Fic: In this Life
Sam was surprised to find the unfamiliar car in the driveway that evening. Sure, it was a Friday, and guests on a non-work night would seem to be a pretty natural thing, but Eric didn’t usually make plans without him. And come to think of it, Eric had never invited over any of his friends. Sam figured that was because they were all hockey players, and thus tied to the “sports” world, which meant they were not allowed to know Eric’s secret. In his opinion, of course, that meant they weren’t truly friends at all.
He had just barely gotten his keys into the lock when Eric swung the front door open frantically. “I’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour!” he hissed under his breath.
“What?” Sam managed to stutter out as he caught sight of a small floral suitcase that definitely wasn’t his or Eric’s sitting by the landing of the stairs.
“Eric? Someone’s at the door?” a voice called out, and Eric put a hand on Sam’s chest to forcibly push him back, closing the door behind him just as an older woman with up-swept gray hair came into view.
“What are you doing? Who is that?’ Sam pressed, but Eric was pressing as well, pressing against his chest and backing him up towards his car.
“My aunt. Look, Sam, I need you to go for a little while.”
As much as Sam wished he could instantly throw his anger at that suggestion back in Eric’s face, his immediate physical response to the emotion was to go stiff, and it always took him a few seconds to come up with a retort.
“No, Eric,” he finally managed to get out. “We agreed, friends and family.”
“She’s not my family,” Eric retorted immediately.
Exasperated, Sam threw his hands up. “You just said she was your aunt. Who is she then?”
“She’s my dad’s sister. After my mother died she tried to . . . visit a lot and . . . help raise us, or whatever. Probably because she never married or had any kids of her own.”
“That sounds like family to me.”
“Well, it’s not. Joan’s my family. She doesn’t count, and I’m not telling her. Look I’ve been trying to call you for a while to let you know. I’m going to try to get rid of her as soon as possible and I’ll call when it’s . . . safe to come back.”
“This is bullshit, you know that, right?” Sam snapped. He wanted to march right past Eric and into his house, aunt or no aunt. There was only so much of Eric’s idiocy he could take.
Eric looked down at his feet. “Yeah. I know it is,” he said softly.
They stood like that, tensely avoiding eye contact, until Eric spun around on his heels. “I have to go back in now. I’ll . . . call.”
Sam’s mouth dropped open slightly as Eric walked away, and frustrated beyond belief he tried to think of something caustic to say that would actually hurt Eric. But the only thing that came to his lips was ‘bullshit!’, which he yelled again, but it came out sounding strange and hoarse and not at all as venomous as he had intended.
Eric gave him one last sorrowful glance and then disappeared behind the front door.
***
There wasn’t really anywhere for Sam to go. He thought about going to a friend’s house to wait it out, but he was too humiliated to have to explain his dark mood to them. They certainly didn’t need any more of a reason to question why he was Eric.
He considered going across the street to Mildred’s, but somehow he felt if he were that close to the house, he’d probably get pissed off enough to go home without getting his signal that the “coast was clear.” And as much as he hated Eric at that particular moment, he didn’t want Eric to hate him, which is probably what would happen if he did that.
So he was left with driving around in circles, just wasting time and gas. As he drove he divided his time between watching the road and darting his eyes to his cellphone on the seat next to him. The ringer had been on silent before, which was why he had missed Eric’s calls, but now it was on full volume. It just refused to ring.
Finally fed up with himself for being in this situation in the first place, Sam decided to stop at a bar. It wasn’t really a go-to place for him when he was troubled-that was more Eric’s thing-but he figured it was a decent enough spot for him to unwind, and a drink wouldn’t hurt either.
As he stepped inside it occurred to Sam that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at a bar alone. He wasn’t entirely sure what was expected of lone patrons, so he sat up at the bar feeling awkward for several minutes before the pretty female bartender finally stopped by and asked if he’d like a drink while he waited. Hoping his nearly-audible swallow didn’t give him away, Sam ordered a mojito, fully intending to keep to himself the fact that the only thing he was waiting for was for his boyfriend to grow the fuck up.
He sat at the bar for about an hour, and though the bartender returned several times to ask if he needed a refill, he declined, mostly because he knew he needed to drive soon. Or hoped he would need to. Besides, the cocktail had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and Sam was pretty sure that whatever buzz benefits he could have gotten from it were being suffocated by the thoughts in his head, as he kept going over and over his belief that Eric loved him while being faced with the seemingly contradictory evidence that the man was incapable of showing it.
When his cell rang, freeing him from his depressing thoughts, he waited several seconds before picking it up. He had to, because he needed that time to let the initial relief wash through him so that when he answered, there was nothing but disdain and anger left. That was what Eric deserved, after all.
“So, I’m allowed back into our house now? It’s safe to come home?”
He’d barely finished his last accusatory sentence before Eric’s voice cut him off.
Only, it wasn’t Eric’s usual voice. It was distant and strained, and the words he mumbled were in a choked whisper. “Sammy . . . I need you,” he said, and then hung up.
***
Sam didn’t usually hear Eric’s voice so emotional. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he arrived home, but he entertained the notion that Eric was crushed because he’d realized what a monumental idiot he was being, and had decided to take his life into his own hands by telling the truth rather than letting societal pressures push him around. Although it was a rather far-fetched hope, it suddenly seemed that much more likely as Sam pulled up in front of the house and saw the visiting car was still there. Maybe Eric had come to his senses after all.
But when he opened the front door, the silence that greeted him seemed so thick, Sam had the strange feeling he was about to walk into a trap.
“Who is that? Someone’s opening your door!” he heard, and a second later, the gray-haired lady was in view. Her mouth was set firmly in a grimace and her eyes narrowed in a glare. Even her nose was clenched, giving her the look of someone who’d just been sucking on sour lemons.
She turned without saying a word to Sam and walked back into the living room.
Sam followed after her, his dread rapidly growing. He wasn’t sure what to say or do, as he didn’t want to assume that she knew yet, although he certainly had his suspicions.
The woman seated herself opposite Eric, who was leaned over with his head in his hands. He was taking shallow breaths, and even though Sam was sure he’d heard the footsteps trailing into the room, he didn’t look up.
“It’s him, isn’t it,” the woman said to Eric.
Well, that answers that question, Sam thought.
Eric said nothing. He barely even moved.
Squaring his shoulders, Sam took a few steps toward Eric’s aunt. “Ms. . . . McNally? It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Sam.” He extended his hand, but Ms. McNally kept her arms firmly in her lap.
“Eric, please tell your . . . your friend . . . he needs to leave right now. We’re not finished talking about this.”
Fists clenching at his sides from the tone she used for the word “friend,” Sam turned his back on her and bent over to try to catch Eric’s attention. “Eric?”
Eric looked up slowly, and when his eyes met Sam’s they were filled with a desperate plea.
For a sickening moment, Sam thought Eric was going to do just what his aunt had ordered-- ask him to leave. And Sam had nowhere to go. His condo had sold; he had no backup plan anymore. He’d put every one of his eggs into this one basket, all because Eric had verbally promised him he wanted what they had together to be “permanent.” The room began to swim with Sam's panic as he waited in what seemed like an eternity for Eric’s response.
Finally, Eric spoke. His voice was still in that strained whisper, and he kept it low enough so that only Sam could hear him. “She won’t listen to me. She won’t leave. Please, Sam . . . can you please just get her to leave?”
Sam was so relieved, he could have kissed Eric . . . only he was pretty sure Eric wouldn’t have appreciated it right then.
He turned towards the still-grimacing woman. “Ms. McNally, I’m sure you’re both very tired right now. Perhaps it would be better to talk again in the morning. We don’t have a guest room set up here yet or we’d love to have you stay, but in the meantime, I’d be happy to take you to nearby hotel.” He tried to keep himself from biting on his cheek, a nervous habit he was always attempting to quash since it didn’t do for a lawyer to have such a tell.
Ms. McNally turned to glare at him. “I’m sorry if you don’t have family to help you, but my concern is my nephew. I promised his father I’d look after him, and right now he is confused because he’s been through a traumatic experience. What you’re doing is . . . taking advantage of him.”
The nervousness had died off, and only a smoldering anger remained. Sam glanced at Eric in the hopes he would say something, but Eric’s head was still bowed, his shoulders rising and falling too rapidly for his breaths to be normal.
“Eric is not confused,” Sam said calmly, and he was quite proud he was able to keep his voice level. That was, until it suddenly dawned on him he wasn’t entirely sure of his declaration, since Eric hadn’t spoken up himself. “And I’m more than just his friend. Look, I agree you two should talk more about this, but it’s pretty clear he’s not in the mood to talk right now, so I’m asking you to respect him and give him some space.”
“And I’m asking you to leave my nephew’s house!” she snapped back.
Sam lost all semblance of the cool he had dredged up from his career experience in the hopes of keeping the situation from igniting. “This is my house too, and I’m not asking. I’m telling you to leave it, right now!”
Ms. McNally gaped at Eric, who still wasn’t looking at her. “You . . . you live with him?”
Eric, of course, did not respond. It seemed as if he was trying to pretend she didn’t exist.
Resolutely, Sam dropped down to sit beside Eric, draping an arm over his shoulders. Eric remained tense and did not lean into the embrace.
Ms. McNally stared at him for several minutes before she finally stood. “Eric, I promised your father. I promised him I’d look after you, and maybe I’ve been remiss in my duties, but I still care about you . . .” she trailed off when it was clear she wasn’t getting any sort of response or reaction.
At long last she retreated, grabbing her bag on the way out the door.
Within an instant of her departure Eric was up, his catatonic state apparently over. He shot towards the kitchen, where he dragged out a bottle of rum from a lower cabinet. It was really only there for when they made cocktails for guests, because neither of them drank much hard liquor.
Eric was apparently trying to change that fact as he uncapped the bottle and raised it to his lips, taking a drink before Sam had a chance to react. But he was still breathing such quick breaths that the swallow turned into a cough, sputtering the clear liquid out of his mouth.
“That’s not going to help, you know,” Sam said gently, standing a few feet back from the scene. He wanted to wrap his arms around Eric but he got the feeling touching him right then would only cause him to withdraw further into himself.
“I know.” Eric sighed, putting the bottle down. His voice had finally regained most of its normal pitch.
“Why did you change your mind and tell her? I would have been here if I’d known.”
Eric scoffed. “I didn’t tell her. She found those stupid pictures.”
“Pictures? What pictures?” Sam asked, genuinely puzzled. As far as he knew there weren’t any pictures that would have given them away. In all the photos they had a viewer would be hard pressed to figure out they were in a relationship, as the most Sam could ever hope for was an arm across the shoulders. Even then, Eric looked displeased at having to force affection for the shot.
“The ones from that photo booth. Why the hell would you just leave those lying around like that? What the hell were you thinking?”
Sam took a step back, as if more distance would give him the mental space to keep Eric’s irrational anger from affecting him.
“Never mind, forget that,” Eric mumbled immediately. “I know you didn’t know she was coming. Hell, I didn’t know.”
“Sorry,” Sam said anyways. Not for leaving the pictures “lying around,” but for the situation in general. “What did she say to you?”
Eric laughed bitterly. “Oh, you know, the usual suspects. It’s a sin, I’ll go to hell, I’m confused, I can make the choice to change . . .” he trailed off with a shrug.
“Eric . . .”
“Look Sam, I don’t want to talk. I was talking to her for over an hour. Right now I just want to go to bed.”
Sam followed Eric up to their bedroom, torn between the desire to extract everything Eric was thinking out of him so they could handle it together and giving him time to process things on his own. More than a little guilt was mixed into his thoughts as well, as he’d never bothered to get a clear picture on Eric’s relatives and their opinions. Although Eric had certainly had something to do with that lack of information as well.
In the bedroom, Eric kicked off his shoes and fell face-first against his pillow.
“You’re going to sleep in your clothes?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” Eric replied curtly. He turned on his side and held himself very still.
Sam undressed and crawled in beside him. Again he felt the urge to wrap Eric tightly in his arms, to reassure him that he was loved and that this aunt, family or “not family” was far more confused than he was.
He cautiously stretched out and put his hand on Eric’s shoulder, which remained stiff under his touch. “I’m tired, Sam,” Eric said. “Please don’t make me talk."
“I won’t,” Sam sighed. He gave Eric’s shoulder a loving squeeze and nestled as close to him as he dared. “Goodnight, Eric.”
***
Sam stretched and felt the kinks in his back protesting, as he had apparently spent the entire night huddled tightly against Eric without actually reaching out to embrace him, which would have been the more comfortable option. Opening his eyes to catch sight of the clock, he saw it was nearly noon, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had let himself sleep in so late. Perhaps he’d been a little more overwhelmed by the previous day’s occurrences than he actually thought.
The next thing he noticed was that he was alone. Eric was not in the bedroom, and not in the bathroom either. Pulling himself up and wiping the crust from his eyes Sam called out for him hoarsely. There was no response.
Even so Sam tugged on a t-shirt and sweatpants and went around the house to check, poking his head into every room before finally glancing out the window to see that Eric’s car was in fact gone. Still, that in and of itself was not alarming. It was fairly late on a Saturday, after all, and Eric could have had things to do. Errands to run, perhaps, although he didn’t do any of the shopping-not even for his own clothes-so that option did seem rather unlikely.
Sam grabbed the house phone and dialed Eric’s cell number, but after one ring the call went directly to voicemail, which meant that wherever Eric was, he either had no service, or his cellphone was off. Sam redialed and left a message, carefully keeping his tone light and asking Eric to call just to let him know where he was.
Trying his best to keep down his panic, he went to the living room, the scene of the awkward confrontation, and sat down heavily on the couch. He tried to imagine what Eric must have been feeling the night before, having had all his pent-up fears become a reality.
Eric’s desire to stay in the closet had been at near obsession-level when they’d first met. It was what had driven a wedge between their growing relationship over and over again, and what had finally threatened to destroy it when Sam had withdrawn after deciding enough was enough. At that point, Eric had chosen to open the closet door, however slightly, in order to keep Sam in his life. But he hadn’t been able to get rid of the fear of how his life would change, or of how people would view him differently. And now someone, and a relative at that, had proven to him his fears had been justified after all.
Sam had already started to feel sick with the perceived emotion before he placed a hand down against the couch and came in contact with something hard lodged between the cushions-Eric’s cellphone.
Now he was stuck playing the waiting game. There as no option for him to get in contact with Eric, and very little chance Eric would decide to call him on his own. For all Sam knew, he’d left his cellphone on purpose. The only thing Sam could do was sit and wait.
Knowing he’d be unable to focus, Sam went into the den and switched on the TV. He was never the sort of person who did mindless TV watching, but he couldn’t really think of anything else to occupy the time as he was far too jittery to read or work. The television didn’t help much either, and as it droned on it just seemed like an annoyance that was continually interrupting his thoughts.
It must have helped more than he thought, though, because the next thing Sam knew he was being awoken from a rather uncomfortable doze on the couch by the sound of the phone ringing. He bolted upright and grabbed at it, banging legs and arms on several pieces of furniture in the process.
“Eric?”
“Sam?” It was not Eric’s voice that greeted him. “What’s going on? Eric’s not there?”
“Joan,” Sam mumbled, sinking back down on the couch and quickly muting the TV. “No, he’s not.”
“My aunt called,” Joan said after a second of silence. “Are you two . . . are you two okay?”
“I don’t know.” Sam sighed.
“Yeah,” Joan replied, and she must have sighed as well because a static-ridden rush of air followed. “I’m pretty surprised he told her. I mean, he knew what she would say.”
“He didn’t tell her. She found some . . . some pictures.”
“Pictures?”
“Jesus.” Sam jerked in immediate embarrassment. “Not . . . not those kind of pictures. Just some little photos of us kissing from a stupid photo booth.”
“Oh.” Joan sounded relieved. “So do you know where Eric is?”
“No.” Sam frowned. “And he left his cellphone here. He was gone when I woke up.”
A few more second of silence ticked by, during which Sam’s anxiety nearly doubled.
“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Joan finally said. “I mean, he was never very close to her. Not even remotely. Actually I’m pretty sure he couldn’t stand her.”
“Yeah.” Sam managed a weak laugh, but sobered up immediately. “And what about you? Are you close to her?”
More silence followed, and Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever had a conversation with Joan that involved so much dead air time.
“Not extremely close. I mean, she visits about once a year. She was around a lot more when we were kids . . . I think she’d like to fancy herself a grandmother to Hank, but to be honest with you she hasn’t been too pleased with me since the divorce.”
“Oh,” Sam said quietly. It sounded like a fairly close relationship to him.
“Maybe . . . maybe she’ll come around if I talk to her some more. I wasn’t really able to get a word in edgewise this time, since I got on her bad side immediately once she found out I already knew. But maybe with some time . . .”
“Yeah,” Sam said to fill the silence after Joan trailed off.
“But if she doesn’t . . . “ Joan continued, “If she doesn’t, well, I know who my family is. Eric’s my family.”
Sam smiled. “That’s the same thing he said about you.”
He could almost hear Joan’s responding smile when she spoke again. “Good. We’ll keep a united front, then.”
“Yeah.”
“And Sam,” Joan added. “You know . . . you’re my family now, too.”
“Thanks,” Sam said, feeling his first genuine moment of pleasure since the whole debacle had begun. “Well, I’ll let you know when I hear from him. And thanks for calling.”
They said their goodbyes then, despite the fact Sam wished he could have kept her on the line a little longer. At least talking to her had kept him from worrying too much in his own head. Without her conversation to keep him occupied, Sam was left alone with the TV and the thoughts it couldn’t block out once again.
***
Once it got dark, Sam slept on and off on the couch. He was surprised he could sleep, actually, but the droning of the TV had some sort of soporific effect. He awoke with a start when it was nearly midnight, but he didn’t really know why since there weren’t any sounds that he could detect within the house. It was more because somehow, even in his unconscious state, he had realized how late it was getting, and how pretty soon Eric would have been gone for an entire day and night without calling to say he was okay. And for all Sam knew, Eric wasn’t okay. He could be drowning his troubles at a bar still, or drunk in a ditch. He could have been in some kind of accident . . . or perhaps he was just holed up somewhere, reconsidering every decision that had lead him to live his life in a romantic relationship with another man.
Sam could have sworn he wouldn’t fall asleep again after that realization, but when his eyes next flew open it was nearly 2 am. This time, there was an external reason for his waking, as the unmistakable sound of keys in the door greeted him.
He shot up and ran towards the front of the house, stopping short a few feet in front of a very weary-looking Eric.
Sam wasn’t able to make use of either the initial relief at seeing him or the secondary anger that burned underneath because of the worry Eric had put him through. He seemed incapable of expressing either emotion, as no words came to him.
It was Eric who spoke first. “Are you . . . are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” Sam stuttered. “What about you? Where have you been? Why didn’t you call?
“I forgot my phone. Well, actually, I left it on purpose. I was afraid she’d keep calling. I was just . . . driving around.”
Sam opened his mouth again, but no sound came out.
“Let’s go get some sleep,” Eric said, and started up the stairs.
Sam followed, fully intending on finding the words to continue their conversation and not give in to another one of Eric’s “I-don’t-feel-like-talking-right-now” moods. But he couldn’t really think of what it was he wanted to say.
Eric quickly took off his clothes and left them in a pile on the floor beside the bed before diving under the covers. But Sam continued to stand in the room awkwardly, distracted by the mound of discarded clothes. His normal inclination towards cleanliness was telling him to pick them up and put them in the hamper, but sometimes his neatness habits irked Eric, and he didn’t think now would be the right time for irking. So he was still frozen, debating what he should do when Eric interrupted his thoughts.
“Take off your clothes.”
“What?”
“Take off your clothes and get in bed, Sam.”
“Oh, right,” Sam said sheepishly. He turned away slightly as he began to pull off his t-shirt.
“No. Take them off right there where I can see.”
“Oh.” Sam blinked, caught off guard. He turned back towards Eric and quickly lifted off his shirt, then pulled down his sweat pants to reveal his boxers, all the while fully aware that Eric was staring at him. He’d planned on immediately hopping into the bed because he wasn’t really comfortable feeling like he was on display, but Eric’s penetrating gaze had him paralyzed, and he stood there for a few second afterwards, letting Eric study him.
Eric’s eyes finally shifted to the bed and Sam followed the suggestion, climbing in and pulling the covers around him as Eric turned to face him again.
“Idiots,” Eric mumbled.
“What?”
“The people who think we can change this,” he clarified, reaching out to lay a slightly trembling hand on Sam’s chest. “The people who think we can change how we feel. I couldn’t change this, Sam. I couldn’t ever change how I feel about you.”
Sam tilted his head back. “Would . . . would you want to? If you could?” he whispered.
“Shut up,” Eric replied firmly. He moved his hand from Sam’s chest to his side and yanked him forward until the entire fronts of their bodies were touching before crushing his lips into Sam’s.
The kiss was by no means tentative, as Sam had feared, and neither was the embrace. Eric’s hand traveled all along his body as if he were studying the feel of every part, his lips and tongue pressing for entrance into Sam’s mouth again and again. As close as they were, it was mere seconds before they could feel they were both hard, and it was Eric who took the initiative. He pulled down their boxers and squirmed to line them up, taking both of them into his hand as he stroked, never leaving Sam’s lips for an instant.
He came first, biting Sam’s lip in the process as his body tightened. Somehow that sting of pain put Sam over the edge as well, and soon they were panting into each other’s mouths because neither of them bothered to move back.
Once his pulse had returned to normal, Sam started to edge away a bit, but a firm hand on his waist stopped him.
“I’m just gonna get something to clean us up before it gets all over the sheets,” he told Eric softly.
Eric did not release him. “Deal with it,” he grunted.
Sam relented, and Eric pushed him over so that he was lying on his back, then draped himself across Sam’s chest. “Sorry if I worried you,” Eric said quietly. “I just needed a little time to . . . to get the anger out of my system. And I’m sorry I couldn’t . . . say anything when you came in. I guess I was just exhausted by that point.”
“I understand,” Sam replied, freeing a hand to stroke Eric’s hair, which Eric smiled at contentedly. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I wasn’t more understanding before . . . and I’m sorry about your aunt.”
Eric chuckled, but it didn’t sound entirely bitter. “Don’t be sorry about her. We were never close.”
“Joan said she was around a lot when you guys were kids.”
Eric shrugged. “Yeah, so what? I mean, I knew how she felt about these things, and I knew what I was . . . so I pretty much started distancing myself from her early on . . . just in case.”
“Still, the things she said . . . it must have hurt you. And since she’s been like that all your life, I’m sure you’ve heard her say other things that would have been hurtful . . . or confusing . . .”
“Nah,” Eric interrupted him. “Look, I hate being judged. And I hate that she knows and now can place her judgment on me, and share that judgment with all my other stupid relatives . . . but that doesn’t mean I believe any part of what she has to say. I’m not religious, Sam. Never really have been. I don’t think that what we’re doing is a “sin” and I don’t think we’re going to hell. Actually, I’m pretty sure the only hell we’ll have to deal with for being gay will be in this life. And I know we’re not exactly on the same page about this, but I’d like to avoid as much of that hell as possible, and if that means keeping my private life private . . . well, then that’s what I want to go with.”
Sam said nothing, but continued to run his fingers through Eric’s hair, massaging his scalp gently.
“So, is that still okay, Sammy? Friends and family, but only the friends and family who are worth it?”
“Yeah,” Sam said absentmindedly. He had closed his eyes and was just concentrating on the feel of Eric’s hair along his fingertips, the weight of Eric’s head on his chest, the touch of his warm breath against his skin. “I’m so happy you’re still here . . . I’d probably agree to anything right now.”
Eric shifted, leaning up on his elbow to regard Sam with concern. “Still here? You didn’t really think I would leave you for an old lady who thinks beehives are still an in-fashion hairstyle, did you? I may be an idiot about a lot of things, but that’s one mistake even I wouldn’t make. You’re worth a hell of a lot more to me than a crotchety old woman.”
Sam laughed as Eric grinned at him, and whatever last vestiges of tension he harbored in his body were released. Eric put his head back down and Sam wrapped his arms around him, resolutely ignoring the slick spot between their stomachs. Eric was back in his arms, they’d weathered the storm, and everything was basically right with the world again. Maybe they still had some talking to do, and some more things to figure out-that is, if he was ever lucky enough to get Eric talking again-but at the moment, nothing could detract from the joy he felt, knowing that Eric had chosen him once again.
Besides, tomorrow was Sunday, and he’d have plenty of time to wash the sheets then.