Fic: No Regrets, Part 4
Part 4: Proud
Sam never bunched his shirts up into balls when he stuffed them into the hamper. Actually, he didn’t stuff them at all; he folded them over an arm and gently laid them in the hamper, as if wrinkling them there would somehow affect how they would come back from the dry cleaners later that week.
Sam was very ritualistic in his nighttime habits. After all the years they’d spent together, Eric could pretty much predict every move he made before bedtime-putting away his clothes, throwing on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, washing his face with two splashing handfuls of cold water, brushing his teeth, and wiping away the tell-tale drops of liquid he’d left behind on the counter before grabbing his laptop and heading for the bed.
He knew a lot about Sam’s habits and a lot about Sam, Eric realized as he sat waiting, but he’d elected to ignore the parts he'd felt were asking for more than he could give. And as Sam had never really complained, he’d assumed the life they’d chosen to live was satisfactory to the both of them. But there was a growing uncertainty that had taken root in his heart now, as lately all of his assumptions were being thrown into question. Ordinarily, he would have liked to push that uncertainty aside and barrel onwards, as was his customary way of dealing with most issues that seemed to crop up . . . but it was that very technique that had gotten him to where he was, and he didn’t know how much longer he could stand to feel so much guilt without seeking some sort of release.
He stood up and cornered Sam as he headed for the bed with his laptop under his arm. “Hey, I’m sorry about tonight."
“Sorry? For what?” Sam attempted to skirt around him, giving Eric a puzzled look when he moved to cut him off.
“For when you touched me and I . . . flinched. And for being out-of-it in general. I know I should have been paying more attention to what you were talking about.”
Sam laughed. “Don’t be silly, Eric. That stopped bothering me a long time ago.”
“Oh . . . well, I just wanted you to know that it was a reflex action. I’m trying to work on that, you know. I mean, I think that you touching me like that should ordinarily be okay . . . in most surroundings.”
Sam gave him an amused smirk. “Well, you just let me know when you’ve updated your rulebook." He kissed Eric quickly on the lips and used the momentary distraction to get around him, propping open his laptop on his nightstand.
“That’s just it, Sam. I’m telling you I don’t want to have a rulebook,” Eric countered, aware his voice had grown forceful.
“Alright, alright." Sam patted Eric on his arm soothingly. “But you don’t have to stress yourself out over it so much. You know it doesn’t matter to me.”
Eric paused before responding. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Sam didn’t mind the sacrifices he’d made, or maybe they hadn’t really been sacrifices after all. But in the depths of his heart he didn’t believe that. Or didn’t want to believe that. He realized now that he wanted it to matter-he wanted Sam to care.
“You don’t care anymore? Then why did you cry the other day?”
Sam turned his attention to his laptop, bending over it to open his email. “What other day?”
“After Scot’s party. When I told you I’d come out at work.”
Sam shrugged. “Too much eggnog?” he offered with a nervous laugh.
“Nice try.” Eric folded his arms.
“Well, I guess I was just surprised, then."
“People don’t usually start crying when they’re surprised.”
“Well, if you know so much, then why don’t you tell me.” Sam was clearly tiring of the conversation and he set his laptop down on the bed, ducking away from Eric’s scrutinizing eyes.
“Because I want you to tell me,” Eric said softly.
Sam turned back around with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what it is that you want me to say, Eric. Look, I’m an adult and I take full responsibility for my decisions. I knew what I was getting into with you . . . and I’m certainly not sorry that I did.” He stopped speaking for a moment, but Eric could sense the giant “but” that hung in the air. “But I guess it was just relief.”
“Relief? From what?”
“From what? Come on, Eric.” Sam scoffed. “Are you trying to pick a fight? I did what I had to in order to make things work, and I’m used to it now, so I don’t really care all that much anymore . . . but that doesn’t mean that I’ve liked being afraid to touch you in public . . . it doesn’t meant I’ve liked having to make up stories just to come visit you at work . . . it doesn’t mean I’ve liked lying to your coworkers, or being introduced as your friend among a pack of other friends . . .” Sam’s voice was steadily rising and growing more agitated, and though Eric wasn’t sure what he'd wanted to get out of this interrogation, he could feel now he’d pushed Sam to a breaking point. “It doesn’t mean that I’ve liked hiding who we are to each other, Eric . . . I mean, you can’t stand here and tell me you think I’ve liked having to pretend I don’t love you!”
His voice broke on those last few words and he clamped a hand over his mouth as if that would prevent any further emotion from spilling out. The attempt was unsuccessful.
Sam's face crumpled and strangely silent tears began to spill out faster than he could stop them with a frantically swiping hand. He was emotional enough that he was much more frequent to a watery eye than Eric was, and he’d been known to let a tear or two slip out on rare occasions, but Eric couldn’t remember a single time in their five years together seeing Sam cry like this.
He wrapped his arms around Sam, drawing him close and forcing him to rest his head on his shoulder even as Sam tried to turn away. “Shit, Sam. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He had a feeling he might be crying as well, but he didn’t want to check to find out. “It’s not going to be like that anymore, I promise. I’m so sorry. Please . . .” The words don’t cry died on his lips. If Sam needed to cry, he was going to let him. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” Sam said through his tears as they gradually abated. Eric gently led him into bed, pausing to pull back the sheets and tuck them around Sam before he joined him. Sam stopped crying fairly quickly but every once in a while he drew in those shortened hiccup-y little breaths that kept Eric from forgetting how emotionally wrought he’d been just a few moments ago.
“Sorry,” Sam mumbled, attempting a weak laugh in his arms. “I don’t really know where that came from. Maybe it was the wine at dinner.”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Eric said, his face only inches away from Sam’s. “You should never have stayed with me, Sam. You should never have put up with this.”
“I’m going to have to disagree with you there,” Sam interrupted, smiling genuinely for the first time since their conversation had started. “I love you, and I’ve never regretted loving you. I knew you’d figure things out eventually.”
“And how long were you willing to stick around for that?” Eric asked, suddenly seized with the understanding that he could have, and perhaps should have, lost Sam.
“For as long as it took. You’re a good man, Eric. I’ve always been happy to be with you. This is just going to make things . . . even better.”
They stared at each other silently for a few minutes, the only sounds in the room coming from their shaky breaths and the occasional sniff from Sam as he fought off the runny nose from crying. Finally Eric reached forward to just barely connect with Sam’s lips in a tentative kiss, not quite sure he still deserved to be able to touch Sam like that. But Sam kissed him back in a way that told him as tired as they both were, they couldn’t not make love that night.
It was a slower exploration than they usually engaged in, as if they were both discovering parts of themselves they’d never known before-and in some ways, they were. They spent a good fifteen minutes just kissing and touching and feeling, both emotionally and physically. When he entered Sam, even after the hundreds of times he’d done so before, Eric knew they’d attained a new realm of intimacy and a new level of trust. He knew it because there was no fear or shame nagging him in the back of his mind; no doubt that what he was doing at that very moment was right. What he and Sam had together was right . . . had always been right . . . had always been something he should have been willing to scream to the world about from the top of a mountain. And when he came he did want to scream it, to cry out loud enough so that even the neighbors could hear him shout I love you, but the orgasm was so intense only a wordless stream of syllables emerged from his lips. Sam tensed against him at the same moment and he turned to muffle his own cry in a pillow, biting down and leaving his mouth there for over a minute as his body slowly uncoiled.
He never really let go of Sam but once he pulled out Eric took him up more securely in his arms so that he could see his face and stare into his eyes. Having regained the ability to form words, he said it then, only once so as not to scare Sam, though he really wanted to say it over a hundred times. “I love you, Sam.”
Sam fell asleep quickly, his mouth hanging open slightly so he could breath as he was still partially congested. There was a peaceful smile on his lips, but his eyelids were slightly pink with the leftover swelling from the tears and the delicate skin there was translucent enough to allow some of the blueness from his veins to show through.
It took Eric much longer to drift off as he held Sam in his arms. Once, a very long time ago, he remembered promising Sam he would never break his heart. Now he wondered if maybe he hadn’t been breaking it just a little bit every day.
He hoped it was not too late to make up for lost time.
***
He waited three weeks, until Sam’s birthday. And in that span of time he sought out Scot for pep talks on no less than four separate occasions, marveling to himself at how dramatically his life had changed that he now felt he needed the support of an eleven year old who thought no outfit was complete without a heavy dosing of glitter and/or sequins.
And he’d had to tell Joan, of course, if only to get her excited I’m-so-happy-for-you chorus out of the way beforehand. He’d get enough of that from the rest of the party guests, he was sure.
It wasn’t a large party, but then, they didn’t have a very large circle of friends. And now Eric had to wonder if somewhere along the line that wasn’t his fault, too. But the people that were there were people that loved them both, and the intimacy of their circle of friends was perhaps part of what made his next move just a little less terrifying than he had always thought it would be.
Eric glanced across the dining room table at Scot, who gave him an all-too-conspicuous thumbs up, but luckily the kid was odd enough that no one would give that a second thought. He’d been advised by Scot throughout the week during their preparatory sessions to “keep it simple.” Apparently, as Scot had so gently pointed out, he had a tendency to ramble. Especially when he tried to wax sentimental, as evidenced by his spectacularly failed teamwork speech before Scot’s first and only hockey game. It was good advice, since the less words he had to say, the better the chances were he'd be able to get them out in the correct order.
Mildred put out the mugs of coffee and tea in front of the guests as Joan cleared away the remnants of their dinner from the table. They sat back, talking and digesting while Sam opened his presents-a knit cap from Scot, a new briefcase from Joan, a bookstore gift card from Mildred and George Jr., and a watch from Nula. No present from Eric, of course, but that hadn’t surprised Sam because Eric never gave him presents in front of other people.
Scot ran off to help Joan with the dishes and emerged a few minutes later with the stack of dessert plates, the signal that it was nearly time for cake. Eric found himself tapping three fingers to the beat of the William Tell Overture finale while the other hand frantically stirred his coffee with a similar rhythm. If Sam noticed his fidgeting, he wasn't concerned enough to mention it.
Scot put his plate down in front of him with an extra-wide crooked grin and Eric was finally able to gain control of his wayward appendages. Strangely, he had come to love that gapped-tooth smile of Scot’s and he knew he was going to miss it when it was gone. They’d made an appointment with the orthodontist for later that week, so it was definitely on its way out-although he supposed he’d get to see Scot’s smile with a mouth full of braces for a little while, which was bound to be pretty endearing. Especially since, knowing Scot, he’d pick the brightest colored rubber bands he could find.
“Ready for the cake?” Joan called out.
Even if Eric wasn’t ready, there was no turning back now.
Joan exited the kitchen with the cake in her arms, the lit candles appearing too numerous to count, and the rest of the room broke out into “Happy Birthday.” Eric pushed back his chair as quietly as he could, slipping to the ground so that he was already resting on one knee by the time the song was finished.
While in the process of blowing out the candles Sam turned his head slightly and caught sight of him. “What . . . what are you doing?” he whispered, as if whispering in the now-silent room would somehow prevent people from hearing him.
“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Eric said, thankful that would be the longest sentence he had to utter.
Sam held his eyes very wide.
One more glance at Scot’s encouraging face, coupled by yet another thumbs up, and Eric was ready.
Keep it simple.
“I love you, Sam. I’m lucky to have you. I’m proud to be with you. Marry me.”
There was no sound at all for a few seconds, save a sniffle or two from Mildred.
Sam blinked once and a few tears traveled down his face. “You’re making me cry in public,” he choked out.
“Yeah, well, if I have to do this in public, then you can do that.” Eric grinned, gesturing to his one-kneed stance. Belatedly, he remembered the ring in his pocket and fished it out, extending it towards Sam with an open palm. He’d gone back and forth on the whole ring issue, but in the end he’d decided that after having spent so much of their relationship making Sam feel invisible, he wanted him to know right now that he was ready for them to wear a symbol of their love for all the world to see.
“So?” Scot said impatiently.
Sam recovered, but a few more tears were close on the heels of the first. “Yes. Yeah, of course.”
Eric slipped the ring on Sam’s right hand so they’d have somewhere to move it to later, and Sam bent over to wrap him in a hug. As he pulled back a wildly excited expression crossed his face, and he laid a firm kiss on Eric’s lips as well.
The applause started then, led on by Scot’s “Yes!” and they were soon swarmed by the well-wishers wanting to give their congratulations. Eric’s hand trailed down along Sam’s and took hold of it, letting go only briefly as they were passed from one person to another for hugs. In the whirlwind of embracing arms Eric was pleased to notice George’s hand ever-so-suavely making its way into Nula’s and Nula’s responding smile that bespoke of things to come. It was a spark of growing romance, a spark he had only come to know because he had been lucky enough to have Sam walk into his life.
Mildred had just started the cutting the cake, having finally finished her own teary-eyed praise of their impending union, when Eric felt a tug on his hand. It was still wrapped in Sam’s, and Sam was making a move to stand. He let himself be led to the kitchen where Sam proceeded to press him up against a counter and attack him with his lips. After all, they may have been able to kiss in public now, but there were still some kinds of kisses that were best done in private.
“Thank you,” Sam whispered, his voice husky with emotion. “You know I never needed this to tell me that you loved me . . . but it is really, really nice.”
Eric could barely get a grin in before Sam was at his lips again. “So, did you want to get the license and just go down to the City Hall?” Sam mumbled against him. “I could go check my schedule right now to see when would be a good date next month . . .” he stopped and chewed on his lip, as if trying to bite back his eagerness.
“Yeah,” Eric said, but when Sam started to pull away he stopped him. “But that’s not what we’re going to do.”
Sam cocked his head with a puzzled expression while Eric took a deep breath. He may have kept it simple before, but there was a lot more he needed to say. Hopefully being out of the public eye would make it easier.
“Look, Sam, throughout our whole relationship I’ve always come first . . . it’s always been about me. I let you in emotionally when I was ready. We started telling people we were together when I was ready. I came out at work when I was ready . . . we took in Scot when I was ready . . . I think maybe it’s time that you came first for a change.”
He put his hand into Sam’s, threading his fingers so that they were fully interlaced. “And Sam, I know you . . . you may not have asked for it, but I know you want the whole thing. You want the ceremony with our family and friends there to celebrate with us . . . so that’s what we’re going to do. Just promise me little to no dancing, and let’s not let Scot have too much of a hand in the whole planning process because lord knows how much sparkling stuff he’d want to put in it.”
Sam’s bottom lip trembled and Eric raised a hand to his face to stop the tear that escaped before it could make it very far. “You have to stop doing this to me,” Sam said.
“I’m not going to promise that,” Eric laughed. “But I will try to make sure that when you cry it’s only because you’re really happy."
Sam laughed as well and ignored the tears that trailed out after the crinkling of his eyes, moving in to kiss Eric again. They stayed locked like that for a few minutes until Eric felt a tug on his arm.
“You can stand around kissing later,” Scot said. “Sam is missing his party!”
With a parting laugh they reluctantly separated, but not before Sam could shoot him a look that told him he was going to get very, very lucky that night.
They reentered the bustle of the dining room, but Sam stayed close, an arm around him or a hand in his at nearly all times. After all their years of keeping each other at a distance in front of other people, it was as if a floodgates had been opened, and Eric didn’t think he would ever want to be too far away from Sam again.
“And I seem to recall you saying once that you’d never marry Sam,” he heard Joan say from over his shoulder. Eric turned around to face her and was surprised to see a few tears in her eyes, as she was much more like him in terms of showing emotion than she cared to admit.
“Yeah, well, things change,” Eric replied with a shrug.
“No, Eric, you’ve changed.”
He had to admit that was a fair assessment. Looking back, the things he'd once thought defined the core of his being had turned out to be little more than labels for moments in time. He'd been a professional hockey player, a star, an up-and-coming national hero. But he'd also been lonely, angry, and confused. Then he’d been lost, then found, then loved. Now he was happy, fulfilled, and somewhat ordinary. He was, heaven help him, a parent . . . and perhaps a soon to be husband?
He wrinkled his nose slightly at the word. Maybe they could just stick with partner-it had taken him long enough to adjust to that term. Or maybe he should wait to ask Sam what he thought before he made another decision for the both of them.
Joan leaned in close, whispering, “I’m so proud of you,” in his ear so that no one else could hear.
And he was pretty proud of himself, too.
Of all the labels that had come and gone, proud was probably the one he’d longed for the most, because he never thought he’d be able put proud and gay in the same sentence. But now there it was-he was proud to be marrying a man, which meant that he was gay-all of the time-and therefore it stood to reason that he was a proud, gay man.
He caught Sam’s eyes and mouthed “I love you” over Mildred’s head as she chatted away with him, and the look of adoration he received in response made it clear that no mater what labels lay in his future, as long as he could hold onto this one-and hold onto Sam-he would be a man with no regrets.
******
Sam never bunched his shirts up into balls when he stuffed them into the hamper. Actually, he didn’t stuff them at all; he folded them over an arm and gently laid them in the hamper, as if wrinkling them there would somehow affect how they would come back from the dry cleaners later that week.
Sam was very ritualistic in his nighttime habits. After all the years they’d spent together, Eric could pretty much predict every move he made before bedtime-putting away his clothes, throwing on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, washing his face with two splashing handfuls of cold water, brushing his teeth, and wiping away the tell-tale drops of liquid he’d left behind on the counter before grabbing his laptop and heading for the bed.
He knew a lot about Sam’s habits and a lot about Sam, Eric realized as he sat waiting, but he’d elected to ignore the parts he'd felt were asking for more than he could give. And as Sam had never really complained, he’d assumed the life they’d chosen to live was satisfactory to the both of them. But there was a growing uncertainty that had taken root in his heart now, as lately all of his assumptions were being thrown into question. Ordinarily, he would have liked to push that uncertainty aside and barrel onwards, as was his customary way of dealing with most issues that seemed to crop up . . . but it was that very technique that had gotten him to where he was, and he didn’t know how much longer he could stand to feel so much guilt without seeking some sort of release.
He stood up and cornered Sam as he headed for the bed with his laptop under his arm. “Hey, I’m sorry about tonight."
“Sorry? For what?” Sam attempted to skirt around him, giving Eric a puzzled look when he moved to cut him off.
“For when you touched me and I . . . flinched. And for being out-of-it in general. I know I should have been paying more attention to what you were talking about.”
Sam laughed. “Don’t be silly, Eric. That stopped bothering me a long time ago.”
“Oh . . . well, I just wanted you to know that it was a reflex action. I’m trying to work on that, you know. I mean, I think that you touching me like that should ordinarily be okay . . . in most surroundings.”
Sam gave him an amused smirk. “Well, you just let me know when you’ve updated your rulebook." He kissed Eric quickly on the lips and used the momentary distraction to get around him, propping open his laptop on his nightstand.
“That’s just it, Sam. I’m telling you I don’t want to have a rulebook,” Eric countered, aware his voice had grown forceful.
“Alright, alright." Sam patted Eric on his arm soothingly. “But you don’t have to stress yourself out over it so much. You know it doesn’t matter to me.”
Eric paused before responding. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Sam didn’t mind the sacrifices he’d made, or maybe they hadn’t really been sacrifices after all. But in the depths of his heart he didn’t believe that. Or didn’t want to believe that. He realized now that he wanted it to matter-he wanted Sam to care.
“You don’t care anymore? Then why did you cry the other day?”
Sam turned his attention to his laptop, bending over it to open his email. “What other day?”
“After Scot’s party. When I told you I’d come out at work.”
Sam shrugged. “Too much eggnog?” he offered with a nervous laugh.
“Nice try.” Eric folded his arms.
“Well, I guess I was just surprised, then."
“People don’t usually start crying when they’re surprised.”
“Well, if you know so much, then why don’t you tell me.” Sam was clearly tiring of the conversation and he set his laptop down on the bed, ducking away from Eric’s scrutinizing eyes.
“Because I want you to tell me,” Eric said softly.
Sam turned back around with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what it is that you want me to say, Eric. Look, I’m an adult and I take full responsibility for my decisions. I knew what I was getting into with you . . . and I’m certainly not sorry that I did.” He stopped speaking for a moment, but Eric could sense the giant “but” that hung in the air. “But I guess it was just relief.”
“Relief? From what?”
“From what? Come on, Eric.” Sam scoffed. “Are you trying to pick a fight? I did what I had to in order to make things work, and I’m used to it now, so I don’t really care all that much anymore . . . but that doesn’t mean that I’ve liked being afraid to touch you in public . . . it doesn’t meant I’ve liked having to make up stories just to come visit you at work . . . it doesn’t mean I’ve liked lying to your coworkers, or being introduced as your friend among a pack of other friends . . .” Sam’s voice was steadily rising and growing more agitated, and though Eric wasn’t sure what he'd wanted to get out of this interrogation, he could feel now he’d pushed Sam to a breaking point. “It doesn’t mean that I’ve liked hiding who we are to each other, Eric . . . I mean, you can’t stand here and tell me you think I’ve liked having to pretend I don’t love you!”
His voice broke on those last few words and he clamped a hand over his mouth as if that would prevent any further emotion from spilling out. The attempt was unsuccessful.
Sam's face crumpled and strangely silent tears began to spill out faster than he could stop them with a frantically swiping hand. He was emotional enough that he was much more frequent to a watery eye than Eric was, and he’d been known to let a tear or two slip out on rare occasions, but Eric couldn’t remember a single time in their five years together seeing Sam cry like this.
He wrapped his arms around Sam, drawing him close and forcing him to rest his head on his shoulder even as Sam tried to turn away. “Shit, Sam. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He had a feeling he might be crying as well, but he didn’t want to check to find out. “It’s not going to be like that anymore, I promise. I’m so sorry. Please . . .” The words don’t cry died on his lips. If Sam needed to cry, he was going to let him. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” Sam said through his tears as they gradually abated. Eric gently led him into bed, pausing to pull back the sheets and tuck them around Sam before he joined him. Sam stopped crying fairly quickly but every once in a while he drew in those shortened hiccup-y little breaths that kept Eric from forgetting how emotionally wrought he’d been just a few moments ago.
“Sorry,” Sam mumbled, attempting a weak laugh in his arms. “I don’t really know where that came from. Maybe it was the wine at dinner.”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Eric said, his face only inches away from Sam’s. “You should never have stayed with me, Sam. You should never have put up with this.”
“I’m going to have to disagree with you there,” Sam interrupted, smiling genuinely for the first time since their conversation had started. “I love you, and I’ve never regretted loving you. I knew you’d figure things out eventually.”
“And how long were you willing to stick around for that?” Eric asked, suddenly seized with the understanding that he could have, and perhaps should have, lost Sam.
“For as long as it took. You’re a good man, Eric. I’ve always been happy to be with you. This is just going to make things . . . even better.”
They stared at each other silently for a few minutes, the only sounds in the room coming from their shaky breaths and the occasional sniff from Sam as he fought off the runny nose from crying. Finally Eric reached forward to just barely connect with Sam’s lips in a tentative kiss, not quite sure he still deserved to be able to touch Sam like that. But Sam kissed him back in a way that told him as tired as they both were, they couldn’t not make love that night.
It was a slower exploration than they usually engaged in, as if they were both discovering parts of themselves they’d never known before-and in some ways, they were. They spent a good fifteen minutes just kissing and touching and feeling, both emotionally and physically. When he entered Sam, even after the hundreds of times he’d done so before, Eric knew they’d attained a new realm of intimacy and a new level of trust. He knew it because there was no fear or shame nagging him in the back of his mind; no doubt that what he was doing at that very moment was right. What he and Sam had together was right . . . had always been right . . . had always been something he should have been willing to scream to the world about from the top of a mountain. And when he came he did want to scream it, to cry out loud enough so that even the neighbors could hear him shout I love you, but the orgasm was so intense only a wordless stream of syllables emerged from his lips. Sam tensed against him at the same moment and he turned to muffle his own cry in a pillow, biting down and leaving his mouth there for over a minute as his body slowly uncoiled.
He never really let go of Sam but once he pulled out Eric took him up more securely in his arms so that he could see his face and stare into his eyes. Having regained the ability to form words, he said it then, only once so as not to scare Sam, though he really wanted to say it over a hundred times. “I love you, Sam.”
Sam fell asleep quickly, his mouth hanging open slightly so he could breath as he was still partially congested. There was a peaceful smile on his lips, but his eyelids were slightly pink with the leftover swelling from the tears and the delicate skin there was translucent enough to allow some of the blueness from his veins to show through.
It took Eric much longer to drift off as he held Sam in his arms. Once, a very long time ago, he remembered promising Sam he would never break his heart. Now he wondered if maybe he hadn’t been breaking it just a little bit every day.
He hoped it was not too late to make up for lost time.
***
He waited three weeks, until Sam’s birthday. And in that span of time he sought out Scot for pep talks on no less than four separate occasions, marveling to himself at how dramatically his life had changed that he now felt he needed the support of an eleven year old who thought no outfit was complete without a heavy dosing of glitter and/or sequins.
And he’d had to tell Joan, of course, if only to get her excited I’m-so-happy-for-you chorus out of the way beforehand. He’d get enough of that from the rest of the party guests, he was sure.
It wasn’t a large party, but then, they didn’t have a very large circle of friends. And now Eric had to wonder if somewhere along the line that wasn’t his fault, too. But the people that were there were people that loved them both, and the intimacy of their circle of friends was perhaps part of what made his next move just a little less terrifying than he had always thought it would be.
Eric glanced across the dining room table at Scot, who gave him an all-too-conspicuous thumbs up, but luckily the kid was odd enough that no one would give that a second thought. He’d been advised by Scot throughout the week during their preparatory sessions to “keep it simple.” Apparently, as Scot had so gently pointed out, he had a tendency to ramble. Especially when he tried to wax sentimental, as evidenced by his spectacularly failed teamwork speech before Scot’s first and only hockey game. It was good advice, since the less words he had to say, the better the chances were he'd be able to get them out in the correct order.
Mildred put out the mugs of coffee and tea in front of the guests as Joan cleared away the remnants of their dinner from the table. They sat back, talking and digesting while Sam opened his presents-a knit cap from Scot, a new briefcase from Joan, a bookstore gift card from Mildred and George Jr., and a watch from Nula. No present from Eric, of course, but that hadn’t surprised Sam because Eric never gave him presents in front of other people.
Scot ran off to help Joan with the dishes and emerged a few minutes later with the stack of dessert plates, the signal that it was nearly time for cake. Eric found himself tapping three fingers to the beat of the William Tell Overture finale while the other hand frantically stirred his coffee with a similar rhythm. If Sam noticed his fidgeting, he wasn't concerned enough to mention it.
Scot put his plate down in front of him with an extra-wide crooked grin and Eric was finally able to gain control of his wayward appendages. Strangely, he had come to love that gapped-tooth smile of Scot’s and he knew he was going to miss it when it was gone. They’d made an appointment with the orthodontist for later that week, so it was definitely on its way out-although he supposed he’d get to see Scot’s smile with a mouth full of braces for a little while, which was bound to be pretty endearing. Especially since, knowing Scot, he’d pick the brightest colored rubber bands he could find.
“Ready for the cake?” Joan called out.
Even if Eric wasn’t ready, there was no turning back now.
Joan exited the kitchen with the cake in her arms, the lit candles appearing too numerous to count, and the rest of the room broke out into “Happy Birthday.” Eric pushed back his chair as quietly as he could, slipping to the ground so that he was already resting on one knee by the time the song was finished.
While in the process of blowing out the candles Sam turned his head slightly and caught sight of him. “What . . . what are you doing?” he whispered, as if whispering in the now-silent room would somehow prevent people from hearing him.
“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Eric said, thankful that would be the longest sentence he had to utter.
Sam held his eyes very wide.
One more glance at Scot’s encouraging face, coupled by yet another thumbs up, and Eric was ready.
Keep it simple.
“I love you, Sam. I’m lucky to have you. I’m proud to be with you. Marry me.”
There was no sound at all for a few seconds, save a sniffle or two from Mildred.
Sam blinked once and a few tears traveled down his face. “You’re making me cry in public,” he choked out.
“Yeah, well, if I have to do this in public, then you can do that.” Eric grinned, gesturing to his one-kneed stance. Belatedly, he remembered the ring in his pocket and fished it out, extending it towards Sam with an open palm. He’d gone back and forth on the whole ring issue, but in the end he’d decided that after having spent so much of their relationship making Sam feel invisible, he wanted him to know right now that he was ready for them to wear a symbol of their love for all the world to see.
“So?” Scot said impatiently.
Sam recovered, but a few more tears were close on the heels of the first. “Yes. Yeah, of course.”
Eric slipped the ring on Sam’s right hand so they’d have somewhere to move it to later, and Sam bent over to wrap him in a hug. As he pulled back a wildly excited expression crossed his face, and he laid a firm kiss on Eric’s lips as well.
The applause started then, led on by Scot’s “Yes!” and they were soon swarmed by the well-wishers wanting to give their congratulations. Eric’s hand trailed down along Sam’s and took hold of it, letting go only briefly as they were passed from one person to another for hugs. In the whirlwind of embracing arms Eric was pleased to notice George’s hand ever-so-suavely making its way into Nula’s and Nula’s responding smile that bespoke of things to come. It was a spark of growing romance, a spark he had only come to know because he had been lucky enough to have Sam walk into his life.
Mildred had just started the cutting the cake, having finally finished her own teary-eyed praise of their impending union, when Eric felt a tug on his hand. It was still wrapped in Sam’s, and Sam was making a move to stand. He let himself be led to the kitchen where Sam proceeded to press him up against a counter and attack him with his lips. After all, they may have been able to kiss in public now, but there were still some kinds of kisses that were best done in private.
“Thank you,” Sam whispered, his voice husky with emotion. “You know I never needed this to tell me that you loved me . . . but it is really, really nice.”
Eric could barely get a grin in before Sam was at his lips again. “So, did you want to get the license and just go down to the City Hall?” Sam mumbled against him. “I could go check my schedule right now to see when would be a good date next month . . .” he stopped and chewed on his lip, as if trying to bite back his eagerness.
“Yeah,” Eric said, but when Sam started to pull away he stopped him. “But that’s not what we’re going to do.”
Sam cocked his head with a puzzled expression while Eric took a deep breath. He may have kept it simple before, but there was a lot more he needed to say. Hopefully being out of the public eye would make it easier.
“Look, Sam, throughout our whole relationship I’ve always come first . . . it’s always been about me. I let you in emotionally when I was ready. We started telling people we were together when I was ready. I came out at work when I was ready . . . we took in Scot when I was ready . . . I think maybe it’s time that you came first for a change.”
He put his hand into Sam’s, threading his fingers so that they were fully interlaced. “And Sam, I know you . . . you may not have asked for it, but I know you want the whole thing. You want the ceremony with our family and friends there to celebrate with us . . . so that’s what we’re going to do. Just promise me little to no dancing, and let’s not let Scot have too much of a hand in the whole planning process because lord knows how much sparkling stuff he’d want to put in it.”
Sam’s bottom lip trembled and Eric raised a hand to his face to stop the tear that escaped before it could make it very far. “You have to stop doing this to me,” Sam said.
“I’m not going to promise that,” Eric laughed. “But I will try to make sure that when you cry it’s only because you’re really happy."
Sam laughed as well and ignored the tears that trailed out after the crinkling of his eyes, moving in to kiss Eric again. They stayed locked like that for a few minutes until Eric felt a tug on his arm.
“You can stand around kissing later,” Scot said. “Sam is missing his party!”
With a parting laugh they reluctantly separated, but not before Sam could shoot him a look that told him he was going to get very, very lucky that night.
They reentered the bustle of the dining room, but Sam stayed close, an arm around him or a hand in his at nearly all times. After all their years of keeping each other at a distance in front of other people, it was as if a floodgates had been opened, and Eric didn’t think he would ever want to be too far away from Sam again.
“And I seem to recall you saying once that you’d never marry Sam,” he heard Joan say from over his shoulder. Eric turned around to face her and was surprised to see a few tears in her eyes, as she was much more like him in terms of showing emotion than she cared to admit.
“Yeah, well, things change,” Eric replied with a shrug.
“No, Eric, you’ve changed.”
He had to admit that was a fair assessment. Looking back, the things he'd once thought defined the core of his being had turned out to be little more than labels for moments in time. He'd been a professional hockey player, a star, an up-and-coming national hero. But he'd also been lonely, angry, and confused. Then he’d been lost, then found, then loved. Now he was happy, fulfilled, and somewhat ordinary. He was, heaven help him, a parent . . . and perhaps a soon to be husband?
He wrinkled his nose slightly at the word. Maybe they could just stick with partner-it had taken him long enough to adjust to that term. Or maybe he should wait to ask Sam what he thought before he made another decision for the both of them.
Joan leaned in close, whispering, “I’m so proud of you,” in his ear so that no one else could hear.
And he was pretty proud of himself, too.
Of all the labels that had come and gone, proud was probably the one he’d longed for the most, because he never thought he’d be able put proud and gay in the same sentence. But now there it was-he was proud to be marrying a man, which meant that he was gay-all of the time-and therefore it stood to reason that he was a proud, gay man.
He caught Sam’s eyes and mouthed “I love you” over Mildred’s head as she chatted away with him, and the look of adoration he received in response made it clear that no mater what labels lay in his future, as long as he could hold onto this one-and hold onto Sam-he would be a man with no regrets.
******