Chapter Twenty-Nine
I’M OUTSIDE your building and I know you’re home bc I can see your light on
Walt’s text narrows Tad’s vision to a stifling, claustrophobic tunnel and for a second he feels like he’s breathing through a straw. The words swim on his phone screen.
A sound penetrates the walls of the tunnel. Lewis’s voice. Lewis is saying something.
“What?” His voice comes out too loud.
His vision snaps into focus. Lewis is staring at him, concerned. “Are you okay, baby?”
“I—” Deep breath. Lewis’s hands are tight on his waist. He knows how to play this. When it happened with John, he had more warning, but he can get rid of Walt pretty fast. He’s probably here to talk about what Tad did at Thanksgiving. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He’s totally not fine. “I should let him in.”
When he climbs off Lewis’s lap, he sends a text to Walt to let him know he can come up soon. To stall for time, he uses the first lie that comes into his head—he’s cleaning cat vomit right now. Sorry, Hetty .
Lewis hasn’t moved from the sofa, though he adjusted his erection so it’s not as obvious. Tad knows he’s an asshole for what he’s about to say, but it doesn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. “I need you to hide.”
The uncomprehending expression on Lewis’s face is like a knife straight to the heart.
It’s all well and good for Lewis to talk about wanting to be together, but this is the reality of being with him. Lewis probably thinks he’s seen Tad at his worst after the night he came home a blubbering, snotty mess.
This is Tad at his worst. Pretending his boyfriend doesn’t exist and forcing his boyfriend to take an active role in erasing his own presence.
“Please,” Tad says.
“I could pretend to be a friend,” Lewis says, then shakes his head. “No, sorry. I’ll hide. Where?”
“Um.” Tad can’t look at him, so he drops his eyes to the ground. “My closet. He definitely won’t go in there.”
There’s a silence. Tad can’t bring himself to look up. “Okay,” Lewis says. It’s impossible to tell how mad he is. He sounds totally reasonable and not pissed, but Tad knows that can’t be true. John was always pissed, and he had a right to be. This is pathetic.
“There’s space in there,” Tad adds, cringing at the easy metaphor.
“Okay.” Lewis strokes a thumb over Tad’s cheekbone. “Tell me when I can come out.”
Tad wants to laugh. That’s exactly what he’s been waiting for too—someone to tell him it’s safe to come out.
He waits until Lewis is in the closet and goes to stroke Hetty, who’s sleeping—was sleeping—in her cat tree. The fact that Walt knows which windows are his is a new piece of information, and frankly a chilling one. Thank god he and Lewis were on the sofa and not making out in front of the window. The thought makes Tad sick to his stomach, and his skin gets clammy, even though he knows they weren’t in front of the window, and he knows Walt didn’t see them.
He squints down at the street. He can’t see Walt.
One more deep breath, then he lets Walt know he’s ready, buzzes him in, and waits. And tries not to hyperventilate.
The knock on the door sends Hetty streaking for the bedroom. Tad tries not to feel abandoned and opens the door.
“Hey,” Walt says.
“Hi.”
“Are you busy?”
“No, I—”
Oh shit. The divorce papers. They’re still out, the manila folder laying open on the sofa.
Shit shit shit fuck fuckity fucking fuck .
Okay. It’s fine. Tad turns and does his best to walk casually back to the sofa. “Just doing some work,” he says.
“I thought you were cleaning up cat vomit?” Walt says like he’s making a hilarious joke. There’s a bro-y smile on his face as he steps inside Tad’s apartment. Every single muscle in Tad’s body winds tighter.
“That’s more of a five-minute interruption than a hobby,” Tad says shortly. “What’s up? Why are you showing up at my apartment on Sunday night totally unannounced?”
He flips the manila folder containing the divorce paperwork shut, which is also the moment he realizes the TV is still on, and the gay Christmas movie they just watched is selected on the Netflix home screen. The tendons in his neck lock.
Walt perches on the back of the sofa, glances at the TV, and looks back to Tad. He has to have clocked what he’s seeing—it’s two men gazing into each other’s eyes under mistletoe—but he doesn’t react. “I was wondering if we could talk.”
“This could’ve been a phone call.”
“I wanted to talk in person.” Walt sounds uncomfortable now, and that sure as hell doesn’t make Tad less uncomfortable. “About—well. You haven’t called Mom.”
“How do you know?” Tad asks stiffly.
“Uh, because she told me.”
Well, yeah. That makes sense. Tad looks at the floor. “So she sent you to talk to me?”
With an exasperated sound, Walt says, “No. Jesus. I was in the city with my girlfriend this weekend. I wanted to talk to you about what happened when you were home.”
“If Mom tells you so much, then she probably told you what happened,” Tad says, more poison in his tone than he really means to let out.
There’s a look in Walt’s eyes that says he’s Trying Really Hard, and it gets Tad’s hackles up. “Yeah, she told me what happened,” Walt says. “She’s freaking upset, Tad. She thinks you hate her because of the way you ran out of there. You’re not returning her calls or texts. Do you have any idea how much it sucks to be the kid who stuck around, having to constantly reassure our parents you don’t hate them?”
The comment lands like a sucker punch. What the actual fuck . Does Walt realize how much it sucks to get driven away from home because Tad can never be himself there?
Tad clenches his fists. “I don’t hate her, I’m just pissed! Why would I be happy she set me up on a blind date?”
“Didn’t you say you’d go?”
It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like he got strong-armed into it, because if he didn’t agree, then everyone would get suspicious and start probing, and they’d find out he has rainbows shooting out his ass every moment he’s not in Watertown.
Walt won’t get it, though. The strong-arming part. Obviously he won’t get the gay part. Walt doesn’t know what it’s like to constantly disappoint their parents, to constantly not be the son they want, and to force yourself to do things you hate to try to make up for it. He has no fucking idea.
“I didn’t really have much of a choice,” Tad grinds out. “She already set the whole thing up.”
Walt shakes his head. It’s so goddamn patronizing. “So instead you went to the restaurant, then ran out of the place like you were on fire?”
Tad’s pretty sure that’s not what he looked like. Psychotic episode, maybe.
“I thought it would be fine.” God, he sounds whiny.
There’s a brief silence. Walt looks like he’s gathering himself, or regrouping to not make this conversation even more of a train wreck. “She’s not mad. She’s—” He stops and shakes his head. “Dude. I know you’re shy.”
“Gold star,” Tad mutters.
It looks like it takes some effort, but Walt ignores the barb. “You should’ve just said you weren’t comfortable going, you know? Mom’s embarrassed, and she feels bad about the whole thing. Can you please just talk to her? It’s not like you’re going to get grounded.”
“Did you seriously just come here to scold me?” Tad snaps.
Walt’s nostrils flare. “I don’t want Christmas to be a complete shitshow, which it’s going to be if you don’t grow up and apologize to Mom!”
Grow up. Apologize. Be someone you aren’t to make other people happy . Tad tilts his chin up, defiance coursing through him. “Maybe I’m not coming back for Christmas.”
Walt scoffs. When Tad clenches his fists and glares, his brother shakes his head, blue eyes flashing. “Seriously? You’re going to throw a tantrum and stay here for Christmas? And do what? Sit here by yourself with your cat and your plants? That’s not lame.”
“Fuck off,” Tad spits. “Just—fuck off!”
Rubbing a hand over his hair, Walt says, “Okay, you know what? Fine. Act like a spoiled little kid. Mom was just trying to do something nice for you since you have such a hard time meeting people. You’re acting like she murdered someone.”
“Maybe I just want to live my life the way I want to live it!” Tad yells. It’s perilously close to the truth he’s never been able to say to his family.
“No one’s stopping you.” Walt shakes his head again and goes to the door. “I’m not telling Mom and Dad you don’t want to come for Christmas. If you’re going to break Mom’s heart, you can fucking do it yourself.”
He slams the door behind him. Tad picks up a coaster and flings it at the door. It bounces off in the most unsatisfactory way imaginable. Then he buries his face in his hands and tries not to cry. Grow up , Walt said, and here he is, fighting the sting in his eyes.
Pathetic.
Now he has to spend Christmas by himself too.
With a deep breath, he drops his hands away from his face, pushes his shoulders back, and goes to his bedroom to retrieve Lewis from the closet. When he opens it, he mumbles, “How much of that did you hear?”
Lewis pockets his phone. He was definitely texting someone. Probably Stacy or Matthew or Ava. Or his sister. Or maybe his parents. Probably telling them his boyfriend made him literally hide in a closet rather than come out of his own.
As he steps over Tad’s dumbbells, Lewis says, “Mostly just you yelling some stuff at the end. And the door. Wasn’t sure if you slammed it or your brother did.”
“He did,” Tad mutters.
Lewis hesitates, then reaches for Tad. His fingers trace the bones of Tad’s wrist, and he takes his hand. Tad hooks his fingers over Lewis’s, and Lewis looks relieved. Tad is the one who should be relieved Lewis wants to hold his hand, not the other way around.
“You wanna talk about it?” Lewis asks.
Tad shakes his head and slumps to a seat at the foot of his bed. Lewis sits next to him. He rubs his thumb over the back of Tad’s hand and Tad stares at the floor, digging his toes into the thick cerulean rug. The fibers spring back when he lifts his toe, so he mashes them down again.
A black paw sneaks out from under the bed and bats his toe. Lewis stifles laughter. Tad lets his head fall against Lewis’s shoulder while Lewis’s arm goes around Tad, holding him tight and safe.
“I told my brother I’m not going back for Christmas,” Tad says.
“Oh,” Lewis says. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” One thing Walt was right about is that Tad can’t ghost his parents for Christmas—he’ll have to tell them he’s not coming.
“He pretty much said I’m pathetic.” Tad moves his foot back and forth for Hetty to pounce on, but she’s lost interest.
“What?” Lewis’s voice sounds dangerous.
“Because I have no friends, and I’m just going to sit here alone for Christmas. Which is true. So I guess I am pretty pathetic.”
“You have friends,” Lewis says fiercely. “Your boss is your friend.”
“She’s also my boss.”
“Ava’s your friend.”
Tad opens his mouth to tell Lewis why she isn’t, really, but their dinner flashes through his mind, and their shoe heist, and the fun he’s had texting her since then. They’ve been playing Words With Friends, and she’s really good. He’s never had a friend to play Words With Friends with. John thought it was pedestrian.
“She was your friend first,” he settles on.
Lewis makes a noise and hugs Tad. “You’re not pathetic. You’re amazing. If your family doesn’t get that, screw them.” He kisses Tad’s temple. “You want to come to game night? Meet some more people who are going to love you for exactly who you are?”
Startled, Tad turns his head, which makes their noses bump together. “Game night?”
“Yeah, we try to do them regularly.”
The idea is terrifying—but Tad also wants it with corrosive need. He doesn’t know why Lewis’s response to being hidden away is to welcome Tad further into his life, but it… is?
“I’d love if you were there,” Lewis adds. “We’re doing it at my place. Everyone’s nice. It’ll be Ava and her wife Elise, and Stacy and Alang. A bunch of queers and our token straight.”
“Stacy’s queer?”
“Alang. He’s bi.”
Hetty emerges from under the bed and situates herself right in front of them to wash herself. It pisses Tad off that Walt called him pathetic because he likes being around his cat. It’s just another thing his family doesn’t get about him. Hetty is part of his family.
“Okay.” Tad buries his face in Lewis’s shoulder. Lewis smells like sandalwood and cedar and something fresh and clean. “Yeah. I want to come.”
“Really?” The excited happiness in Lewis’s voice makes that painful need flare in Tad’s chest again. Need shaded with hope and want, like the petals of a flower getting more saturated in color toward their center.