Chapter Nineteen
Life, for the first time in more than a couple of years, finally feels like it is falling into place, rather than apart.
I’ve been seeing a therapist, which—true to Lauren’s word—has been helping me tremendously.
Also, since that first night I spent over at “The Ant Farm” over a month ago, Cameron—whose septum is now pierced—and I have been there more often than at our own home. It’s been quite nice, actually.
A little weird, for sure, since I’m not really quite certain when Cam started referring to the guest room as his room specifically.
It just kind of happened, I guess, and I never even took note of it until earlier, when it confused the shit out of me wondering if he forgot his laptop at his room at “Double C Ranch,” or his room at theirs.
Pepper seems to have taken to their home right away, that’s for sure.
He’s got several little nooks and crannies already designated as his that he likes to hang out in—his absolute favorite being next to Ivy the snake’s tank in the living room.
Ivy, because she loves to climb, much to Marcus’ horror.
I swear he triple checks the lid to make sure it’s in place.
Every. Fuckin’. Day. The one time it wasn’t—and that was Lauren’s fault, not Brody’s—he shrieked so loud that I’m sure if there were any crystal in the house, it would have been shattered.
Thankfully, we’re blue-collar folks, all with simple tastes.
Lauren’s penchant for drinking out of Mason jars for the win.
In fact, their whole house is done up in what she calls “rustic farmhouse chic”—likely just her way of rationalizing why there are cocks (erm, roosters) on every wall of all the shared living spaces.
Her taste in decor isn’t typical for the area, as most homes along the coast of Maine are done up with kitschy seashells and starfish—gotta go with those nautical themes, you know.
But I think that’s what I admire most about Lauren, she dances to the beat of her own drum, and unapologetically so.
Marcus? He just goes with the flow. I love that about him too.
Sure, it was something that used to bother me because it made him seem like too much of a pushover, but in the time I’ve spent under the same roof as him, well, I can assure you, he is no pushover.
He is firm when he needs to be with Brody, he is quick to be there to help bolster Lauren’s strength, and he has been absolutely unwavering in his commitment to helping me get back out of my shell around here.
Aside from working together nearly every day, we also take time to go out and decompress afterward.
And maybe it seems a little cliché that we mostly just head up to Portside Pub with Gannett every day after work, but it’s a step in the right direction to get me out and socializing more—it just so happens to be that Portside is the watering hole where a lot of the locals tend to gather.
But shit, I have conversed—albeit with Marcus’ aid—with more people in the past month than I ever have, since the accident.
That, my friends, is huge.
Spending a lot of time there, however, doesn’t mean we’ve shirked all our other responsibilities, it simply means that our days are long, busy, but best of all, full.
Many times, we all fall into bed together too worn and wary to do anything more than just cuddle.
Honestly, that’s fine by me. Sure, the sex is fantastic.
I won’t lie by saying it isn’t—I’m only human, after all—but sex doesn’t seem to be the central focus of what we’re building, and that, right there, is the most important to me.
What we’re cultivating is a deep and enriching life together, which is something I never thought would happen for me again after Aaron.
And holy fuck, did it all happen in such a short amount of time too, if you think about it.
It’s the end of October now, and this relationship really started coming into focus at the beginning of June.
Regardless, I meant what I said to Lauren back when I told her I loved her while camping: you never know when someday may be your last chance to tell someone you love them, so make every opportunity count.
Make every moment matter. You only live once, and the years fly by quickly, so do it up while you still can. So, if you want to know why I willingly go balls to the wall all the time? It’s because of that mindset, right there.
“Hey, Dad,” Cameron says, startling me out of my life-reflection whilst I work on putting together a meatloaf for supper for everyone. Marcus and Lauren are at Brody’s parent-teacher conference, so I figured I’d chip in where I could here. “Do you have a minute?”
I lift my hands out of the bowl of ground meat and peel off my gloves. “For you, I always have a minute. What’s up?”
He sits at the kitchen island and, without any prompting, starts peeling the potatoes I had set out for one of our sides. “I, um,” he croaks, then clears his throat nervously. “I got a text today. I haven’t responded yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”
My brows furrow. “Who was it from?”
“Nana,” he answers, peering up at me hesitantly.
My mother is Grandma to him. Nana is Aaron’s mom. My stomach instantaneously flops out of my gut.
“What did she say?”
He sets down the potato, wipes his hands on his shirt, and then pulls out his phone, showing me the text.
It’s a long one. She starts off by giving him an update on Aaron—still in a minimally lucid state, showing no signs of improvement—and then moves on to say that her and Cam’s pop-pop’s wish is for him to come visit with them for Thanksgiving.
They miss him, and they blame me for keeping them from their grandson.
She then goes on to guilt trip him a little for choosing to stay with me, instead of his real flesh and blood family, and my blood boils.
I haven’t kept him from anyone; it has been his choice all along to not keep in contact with them.
I would never willfully bar him from reaching out to them, as they’ve done to me in regards to Aaron.
Cam, who has been studying me as I read through the text, immediately notices the effects of the simmering heat in my face.
“I’m not sure how to reply to that and keep my cool,” he croaks.
“I want to be pissed at them too.” He blinks at me, tears welling in his eyes. “But I also want to go see Papa…”
“Oh, buddy,” I sign, fighting back tears of anguish of my own. “And you definitely should. I want that for you more than anything.”
Then, the six-foot-two, heading-towards-full-blown-manhood teen of mine starts bawling, and I immediately want to fall to my knees.
Instead, when he reaches for me, I round the island and tug him into my arms, squeezing him around his waist with all my might as his body is racked by the forcefulness of his sobbing.
He has to duck a little to bury his face into my shoulder, which is where I start feeling his tears soak through the cotton of my shirt.
He sucks in a shuddered breath. “I don’t want to feel torn like this, Dad,” he whimpers into my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have to feel like I’m a part of a divided family. It doesn't feel like that here, in this house, so why there, with them?”
I can’t answer him out loud, which kills me.
With my hands rubbing his back, I’m rendered speechless.
All I can do is cling to him tighter, hopefully conveying the message to him that I simply do not know why they have to be so callous.
Some people just are, and it fuckin’ sucks, but that’s the truth of it.
I wish I had the perfect answer for him because I hate seeing him suffer like this—my god, it shatters me—but I’m just as lost in the dark as he is here, navigating these unfamiliar waters.
Suddenly, the front door clicks open, and Marcus, Lauren, and Brody file in.
Marcus is the first to assess the situation, his eyes roving up and down in front of him—which, were this not such a profoundly sad moment, I’m sure would look pretty comical.
Me struggling to cling tightly to the giant kid who dwarfed me in height by the time he was fourteen.
Cam doesn’t let go upon their arrival, however. Instead, he latches on more, sniffling into my shirt. I keep on rubbing his back, attempting to bring him some calm.
“Do you want us to give you some privacy?” Lauren asks.
“No,” Cam croaks, his voice muffled by my body.
She tentatively approaches us, placing her hand on his back as well. She eyes him with all the worry of a concerned mother, which I know, without a shadow of doubt, is completely foreign to him. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks him.
Instead of answering, he lets go of me and pulls her into a hug before sobbing again. She walks them both over to the sectional, still locked in their embrace, and sits with him. All the while, she continues rubbing his back, shooshing quietly—letting him cry it out.
Brody gapes up at Marcus. “What’s wrong with Cam?”
Marcus looks just as bewildered. “I’m not sure, bud. Why don’t you go set your things down in your room and then wash up; you and I can work on finishing supper.”
“Sorry,” I tell them both. “I was hoping to have it well underway by the time you got home.”
“No worries,” Marcus hums. “Clearly something came up. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Brody scoots off to do what his dad told him to, and Marcus and I take over in the kitchen.
I tell him about the text Cameron got while she continues consoling him—which, honestly, my heart is still stuttering over, because, like he said, this is just proof that the love in this household knows no bounds.
Lauren, who is notorious for appearing closed-off around others, is running her fingers through Cam’s hair as they talk, swiping the tears off his cheeks.