Fic: Mine, All Mine (2/4) -- Sweet Home Alabama (movie)
Two hours, a long hot shower and a hearty Southern breakfast later, Andrew felt human. The shards of glass swimming through his brain had shrunk down to pebble size and he no longer felt in danger of vomiting every time he moved his head.
He stood just outside Bobby Ray’s front door, grateful there were no neighbors and no reporters to note where he had spent the drunken night before.
“You sure you’re going to be all right?” Bobby Ray asked, a little doubt creeping in.
How strange was it to have someone trying to look after him? When he’d finally checked his phone that morning, there had been dozens of messages. Half had been his mother demanding to know where he was, what he was going to do, how he intended to fix this so the family’s name wasn’t humiliated for generations. The last message had snippily informed him her plane would be leaving for New York precisely at 8 am, with or without him.
It had been 9 before he even heard the message.
Not that he wanted to be trapped in the cabin of a plane with an angry and disappointed Mayor Kate Hennings.
His friends had all left messages feigning varying degrees of concern as they not so subtly dug for tidbits of gossip to share.
No one had had that honest, fretful tone. No one but Bobby Ray, who stood silent and waiting for Andrew’s answer.
He couldn’t help the smile that ghosted across his face. “Yes. Surprisingly, I think I’m going to be fine. At least if I can avoid my mother for a few more days.”
Bobby Ray snorted. “Yeah. That sounds like the best plan. You know where you’re going?”
“Nope. For the first time in my life, I have no idea where I’m going.” Though he knew Bobby Ray meant geographically, in a much wider sense, Andrew no longer knew where his life was heading. It was a terrifying and freeing sensation.
“Well, you got my number in case you get lost, or, you know, start hearing banjo music.”
“Yes, mom, I’ve got you’re number already programmed into my phone. I’ll be fine. I will, however, stay away from rivers.”
Bobby Ray frowned, his eyes scrunching up as he glared back at Andrew. “Don’t call me mom. After spending the night making out in my guest room, that’s just weird.”
Feeling lighter than he had any right to expect to the day after he’d been dumped ten feet from the altar, Andrew chuckled. Then he stepped forward and hugged Bobby Ray as tight as he could manage, gratified when the other man didn’t seem to want to let go, either.
“Thank you. For everything. I’m pretty sure my outlook would be a lot bleaker this morning if you hadn’t rescued me from that bottle of wine and a night sleeping in a roadhouse parking lot.”
“You’d have been fine. Melanie wouldn’t have almost married a wimp.”
With nothing left to say, they hugged one last, quick squeeze and Andrew found himself behind the wheel watching the small house disappear from his rearview mirror.
This time he made sure he had the GPS set up on his dashboard and ready to go, though he had no destination programmed into it yet.
He drove aimlessly, taking the back country lanes until he found something that vaguely resembled a main road. On the seat next to him, his phone chirped and he resolutely ignored it. A few minutes later, it made the insistent noise again and Andrew realized it wasn’t the sound of an incoming text but an alarm.
An alarm he had set days ago, while he’d been going through his pre-wedding checklist. An alarm to make sure he and Melanie were up and ready to go on time. It was a reminder that they needed to be on the road within the hour to make it to the airport in time to get the plane for their honeymoon.
Not the trip to Ireland, which was still planned for Christmas. Andrew made a deflated sound under his breath and added yet another mental note to cancel all those reservations.
They’d decided on a quick, week-long trip to an all-inclusive resort on a Caribbean island. Now though, every time he thought of his honeymoon, he thought of Bobby Ray and his intimate chuckle. The hot breath tickling the back of his neck and the strong arms enveloping him in warm safety.
On impulse Andrew checked the GPS and discovered he’d, by some stroke of luck, already been heading in the direction of the airport.
As he followed the dispassionate directions of the GPS, Andrew knew, without a doubt, this was the best decision for him.
Going back to New York was impossible. There was no way he could avoid his mother, the paparazzi, and the curiosity of his friends while he tried to put his life back together.
What he really wanted to do was stay with Bobby Ray. But the man had already gone out of his way to help. He didn’t need an unexpected houseguest inviting himself for an undetermined length of time.
Instead, a beachside balcony on a sundrenched island sounded like the perfect place to lick his wounds and figure out what path the rest of his life should take.
*
Andrew sat on the second floor balcony and stared out at the soothing turquoise waves. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky and the perfect margarita was chasing away the last of his hangover. He’d never understood the ‘hair of the dog’ theory, until now.
The day had gone so smoothly, he might almost believe it was meant to be.
He’d made it to the airport in plenty of time for his flight. Surprisingly, there’d been no reporters. Of course, they’d kept their plans secret. And, if someone had somehow found out, a honeymoon for one would be the last choice anyone would have expected Andrew to make.
There had been that one, awkward moment at the resort reception desk when he’d had to explain that: no, Mrs. Hennings would not be joining him. In fact, there was no Mrs. Hennings, after all.
The well-trained desk clerk barely blinked before gracefully changing the subject.
The view was soothing. And he didn’t miss Melanie nearly as much as he would have expected. Sinking further into the ridiculously comfortable deck chair, Andrew sighed and sipped at the icy-salty tang in his glass. He settled into paradise and tried hard not to think about why he was out there, drinking alone.
Not missing Melanie, though, didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about her. He found himself wanting to call her and tell her all about Bobby Ray.
It was weird to want to tell your ex-fiancée about your not-quite-one-night-stand with one of her closest male friends.
Except, in the past few years, she’d become more than his girlfriend. She’d been his best friend. The only person in his life he could share everything with and know she wasn’t working angles on how to make it benefit her.
He’d even told her about his confusion in college. The occasional attraction to other men and the brief, secretive sexual encounters he’d experimented with.
Of course, he’d assured her it had only been a phase. That he’d realized he was completely straight. It really hadn’t been a lie. He’d firmly believed it at the time. Mostly.
It sure as hell wasn’t anything like completely forgetting to mention the husband she’d left back in Dogpatch.
Another little flare of anger tried to burn through the emotional barricade he’d been clinging to.
This time he let it.
He let himself feel everything. The knife-edged pain of betrayal, the bewildering, aching loss, the flames of humiliation and the piercing deflation of hurt pride.
Worst of all, the throbbing, echoing, hollow loneliness.
Andrew was completely alone again. He’d been used to it, before. Making do with feigned friendships and a family life that was all about media image.
Now, though, he’d forgotten how to live that way. The void Melanie left in his life felt insurmountable.
The impressions of warm blue eyes and a heated chuckle flashed like phantoms across his consciousness. He couldn’t hold back the wide smile that emerged in its wake. Last night, Bobby Ray had filled that place. And more.
He’d been as easy to talk to as Mel. It had probably been a dangerous assumption, but Andrew trusted him. From the first moment the man had slipped behind the wheel of the rental, Andrew had let himself relax. Had let Bobby Ray lead the way.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the hit after hit he’d taken that day. But he was comfortable with Bobby Ray.
The same kind of comfort level he felt with Melanie. Except when they’d kissed. That had been nothing like Melanie. Kissing her had been serene and easy. Nice.
Things had not been anything as simple as nice with Bobby Ray. Hot. Explosive. Addictive.
Now Andrew was left to face the fact that he wasn’t nearly as straight as he’d always made himself believe.
On some level, Andrew wasn’t all that surprised. It had been lurking at the edge of every relationship he’d ever had. He just didn’t know what to do with it now.
He knew what his mother would say. “You’ve lived this long without doing anything about it. Shove it back wherever it was hiding. And for God’s sake don’t tell anyone. It’ll cost you points with the conservative voters.”
Melanie would tell him to follow his heart. To be true to who he was. He snorted at the thought. Advice she hadn’t taken herself until recently.
But what about Andrew? What did he want?
He closed his eyes, letting the balmy evening air and the whoosh of the waves glide over his senses.
Right now, Andrew simply wanted to enjoy the peace, the weather and the margarita. Maybe a complete life overhaul could wait until tomorrow.
That settled, he opened his eyes and caught his breath. The sun had sunk low, hovering on the edge of the sea. It spilled a kaleidoscope of pinks and golds across the sky and the darkening turquoise water.
He fumbled for the table and his phone, snapping a perfect shot of the Caribbean beauty. Then he stared at the picture for a second, his fingers hesitating before pressing the screen and sending it on to Bobby Ray.
He didn’t bother to add a caption or a note. He figured the photo said “wish you were here” well enough, on its own.
*
Andrew missed sunrise, but he had midmorning brunch spread out before him on the balcony table. A mimosa sat to the right of his full plate. His cell phone lay on the left.
Part of him hoped to hear it beep. The rest of him wanted to turn the damn thing off. Most likely, any sound it made would be signaling someone he did not want to deal with. On the other hand, maybe Bobby Ray would find a minute to simply say ‘hi.’
Fifteen minutes after he had impulsively sent the virtual postcard to Bobby Ray, the southerner had replied with a text.
Sure, it’s beautiful. But are there any catfish?
For the rest of the night, they’d texted back in forth in 140 character bits of conversation until Andrew’s hand had cramped and he could no longer keep his eyes open. As the night had progressed, he’d allowed himself to relax in the island’s tranquility and Bobby Ray’s easy, insightful sense of humor.
Now, a little over nine hours since he’d been forced to end the conversation in favor of the too large, too lonely bed, he couldn’t help glancing at the phone between each bite. Despite the fact that he knew Bobby Ray was at work. Despite neither of them having said they’d ever talk again.
When, exactly, had he turned into a needy adolescent? Oh, right, shortly after getting left at the altar.
He shifted his focus once again back to the eggs and perfectly cooked bacon, trying hard to ignore the hunk of plastic and circuits.
Of course, that’s when it began to vibrate, surprising him and making him jumped in his chair. He reached for it before his brain registered it was an incoming call and not a text. The image flashing up on its screen was his mother’s last campaign photo.
He yanked his hand back, cradling it against his chest like he’d been physically stung. His eyes narrowed and he frowned hard at the menacing vibration making his silverware jump and his plates rattle.
He was so not ready for this.
Kate Hennings was going to demand answers. Where was he? Did he really think a message left on her office voicemail was the way to inform her he was okay? When was he coming home? What did he intend to do about the embarrassing publicity? His career? His future?
He had no answers for her. Because he had no answers for himself.
Andrew’s head ached just thinking about it. He didn’t think the imaginary conversation going on in his head would go over that well.
“Hi, Mom. I’m fine. I’m on my honeymoon, alone, because, hey, why not? My world is in complete chaos. I’ve been publically humiliated. My heart hurts. Oh, yeah, and I may not be as straight as I always thought. I might need a little while to figure out what to do with it. I also realized I’ve let you pretty much direct my entire life. I don’t want to be a lawyer. I hate politics.”
Andrew blinked when his phone went silent. The impact of his stream of conscious ramble leaving him immobile for several seconds.
Oh, God. It was true. His entire life, everything he’d worked so hard to achieve, had been because it was what his mother wanted for him. For her.
At first, it had been because his father had left and his mother had seemed so hurt and upset. He’d done everything he could to please her, just to see her smile.
Then, it had just been habit during his teenage years. As an adult, it was easier to give in than arguing with her.
A beep told him she’d left a voicemail. One he knew he wasn’t going to listen to anytime soon. He had a week at the resort. A week before he had to be back in New York. A week to figure out who Andrew Hennings really was.
And how he would tell his mother that he wasn’t who she wanted him to be.
*
Andrew sat in his mother’s empty office. The relaxed, sloppy manner he sprawled across her chair would probably get him a pinched lipped look when his mother showed up. Followed by a lecture on presenting proper decorum at all times.
He fiddled with the phone in his hand. An ever present habit the last three weeks. With a grin, he typed up a quick text.
Am awaiting the bear in her own den. Wish me luck.
A quick press of buttons and the off-hand thought was winging its way to Bobby Ray. Another, near constant, habit he’d acquired.
The man had been his life-line to the real world during the week he’d spent wrapped in the rum-softened fantasy world of the Caribbean island. And a life-line to his own sanity in the two weeks he’d been back in New York.
By this time of the evening, Bobby Ray was home from work so Andrew expected a quick response. Right on cue, Andrew’s phone beeped.
According to Worst Case Scenario: You should lie still and be quiet. Mother bear attacks end when a person stops fighting.
He was still chuckling at the response when the sound of the opening door made him sit up straight out of habit. As soon as he recognized the round face and curly hair of his mother’s assistant, he flopped back into his slouch.
“Hey, Barry,” Andrew half raised his hand in greeting.
“Andrew.” As usual, Barry Lowenstein’s voice was clipped and abrupt. He’d take it personally, except Barry treated everyone, except his boss, that way. “I didn’t notice you on your mother’s appointment calendar this evening.”
Andrew rolled his eyes. Only Kate Hennings felt the need to make appointments with her loved ones.
“That’s because I’m not. I just dropped in to say hi.”
Barry crossed the room, giving a significant look at the chair Andrew currently occupied. Apparently, Kate Hennings’s chair was sacrosanct as far as Barry was concerned. And Andrew was desecrating it.
“Your mother is at a meeting with Councilman Dial this evening.” The stilted phrasing and direct eye contact, followed by a glance toward the door said, with polite silence, that Barry would prefer him to leave.
“Yes. I know.” Andrew couldn’t help exaggerating his slouch, tossing an arm up over the back of the chair and leaning against the arm. He considered tossing his feet up on the desk, but decided not to press his luck that far.
“I also know she always comes back here for a belt of bourbon after talking to Jim for longer than twenty minutes.”
Barry furrowed his brow but Andrew only smiled benignly, picked up his phone and waved carelessly. “Don’t worry about me, go ahead and do what you have to do.”
The assistant huffed, picked up several files from the corner of the desk and walked out with a stiff legged gate.
Andrew curled his lip at the retreating man. It’s not like hanging out in his mother’s office was how he wanted to spend his evening, either.
In the two weeks he’d been back, he had not had a single opportunity to speak to his mother without an audience. Mayor Hennings had been determined to show the city that her son was fine. Better than fine.
She’d dragged him to every social event, charity gala and public venue she could find. Every time he’d shown up to talk to her, she’d insist he accompany her to dinner at some trendy place surrounded by photographers.
Last night, she’d suggested that three weeks was plenty of time to mourn. People would expect him to be jumping back into the dating pool soon.
She’d followed up that bit of sage advice with, “Of course, your taste in women of late has been lacking. I’ve made up a list of women you should consider.”
She’d pressed the paper into his hand and disappeared back into the car while he’d stood, stunned and speechless at her parting shot.
That was the moment he realized he couldn’t put off telling her another day.
Despite the lack of an auditory component in texting, Bobby Ray’s amusement at his predicament had come through loud and clear. Andrew occasionally wondered why they stuck to texting only, rather than phone calls or even emails.
The truth was, this was probably better. For his part, he’d been too drawn to Bobby Ray. And far too comfortable. Not to mention the heated attraction that flared between them.
Andrew was still coming to terms with who he really was. Even if Bobby Ray was interested in the same way, he had no idea how they’d make it work. They came from two completely different worlds. Worlds that were thousands of miles apart, in geography and philosophy.
Texting gave them a distance, a barrier, that kept them, kept Andrew, from falling deeper than he could afford to at the moment.
Another beep drew his attention and he opened the incoming photo of a napkin with a hastily doodled cartoon. A bear poked at an occupied sleeping bag with a long stick. The bear wore a familiar power suit and pearls.
He was still chuckling when the door opened again. Andrew looked up, expecting to meet Barry Lowenstein’s disapproving frown.
Instead his mother stood in the doorway, hands on hips, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched in an expression Andrew had always known meant ‘this better be good.’
“Hello, Mother.”
“Andrew. This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you until the children’s cancer dinner thing Thursday night. Or did you come to tell me you couldn’t escort me because you have a date of your own?”
The ‘finally’ was left unsaid, yet resonated throughout the room.
“Ah, actually no.”
He stood up, wanting to be on his feet for this particular conversation. Especially when her eyes narrowed and that legendary laser focus settled on him.
“Can’t a son stop by just to say hi to his mother?”
“Andrew. I am a politician. A bullshit detector is pretty much a pre-requisite for the job.”
“I-There are some things I’ve wanted to discuss with you. We never have the opportunity to talk without at least a half-dozen people around.”
He took a deep breath and tried to remember his carefully thought out speech. What was it about her that always made him feel like an awkward little kid again?
“I had a lot of time to think while I was at the resort. I’ve been looking at my life, and I’ve figured out some changes…”
His mother held up her hands and shook her head. “No. No, no, no. If it’s going to be one of those contemplating-your-navel kind of conversations, I need a drink first.”
She stalked across the office, opening the bottom desk drawer to pull out a half-full bottle and a couple of glasses.
She poured a generous shot in each then shoved one towards him and took a healthy swallow from her own.
“So what is it? You think you should be doing something more to give back? Maybe you’ve decided you want to be a priest? Or a hippy. Whatever it is, trust me, this will pass. The best way to give back is to be part of the system.”
Andrew decided he needed a fortifying drink before choosing how to tackle the most difficult discussion of his live and took a deep swallow from his own glass.
“It’s not just one thing. I had quite a few epiphanies. Probably the most important though, is that I’m attracted to other men.”
For the first time in his life, Andrew surprised his mother. Her eyes widened until they nearly took over her face and her mouth hung slack, not a single word escaping.
Then she slammed what was left in her glass, poured another two fingers and downed that as well.
“Really, Andrew, you’re not usually this melodramatic. Simply because you got involved with one rotten apple doesn’t mean the rest of the bushel is spoiled. There is no need to give up on women completely because one was an inconsiderate bitch.”
He thought about a retort that involved the words ‘pot’ and ‘kettle’ considering she hadn’t been involved with anyone, except for political reason, since her divorce. A defense of Melanie, still reflexive, also fluttered along his tongue.
Tonight, though, he wasn’t willing to be sidetracked.
“Honestly, I’ve always been attracted to men, at least as much as women. But my career, your career, my plans for the future. None of that allowed me to acknowledge my… preferences.”
“Well, if your still attracted to women, nothing has to change. You’ll have to be discreet with your liaisons, of course, and have a public social life with women.”
It was Andrew’s turn to gulp down his drink as his mother continued to rattle on.
“It won’t be like you are the first politician who finds themselves in this position. I know a governor and a couple of senators who can give you some tips…”
He should have realized his mother would completely miss the point.
“Mother. Mother. Mom!” he resorted to shouting to break into her rambling plan making.
“It doesn’t matter because one of the other things I realized is that I hate politics.”
She recovered more quickly from her surprise this time, off and running with only a sharp breath slowing her down.
“It’s what you’ve been working toward your whole life. We already have your first campaign next year all mapped out.”
“I know,” he answered, feeling the grimace of distaste stretch across his face. Yet another part of his life that his mother had coordinated with little to no input from him. “But I’m not running.”
“So what? You’re just going to be a lawyer?”
“Actually…”
His mother’s eyes narrowed until he could no longer see any whites at all.
“You don’t want to be a lawyer either? You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you were eleven years old.”
Which wasn’t precisely true. At eleven he was still trying to be a good son, doing everything in his power to make up for his father’s abandonment. She’d pushed him into the Junior Debaters club, insisting he’d need the practice for a career in law.
At the time, he’d wanted to be a fighter pilot. Since his prep school didn’t offer any clubs that could help in that field, he’d been happy to make his mother happy. If he’d known then how that single choice would shape the next twenty-odd years of his life, he might have fought harder to get out of it.
“No. I really didn’t.”
“Then what do you want to do?”
Andrew shrugged helplessly. “I honestly don’t know. I only know it’s not politics. And it’s not the law.”
His mother was silent so long, he wondered briefly if he’d broken her. Then she smiled and Andrew considered running when she stepped forward and took his hand.
“I see.”
“You do?”
“Obviously, that Shooter girl hurt you more than I realized.”
“Smooter,” he corrected automatically, still confused by the abrupt change and almost, well, maternal, manner. “But that’s not-”
She patted his hand. “I shouldn’t have been pressing you so hard. I thought getting you back in the swing of things would help. Why don’t you take a break for the next few weeks? I’ll handle all of the social obligations. You just take the time to work everything out.”
“Mom, that’s not going to change…”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Humor me.”
Before he knew it, he was in a car, headed back to his apartment and free of any obligations other than work for the next month or so.
He had no doubt his mother was up to something. At the very least, she expected him to get bored and come crawling back for something to do. Knowing her, her plan had more levels to it than that. Still, she couldn’t manipulate him anymore.
This was his time. He would forge a new life for himself. As soon as he figured out what direction to begin forging in.
His phone beeped, pulling him back into the here and now.
Are you alright? Is it over? How did she take it?
It had been well over an hour since Bobby Ray’s last text and he must have known the lack of response meant Andrew was going through the emotional ringer that was his mother.
I’m fine. For now. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.
As soon as he sent the message, he began typing again. The rest of the night would no doubt consist of him sending highlights of the conversation just to get Bobby Ray’s amusing perspective on them.
Master Post
Part Three