Chapter 28 Jason
The week following the gala was the best of my life.
Joe showed up for me every day. He brought me coffee in the mornings, and after work, he’d pull up to my house in his faded blue pickup truck to help me with some of the tasks on my list. He kept giving me these hungry looks, eyes catching between my legs.
I swear to god, I’d never strutted so goddamn much in my life, knowing Joe was thinking about me and my dick and what it felt like to sit on it.
He never got tired of me, and I? Well, I never got tired of him.
It was the little things, too. The kinds of things that matter most of all.
The way he’d text me a picture of his work.
The empty storage room, all the apples from the harvest sold.
A cardinal in a tree in his yard. A warning that he’d be busy Friday and Saturday, picking his family up from the airport—then showing them around town.
A promise to try and pick up when I called.
That he’d see me soon.
He kept me in his life in every way he could.
Made me feel…made me feel… God.
So many things.
Normally I’d be in a dark pit around this time of year, with Christmas Eve the next day. Dreading loneliness. Mary always invited me over, but I always refused. It felt like…crossing a line somehow. Not for her, but for me. Thanksgiving was one thing, but Christmas?
Which was why I always went out with her the day before.
But this year…this year I was all smiles—even if Joe’s promise of “soon” wouldn’t be till after Christmas was over, no doubt.
I’d be alone this year, just like I was every year.
No family, and nothing to do, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to be sad like usual.
(Okay, yes, I was still sad, but not drown-myself-in-boxed-wine sad.)
I had his memory to keep me company.
I’d never forget the way Joe had opened up to me the night of the gala. Those dark eyes on mine, his body parting to let me deeper than anyone had ever gone. Nowadays, I hardly ever stopped smiling. And that was…terrifying.
“You know what I think?” Mary said, over coffee and pastries. She was in full-on winter gear now to combat the chill. We’d opted to eat inside, a flurry of snow spinning outside the window.
“What?” I’d just finished explaining—probably badly—the last few weeks to her. How they made me feel. How Joe made me feel. How confused and uneasy I was because I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I think you’ve spent so long pretending to be happy, you don’t recognize when you actually are.” Mary took a sip of her coffee like she hadn’t just dropped a fucking bomb on my head.
“W-what?” My head spun. Visions of Joe and all the ways he made my life better swam to the surface.
His smile. His laughter. The way he’d wanted to be spun, and spun, and spun when we danced.
The ease in which he’d taught me how to fix things at his house.
Sitting by him as we both stared up at the Christmas tree.
His gentle hands. Magpies. Deer. Puppies.
“You let him in a little,” Mary said. “I’m proud of you.”
“I…” I closed my eyes, trying to breathe. “Why? Why…could I do that for him, and I couldn’t for you?” It was the last piece of the puzzle. The missing slot.
“Because I’m not your person,” Mary said simply. “He is. So, now it’s time to stop performing, don’t you think?” Her eyes crinkled, so full of affection it made me breathless. “It’s time to stop expecting the worst and just…”
“Just…”
“Accept that you’re happy.”
Mary’s words stalked me. They were a noose around my neck as I finished the last of my Christmas tasks and headed home.
My house was full. A Christmas tree. Garlands up the railings.
A plate full of cookies on the table that Joe had dropped off—from god knows where, considering the fact I knew he didn’t cook.
His touch was everywhere. The Christmas he’d told me he’d give me glaring at me from every nook and cranny in the room.
The gingerbread houses we’d made sat on the coffee table beside the letters I’d finally completed for the Santa Fund program.
I sat on the couch.
Sat there for hours.
Processing what Mary had said.
Trying to…understand it.
What being happy might mean for me. Real happiness. What—and who—I might be if I stopped pretending.
It was dark before I finally had my epiphany. Finally realized that Mary was right. Somewhere along the way I’d gotten so caught up in my own lies I’d stopped being able to recognize what was right in front of my face.
I didn’t have to figure out what being happy was like.
Because I already knew.
And that…god.
The moment I realized that—for the first time in my life—I could breathe.
There was still the weight of my secrets there. But…Joe had taught me not to expect the worst when it came to him. I could tell him about the Santa Fund. He’d taken my money in stride. Accepted me, for who I was, not who he wished I was.
But could he really forgive me for this big of a lie?
Could I be what he needed?
I’d once thought that what Joe needed, what Joe wanted, were the only things that were important to me.
Not my own feelings, or my own desires. But as I sat there, forced to confront my own feelings I realized how unfair that’d been to him.
If I wanted to be a real part of his life I needed to start being an active participant.
It was time.
Time to put everything on the line and do what Mary had told me to do. I think, deep down, I’d known this was the end of my mirage, too. It’d just taken hearing it out loud from someone I loved for it to truly hit.
I should’ve felt anxious.
Should’ve felt like running.
But for once, the idea of telling the truth—of being vulnerable—didn’t feel scary.
Life was about choices, and I was choosing to come clean.
What I lacked was opportunity.
It was hard to get a hold of Joe—even if I hadn’t been wary of interrupting his time with his family—for the first time since we’d started this.
Every time he picked up the phone, he was breathless, his family’s voices on the other end of the line.
The chatter of people was so loud it was hard to hear him.
On Christmas Eve, I called, that ache between my ribs impossible to ignore.
“Sorry,” he said. “Mom’s been hovering so much it’s been hard to call—”
“Is that your boyfriend?!” a loud, feminine voice sounded. “Put him on the line.”
“Ma, no.” There was the sound of a scuffle.
I couldn’t believe that Joe was telling people I was his boyfriend. That’s what that meant, didn’t it? That he was telling his family about us.
“I understand that you’re the reason Joe has a bath mat,” the feminine voice said. Joe’s mom, I imagined. I sat up a little taller, even though she couldn’t see me. “And curtains.” Her voice was dancing with mirth. “And a real bed.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Thank god.” She laughed. “Good work.”
“Ah. Thank you.”
“Give me my phone back,” Joe sounded grouchier than I’d ever heard him.
“No. I’m talking to Jason. Don’t be rude.”
“You’re the one who stole my phone!”
I covered my mouth so they wouldn’t hear me laughing. I…was beginning to understand what Joe meant about his Christmases being loud. I ached. Dreading the silence that would greet me as soon as the line went dead.
The echo of Joe’s presence in my house helped but…I just…I wanted him.
Didn’t want to spend another Christmas alone.
Hadn’t realized how badly I’d miss him, until he was gone.
I had all these feelings…all these things I wanted to say.
And I couldn’t.
I didn’t want to ruin this time Joe had with his mom after all he’d done to make it run smoothly.
“Joe tells me you’re a silver fox,” Mrs. Milton said. It was a gentle poke. A way of acknowledging that she knew about our age gap and was fine with it. I sagged, breathing a sigh of relief. That had been certainly weighing on me. As much as Mary had said it was normal, I’d still…well.
“Unfortunately.”
“If you ever want to dye the grays you just let me know. I’ve got a salon back home and I can—”
“No!” Joe outright yelled. “Don’t you dare touch his hair.”
“I was just—”
“Mom!”
The line went quiet.
A few seconds later, it rang again. When I picked up, I assumed I’d be hearing Joe’s voice. Assumed he’d have won the battle with his mom.
But it wasn’t Joe on the other end of the line.
“Hi,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Jason, right?”
“Uh…yes.” I felt like an idiot, talking to Joe’s family while sitting alone at my dining room table. “Who is this?”
“This is Alex.”
“Oh.” Alex. Joe’s brother George’s husband.
“They’re still fighting. Just figured I’d let you know that your boy’s probably going to lose. Nobody wins against Mama Milton.” Alex’s voice was as full of mirth as Mrs. Milton’s had been.
“Thanks for the heads up.”
“No problem. Us Milton-lovers gotta stick together, right?”
“Right.”
“When you come for dinner, bring wine,” Alex instructed.
He had a nice voice, melodic and easy to listen to.
“That’ll get you on Mama Milton’s good side.
If you have weed, bring that too—Mr. Milton likes to smoke for his back.
At least, that’s what he says. We all know he just likes getting high with his wife and eating snacks.
Packaged cookies are the best. Don’t wear white.
Dark colors help when Joe’s been drinking—he has a tendency to spill.
” I’d noticed that. “George will judge you if you match brown with black, so don’t.
If you’re offered something, eat it. Doesn’t matter what it is.
I’m guessing you want to make a good first impression? ”
I hadn’t known I was coming for dinner.
So I was…
Confused.
“Yes,” I said immediately.
“George is like a bloodhound. He’ll sniff out what kind of cologne you have. So wear something fancy. Lacey’s even worse.”
“Lacey?”
“Joe’s older sister. She’s judgier than anyone else. Has a soft spot for her daughter, though, so if you’re good with kids you’ve got an in there.”