The first time she asked Gem to share his notes after a rehearsal, his shy excitement on the way home had me sucking him off in the driveway, dying to snatch a taste of his pride.
Hals, always quick to forgive and steady in his affections, greeted his son with a whispered “Welcome home” and a hug that lasted long enough to make my eyes burn, and left it at that.
Since then, he’s done his best to act like Gem never left, slipping easily into their old banter and avoiding any heavy conversations.
But I notice the way his gaze tracks his son around the tent, along with the hope-tinged worry he tries to hide.
Milla has been the hardest to win over, and in her defense, Gem doesn’t quite know how to handle his reunion with his sister either.
After she made a few snarky comments in front of the crew, Shilo took her aside and convinced her to play nice in public, but she’s blatantly avoiding any chance of being alone with her older brother.
By unspoken consensus that Gem has enough on his plate and Milla is justified in her caution, none of us force the issue.
Gem still has trouble sleeping, and twice, he’s woken me up before dawn to load up our boards and head down to the beach. He’s confessed to more than one relapse dream and the guilty mix of horror and euphoria that accompanies them.
The pre-tour frenzy is in full swing, both of us perennially exhausted, but I’m careful to guard Gem’s fledgling sobriety as best I can.
I make sure we return to the trailer each night with time for a meal and a shower before we tumble into bed to continue our exploration of each other’s bodies.
Aside from the fact that we can’t keep our hands off each other, it keeps him away from the parties that take over the lot when rehearsals are done and the crew seeks to unwind.
Tonight is our last evening off—tomorrow, we start tearing down the tent and loading everything onto the flatbed and into the trucks. Two nights from now, Gem and I will be crammed into the loft above the ticket wagon, bedding down in a new town every week.
“So.” Gem tosses me the damp dish towel and tucks his dick back into his pants. “Where is this date with Echo supposed to happen, anyway?”
“It’s not a date. He’s fucking engaged and completely obsessed with Byrd. And in case the pre-dinner hand job didn’t give it away, I’m completely obsessed with you. A fact of which Echo is more than aware.”
He pops his barbell with a cocky grin—the move that means he’s fucking with me and enjoying the hell out of my reaction. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“We haven’t confirmed a plan yet.” I turn to the sink to wash my hands before grabbing a couple of plates from the cupboard.
“You’re being cagey,” he says, coming to lean against the counter and fixing me with a knowing look. “Let me guess—he wants to hit a bar?”
“He might have mentioned something about pool at Dick’s,” I admit.
“Echo plays pool?”
“Not really. But he likes making jokes about sticks and balls.”
Gem rolls his eyes. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea.”
“Because of me? I’ll have you know I became quite the pool shark while I was away. I bet I can give you a run for your money now.”
“You know that’s not the problem.”
“Sure. The problem is you think I won’t be able to handle being around all those bad influences.”
“Will you?”
“I won’t know until I try.”
“I don’t want to set you up to fail, and I don’t want to worry all night about how you’re handling things or what you’re doing every time you go to the bathroom.”
“Then don’t worry. It’s not your job to keep me sober.”
He’s right. It’s one of the things they talk about in Al-Anon—powerless over alcohol means powerless to change or “fix” the addicts in my life. It’s all about setting boundaries and focusing on myself.
I’ve been to three more meetings, and I even managed to share a little at the last one—mostly about my dad.
Seeing Gem fight so hard to conquer his demons stirs up a baffling mix of grief, resentment, and sorrow that I’m finally trying to unravel.
Gem isn’t the only one with a complicated family history, and it’s only fair to tackle the healing process together.
So how do I know if this is a hard limit for me, or if I’m overstepping?
“Hey,” he says, reaching up to cup my cheek and forcing me to meet his eyes. “You’ve called me on my shit since the beginning, and I love that about you, even when it’s hard to hear. Don’t start treating me with kid gloves now. I get enough of that from my dad and the Big Top crew.”
“If you say you can do this, I want to trust you. But you gotta promise to let me know if you start feeling like your sobriety is in danger. We can leave anytime and come straight home. I’d rather avoid any disasters than have to ‘call you on your shit’ after the fact.”
“I know.” He stretches up to plant a smacking kiss on my cheek. “Thank you.”
I shoot Echo a text while Gem assembles the sandwiches, unbothered by the now slightly soggy chicken.
Me:
OK. We’re in for Dick’s.
I get back a string of emojis I don’t even try to decipher and a short reply:
Echo:
cu at 9. No flannel
I almost wear one anyway, in protest, but then Gem slips into a slinky semi-sheer, short-sleeved black button-up, and he looks so scorchingly droolworthy that I change my mind.
I opt for a tight sleeveless tee and a pair of ripped, faded jeans instead.
If I’m going to stand next to that all night, I better look the part.
Gem takes one look at me and announces that we’re taking the bike, which I take as a sign of approval.
“I think I could get used to this whole ‘designated driver’ thing,” he says, giving me a thorough eye-fucking as he tosses me my helmet. “I should have made you wear the plug.”
I let him have the win, and not only because of the semi I’m sporting as I climb on behind him.
The lot isn’t exactly a sober environment, and he hasn’t slipped up yet—as far as I know.
But everyone on the Big Top crew knows he’s in early recovery, and they do their best to keep their partying to their own trailers when Gem’s around.
He hasn’t been tested by a scene like Dick’s.
I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
But I’m glad I’ve been practicing on the Bonneville.