Two Roads Diverged, Chapter 2
Title: Two Roads Diverged (2/12)
Pairing: Cory/Shawn
Rating: This is more relationshippy than sexy, but there's some description of blow-jobs and hand-jobs, so rate that how you will.
Length: ~50,000 words over 12 chapters
Summary: Years after a falling out, Cory and Shawn reconnect in New York City and help each other through some big changes. This takes place about eight years after the end of the series, so roughly 2008-2009.
Note: My earlier BMW stand-alone fics " Idiot Savant" and " Average Boy" can be read as the backstories to this story, but you do not have to have read those to follow this one.
~~~~~~
Topanga arranges to take a week off as soon as she finishes work on the Perry case. She excitedly begins calling friends from New York and setting up tentative plans to be firmed up once she knows the exact dates of her visit. Cory is glad to see her so happy, but he feels a little bit disappointed that their romantic getaway is rapidly turning into a series of catch-up dinners and drinks with Topanga's old friends from law school. Part of him can't help but suspect that she is, consciously or not, doing it on purpose to avoid having to spend that much time away and alone with him. Maybe she's feeling that lack of connection as much as he is. Maybe she's scared about it too. Maybe she's also started to suspect this may be the beginning of the end.
He's also a little bothered that it's been more than a week now and he hasn't received any reply from Shawn. There's many logical reasons he can think of for this, but he just keeps coming back to the idea that the silence is intentional. He feels stupid for having made the attempt.
He's read all the Cheaty O'Zero books now. A couple times over. He reminds himself it's fiction and they're kids books, but still he scrutinizes them for any sense of who Shawn is now, how he feels about that friendship he's now using as fodder for his stories. Cory re-reads every scene with Kevin (Cory's fictional counterpart) to try and figure out how Shawn feels about him these days, after everything, after all these years of radio silence. But the prose is maddeningly light and lacking in any obvious psychological subtext.
Since discovering the books, though, Cory's found memories of Shawn sneaking into the corners of his daily life, popping into his head when he least expects them. While filling the coffee maker with water, he suddenly remembers sledding with Shawn after a big snowfall when they were kids. Shawn's coat was too short on his arms, exposing a stretch of pale wrist between his cuffs and his mittens. They were laughing so hard that day they both came home hoarse and Shawn caught a cold. He got to stay home from school for a week and Cory brought him his homework each afternoon. They curled up together in Chet's big armchair, watching TV like it was perfectly natural. Then Cory caught the cold and they did the whole thing in reverse, Shawn bringing Cory's homework to the Matthews' house, playing Nintendo with him under a pile of blankets and kleenex boxes on the couch. He remembers the feeling of Shawn's hip, warm and bony beside him, so comforting when he felt like crap and everyone else was staying a mile away from him.
Brushing his teeth, the image of Shawn telling him what sex was like, the day after their prom night, pops into his head. Shawn kept his head bowed slightly while talking, as if he could hide a bit under his brow. There was a pink flush that ran the length of his cheek bones all the way to the top of his ears. "It's incredible," he said, his voice low and earnest, "I've never felt so close to someone."
Taking out the trash, he suddenly sees Shawn at 19, laughing with that beautiful smile. Typing out a cover letter to a potential employer, the vision of Shawn's chest jerking spasmodically the first time Cory gave him a handjob interrupts as he writes I believe that my experience and expertise make me the ideal candidate...Drifting off to what he now thinks of as his "mid-afternoon depression nap," he is wide awake again in seconds, having been met with memory of what Shawn looked like when they fought that last time, the last day that Cory ever saw him. So much anger and hurt and disappointment. All the times he'd seen Shawn react to the awful things people did to him, Cory had never seen him look like that.
He'd worked very hard for several years after that terrible day to actively stop thinking about Shawn, stop wondering where he's gone and who he's with, stop running through all the possibilities of what might have been, stop feeling guilty for the lies Cory told everyday that Shawn recognized better than anyone. But now all of that is back and Cory is surprised to find that he doesn't mind. He's missed Shawn a lot, even as a ghost.
Topanga is prattling on about her old friend Jim, the corporate lawyer, the gay one (Cory remembers nothing else about him) and all the things that he's been up to since she last saw him. Cory is only half paying attention, focused more on making sure he doesn't burn the risotto and remembering how Shawn referred to fried spam sandwiches as "an old Hunter family recipe." He often made them when he was upset about something-trailer park comfort food-and they were vile. Cory can still smell them and his stomach turns at the memory.
"So they're flying him out to Hong Kong next week and putting him up there for the duration of the merger, which'll probably be a month or two at least."
"That's great," Cory says and snaps off the gas, moving the pot to a cool burner.
Topanga hesitates, realizing that he hasn't really been listening, then continues on, a little less excited. "Anyway, the point is, his apartment is going to be empty and he doesn't want to deal with the hassle of getting a subletter for such a short amount of time."
"Yeah, that must be a pain," Cory is plating things up. He pauses, looking for the oven mitt he just had and Topanga hands it to him without needing to ask.
"He said we're welcome to stay there while we're in New York. He'll leave a key with the doorman."
"Oh," Cory says, finally looking at her, "That's great! We won't have to pay for a hotel."
"Mmm," Topanga sips her Chardonnay as he lays their plates down and sits beside her at the marble-topped island, "It's really sweet of him. And, you know, I was thinking...maybe you could fly out before me, have a little vacation for yourself too."
"What?"
"You know, just a little time to do whatever you want to do. Without me around. I think you could use a vacation more than anybody right now."
"I haven't done anything for the past three months."
"I think that's what you need a vacation from."
That's just what I need, Cory thinks, more time alone. But Topanga looks so proud of this suggestion, so sure that this is exactly what he needs. And how often has she ever been wrong? He starts to think that a little time away from his life might not be such a bad thing. He could see some movies, check out the museums, spend a little time pretending to be someone else for a while. It's not entirely unappealing.
"That's maybe not a bad idea."
"Good." She is pleased. "I'll have Gina book everything for you tomorrow."
"But you'll be coming out a week later?"
"Of course. As soon as I get this Perry stuff wrapped up, I am there."
He bumps his shoulder into her companionably and she giggles but doesn't bump him back.
New York is colder than he remembers it being. Cory buys a thicker hat and a better pair of gloves before he even leaves JFK, trying not to flinch too much at the inflated airport prices. But the cab ride to Manhattan makes him feel better. He always enjoys a good cab ride from an airport; it makes it feel like an adventure is about to begin. They have little TVs in the back of the passenger's seat now that play endless loops of commercials and New York city tourism ads, something that didn't exist the last time he was here. That's a little annoying. But he looks out as they cross the bridge and the buildings grow taller around him and it feels good.
Then there's a little beep from his phone, an email notification. He takes it out, desperately hoping that some hiring manager has finally decided that his resume is incredibly impressive and is getting in touch to set up an interview. The email address is one he doesn't recognize-this is good. But there's no subject line, which seems vaguely unprofessional in the half-second that he considers it. Then he gets to the body of the email and realizes it has nothing to do with a job application. It's an email from Shawn.
Cory! Sorry it took me so long to get back to you...
Shawn explains that his fan mail goes to his publicist's office and he seldom sees it himself but then an intern came across Cory's message and sent it his way, thinking he might want to hear from someone who seemed to actually know him. But he's glad because he'd love to see Cory when he's in New York, just tell him the dates.
Hardly able to breathe, Cory rereads the message twice, then types a reply message:
I'm actually in a cab from JFK right now. In town for the next two weeks. When are you free?
A minute later, the message notification beeps again.
Tonight? If you've got other stuff going on, though, it's no big deal. We can figure out something else.
Cory pauses, realizing he hasn't taken a real breath since this exchange started. Then he responds, honestly:
I have nothing going on whatsoever. My plans involved buying a six-pack, putting on pajamas, and ordering pizza.
After an interminable minute, the notification beeps.
Pizza and beer here. B. Y. O. Pajamas
Shawn sends him the address and his cell phone number and Cory writes back that he'll be there around eight. Then the exchange comes to an end and Cory realizes he has about two hours to feel this nervous.
Jim's apartment is exactly what a set designer would create for a Manhattan corporate lawyer. It's super sleek, modern, and tasteful, six times the size of any New York apartment Cory's ever been in. He feels very nervous walking around the place and keeps all his things confined to a small pile near the foot of the bed. He texts Topanga to tell her he got in all right and knows she won't see it until a couple hours from now. He thinks about telling her that he's having dinner with Shawn but decides to hold off on that information for now. Somehow it doesn't quite seem real yet.
He still has an hour before he has to leave so he unpacks his toiletry bag and steps into Jim's enormous two-person shower. There are six different shower heads, which weirds him out a little, and he isn't sure if he's supposed to pick one to stand under or rotate from one to the next. When he gets out he starts to get dressed and while he's staring down his reflection he wonders just how much older he looks now than the last time Shawn saw him. He definitely has less hair and more gut. He wears glasses now all the time. He also dresses like a man ten years older, though he sort of always did, even as a teenager. And the frown lines in his head have settled in and made themselves at home.
The idea occurs to him that he can call Shawn and make an excuse to cancel. Because this is probably a terrible idea. They probably have nothing to say to each other and surely have nothing in common anymore. Shawn won't care about Cory's stupid problems. Shawn is rich and famous. This is still a ridiculous thought and Cory can't quite get used to it. He wonders if he shouldn't just push the dinner off a little longer, maybe even to a separate trip. Wouldn't it be better if Cory waited until he had a job again? And lost the weight he's put on since being unemployed? And gotten a decent haircut and some new glasses and more youthful clothes? Cory doesn't want to let his incredibly successful former best friend (and lover) see him looking so sad and middle aged. Topanga had told him he should get a haircut before their trip. Why didn't he get a haircut? Dammit, he's an idiot.
But still he dresses, heads downstairs, and has the doorman hail him a cab. It's too late now.
Cory is nervous as he stands in the lobby of Shawn's building. His heart is beating rapidly and his stomach feels queasy but in an excited, almost euphoric way. It's a physical sensation he hasn't felt for years. Since the last time he saw Shawn, actually. Cory feels guilty as he realizes this, then he consciously decides not to give a fuck. He is so tired of feeling bad about everything.
The building is shabbier and less hip than Cory has been expecting considering the kind of money Shawn must be pulling in. He waits uneasily while the doorman calls up to "Mr. Hunter" and he tries to shake the feeling that he's stumbled into some kind of Twilight Zone alternate reality. Then the doorman gives him a nod toward the elevator and Cory makes his way up to the 9th floor and to Shawn's apartment. He stands there for a long time before he knocks-two short raps. Then Shawn is there, six inches in front of him.
If it weren't for Shawn's eyes, Cory wouldn't recognize him. Shawn's hair is cut shorter than Cory has ever seen it-it actually looks like it was buzzed completely a month or two prior and is now in the early stages of growing back. With this he wears a full, unkempt beard that completely obscures his mouth and the shape of his face. He looks like a stranger, like a man who grew up someplace woodsy and believes in auras and chops his own firewood. But then he smiles and is instantly Shawn.
"Hey, Cor."
"Hi."
Shawn steps to the side and gestures extravagantly into the apartment. "Do come in."
The place is nice but small, more like the New York apartments Cory is familiar with than Jim's place, though still a far cry from the grubby student apartments everybody had during the time he lived here. It's sparsely furnished, though, with no pictures on the walls or discernable personal touches. Then Cory spies a cheaply framed photo of a Greyhound bus leaned up against a wall. It used to hang in the Hunters' trailer and Shawn has carted it around with him everywhere he has lived. Cory finds this reassuring. The same Shawn he knew is still in there somewhere.
Cory takes a seat on the sofa while Shawn gets a couple of beers and a bottle opener. Shawn's wearing a bathrobe over pajama pants and a sweater-he obviously hasn't felt the need to dress for the occasion-and at first Cory thinks that Shawn's put on weight. He looks very bulky and this is surprising since Shawn's always been so skinny. But then when he comes over to the sofa and takes a seat across from him, Cory realizes that Shawn's wearing at least four different shirts and sweaters on top of each other, all of them a few sizes too large. It's his old trick for appearing bigger and more substantial than he actually is. Cory wonders briefly why Shawn would have reason to go back to doing this, but he forgets the concern immediately because Shawn is handing him one of the beers and he's right there in front of him. God, he's missed him.
They sit there awkwardly, each sipping their beer. Cory racks his brain for something to say and comes up only with, "You're keeping your place clean these days, huh?"
"I have a housekeeper. This place would be disgusting if I didn't. You should have seen the rat's nest I was living in before I got my first advance. I think it would send you into a panic attack."
"Ah. Yeah, we had a housekeeper for a while. It's nice. We had to let her go, though. Save some bucks."
"Yeah. So, is Feeny...um..."
"No, no. He's fine. He's great. Just went to Hawaii. Actually, he wanted me to see if you'd consider going back to our grade school to give a talk. About the books."
"Aw, I dunno. I keep a pretty low profile. It's kinda part of the whole mystery thing."
"Okay, well, I said I'd ask, that's all. Oh, and Josh wanted me to see if you'd sign his book. But I just realized I left it in my suitcase."
"Sure thing," Shawn smiles shyly. He looks about as uncomfortable as Cory feels.
"Congrats, by the way," Cory offers, "All the books and everything. That's great."
"Thank you. And congrats to you guys, too. I heard Topanga's gonna be made a partner."
"How did you hear that?"
"Oh, I still talk to Angela sometimes. Once in a while."
"Oh. Pretty crazy she's got three kids now, eh?"
"Yeah." Shawn's eyes go wide at the thought, "Very crazy." He swigs his beer and looks so uneasy that Cory feels like he has to say something, anything to change the unbearable awkwardness of this conversation.
"We can't get pregnant," he blurts out. That is not what he had in mind.
"No we can't," Shawn smiles and looks at him like he's insane, "That's the problem with men."
"What? No, I mean Topanga and I. We've been trying for years and...nothing."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Cor. Really. That's awful and shitty. I'm so sorry."
"And I got laid off. Three times in the last four years."
"Fuck."
"And I think our marriage has totally gone to crap and I don't know if there's any way to save it or if I even should and I have no idea who the hell I any more or who I ever thought I was in the first place and...Shawn, I really need you to be my friend right now."
Shawn whips out his cell phone and begins pulling up a number.
"What are you doing?" Cory asks, horrified.
"Ordering pizza," Shawn holds the phone against his shoulder, "You're gonna eat some fucking greasy pizza and drink a lot of beer and tell me all about it."
"Oh. All right." Cory feels oddly comforted. It's nice to have all that off his chest and to have Shawn in charge again.
"Yeah, I'll hold," Shawn says into the phone, then he says to Cory, "And you're damn well not going home tonight. Now drink up."
"Okay, then." Cory scoots himself deeper into the sofa and does as he is told.
Cory gets very drunk, eats far too much pizza, and unloads everything to Shawn in an hours long monologue, interrupted periodically for bathroom breaks, refills, and then a switch from beer to whiskey. Throughout it all, Shawn is a sympathetic presence, nodding along without giving his opinion, moving closer and closer to him until at some point Cory is recounting all his woes while leaning up against Shawn's chest. It's a warm and familiar place. Shawn still smells the same. His heart still sounds the same.
Cory tells him everything. About how the quest for a baby has taken over their whole lives. About how he isn't sure if he even wants it anymore. How he's felt for a long time that their marriage is all about Topanga's life and Topanga's goals and he's just a supporting player. How he feels like one of those politician's wives trotted out to wave at the victory celebration and seldom seen again. How he's felt directionless for years, like he's sleepwalking. How he doesn't remember the last time he felt passionate about anything. How he felt for years like he was playing a role but that was okay because at least the rules were clear-now he doesn't even remember what that role was supposed to be. Or why he wanted to play it.
"I think I'm depressed," he says at last.
Shawn laughs, startling him. "No shit. Have you thought about, you know, seeing someone?"
"Like a call girl?"
Shawn gives him an incredulous look. "Jesus, you need to get laid," he whispers, then says more clearly, "No. Like a therapist. A psychiatrist."
"Oh, that. Yeah, I saw somebody for a while. Topanga told me I should. But I had to get off the meds because I couldn't come and that interferes with the whole baby-making process. I wasn't crazy about them anyway."
"Yeah, I don't blame you. I don't think I could stand that either. Are you all right, though, Cor?"
Cory looks at him blearily, not understanding what he means. His head feels cloudy. He hasn't been this drunk in a long time.
Shawn sighs and when he speaks his voice is very low. "I mean, do I have to worry about you walking off a bridge or something?"
"No," Cory frowns, "No, Shawnie. No. You really think I would ever do that?"
"Well, I always kinda worried if it got bad enough you might. You don't handle things not working out the way you want them to all that well. And you can be pretty irrational."
"I can be irrational? Don't project yourself onto me."
Shawn looks hurt by that statement and Cory feels immediately awful, but he's not going to take it back. Shawn is the one who left him. Shawn's the one who always ran away.
Cory tries to stand up to go and pee, but he can't find his feet and Shawn has to jump up to steady him. He walks him to the bathroom and reluctantly gives him his privacy. After he pees, Cory opens up the medicine cabinet to take some preemptive aspirin. He knows his head is going to be killing him in the morning. He finds some Duane Reed brand aspirin and takes two. As he returns the bottle to the shelf, he can't help but turn a prescription bottle around so he can read the label. It's a drug called Zolpidem. The prescription was filled yesterday and Shawn has three refills left.
"You fall in?" Shawn calls from the hallway and Cory quickly closes the cabinet and leaves the bathroom. Shawn meets him at the door and helps walk him to the bedroom. There he helps him undress down to his boxers and undershirt and gets him into bed. Then Shawn leaves the room and Cory can hear him get a glass of water from the dispenser in the refrigerator door. When he returns to the bedroom he has two glasses of water in his hands and his prescription bottle under his elbow. He hands Cory one of the glasses and instructs him to drink it.
"I don't want to."
"You're gonna regret it in the morning if you don't."
Cory reluctantly drinks the water while Shawn takes one of the pills with his own glass of water. Then Cory hears himself asking, "What's Zolpidem?"
"Sleeping pill. If you can't wake me up in the morning, I'm not dead. I'm just drugged."
"Okay." The room has started spinning and Cory closes his eyes. He is dismayed to find that the darkness behind his eyelids is spinning too.
When he opens his eyes again, Shawn is no longer sitting on the bed. He is across the room, peeling off his layers of clothing. It is a comical amount of clothing, like clowns tumbling out of a tiny car, one shirt after another. Cory closes his eyes again and rolls over onto his side, hoping that might help his head. The mattress dips as Shawn crawls in beside him and immediately Cory rolls back over and starts to kiss him.
Shawn pushes him off gently. "That isn't why you wanted to come here. Go to sleep."
"I love you anyway," Cory mutters.
"Love you too. I always have."
Contented for the time being, Cory gives in and falls asleep.
Two Roads Diverged
Previously:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Next:
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Pairing: Cory/Shawn
Rating: This is more relationshippy than sexy, but there's some description of blow-jobs and hand-jobs, so rate that how you will.
Length: ~50,000 words over 12 chapters
Summary: Years after a falling out, Cory and Shawn reconnect in New York City and help each other through some big changes. This takes place about eight years after the end of the series, so roughly 2008-2009.
Note: My earlier BMW stand-alone fics " Idiot Savant" and " Average Boy" can be read as the backstories to this story, but you do not have to have read those to follow this one.
~~~~~~
Topanga arranges to take a week off as soon as she finishes work on the Perry case. She excitedly begins calling friends from New York and setting up tentative plans to be firmed up once she knows the exact dates of her visit. Cory is glad to see her so happy, but he feels a little bit disappointed that their romantic getaway is rapidly turning into a series of catch-up dinners and drinks with Topanga's old friends from law school. Part of him can't help but suspect that she is, consciously or not, doing it on purpose to avoid having to spend that much time away and alone with him. Maybe she's feeling that lack of connection as much as he is. Maybe she's scared about it too. Maybe she's also started to suspect this may be the beginning of the end.
He's also a little bothered that it's been more than a week now and he hasn't received any reply from Shawn. There's many logical reasons he can think of for this, but he just keeps coming back to the idea that the silence is intentional. He feels stupid for having made the attempt.
He's read all the Cheaty O'Zero books now. A couple times over. He reminds himself it's fiction and they're kids books, but still he scrutinizes them for any sense of who Shawn is now, how he feels about that friendship he's now using as fodder for his stories. Cory re-reads every scene with Kevin (Cory's fictional counterpart) to try and figure out how Shawn feels about him these days, after everything, after all these years of radio silence. But the prose is maddeningly light and lacking in any obvious psychological subtext.
Since discovering the books, though, Cory's found memories of Shawn sneaking into the corners of his daily life, popping into his head when he least expects them. While filling the coffee maker with water, he suddenly remembers sledding with Shawn after a big snowfall when they were kids. Shawn's coat was too short on his arms, exposing a stretch of pale wrist between his cuffs and his mittens. They were laughing so hard that day they both came home hoarse and Shawn caught a cold. He got to stay home from school for a week and Cory brought him his homework each afternoon. They curled up together in Chet's big armchair, watching TV like it was perfectly natural. Then Cory caught the cold and they did the whole thing in reverse, Shawn bringing Cory's homework to the Matthews' house, playing Nintendo with him under a pile of blankets and kleenex boxes on the couch. He remembers the feeling of Shawn's hip, warm and bony beside him, so comforting when he felt like crap and everyone else was staying a mile away from him.
Brushing his teeth, the image of Shawn telling him what sex was like, the day after their prom night, pops into his head. Shawn kept his head bowed slightly while talking, as if he could hide a bit under his brow. There was a pink flush that ran the length of his cheek bones all the way to the top of his ears. "It's incredible," he said, his voice low and earnest, "I've never felt so close to someone."
Taking out the trash, he suddenly sees Shawn at 19, laughing with that beautiful smile. Typing out a cover letter to a potential employer, the vision of Shawn's chest jerking spasmodically the first time Cory gave him a handjob interrupts as he writes I believe that my experience and expertise make me the ideal candidate...Drifting off to what he now thinks of as his "mid-afternoon depression nap," he is wide awake again in seconds, having been met with memory of what Shawn looked like when they fought that last time, the last day that Cory ever saw him. So much anger and hurt and disappointment. All the times he'd seen Shawn react to the awful things people did to him, Cory had never seen him look like that.
He'd worked very hard for several years after that terrible day to actively stop thinking about Shawn, stop wondering where he's gone and who he's with, stop running through all the possibilities of what might have been, stop feeling guilty for the lies Cory told everyday that Shawn recognized better than anyone. But now all of that is back and Cory is surprised to find that he doesn't mind. He's missed Shawn a lot, even as a ghost.
Topanga is prattling on about her old friend Jim, the corporate lawyer, the gay one (Cory remembers nothing else about him) and all the things that he's been up to since she last saw him. Cory is only half paying attention, focused more on making sure he doesn't burn the risotto and remembering how Shawn referred to fried spam sandwiches as "an old Hunter family recipe." He often made them when he was upset about something-trailer park comfort food-and they were vile. Cory can still smell them and his stomach turns at the memory.
"So they're flying him out to Hong Kong next week and putting him up there for the duration of the merger, which'll probably be a month or two at least."
"That's great," Cory says and snaps off the gas, moving the pot to a cool burner.
Topanga hesitates, realizing that he hasn't really been listening, then continues on, a little less excited. "Anyway, the point is, his apartment is going to be empty and he doesn't want to deal with the hassle of getting a subletter for such a short amount of time."
"Yeah, that must be a pain," Cory is plating things up. He pauses, looking for the oven mitt he just had and Topanga hands it to him without needing to ask.
"He said we're welcome to stay there while we're in New York. He'll leave a key with the doorman."
"Oh," Cory says, finally looking at her, "That's great! We won't have to pay for a hotel."
"Mmm," Topanga sips her Chardonnay as he lays their plates down and sits beside her at the marble-topped island, "It's really sweet of him. And, you know, I was thinking...maybe you could fly out before me, have a little vacation for yourself too."
"What?"
"You know, just a little time to do whatever you want to do. Without me around. I think you could use a vacation more than anybody right now."
"I haven't done anything for the past three months."
"I think that's what you need a vacation from."
That's just what I need, Cory thinks, more time alone. But Topanga looks so proud of this suggestion, so sure that this is exactly what he needs. And how often has she ever been wrong? He starts to think that a little time away from his life might not be such a bad thing. He could see some movies, check out the museums, spend a little time pretending to be someone else for a while. It's not entirely unappealing.
"That's maybe not a bad idea."
"Good." She is pleased. "I'll have Gina book everything for you tomorrow."
"But you'll be coming out a week later?"
"Of course. As soon as I get this Perry stuff wrapped up, I am there."
He bumps his shoulder into her companionably and she giggles but doesn't bump him back.
New York is colder than he remembers it being. Cory buys a thicker hat and a better pair of gloves before he even leaves JFK, trying not to flinch too much at the inflated airport prices. But the cab ride to Manhattan makes him feel better. He always enjoys a good cab ride from an airport; it makes it feel like an adventure is about to begin. They have little TVs in the back of the passenger's seat now that play endless loops of commercials and New York city tourism ads, something that didn't exist the last time he was here. That's a little annoying. But he looks out as they cross the bridge and the buildings grow taller around him and it feels good.
Then there's a little beep from his phone, an email notification. He takes it out, desperately hoping that some hiring manager has finally decided that his resume is incredibly impressive and is getting in touch to set up an interview. The email address is one he doesn't recognize-this is good. But there's no subject line, which seems vaguely unprofessional in the half-second that he considers it. Then he gets to the body of the email and realizes it has nothing to do with a job application. It's an email from Shawn.
Cory! Sorry it took me so long to get back to you...
Shawn explains that his fan mail goes to his publicist's office and he seldom sees it himself but then an intern came across Cory's message and sent it his way, thinking he might want to hear from someone who seemed to actually know him. But he's glad because he'd love to see Cory when he's in New York, just tell him the dates.
Hardly able to breathe, Cory rereads the message twice, then types a reply message:
I'm actually in a cab from JFK right now. In town for the next two weeks. When are you free?
A minute later, the message notification beeps again.
Tonight? If you've got other stuff going on, though, it's no big deal. We can figure out something else.
Cory pauses, realizing he hasn't taken a real breath since this exchange started. Then he responds, honestly:
I have nothing going on whatsoever. My plans involved buying a six-pack, putting on pajamas, and ordering pizza.
After an interminable minute, the notification beeps.
Pizza and beer here. B. Y. O. Pajamas
Shawn sends him the address and his cell phone number and Cory writes back that he'll be there around eight. Then the exchange comes to an end and Cory realizes he has about two hours to feel this nervous.
Jim's apartment is exactly what a set designer would create for a Manhattan corporate lawyer. It's super sleek, modern, and tasteful, six times the size of any New York apartment Cory's ever been in. He feels very nervous walking around the place and keeps all his things confined to a small pile near the foot of the bed. He texts Topanga to tell her he got in all right and knows she won't see it until a couple hours from now. He thinks about telling her that he's having dinner with Shawn but decides to hold off on that information for now. Somehow it doesn't quite seem real yet.
He still has an hour before he has to leave so he unpacks his toiletry bag and steps into Jim's enormous two-person shower. There are six different shower heads, which weirds him out a little, and he isn't sure if he's supposed to pick one to stand under or rotate from one to the next. When he gets out he starts to get dressed and while he's staring down his reflection he wonders just how much older he looks now than the last time Shawn saw him. He definitely has less hair and more gut. He wears glasses now all the time. He also dresses like a man ten years older, though he sort of always did, even as a teenager. And the frown lines in his head have settled in and made themselves at home.
The idea occurs to him that he can call Shawn and make an excuse to cancel. Because this is probably a terrible idea. They probably have nothing to say to each other and surely have nothing in common anymore. Shawn won't care about Cory's stupid problems. Shawn is rich and famous. This is still a ridiculous thought and Cory can't quite get used to it. He wonders if he shouldn't just push the dinner off a little longer, maybe even to a separate trip. Wouldn't it be better if Cory waited until he had a job again? And lost the weight he's put on since being unemployed? And gotten a decent haircut and some new glasses and more youthful clothes? Cory doesn't want to let his incredibly successful former best friend (and lover) see him looking so sad and middle aged. Topanga had told him he should get a haircut before their trip. Why didn't he get a haircut? Dammit, he's an idiot.
But still he dresses, heads downstairs, and has the doorman hail him a cab. It's too late now.
Cory is nervous as he stands in the lobby of Shawn's building. His heart is beating rapidly and his stomach feels queasy but in an excited, almost euphoric way. It's a physical sensation he hasn't felt for years. Since the last time he saw Shawn, actually. Cory feels guilty as he realizes this, then he consciously decides not to give a fuck. He is so tired of feeling bad about everything.
The building is shabbier and less hip than Cory has been expecting considering the kind of money Shawn must be pulling in. He waits uneasily while the doorman calls up to "Mr. Hunter" and he tries to shake the feeling that he's stumbled into some kind of Twilight Zone alternate reality. Then the doorman gives him a nod toward the elevator and Cory makes his way up to the 9th floor and to Shawn's apartment. He stands there for a long time before he knocks-two short raps. Then Shawn is there, six inches in front of him.
If it weren't for Shawn's eyes, Cory wouldn't recognize him. Shawn's hair is cut shorter than Cory has ever seen it-it actually looks like it was buzzed completely a month or two prior and is now in the early stages of growing back. With this he wears a full, unkempt beard that completely obscures his mouth and the shape of his face. He looks like a stranger, like a man who grew up someplace woodsy and believes in auras and chops his own firewood. But then he smiles and is instantly Shawn.
"Hey, Cor."
"Hi."
Shawn steps to the side and gestures extravagantly into the apartment. "Do come in."
The place is nice but small, more like the New York apartments Cory is familiar with than Jim's place, though still a far cry from the grubby student apartments everybody had during the time he lived here. It's sparsely furnished, though, with no pictures on the walls or discernable personal touches. Then Cory spies a cheaply framed photo of a Greyhound bus leaned up against a wall. It used to hang in the Hunters' trailer and Shawn has carted it around with him everywhere he has lived. Cory finds this reassuring. The same Shawn he knew is still in there somewhere.
Cory takes a seat on the sofa while Shawn gets a couple of beers and a bottle opener. Shawn's wearing a bathrobe over pajama pants and a sweater-he obviously hasn't felt the need to dress for the occasion-and at first Cory thinks that Shawn's put on weight. He looks very bulky and this is surprising since Shawn's always been so skinny. But then when he comes over to the sofa and takes a seat across from him, Cory realizes that Shawn's wearing at least four different shirts and sweaters on top of each other, all of them a few sizes too large. It's his old trick for appearing bigger and more substantial than he actually is. Cory wonders briefly why Shawn would have reason to go back to doing this, but he forgets the concern immediately because Shawn is handing him one of the beers and he's right there in front of him. God, he's missed him.
They sit there awkwardly, each sipping their beer. Cory racks his brain for something to say and comes up only with, "You're keeping your place clean these days, huh?"
"I have a housekeeper. This place would be disgusting if I didn't. You should have seen the rat's nest I was living in before I got my first advance. I think it would send you into a panic attack."
"Ah. Yeah, we had a housekeeper for a while. It's nice. We had to let her go, though. Save some bucks."
"Yeah. So, is Feeny...um..."
"No, no. He's fine. He's great. Just went to Hawaii. Actually, he wanted me to see if you'd consider going back to our grade school to give a talk. About the books."
"Aw, I dunno. I keep a pretty low profile. It's kinda part of the whole mystery thing."
"Okay, well, I said I'd ask, that's all. Oh, and Josh wanted me to see if you'd sign his book. But I just realized I left it in my suitcase."
"Sure thing," Shawn smiles shyly. He looks about as uncomfortable as Cory feels.
"Congrats, by the way," Cory offers, "All the books and everything. That's great."
"Thank you. And congrats to you guys, too. I heard Topanga's gonna be made a partner."
"How did you hear that?"
"Oh, I still talk to Angela sometimes. Once in a while."
"Oh. Pretty crazy she's got three kids now, eh?"
"Yeah." Shawn's eyes go wide at the thought, "Very crazy." He swigs his beer and looks so uneasy that Cory feels like he has to say something, anything to change the unbearable awkwardness of this conversation.
"We can't get pregnant," he blurts out. That is not what he had in mind.
"No we can't," Shawn smiles and looks at him like he's insane, "That's the problem with men."
"What? No, I mean Topanga and I. We've been trying for years and...nothing."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Cor. Really. That's awful and shitty. I'm so sorry."
"And I got laid off. Three times in the last four years."
"Fuck."
"And I think our marriage has totally gone to crap and I don't know if there's any way to save it or if I even should and I have no idea who the hell I any more or who I ever thought I was in the first place and...Shawn, I really need you to be my friend right now."
Shawn whips out his cell phone and begins pulling up a number.
"What are you doing?" Cory asks, horrified.
"Ordering pizza," Shawn holds the phone against his shoulder, "You're gonna eat some fucking greasy pizza and drink a lot of beer and tell me all about it."
"Oh. All right." Cory feels oddly comforted. It's nice to have all that off his chest and to have Shawn in charge again.
"Yeah, I'll hold," Shawn says into the phone, then he says to Cory, "And you're damn well not going home tonight. Now drink up."
"Okay, then." Cory scoots himself deeper into the sofa and does as he is told.
Cory gets very drunk, eats far too much pizza, and unloads everything to Shawn in an hours long monologue, interrupted periodically for bathroom breaks, refills, and then a switch from beer to whiskey. Throughout it all, Shawn is a sympathetic presence, nodding along without giving his opinion, moving closer and closer to him until at some point Cory is recounting all his woes while leaning up against Shawn's chest. It's a warm and familiar place. Shawn still smells the same. His heart still sounds the same.
Cory tells him everything. About how the quest for a baby has taken over their whole lives. About how he isn't sure if he even wants it anymore. How he's felt for a long time that their marriage is all about Topanga's life and Topanga's goals and he's just a supporting player. How he feels like one of those politician's wives trotted out to wave at the victory celebration and seldom seen again. How he's felt directionless for years, like he's sleepwalking. How he doesn't remember the last time he felt passionate about anything. How he felt for years like he was playing a role but that was okay because at least the rules were clear-now he doesn't even remember what that role was supposed to be. Or why he wanted to play it.
"I think I'm depressed," he says at last.
Shawn laughs, startling him. "No shit. Have you thought about, you know, seeing someone?"
"Like a call girl?"
Shawn gives him an incredulous look. "Jesus, you need to get laid," he whispers, then says more clearly, "No. Like a therapist. A psychiatrist."
"Oh, that. Yeah, I saw somebody for a while. Topanga told me I should. But I had to get off the meds because I couldn't come and that interferes with the whole baby-making process. I wasn't crazy about them anyway."
"Yeah, I don't blame you. I don't think I could stand that either. Are you all right, though, Cor?"
Cory looks at him blearily, not understanding what he means. His head feels cloudy. He hasn't been this drunk in a long time.
Shawn sighs and when he speaks his voice is very low. "I mean, do I have to worry about you walking off a bridge or something?"
"No," Cory frowns, "No, Shawnie. No. You really think I would ever do that?"
"Well, I always kinda worried if it got bad enough you might. You don't handle things not working out the way you want them to all that well. And you can be pretty irrational."
"I can be irrational? Don't project yourself onto me."
Shawn looks hurt by that statement and Cory feels immediately awful, but he's not going to take it back. Shawn is the one who left him. Shawn's the one who always ran away.
Cory tries to stand up to go and pee, but he can't find his feet and Shawn has to jump up to steady him. He walks him to the bathroom and reluctantly gives him his privacy. After he pees, Cory opens up the medicine cabinet to take some preemptive aspirin. He knows his head is going to be killing him in the morning. He finds some Duane Reed brand aspirin and takes two. As he returns the bottle to the shelf, he can't help but turn a prescription bottle around so he can read the label. It's a drug called Zolpidem. The prescription was filled yesterday and Shawn has three refills left.
"You fall in?" Shawn calls from the hallway and Cory quickly closes the cabinet and leaves the bathroom. Shawn meets him at the door and helps walk him to the bedroom. There he helps him undress down to his boxers and undershirt and gets him into bed. Then Shawn leaves the room and Cory can hear him get a glass of water from the dispenser in the refrigerator door. When he returns to the bedroom he has two glasses of water in his hands and his prescription bottle under his elbow. He hands Cory one of the glasses and instructs him to drink it.
"I don't want to."
"You're gonna regret it in the morning if you don't."
Cory reluctantly drinks the water while Shawn takes one of the pills with his own glass of water. Then Cory hears himself asking, "What's Zolpidem?"
"Sleeping pill. If you can't wake me up in the morning, I'm not dead. I'm just drugged."
"Okay." The room has started spinning and Cory closes his eyes. He is dismayed to find that the darkness behind his eyelids is spinning too.
When he opens his eyes again, Shawn is no longer sitting on the bed. He is across the room, peeling off his layers of clothing. It is a comical amount of clothing, like clowns tumbling out of a tiny car, one shirt after another. Cory closes his eyes again and rolls over onto his side, hoping that might help his head. The mattress dips as Shawn crawls in beside him and immediately Cory rolls back over and starts to kiss him.
Shawn pushes him off gently. "That isn't why you wanted to come here. Go to sleep."
"I love you anyway," Cory mutters.
"Love you too. I always have."
Contented for the time being, Cory gives in and falls asleep.
Two Roads Diverged
Previously:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Next:
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12