And Many Happy Tomorrows, Chapter 6 (Fic)

[paleogymnast]

Chapter 6:

One Week Later:

With just over two weeks to go until the wedding, Chris was thrilled to have an afternoon off from shooting. He’d wrapped just after lunch and had done his best to make productive use of the afternoon rather than just going home and crashing in his bed. Of course, he was pretty sure that Mike and Jenny and Jared and any of his other friends would insist that sleeping and getting rest while he was still healing and recovering and dealing with all the stress of wedding planning was productive use of his time.

He didn’t disagree. It was just that he was stressed out and to Chris, that was always easier to deal with when things were clean or when he was physically cleaning. It wasn’t just a neurotic habit, but more that something in the simplicity of having everything in its place, nicely in order, uncluttered, clean, and organized that helped him to sort through his own thoughts and emotions. And thanks to his accident, having visitors, and wedding planning, no cleaning had happened in about three weeks. He started with the kitchen, washing stray dishes, mopping the floor, taking out the trash, and generally getting things in order. When he was done, he was pleased. He’d actually be able to make something from scratch for dinner instead of ordering more takeout. His stomach was squirming at the thought of another meal of chicken chow mein or takeout barbeque. He loved both dishes, but the number of takeout containers in the fridge, on the counter, and over flowing in the trash was enough to make him not want to eat either dish for at least a month.

After the kitchen was clean, he vacuumed the down stairs, scrubbed the toilets in both bathrooms, and started gathering up stray clothes and towels and sheets and other random items that needed to go in the laundry. He was crawling around on the bedroom floor currently on his belly trying to figure out the best way to extract the stray sock and a pair of Mike’s boxers that had somehow found their way under the bed when his cell rang.

He looked at his watch. Just after five, almost time to make dinner; maybe Mike was calling to chat? Chris climbed to his hands and knees and fished the phone from his pocket, glancing at the caller ID before flipping it open. Donna Ackles. Huh.

Chris was not surprised to receive a call from Donna Ackles; on the other hand he was a little surprised it had taken her so long to call him. He’d emailed the Ackles’ with the informal wedding invitation as soon as Jeri and Beth had suggested it, and he’d explicitly given Jensen permission to call and tell her, and that was right after he’d gotten out of the hospital. He found out soon enough.

“Christian!” Donna scolded, and it was definitely scolding, she only ever used his full given name when she was upset or scared for him. “How dare you make Jensen call me to tell me that you and Michael finally set a date! You should have had the decency to call me yourself!” Chris could hear her huffing through the phone line and felt just awful. Donna wasn’t just making a show of being upset, she was genuinely hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Chris swallowed, “ma’am,” he added as an afterthought. He tried to figure out why Donna was so upset. Oh! Ok, now he felt like an idiot. “I am really sorry I didn’t call you and tell you about the accident and that I was ok, mamma Ackles.” He grimaced, clearly chagrinned. “It’s not like me, I’m ashamed.”

There was a moment’s hesitation over the line, and Chris was a teeny, tiny bit worried-reflex from too many similar silences from his own mother. But he needn’t have worried. “Oh, baby, I’m not mad at you, or ashamed.” It sounded like she was shaking her head on the other end of the line, a faint jangling and rustling.

Chris felt the tension rush out of him in a big whoosh of sensation that left him shaky and jelly-legged. Sometimes it still surprised him how much he depended on his best friend’s mother for the kind of love, acceptance, and understanding he’d never received from his own parents. He stumbled backwards and felt his knees hit the edge of the bed. Chris collapsed back onto the fluffy duvet, cradling the phone to his ear.

“Oh Chris,” she sighed. “I swear you are just as clueless as Jensen sometimes. It’s amazing how all those smarts and wisdom fly right out the window when it comes to you.”

There was no heat in her voice though, just a tad of rueful understanding, so Chris wasn’t worried. He didn’t really have a response, so he just waited to see what Donna would say next.

“I also understand why you were so swept up in everything that you didn’t call right away. You’re not used to being on that side of the phone call; so it took a little processing to remember that sometimes you can get hurt too,” Donna continued, pausing to let out a deep breath. “Just next time don’t hide behind the phone because you didn’t figure out all right away.”

“I-” he started, almost surging up on the bed to defend himself.

“No, don’t deny it.” He could almost see the finger wagging through the phone. “You felt a little guilty you didn’t think to call me right away, and you were so wrapped up in planning your wedding that you were afraid to call me yourself!” Donna finished triumphantly.

He didn’t know what to say. He’d thought it was mostly the wedding taking over his life, but come to think of it, Donna was right. He had been scared of her reaction. So, he’d taken the easy way out and asked Jensen to call her. “I’m sorry Mrs. Ackles. I should have called you myself.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, deflating a bit, her voice warm and forgiving.

Chris didn’t really want to ask, but he felt obliged to, just to clear up why it had taken so long for her to call. “So, is that why it took you this long to call? Give me a taste of my own medicine?” he asked resignedly, face flushed with embarrassment over his own misbehavior.

There was a horrified scoff through the phone. It sounded like Donna was suddenly really mad and was going to chew him out at any moment. Then after a slight pause, she began to speak, her voice carefully measured. “Chris, I would rip you a new one for that kind of remark, except I know you, and your history, and what your family’s really like too well to blame you for that obnoxiously hare-brained conclusion. No, Chris, I would never not call you just to teach you how it feels not to be called. A good mother doesn’t do that to her children, natural or not. It makes me so sad realizing that your parents would have done such a thing,” she sighed with dismay.

He thought about prompting her, but remained silent, knowing she needed to tell him in her own time, choosing instead to occupy himself by pacing around the bedroom, losing himself in the simple back and forth of his feet across the floor.

Her voice, when she spoke again, was surprisingly embarrassed. “I had a good reason for waiting so long to call,” she chuckled a little, “and I think you’ll understand. I had to do some asking around, you see. And that’s not as easy as it used to be with you and Mike both living so far from my other boys; it’s not so easy to spy.”

Chris smiled at her words; even after so many years of knowing Jensen and his family, he was still a bit in awe at how Donna considered him to be another son… that was just how she was. She’d accepted Jared as her own too, not just as a son-in-law, but one of her “boys.” It was heartwarming and reassuring and gave Chris that sense of unconditional love he’d never had from his own parents.

Donna’s voice pulled him out of his memories. “I’m pretty sure you don’t have one yet, and I’m not surprised, what with everything else you have going on,” Donna started rambling, and seriously, rambling? Chris had only ever heard Donna ramble when Jensen was sick, but this wasn’t that lost, distraught, desperate bid to keep her attention off of something, this was nervousness. “So,” she continued. “My friend Sue’s daughter is up in New York, and she works for a really nice florist, and I checked and made sure your bed and breakfast wasn’t too far, but they’re going to do your flowers. Whatever you need. That’s my wedding gift, well Alan’s and mine. You don’t have a florist yet, do you?” she added nervously.

“What? No, we don- wow. Wow! Thank you!” Chris said, stumbling over the words. Of all the things, this certainly wasn’t what he expected. “You mean you’ve been hunting around to find us a florist for the wedding… to help take some of the pressure of planning off of us? I… I can’t thank you enough. I mean… we were thinking of just skipping flowers. Oh Donna, I can’t thank you enough-”

“Nonsense,” Donna broke him off in that voice that meant she thought he was being foolish; he could hear something rattling in the background that suggested Donna was cooking or otherwise puttering around her kitchen while they spoke. “You and Mike get married, be happy, love each other, and take good care of each other the same way you’ve always watched out for Jensen. Thrive in your marriage, and don’t let any close-minded fool make you think you don’t deserve this. That’s all the repayment I need,” she said, her voice catching a little as if she were near tears, a hard clang of what was definitely a pot emphasizing her point.

“I will, we will,” he replied, feeing himself choking up a little too. Was getting married always this much of an emotional rollercoaster, he wondered.

“Now,” Donna continued, her voice clear, but a little shaky and high pitched, “you and Mike just let me know what flowers you want, and I’ll handle the rest.” She paused, and Chris got the distinct impression he wasn’t like what she was going to say next. He wasn’t sure why, maybe just the way she abruptly cut herself off and went silent. “Chris,” she continued, voice cautious, “have you told your parents you’re getting married? Do they know you’re engaged? Or when the wedding is?”

Oh, that’s why she sounds so hesitant, Chris realized at the same time he felt his mental hackles spring up. Oh yeah, parents were a touchy, tender, all around bad subject. “No,” he bristled in spite his best efforts. “Not unless my sister’s told them. We haven’t talked…”

“In years, I know Chris, you’ve told me,” she supplied, understandingly. “But don’t you think this might be a good time to at least tell them? I know you’re scared they’re going to reject you again, but if you don’t let them know, they’ll never get the chance to accept you either.”

“You really think they’re going to just, what? Reach out and say ‘we love you son’ and come to my big gay wedding, after all these years?” Chris scoffed, trying to keep the pain out of his voice by burying it in sarcasm. He stopped pacing and looked out the window, tugging absentmindedly at his hair like he always did when something decidedly uncomfortable came up.

Donna made a tisking, scolding noise. “No, but I think you will regret it if you don’t give them the chance. Maybe they won’t come now, but if you reach out to them-they love you, and they’re going to want to know what’s happening in your life, even if they can’t show that love. At least if you tell them, they know you’re making the effort. It just might make them think about what they’re missing out on,” Donna concluded sagely.

“I… I don’t know if they’ll even answer the phone,” Chris concluded in dismay as he looked out on the street below. Happy families going about their business. People strolling down the street with dogs and baby carriages. Parents playing Frisbee with their kids. Had his family ever been like that? He didn’t think so. His parents had always been too preoccupied with being good God-fearing folk and doing everything by the Book to ever really enjoy life, at least not in the carefree, in-the-moment, way his neighbors seemed to.

“Just think about it, and promise me you’ll try, Chris,” Donna replied. “If I was actually your mother, I’d want to know.”

There was silence that seemed to stretch on and on as Chris continued watching his neighbors going about their day, enjoying family, playing, carefree. He wanted that; he had that with Mike. He let out a long sigh, “I’ll think about it,” Chris agreed. Thinking about it wasn’t so scary after all.

“Good,” was Donna’s reply. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

~~~

After hanging up with Donna, Chris wandered down to the kitchen to fix himself some dinner and called Mike to share the good news. Mike was thrilled to hear about Donna’s gift, but immediately sensed there was more to the conversation and pried and pried until Chris told Mike about Donna’s suggestion that he invite his parents, or at least tell them about the wedding.

“You know I’ll support whatever you decide, babe,” Mike said. “They’re your family and you have to deal with the consequences, but I think Donna’s right about regretting it if you don’t tell them.”

Chris hemmed and hawed, and steered the conversation to other, more pleasant things (including a little frisky almost-phone sex over their dinner), and avoided broaching the subject again, eventually hanging up after desert so that he could finish the dishes. As soon as Chris had brought it up with Mike, he knew he had to go through with it. It wasn’t so much about his father’s reaction or the outcome-Chris was pretty sure what those would be; just as sure as he was that if he was going to call his parents, he’d be better off dealing with his father than his mother and all her repressing, avoiding, ignoring baggage-but the effort, the gesture. Actually, as soon as Donna had mentioned it, he knew he was going to have to go through with it.

It had been three years since he’d had contact of any kind with his parents. Five years more since he’d actually seen them. His normal relationship with them, if he’d ever had one, had ended during his junior year of college which was, what, fifteen years ago already. Since then any information he received about his parents and vice versa was usually transmitted through his sister.

The Kanes were just a little too immersed in the fire-and-brimstone, fags-go-to-hell brand of evangelism for Chris to have ever had any real hope of maintaining a healthy, open relationship with them. He hadn’t come out in high school (but then again, almost no one did back then; it was still a really, really scary time to be gay) and he hadn’t planned to come out in college either, but he’d had that choice taken away from him. Chris had been more comfortable in his own skin in college, actually dating and having fun being himself. There were a few gay bars in Norman, it was a college town, after all, even if it was in Oklahoma, and he’d taken to playing guitar at this little brewpub/coffeehouse combo that had live music on weekends. It was a nice relaxed atmosphere and it felt safe. Probably 85% of the clientele were gay and 98% of he other 15% were friends and allies. It was that teeny-tiny negligible percentage that got him in trouble.

Given Chris’s Texas and Oklahoma roots and his penchant for wearing jeans, boots, and even the occasional cowboy hat combined with his ability to hold his own in a fight meant most people didn’t peg him as being queer. Most people not including the football player in the non-majors’ Bio class he took at the end of sophomore year. The asshole had gotten it into his head that Chris was a fag; it was the only possible explanation for why Chris would like sissy things like music and theater, and he gave his best effort to catch and out Chris. He hadn’t succeeded and Chris had let out a sigh of relief and thought the worst was over… until almost a year later when the asshole and his friends had shown up at the pub one night when Chris was playing.

Chris could still taste the adrenaline tang from the utter terror he’d felt when he’d seen the asshole and his friends’ gleeful, murderous faces. Chris had tried his best to keep calm, enlisted friends in helping him get back to campus safely, but the asshole and his friends were not to be deterred. As soon as they were back on campus they got jumped by the asshole and his friends.

In the brawl that erupted they got arrested by campus security and during the questioning that followed, the story came out. Chris had been playing at that faggot bar. It was clearly implied that he was a fag too, and of course, in 1995 in Oklahoma, sodomy was still illegal. They couldn’t prove anything, and it became clear from the statements of bystanders that Chris and his friends had been defending themselves so after an unpleasant, nerve-wracking night in the campus security office he was released and the charges dropped, but the damage was done.

The campus newspaper had gotten wind of the brawl (and the allegations) and ran a story that got picked up in the local paper. Word got back to the Kane family and all hell broke loose. Within a week Chris had been confronted by (and subsequently outed to) his furious father and crying, disgraced mother; banned from his parents’ church; and had his roommate move out. His parents cut him off financially and had to endure slurs almost non stop as he moved around campus. It was enough to make Chris consider dropping out, giving up, maybe even taking more drastic measures.

But then Oklahoma was distracted by real tragedy and no one had any attention to spare for him so the harassment on campus had died down. He’d managed to save enough money and earn enough more by working and playing gigs all summer to cover tuition for senior year, and he saved money on living expenses by living with friends off campus. He’d graduated, moved to LA, and moved on with his life. Since then, contact with his parents had been strained at best, traumatic at worst, with one full-blown intervention in which his parents had tried to coerce him into “reparative therapy” taking the cake.

So, yeah, Chris wasn’t expecting much, and he wasn’t looking forward to the call, but Donna and Mike were right. He had to do it. I have to at least try, he thought as he retreated to the safety of his bedroom.

~~~

Chris held his breath as he waited for the call to connect, the old shadow of fear and dread reaching up from his gut and taking a hold of him, no matter ho hard he tried to push it aside. There was just too much history of waiting, worrying, struggling, hoping for approval that was never going to come, and even a decade plus o minimal contact with his family wasn’t enough to break him out of it.

Finally, the dialing sound clicked over and a gruff, slightly breathless voice with a distinct drawl said, “hello?”

Swallowing and trying not to tap his foot too loudly, Chris replied, “Hi Dad, this is Christian.”

There was a gulping noise followed by silence, then a little rustling in the background as if his father had nearly dropped the phone. It was always touch and go with his parents. The big question was if Mr. Kane would even acknowledge Chris as his son. Chris was mentally debating whether it actually would have been better if his mother had answered, when he finally received a response. “Son,” the word was almost bitten out, “your sister told us you’d been hurt.” Didn’t hear that from you, and it was probably your fault for offending God went unsaid, but were resoundingly clear nonetheless.

“Yes sir,” Chris started, struggling to keep his voice even. “I was, but I’m better now.”

He waited, pacing over towards the window and looking out at the now-moonlit street below, wondering if his father would say anything more, but there was only cavernous silence. Why are you calling? it seemed to say.

“I’m calling because I wanted to let you and mother know I’m getting married. Saturday of Labor Day weekend,” Chris said instead.

“Son.” There it was, the word his parents deemed him unworthy of most of the time. “Are you telling me you’ve finally repented and given up your unnatural lifestyle to commit yourself to a woman?” The taint of misguided hope echoed through the phone, making Chris almost ill with the sound. He didn’t want to do this! Didn’t want to face the inevitable rejection or hatred-or both-he knew would follow.

“No sir,” Chris replied, pausing only to swallow, not wanting to give his father an opportunity to cut him of, but needing to try to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat. “No, I’m still gay, Dad, but I’m in love, have been or almost five years, and my partner, Michael, and I are getting married in Connecticut, and I wanted to let you and mom know. I’d love for you to attend.” There was a lot more Chris could have said, wanted to say, but didn’t. Don’t come if you won’t tolerate who I am. I didn’t choose to be this way, but I like who I am, so I wouldn’t change if I could. I just want to be loved. It was too much-too many words for such a hopeless proposition. It was easier, less disappointing, to leave the words unsaid.

There was silence across the phone line. Chris refused to allow himself to hold his own breath. Finally, his father spoke. “Christian,” his voice was rough, faltering. “You know your mother and I- we… we can’t indulge you by supporting your destructive, deviant lifestyle.”

Chris let out a sigh. He hadn’t held his breath, but he still felt like he was deflating as the possibility of gaining acceptance from his parents drifted away. It hadn’t even really been there to begin with, still… Chris’s attention drifted back to the window. On the street below he could see one of his neighbors getting out of his car and walking up to his house. The door opened and a little boy came tearing out, running towards the man and getting scooped up in his arms and spun around. Chris wanted that. No matter how hard he tried to lower his expectations or accepted that his parents just didn’t accept him, he still wanted to be that little boy who was loved and cared for, no matter what.

“What you’re doing, it’s not a marriage,” his father began again, the specter of fire and brimstone and hatred cutting into his voice. “It’s not love; it’s just sickness and perversion. You’re taking yourself away from God, and it will only lead you down the path to hell.” His voice was resonant, picking up steam. “This Michael, you’re just taking him with you. You need to repent, Christian,” his father continued, and for the first time, Chris heard something other than clipped, even recitation backed by righteous anger or outright hatred. Instead there was desperation. Bald, naked emotion, clouding and choking his father’s voice. And not desperation of a parent who was convinced he was losing his son to the devil, but the desperation of an individual who was tired of believing that the world had to be so dark and lonely and wanted to be able to let go of the doctrine that was tying him down. “We love you Chris; we want you to be happy, but we can’t sand by and allow you to destroy yourself. You can change-” His father sounded so very hopeful.

“No, Dad, I can’t,” said Chris. He stepped away from the window, away from the man and child playing as they walked up to the house; paced back over to the bed, looking down at the picture of him and Mike, arms wrapped around each other, engagement rings glinting on their fingers as they smiled up at the camera. “I’m happy, and I wouldn’t change if I could. There’s nothing you did or can do, and nothing I did that will or would ever change me, because this is who I am.” He put all the love and urgency he felt for Mike, about their marriage into his voice as he picked up the framed photo and reverently traced the line of Mike’s smile with his fingers. “I’m sorry you don’t understand that. I’m sorry if that means you won’t come,” he finished, voice firm but quite, eyes fixed on his and Mike’s smiling faces.

“Son, I just want you to live a decent life, a good, Christian life,” his father pleaded.

“I have a great life, Dad,” Chris replied, setting the picture back down on the bedside table. “I’m sorry if you can’t see that.”

Silence. There was nothing left to say. Chris listened to the sound of his father breathing into the phone. Heavy, pained breaths. Chris couldn’t tell if his father was seething with anger or on the verge of crying. Still there was silence.

When Chris concluded his father simply wasn’t going to speak, he said, “I love you, Dad. Send my love to mom,” and snapped the phone closed. He let the phone drop down onto the bed, sitting down next to it and resting his elbows on his knees, head in hands.

That had gone pretty much exactly like he’d expected. He let out a sigh. At least he’d tried. The ball was in his parents’ court now, and either they’d come around, or they wouldn’t. Nothing more he could do.

I should call Mike, he thought. But it felt almost like failure, like it was his fault his parents hadn’t done a miraculous 180 and joined PFLAG or something. It was ridiculous, but Chris realized, it was his own hope talking. This time he’d actually allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, his parents would see the light. He’d made progress, he knew it. He could feel an edge of wanting in his father’s voice! His dad wanted Chris back in the family. That was a long way from throwing him out of the house, cutting support for his college tuition, and trying to send him to a “reeducation” ministry. Maybe he should be happy.

Without realizing he’d done it, Chris had flipped open his phone and hit Mike’s speed dial. He ran a shay hand through his hair while he waited for Mike to pick up, moonlight slipping in through the window and casting ghostly shadows across the room now that the last orange beams of sunset had faded away. Shaky, huh. Adrenaline crash? he wondered. He hadn’t realized he’d been that worked up.

“Babe?” Mike asked, answering the phone.”

“Yeah,” Chris answered, sounding as shaky as he felt. He longed for Mike. Wished desperately to make the miles between them disappear. He didn’t want to be apart. He needed Mike, here, now by his side. He was tired of being the strong one. He needed to have someone take care of him, just for a minute, the way Mike always did, wrapping Chris up in his arms, towering over him and shielding him even if just for a second, a buffer between Chris and the world, giving him time to rebuild his strength, restore his reserves.

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling,” Mike sighed in sympathy, clearly picking up on the disappointment in Chris’s voice. “But I am so, so proud of you for asking them! You are so brave,” Mike added in absolute sincerity.

Chris felt himself leaning into the phone, as if it could bring him closer to Mike. He let out a weak chuckle, “How could you tell I’d asked, or what happened?”

“I hope that’s a rhetorical question,” Mike scoffed, his voice still sympathetic.

“Yeah,” Chris agreed, and proceeded to tell his fiancé what had transpired during his conversation with his father. “It’s real progress,” Chris finished, hoping that if he said it, thought it, enough times the progress he had made would be enough to satisfy the hole inside him that was still yearning for acceptance. “It think the-mildness of Dad’s reaction surprised me so much I’m starting to hope again.” Mild it was. There had been no threats. No disowning. No screaming or hanging up the phone. It was almost like a dance, old hat, routines he and his father knew so well they still waltzed through them, not really having their hearts in it anymore… or at least his dad seemed not to have his heart in it.

“So, you’re feeling disappointed and let down because of it,” Mike supplied sagely.

“Yeah,” Chris sighed again, scratching in frustration at the still-healing gash on his forehead. “At least he seemed concerned about me,” Chris added. “He’d heard about the accident or at least that I’d been in the hospital, and he didn’t even suggest it was because god was punishing me.” Chris shrugged, “That’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” Mike agreed, his voice sounding almost wistful. “Hell, maybe they’ll come around eventually, maybe they won’t, but either way you did what you could. Now you don’t have anything to regret.”

“Ball’s in their court, huh?” Chris replied, allowing himself to fall back against the bed, mindful of the still-present twinge in his ribs. Ahh, the duvet’s simple, silky softness was a welcoming, soothing contrast to the maelstrom of emotions surging and swirling in his head.

“Yep,” Mike agreed. Chris noticed for the first time today that Mike sounded tired, lonely. He was definitely feeling the separation as keenly as Chris. “I’m really damn proud of you baby,” Mike added in an awed-sounding voice. “I wish I was there with you right now to congratulate you properly. I just miss you,” he added.

“Me too, so much,” Chris yawned as he stared up at the ceiling with its soothing, light blue paint and cream-colored crown molding. The conversation with his father had taken more out of him than he had expected. Chris was positively sleepy even though it was still early evening. “I wanna be with you.”

“Let’s…” Mike started, “let’s try to get projects near each other sometime soon. Something that films in the same city, or at least someplace near enough that we could both come home to the same house at night,” Mike added wistfully.

“Sounds good,” Chris sighed letting his eyes close. “Sounds like exactly what I wanna have with my husband.”

“You sound exhausted, baby,” Mike observed, concernedly.

“Yeah,” Chris snorted, as he drifted, already half asleep thanks to the silky duvet and the comforting sound of Mike’s voice in his ear. One word answers were a sure sign he was near sleep.

“How ‘bout I talk you to sleep?” Mike suggested.

Chris grunted in response and slipped into sleep listening to the comforting tone and soothing rhythm of his fiancé’s voice as Mike told Chris all the things he was going to do to him when they were reunited.

Master Post | Chapter 5 |  Chapter 7