Broken Open - Epilogue (Adam/Tommy)
BROKEN OPEN - Epilogue
Three weeks later and Tommy’s wondering what the hell he had been so worked up about. Jillian’s given him so much shit he’s considering defriending her. Okay, not really, but that girl can be merciless when she teases.
“You are such an idiot,” she had said over coffee a few days ago. “But you got there in the end, gotta give you credit for that, Thomasina.”
“Just stamp faggot on my forehead and call it good,” Tommy had answered, throwing an unopened Equal packet right into her coffee.
His mom had taken it quite well. "I think I knew," she had said, hugging him. "You bagged a hot one," was all his sister had to say, and she delivered it with a knowing smirk.
Not that it’s all daisies and butterflies; Adam and Tommy are still careful around one another and a little awkward at times. After all they had said some pretty shitty things to one another and you can’t unsay what you said. You can’t even forget it, not really.
Adam’s still scared that Tommy will bolt. Tommy blames himself for that, but Adam has a way of taking it way beyond reasonableness. Only a week ago Adam had said something about how he would bear the burden of making sure they stay together. Tommy had protested that he’s a grownup and could shoulder his share of whatever. Adam had said that he’d be strong enough for both of them. Tommy had reminded him that he’s not a weakling. Adam had agreed in principle but continued with a run-on sentence that made little sense but there was something in it about how Tommy was struggling now with something that was taking his energy, so let Adam hold the burden for now. You will share it when you are ready. Until then I am the safeguard of our love.
WTF? Adam has a buttload of the weirdest ideas ever. Tommy once dreamed that Adam was a psychiatrist, sitting in a big leather chair with glasses perched jauntily on his nose and a pad of paper in his lap, fountain pen poised, while Tommy laid on a nearby couch and kept trying to talk Adam into fucking him on said couch.
Absurd dreams notwithstanding, Tommy can’t believe that he got what he wanted. All those months of longing for Adam in an academic instead of a real way because it was the love that dared not be, of being jealous over anyone else that Adam looked at or talked to, not to mention slept with, and here he is, Adam’s one and only. His only exception. The only purportedly straight guy that Adam’s willing to take a chance with. The plus side of that is he gets cuddled as much as he could ever want, he gets to make out with the rock star several times a day, and he wakes up in the morning and sometimes Adam hasn’t beaten him out of bed: sometimes Adam’s big head is cushioned on his own dainty and probably uncomfortably sharp shoulder. He doesn’t even mind a little drool and a few soft snores. Other times he wakes up ensnared in Adam’s grip while Adam snuffles in his sleep and breathes damply on the back of his neck. Tommy lingers unmoving for minutes, maybe hours, so as not to wake up Adam because oh, he loves being held like that.
And then there are the times when those fucking loud chirping birds wake him up and it’s sunny and gorgeous and he throws on Adam’s shirt and goes to the kitchen to find out what Adam is experimenting with for breakfast. Adam makes all Tommy’s favorites - cheesy omelets, bacon and sausage, hash browns - even though he rarely eats those things himself. Just to be sweet, just to see Adam’s smile, Tommy sometimes eats a low-fat yogurt or a handful of blueberries. He doesn’t exactly love the stuff but he does love Adam.
Adam looks so happy all the time now. He’s working with producers on music and that makes him happy. Tommy is happy, too, because he’s playing gigs with Monte and Isaac and Allison and other friends. Sometimes after a late-night session he lets himself into Adam’s dark house and sneaks into the guest bedroom to shower off the ashtray and spilled-beer stench of the club, then crawls under the covers with Adam, who always wakes up at least a little bit. Then they have sleepy sex or if Tommy’s too wasted or Adam’s too tired, they just snuggle and whisper for a little while and fall asleep in the middle of each other’s sentences.
When he needs Tommy-time he goes back to his own apartment and enjoys the solitude for awhile. Adam comes over sometimes. They’re repairing the karma of the apartment. After all it’s not merely the place where they were mad at each other, it’s also the place where they found out, well. That they wanted each other. It seems like years ago now.
In the late afternoon on a Wednesday, Mrs. Porter sits at Tommy’s little kitchen table across from him. The innards of an old radio are spread across the table. Walter wanders in and out the open front door.
“Anybody home?” comes a voice from the door and then Adam’s big boots are clomping into the apartment and something thuds to the floor.
“Kitchen,” calls Tommy. Adam appears around the corner, waves at Mrs. Porter, and leans over as Tommy tilts his head up for a quick kiss.
“Hey, Mrs. Porter,” Adam says.
Her eyes twinkle. “Hello, Adam. How are you?”
“I am so good, what’s up with you?”
“Tommy is fixing my old radio.”
Tommy crimps a wire and then wraps it around a loose screw. “This thing is so cool, it has tubes.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Adam says. “Mrs. Porter, can I borrow Tommy for a sec? I have something for him.”
Tommy sets down the wire cutters. “What is it?”
“In the living room.” Adam grins, full of mystery.
Tommy sighs. Adam’s excitability can be so exhausting. He trails Adam into his small living room, where a big guitar case waits invitingly. “For me?” asks Tommy, looking over at Adam, who nods eagerly. Tommy crouches and undoes the clasps, opens the case. “Wow,” he says quietly. He runs his hand down the neck, then lifts it out.
“You like it?” Adam asks, anxious now.
Tommy takes it to the sofa and sits down and tries the strings and the fret board. “It’s gorgeous.” He fiddles with the tuning pegs and then plays a couple of riffs up and down the neck. He looks up at Adam. “Why are you giving me an acoustic bass?”
Adam is so excited he’s practically bouncing on his toes. “You know how I’m going to sing on Idol?”
Tommy nods. He knows instinctively that Adam’s the best singer that ever appeared on American Idol so it makes sense that they invite him back. “You’re going to sing Aftermath with Monte.”
“Nope! I’m doing it with Monte and Isaac and you.”
“Really?”
“Yes!”
Tommy sets the guitar on the sofa cushion and gets up and goes right into Adam’s open arms. “It’s too much.”
Adam holds him tightly. “What’s too much?”
“You shouldn’t give me things that are so expensive.”
“Why not?”
Because what does Tommy have to give back to Adam? Adam’s always going to have more money, more fame, more power, more confidence, more everything than Tommy. “You give me too much. Too much everything.”
“That’s insane, Tommy Joe. Nothing will ever be enough. “
Tommy rubs his face against Adam’s shirt. “But there’s nothing I can give you.”
“What are you talking about? Aren’t you mine? Didn’t you give yourself to me?”
Tommy sure as shit hopes that Mrs. Porter isn’t overhearing this conversation. It’s embarrassing enough in general without adding eavesdropping to the mix.
Adam musses Tommy’s hair and whispers in his ear, “There’s nothing in the universe I’d trade for you, love.”
“Okay,” Tommy whispers back, pulling away, feeling like his face is beet-red. He slips away, back into the kitchen and into his chair, picking up the screwdriver and slanting the radio for the best angle. He screws the cover plate back in place.
Adam comes in and kneels beside the table.
“I hope it was a nice present,” Mrs. Porter says.
“We’re going to be playing on American Idol next Thursday. Tommy’s playing acoustic bass,” Adam says.
“How wonderful! Be sure to tell me the channel, Tommy, because I’m going to invite the neighbors over to watch on TV.” Mrs. Porter looks very pleased.
“Do you watch Idol?” Adam asks.
“Sometimes. I really don’t like that boy who screams, though. You know the one?”
Adam and Tommy share a look and a smile. “Yes,” Adam tells her, “we know who you mean.”
After the radio is fixed and Tommy takes it back to Mrs. Porter’s apartment, they order Chinese takeout. Tommy plays with the new bass while Adam leafs through the latest issue of Guitar Player.
Waiting for Guffman is on cable so they cuddle on the sofa and watch it. That is, Adam watches it. Tommy crawls into Adam’s lap, arms tucked around Adam, face buried against his shirt. Yeah, he’s a little kitty-cat, he knows it, he doesn’t care anymore. Adam pets his hair, rubs his back, kisses his forehead, all kind of absently. Later they strip each other in the cramped bedroom and manage to have sex in Tommy’s small bed.
“Make love to me, lamp shade,” Tommy says in the middle of it.
“Stop trying to make me laugh,” Adam warns.
Tommy pays no attention to the warning because he likes Adam’s laugh.
Way early the next morning they sneak into the Farmer’s Market and get strawberry crepes. It’s a gamble but it’s a Thursday morning well before the Grove opens. Easy parking, no paps.
“I love this place,” Adam says.
Tommy nods in agreement. “It’s all kind of rickety and scratched-up and old.”
“Are you happy?” Adam asks for the millionth time.
“Stop asking me that,” Tommy says, forking more crepe into his mouth. “This stuff is fucking awesome. We should come here more.”
Adam spears a strawberry. “Only on weekdays before nine a.m.”
“Yeah, it’s a bitch being famous.”
Then there’s dinner at Adam’s mom’s place and Neil is coming and bringing his lady friend, as Adam calls her. Leila also brings up the two most awful words in the English language when put side by side: pot luck. Adam makes four disastrous messes in the kitchen before he’s satisfied with the chocolate-chip rugelach. On the plus side, Tommy gets to eat the experiments that look gross but taste great.
“What am I supposed to bring?” Tommy whines. “I don’t know how to bake anything.”
Adam kisses the corner of Tommy’s down-turned mouth. “This is from both of us, we’re bringing it as a couple.”
Okay, that’s silly but kind of sweet and there’s a cute smile that keeps trying to break out on Tommy’s face the whole drive over there. It only ends when he sees a car with San Diego plates in the driveway and attempts to bolt. Adam barely gets him in the house.
Tommy tries to stick to Adam from the front door to the kitchen but Eber manages to separate him from the pack and get him alone.
“I thought you were pretty groovy the first time I saw you,” Eber says ominously.
The man is seriously tall, as in taller-than-Adam tall. Everyone always tells Tommy that Eber’s such a laid-back dude but Tommy can’t see it. It’s easier now for Tommy to remember what the hell he was worked up out about for weeks there. He clenches and unclenches his fists almost involuntarily.
“So. You and Adam?” Eber asks. Eber has a great stink-eye.
“Yes, sir,” Tommy answers. He hasn’t called anyone sir in years. A fleeting image of himself asking Eber for Adam’s hand in marriage makes him giggle nervously.
“You remember what I said before?”
Tommy nearly gags. Oh yeah, he remembers the not-so-veiled threat. He manages to nod.
“I’ll be watching.”
Adam bellows from the kitchen, “Tommy, get your tiny ass in here!” and Tommy gratefully scurries off under the baleful glare of his prospective father-in-law.
In the kitchen, Leila gives him a huge hug; he fist-bumps Neil and gets introduced to Marion.
It’s a good thing that dinner is tasty because it gives Tommy something to focus on as he sits directly across from Eber’s watchful eyes at the dining table.
“Tommy, what do you do for a living?” Eber asks, munching on a biscuit.
“Huh?” Tommy looks up, fork poised halfway to his mouth. “You mean me?”
Eber nods.
“Dad,” says Adam.
“Let him speak for himself,” Eber says.
Tommy sets his fork down carefully. “I play bass in Adam’s band.”
“But there’s no tour right now.”
“Oh. Um. I play gigs with other friends.”
Eber pops a home-made onion ring in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “That can’t pay much. I know, because I was supporting Adam while he did that kind of thing.”
“Eber, honestly,” says Leila.
“Dad, you helped,” Adam says, exasperated. “And I appreciate it, but I was paying my own way.”
Eber favors his son with a look.
“Mostly,” Adam throws in.
“I’m just asking reasonable questions,” Eber says. “Does he expect you to support him?”
Adam glares at his father even harder especially because Neil is snickering behind his hand. “The live DVD is going on sale soon and he’s going to get residuals from that. Plus he’s doing session work with other musicians. And other stuff, I’m sure, so geez, leave him be, would you?”
Tommy raises his hand like he’s in class. They all look at him. “Your dad’s right, I can answer for myself.” He lowers his hand to the table and focuses on his plate. “I know how to live cheap and that’s all I’m doing, and if I need to, like, be a Culligan man again I can do it. You shouldn’t just assume I’m some kind of gold-digger.” He lifts his eyes and stares right at Eber. To his surprise, Eber is smiling at him and it’s even kind of a nice smile.
“All I really care about,” Eber says in a much friendlier way, “is that my boys are happy and loved. That, and successful.”
“Thanks, Dad, you bastard,” Adam says. “You think that makes up for it?”
“It’s okay,” Tommy interjects. “He’s right to care about you and stand up for you.”
“I can stand up for myself.”
“All righty then,” says Leila, tapping her fork on her glass. “Everyone here can stand up for themselves. We’re all wonderful people and we’re having a delightful family meal and I’m happy to welcome both Marion and Tommy to this gathering. Now it’s time for dessert. Tommy, would you help?”
Tommy’s grateful for an excuse to leave the room if only for a moment. There’s not much to help with but in the kitchen he gets a sly hug from Leila and a whispered “You make my son happy and I adore you for it” in his ear.
During dessert, Eber keeps up the questioning, this time fixing Neil in his sights. “So I’m wondering when I’ll have some grandchildren.”
“Dad, be more uncool, I dare you,” Neil says.
“At least he’s paying attention to you,” Adam says.
“For a fucking change,” Neil grouses.
“This rugelach is perfect,” Leila throws in. “Is this my recipe?”
“Mom, don’t try to redirect, we’re laying into Dad.”
Leila smiles sneakily at Tommy, who grins back.
Neil looks at Adam. “Right now I feel like the attention-deprived child. Like I’m the one sitting here with a special friend. Seriously, I could whelp a rainbow of mutants and he wouldn’t even notice.”
“Deal, bitch,” Adam crows. “Marion, are you sorry you’re here?”
“Not at all,” she answers. She’s a bit quiet - hard not to be around a motor mouth like Neil - but looks like she can hold her own if need be. “Neil warned me ahead of time.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Eber says. The man has laser focus.
“Kids? You want grandchildren?” Neil says. “Don’t look at me, I’m not ready.”
Leila clears her throat. “Eber, you know, Adam might want children. You didn’t include him.”
“That’s right,” Adam says. “Tommy and I haven’t discussed kids but we might want them.” He smiles fondly at Tommy, who is blushing deeply. “Dogs first, though.”
“I already have a baby,” Tommy says.
All conversation halts. Eber’s fork actually slips out of his grasp and clutters noisily on his plate.
Oops. Now what did he say wrong? Tommy grimaces to himself.
“Tommy?” Adam asks. “Is there something in your past that you haven’t shared with me?”
They are all staring at Tommy, fascinated and a bit horrified. Oh. It honestly takes Tommy a moment to understand what they are thinking. “No,” he says, “not that. I bought Beatrix off Lisa and Monte.”
“Say what?”
“I thought you knew.”
Adam laughs. “Oh! I get it now. So we’ve started our family already? See, Dad, you’re going to get everything you want if you wait patiently enough.”
Next, Tommy has to explain about Beatrix. Marion and Leila find it charming. Neil finds it hilarious. Eber isn’t so sure. “How can you afford a baby on residuals?”
“Eber!” Leila yells, unusually loud for her. “It was a joke!”
“But it might not be, someday.”
“This is great rugelach,” Neil says. “Can I just enjoy it in peace, damn it?”
* * *
On the way out, Eber holds out his hand to Tommy. “You better’d stay gay,” he says as they shake hands.
“Dad, you’re incorrigible.” Adam rolls his eyes and hauls Tommy away from his insane father.
In the car, Tommy gets out his phone and types a text.
“Well, that was slightly painful,” Adam sighs, pulling into the street.
Tommy shrugs. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be when I saw his car.”
“He likes you, he just likes to be a pain in the ass first.”
Tommy’s phone chimes and he reads the text.
“What’s up?” Adam asks.
“I want to see my baby,” Tommy tells him.
“It might be too late. For the kids?”
“Nope, Monte says come on over.”
That’s how they find themselves, twenty minutes later, sitting around Monte and Lisa’s messy living room. Lisa and Adam are thick as thieves on the sofa with the girls, reading picture books. Monte’s cross-legged on the floor, monitoring Atticus as he crawls around and puts everything he can find in his mouth. Tommy’s in the comfiest chair, snuggled up with Beatrix. She had cried a bit at first but then settled into Tommy’s embrace and closed her eyes.
Monte gives Tommy a questioning smile: How’s it going?
Tommy returns a thumbs-up while Adam isn’t watching, then re-settles his hand on Beatrix’s back, rubbing gently. Monte grins, pleased, and returns his attention to Atticus.
Tommy glances over at Adam, and after a moment Adam’s head comes up, as though he had heard something. He smiles sweetly at Tommy and mouths I love you.
Tommy gives him a small, shy, secret smile in return.
The rest of his life is going to be fucking awesome.
THE END
And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. - Beatles