Fic: Fast-forward
There would be people, Sam knew, who would question why he was with Eric-- friends who would give a raised-eyebrow stare when he explained the careful line they walked between being closeted and being out, people who would roll their eyes at the cover stories Sam had been forced to come up with to “protect” Eric’s sports identity, and those who would doubt Eric could ever offer him any emotional connection as they hardly looked like a couple when they were together in public. There certainly was a lot of fuel for doubt in their compatibility.
And for all that Sam loved Eric, he did have questions of his own. It was an adjustment to make, to be sure, never knowing how Eric would react in a certain situation, or what new rule he’d place on their public relationship. It was possible he was giving in too easily to Eric’s needs, but he did have his word that the stresses of the outside world would not affect the connection they shared at home, and so far Eric had kept that promise. Eric wasn’t great with the romantic gestures or the pillow talk, but he didn’t really need words to show Sam how much he trusted him in a way Sam doubted he’d ever trusted anyone before. And it never ceased to amaze him that the man he could hardly touch with a ten-foot pole out in public seemed to love being held when they were alone together, curled up against his chest or tucked under his arm, smiling contentedly whether or not they’d just made love.
There were others, though, who rallied behind them. Mildred, the neighborhood den mother, continued to use baked goods as an invitation into their lives, happy to have a pair of boys to look after since her own son no longer lived at home. Her invasive good-nature even appeared to have won Eric over in the two months since his first unsteady foray into telling people about their relationship. Mildred assured them they’d face no opposition or disrespect from the neighborhood, and so far she’d been right, for which Sam was eternally grateful. He considered most of Eric’s fears imaginary, so he shuddered to think of what would happen if they were forced to confront any real trouble.
And, of course, there was Joan. Eric had been concerned that Sam and Joan were going to develop an alliance of sorts since he didn’t really share much of his life with her, and he had been right. As soon as the two of them had had a minute alone she’d pumped him for information on how Eric was handling everything, eager for news on her brother’s new life. In return she’d told Sam something that still caused him to smile whenever he thought of it-- Eric, his Eric, his gruff, could-barely-say-I-love-you Eric, had cried at the thought of losing him during their temporary break up a while back. Even though Sam doubted he’d ever be privy to seeing Eric cry over him again, the image of him distraught enough to do something like that in front of Joan was a powerful and moving one, and it often sustained him through trying times.
But all in all, if Sam could have dreamed up the perfect man, it probably wouldn’t have been Eric. It most likely would have been someone who was more self-secure, more able to demonstrate affection, and in general more able to be himself. It definitely would have been someone without all the moodiness. But despite that logical fact, for whatever reason, Eric was the only man Sam did dream of anymore.
***
“I’m gonna get us another round,” Eric said, standing from their table. “I’ll make a beer drinker out of you yet,” he added over his shoulder with a smirk as he walked off towards the bar.
Neglecting to mention that he wasn’t even done with his first, Sam watched him go with a little smile playing on his lips. There was certainly no denying that the man was good looking. Eric never dressed to show off his body, but even in his sweater and jeans you could tell a solid structure of muscles lay underneath, and he had those ruggedly handsome features matched with ocean-blue eyes that made his face attractive enough to stand on its own. He often wondered if Eric was aware of how stunning he was, and if so, if he would figure out he could probably have any guy he wanted. But even if did figure it out, Sam didn’t think he’d have cause to doubt Eric’s loyalty. He wasn’t sure why, but he had never felt like infidelity would be one of Eric’s shortcomings. Eric certainly never seemed to have a wandering eye. He’d asked Eric once if he considered a passerby attractive and Eric had only rolled his eyes in response, and when they were out together his surreptitious lustful glances were reserved for Sam alone.
From where he sat Sam noticed Eric chatting at the bar with a slightly overweight blonde wearing a leather jacket that was only half-way zipped up, revealing the mashed-together cleavage of her creamy white breasts. Eric looked displeased at the attention, and he glanced back over Sam’s way several times as it appeared he was planning his escape. Sam laughed and took up his beer, imagining how much fun he would have later teasing him about the encounter. But when he put the bottle back down again and looked up, Eric was nowhere in sight. Figuring he’d headed off to the men’s room, Sam sat alone for a few more minutes until his cellphone rang.
“Eric?” he answered, confused. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the car. I paid the tab already, let’s get out of here.”
“What? We’ve barely been here for twenty minutes.”
“I don’t care. I want to go now.”
Sam collected his breath and then let it out in a sigh. “What happened? Talk to me.”
“I’m hanging up now,” Eric said, and he did.
*
Sam found him sitting in his car, shoulders slumped and a deep scowl on his face.
“Okay, what happened,” Sam asked while he climbed in, careful not to touch him since physical contact seemed to agitate Eric even more when he was upset.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Eric responded quickly, starting the car and beginning the drive home.
“Well, too bad,” Sam said as firmly as he could.
Eric grunted. “That bitch called me a queer.”
“Really? Why . . . why’d she do that?”
“Oh, jeez, I don’t know, maybe because I am.”
“But just out of the blue like that?”
Eric exhaled deeply. “She asked me if I was there with someone and I said yes. And then she must have caught me looking at you, and she asked me if I was queer.”
Sam stifled the urge to chuck. “Alright, well, I’m not going to say that she wasn’t rude, but maybe she was asking out of curiosity.”
“I don’t give a crap why she was asking. It’s none of her damn business. She knew who I was and I can’t let this get out if I ever hope to work in the sports industry again. And I didn’t want to hang around for her and all her little slutty friends to start talking about me. I hate people talking about me behind my back.”
Sam wasn’t sure there was much else he could say. He’d found it was usually better to let Eric work his way out of his moods on his own, so he resigned himself to the rest of the ride home in silence.
When they pulled up in front of the house Sam got out quickly, but Eric sat unmoving in the car. Reminding himself to be patient, Sam walked around to the driver’s side and pulled the door open. “Come on.”
“I’m going out,” Eric replied flatly.
“Out? We were just out.”
“Yeah well I’m going back out. I’m going to get a drink.”
“We were just at a bar,” Sam continued, a nervous fluttering invading his stomach. “What you mean is, you’re going out without me.”
“Just back off right now,” Eric said sharply, his voice much louder than it needed to be. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“No, I will not back off,” Sam shot back, the nervousness transferring to annoyance as his own voice grew louder in turn.
“Let go of my door,” Eric grated out through clenched teeth.
Sam took a moment to let his pulse steady. Anger was only going to make the situation worse. “Please, Eric. You promised you weren’t going to do this. You promised you weren’t going to push me away when we were home.”
“I’m not in the fucking house yet,” Eric snapped. He grabbed hold of the door and jerked it closed before backing out of the driveway and peeling away.
Sam bit his lip hard as Eric drove off, stifling the sudden urge to let a few tears slip out.
“Is everything alright?”
He hadn’t noticed the porch light coming on across the street, or Mildred exiting her house in a faded pink robe and some slippers.
“Oh . . . yes, hi, Mildred. Everything’s fine. I’m sorry about the noise.”
Mildred crossed the street and approached anyways. “Are you sure, dear?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” Sam repeated, but somehow he lost control of his voice and it cracked slightly.
“Come on,” Mildred said, taking him by his arm and steering him towards her house. “I just put on some water for tea.”
And so he found himself sitting at Mildred’s kitchen table, sipping chamomile tea out of a mug that read “World’s Best Mom,” its cracked paint indicating it was probably close to a decade old.
“You and Eric had a fight?” Mildred asked without any pretense of beating-about-the-bush.
He supposed there was little point in denying it as she had clearly heard the whole thing.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Care to talk about it? I’m a good listener, and I promise I’m no gossip.”
Sam frowned into his tea. It had too much sugar in it for his liking.
“Eric doesn’t like people to know about our relationship.” He paused. “Well, I guess that’s not exactly fair. What he doesn’t like is people knowing that he’s gay.”
Mildred nodded. “I imagine it’s difficult, never knowing how people are going to react.”
“I guess,” Sam said. “But it can still be hard to adjust to how . . . angry it makes him. And how we can never be open about being together in public. Sometimes I’m afraid I might slip up and make him really furious.”
“Did you ‘slip-up’ tonight?”
“No, someone else did. But it still made him mad. Especially since she recognized him . . . as an NHL player, I mean. I think he’s really afraid that he won’t be able to work in sportscasting if everyone finds out. And I can understand that, really. I just hate it when he . . .when he pulls away from me. It took me so long to break his shell . . .”
A creaking on the stairway heralded the arrival of Mildred’s somewhat portly husband, and he entered the room soon after, blinking with bleary eyes at the scene in the kitchen. He scratched his back through a blue and white striped robe and yawned before grabbing a glass and filling it with water. “Taking in strays again, Millie?” he asked, but he smiled through the glass as he raised it to his lips.
“Oh, go on, George,” Mildred cried impatiently, shooing him away with two hands. He yawned again and retreated the way he had come.
“Now, where were we . . . oh, yes, pulling away. You really think he wants to break up with you?”
Sam shrugged and took another swill of the sickeningly sweet liquid. “I just want to be close to him,” he said softly.
Mildred sighed and cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes and staring upwards as if she hoped to find insight somewhere along her ceiling. “Your experiences are a lot different from Eric’s, aren’t they?” she eventually asked.
“Well, yeah. I mean, he’s never been in another relationship. And you were the first non-family member he ever came out to, as far as I know.”
“And you, you’ve had more practice?”
Sam puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. “Yeah, I guess. I knew when I was a kid. And my brother figured it out pretty quickly. He had no problems telling anyone . . . and everyone . . . so I guess I’m a lot more used to being outed. But I see what you’re getting at. Eric’s new at this.”
Mildred patted his arm gently. “You know in some ways Eric reminds me of George.”
Sam drew up an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Lord knows I love the man, but he wasn’t always the doting husband you see today. He used to be quite . . .unrefined. Wasn’t into the sweet romantic gestures or anything of the sort. But I worked my ways on him, and 35 years in we’re as in love as we were when we were young, if not more so, and I’ve been able to coax that stubborn man into things he swore up and down he’d go to his grave before doing. If you stick it out with Eric, you may discover some of those changes, too.”
“Yeah?” Sam chuckled, imagining a hen-pecked George. “So what kinds of things did you get him to do?’
“Dancing lessons, for one.”
Sam laughed out loud at the thought of Eric ever dancing.
Mildred laughed, too. “Listen dear, I know I’m just a busybody sticking my nose into other people’s affairs, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s obvious he cares about you a lot.”
“I know he does. I know he trusts me more than he’s ever trusted anyone. And I know he wants to be with me,” Sam agreed quickly, finding that the words reassured him as they left his lips.
“You just have to find the right balance, is all.”
Sam sighed, resisting the urge to pick at the chipped paint on his mug. “I guess I just have to figure that out then. Not sure if I should move in completely and show him I’m committed, or keep my place and show him I mean business when I say we have to find a way to work things out properly.”
“Your own place? I just assumed you were living together,” Mildred said, clearly confused.
“Oh, we are . . . but I still have my condo.”
Mildred raised both eyebrows in surprise as she nodded. “A back-up plan, I see. What does Eric think of that?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know that he cares.”
“I wonder if that might bother him . . . knowing you’re not all-in. I know you probably don’t consider Eric’s issues to be terribly grand, but from his standpoint at least, he probably thinks he’s put a lot on the line for you.”
Sam could only shrug again, letting the comment rest unanswered.
They sat together for some time longer, drinking a second cup of tea each and discussing George’s progress in the world of relationships before the headlights shining in through the darkened hallway caught Mildred’s eye.
With practiced speed she was at the window to assess their importance. “It’s a cab,” she said. “It’s stopping at your house.”
“Oh,” Sam replied. “That’s not good. Well, I guess it’s good he got a cab if he’s not fit to drive, but still, that’s not good. I’d better get over there.” He stood and collected his jacket, dropping his mug off at the sink on his way to the door.
“Alright dear, but any time you feel like talking, I’ll be here, okay? And that goes for Eric, too,” Mildred said as she escorted him to the door.
Sam smiled and nodded before running across the street to catch up with Eric. Mildred retreated back into her house but the light in her kitchen did not go off, and a shadow by the window told him where she’d most likely retired to.
Eric didn’t say anything as Sam approached, but he waited by the door, swaying slightly, until Sam fetched his own keys and opened it. They stepped inside and Eric shrugged off his jacket, concentrating deeply on two sloppy attempts before he was successfully able to hang it on the hooks in the foyer. Then they both paused and stared at each other.
“Are you going to leave me now?” Eric said slowly, his breath exuding the scent of hard liquor.
“Is that what you want?” Sam asked, his heart clenching in his chest.
“No,” Eric responded quickly. “No.”
“Then what do you want?”
Eric closed his eyes. “You. I want you.”
He lunged forward and Sam darted back, nowhere near being in the mood for drunken attempts at intercourse. But Eric took another step towards him, opening his eyes wide, and Sam suddenly realized that his words and his body language were not meant as sexual advances-- after all, he’d gotten to know those well enough long before he’d known any tenderness from the man. He stopped retreating and Eric completed his quest for his torso, wrapping his arms around Sam fully and burrowing his head against his shoulder. “I want you, Sammy. Please don’t leave me. Please. I’m sorry.”
Well, damn, Sam thought. He’d hoped to maintain a firm line and force Eric to sleep on the couch, or to endure some other sort punishment for his childish behavior, but he didn’t really have the necessary defenses to withstand the man when he was being so contrite and affectionate.
Hoping Eric would be too drunk to remember how he’d folded like a stack of cards in response to an embrace, Sam wrapped his arms around him tightly. “Don’t be silly, I’m not going to leave you. Let’s get you to bed.”
Upstairs, Eric dove into the bed without so much as taking his shoes off. Sam went after those first and then yanked him halfway up to take off his shirt, finding enough good humor to smile slightly at Eric’s inebriation.
“How’d you get so drunk so fast anyways?” he asked.
“Shots,” Eric responded matter-of-factly.
“How many?”
Eric shrugged.
“That many, huh.” Sam stifled a laugh.
“I guess I’m not as young as I used to be,” Eric agreed with a smirk. “Din’ used to get so drunk.”
“Are you going to be sick?” Sam asked, one nostril already pulling upwards in anticipatory disgust.
“Dunno,” Eric replied.
Sam dragged over a wastebasket. “Well, better safe than sorry.”
Eric stood and fumbled at his jeans, letting them slide down around his feet. He then very ungracefully tried to step out of them but instead wound up flailing backwards and landing in a sitting position on the bed with a gentle thud. Sam was not able to contain his laughter this time as he knelt down to get the pants the rest of the way off.
Suddenly Eric reached out to him, running a hand through his hair. “I love you,” he said.
Sam glanced up at Eric’s dopey, drunken smile and his bloodshot eyes, and found himself both annoyed and pleased at how easily Eric had let the words slip out. Apparently, Eric was a loving drunk. It was just too bad it took those lowered inhibitions to make him comfortable enough to reveal how he felt.
“I bet,” he responded, but pleasure won out in the end and he said it with a smile.
He retrieved all the discarded clothing and placed it in the hamper before getting ready for bed. Eric looked to be deeply asleep when he finally crawled in beside him, so he was rather surprised at how quickly he began to make his way over, halting briefly when a mound of covers got in the way.
Sam instinctively put an arm around him to pull him closer, and Eric settled happily against his chest, his eyes still closed.
“Love you,” Eric whispered.
*
When he woke up the next morning Eric was fast asleep and snoring slightly, his mouth hanging open with a thin trail of drool seeping out onto the pillow. Figuring he’d be dead to the world for a while longer, Sam pulled on some sweatpants and grabbed the novel he was currently reading from his nightstand. He hadn’t had nearly enough time to read it lately, which in the end was rather nice since it meant he’d been occupied by social interaction instead of being holed up alone. He’d just started to head out when a low moan escaped Eric’s lips, and he turned around to find him peering up at him through weary red eyes.
Wishing he were better at keeping a grudge, Sam sat next to him on the bed and wove his fingers into Eric’s hair, massaging his scalp gently. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like an idiot,” Eric groaned.
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Sam agreed with a laugh.
Eric glared at him. “Quit looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Sam edged back a bit.
“All . . . lovingly. I was a jerk yesterday. You should be mad at me.”
“I am,” Sam replied, but he kept stroking Eric’s hair. “But I also love you.”
Eric snorted and closed his eyes again, and after sitting for a few more minutes Sam got up and retrieved his book. “Well I’m gonna go read downstairs for a little while. Guess I’ll see you when you get up.”
Eric's eyes shot open. “Can’t you . . . read up here?” he asked quietly, his words mumbled and rushed.
Sam grinned. Maybe Eric was still a little bit drunk.
He returned to the bed and set his book down on the nightstand, getting back under the covers. “Come here,” he said, opening his arms up towards Eric, who eyed him suspiciously for a moment until he beckoned him over more forcefully. “I said, come here.”
Eric had the decency to look contrite at how easily Sam had seen through him, but he accepted the invitation and pressed in close. “I see you’re trying the killing me with kindness approach,” he remarked. “Aren’t you worried I’m just going to keep doing stupid shit like this if you let me off so easily?”
Sam moved his hand along Eric’s cheek gently. “Not really,” he said. “Because I think you end up hurting yourself more than you hurt me, and you’re smart enough to figure that out eventually.”
Eric grunted noncommittally. “I guess. And I am sorry . . . I won’t run off like that again. It just sucks to feel so . . . exposed. Sometimes I wish I could fast-forward through this whole awkward phase.”
A smile bubbled inside Sam and before he knew it had spread to his lips.
“Okay, no need to laugh at me,” Eric said with a frown.
“No, I’m not laughing at you . . .it’s just . . . you said fast-forward.”
“So?”
“So, you could have said rewind.”
It was a dangerous statement to make, Sam knew, because there was a variety of ways it could be interpreted. Rewind could mean rewind to before Eric decided to ‘half-way’ come out, rewind to before he’d met Sam, or rewind to before his injury, the last of which Sam would never fault him for regretting.
But Eric merely shrugged with a smile and yawned. “Nah, I don’t want to rewind,” he said before closing his eyes and falling right back to sleep against him.
******
NEXT: Foreign Language
And for all that Sam loved Eric, he did have questions of his own. It was an adjustment to make, to be sure, never knowing how Eric would react in a certain situation, or what new rule he’d place on their public relationship. It was possible he was giving in too easily to Eric’s needs, but he did have his word that the stresses of the outside world would not affect the connection they shared at home, and so far Eric had kept that promise. Eric wasn’t great with the romantic gestures or the pillow talk, but he didn’t really need words to show Sam how much he trusted him in a way Sam doubted he’d ever trusted anyone before. And it never ceased to amaze him that the man he could hardly touch with a ten-foot pole out in public seemed to love being held when they were alone together, curled up against his chest or tucked under his arm, smiling contentedly whether or not they’d just made love.
There were others, though, who rallied behind them. Mildred, the neighborhood den mother, continued to use baked goods as an invitation into their lives, happy to have a pair of boys to look after since her own son no longer lived at home. Her invasive good-nature even appeared to have won Eric over in the two months since his first unsteady foray into telling people about their relationship. Mildred assured them they’d face no opposition or disrespect from the neighborhood, and so far she’d been right, for which Sam was eternally grateful. He considered most of Eric’s fears imaginary, so he shuddered to think of what would happen if they were forced to confront any real trouble.
And, of course, there was Joan. Eric had been concerned that Sam and Joan were going to develop an alliance of sorts since he didn’t really share much of his life with her, and he had been right. As soon as the two of them had had a minute alone she’d pumped him for information on how Eric was handling everything, eager for news on her brother’s new life. In return she’d told Sam something that still caused him to smile whenever he thought of it-- Eric, his Eric, his gruff, could-barely-say-I-love-you Eric, had cried at the thought of losing him during their temporary break up a while back. Even though Sam doubted he’d ever be privy to seeing Eric cry over him again, the image of him distraught enough to do something like that in front of Joan was a powerful and moving one, and it often sustained him through trying times.
But all in all, if Sam could have dreamed up the perfect man, it probably wouldn’t have been Eric. It most likely would have been someone who was more self-secure, more able to demonstrate affection, and in general more able to be himself. It definitely would have been someone without all the moodiness. But despite that logical fact, for whatever reason, Eric was the only man Sam did dream of anymore.
***
“I’m gonna get us another round,” Eric said, standing from their table. “I’ll make a beer drinker out of you yet,” he added over his shoulder with a smirk as he walked off towards the bar.
Neglecting to mention that he wasn’t even done with his first, Sam watched him go with a little smile playing on his lips. There was certainly no denying that the man was good looking. Eric never dressed to show off his body, but even in his sweater and jeans you could tell a solid structure of muscles lay underneath, and he had those ruggedly handsome features matched with ocean-blue eyes that made his face attractive enough to stand on its own. He often wondered if Eric was aware of how stunning he was, and if so, if he would figure out he could probably have any guy he wanted. But even if did figure it out, Sam didn’t think he’d have cause to doubt Eric’s loyalty. He wasn’t sure why, but he had never felt like infidelity would be one of Eric’s shortcomings. Eric certainly never seemed to have a wandering eye. He’d asked Eric once if he considered a passerby attractive and Eric had only rolled his eyes in response, and when they were out together his surreptitious lustful glances were reserved for Sam alone.
From where he sat Sam noticed Eric chatting at the bar with a slightly overweight blonde wearing a leather jacket that was only half-way zipped up, revealing the mashed-together cleavage of her creamy white breasts. Eric looked displeased at the attention, and he glanced back over Sam’s way several times as it appeared he was planning his escape. Sam laughed and took up his beer, imagining how much fun he would have later teasing him about the encounter. But when he put the bottle back down again and looked up, Eric was nowhere in sight. Figuring he’d headed off to the men’s room, Sam sat alone for a few more minutes until his cellphone rang.
“Eric?” he answered, confused. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the car. I paid the tab already, let’s get out of here.”
“What? We’ve barely been here for twenty minutes.”
“I don’t care. I want to go now.”
Sam collected his breath and then let it out in a sigh. “What happened? Talk to me.”
“I’m hanging up now,” Eric said, and he did.
*
Sam found him sitting in his car, shoulders slumped and a deep scowl on his face.
“Okay, what happened,” Sam asked while he climbed in, careful not to touch him since physical contact seemed to agitate Eric even more when he was upset.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Eric responded quickly, starting the car and beginning the drive home.
“Well, too bad,” Sam said as firmly as he could.
Eric grunted. “That bitch called me a queer.”
“Really? Why . . . why’d she do that?”
“Oh, jeez, I don’t know, maybe because I am.”
“But just out of the blue like that?”
Eric exhaled deeply. “She asked me if I was there with someone and I said yes. And then she must have caught me looking at you, and she asked me if I was queer.”
Sam stifled the urge to chuck. “Alright, well, I’m not going to say that she wasn’t rude, but maybe she was asking out of curiosity.”
“I don’t give a crap why she was asking. It’s none of her damn business. She knew who I was and I can’t let this get out if I ever hope to work in the sports industry again. And I didn’t want to hang around for her and all her little slutty friends to start talking about me. I hate people talking about me behind my back.”
Sam wasn’t sure there was much else he could say. He’d found it was usually better to let Eric work his way out of his moods on his own, so he resigned himself to the rest of the ride home in silence.
When they pulled up in front of the house Sam got out quickly, but Eric sat unmoving in the car. Reminding himself to be patient, Sam walked around to the driver’s side and pulled the door open. “Come on.”
“I’m going out,” Eric replied flatly.
“Out? We were just out.”
“Yeah well I’m going back out. I’m going to get a drink.”
“We were just at a bar,” Sam continued, a nervous fluttering invading his stomach. “What you mean is, you’re going out without me.”
“Just back off right now,” Eric said sharply, his voice much louder than it needed to be. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“No, I will not back off,” Sam shot back, the nervousness transferring to annoyance as his own voice grew louder in turn.
“Let go of my door,” Eric grated out through clenched teeth.
Sam took a moment to let his pulse steady. Anger was only going to make the situation worse. “Please, Eric. You promised you weren’t going to do this. You promised you weren’t going to push me away when we were home.”
“I’m not in the fucking house yet,” Eric snapped. He grabbed hold of the door and jerked it closed before backing out of the driveway and peeling away.
Sam bit his lip hard as Eric drove off, stifling the sudden urge to let a few tears slip out.
“Is everything alright?”
He hadn’t noticed the porch light coming on across the street, or Mildred exiting her house in a faded pink robe and some slippers.
“Oh . . . yes, hi, Mildred. Everything’s fine. I’m sorry about the noise.”
Mildred crossed the street and approached anyways. “Are you sure, dear?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” Sam repeated, but somehow he lost control of his voice and it cracked slightly.
“Come on,” Mildred said, taking him by his arm and steering him towards her house. “I just put on some water for tea.”
And so he found himself sitting at Mildred’s kitchen table, sipping chamomile tea out of a mug that read “World’s Best Mom,” its cracked paint indicating it was probably close to a decade old.
“You and Eric had a fight?” Mildred asked without any pretense of beating-about-the-bush.
He supposed there was little point in denying it as she had clearly heard the whole thing.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Care to talk about it? I’m a good listener, and I promise I’m no gossip.”
Sam frowned into his tea. It had too much sugar in it for his liking.
“Eric doesn’t like people to know about our relationship.” He paused. “Well, I guess that’s not exactly fair. What he doesn’t like is people knowing that he’s gay.”
Mildred nodded. “I imagine it’s difficult, never knowing how people are going to react.”
“I guess,” Sam said. “But it can still be hard to adjust to how . . . angry it makes him. And how we can never be open about being together in public. Sometimes I’m afraid I might slip up and make him really furious.”
“Did you ‘slip-up’ tonight?”
“No, someone else did. But it still made him mad. Especially since she recognized him . . . as an NHL player, I mean. I think he’s really afraid that he won’t be able to work in sportscasting if everyone finds out. And I can understand that, really. I just hate it when he . . .when he pulls away from me. It took me so long to break his shell . . .”
A creaking on the stairway heralded the arrival of Mildred’s somewhat portly husband, and he entered the room soon after, blinking with bleary eyes at the scene in the kitchen. He scratched his back through a blue and white striped robe and yawned before grabbing a glass and filling it with water. “Taking in strays again, Millie?” he asked, but he smiled through the glass as he raised it to his lips.
“Oh, go on, George,” Mildred cried impatiently, shooing him away with two hands. He yawned again and retreated the way he had come.
“Now, where were we . . . oh, yes, pulling away. You really think he wants to break up with you?”
Sam shrugged and took another swill of the sickeningly sweet liquid. “I just want to be close to him,” he said softly.
Mildred sighed and cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes and staring upwards as if she hoped to find insight somewhere along her ceiling. “Your experiences are a lot different from Eric’s, aren’t they?” she eventually asked.
“Well, yeah. I mean, he’s never been in another relationship. And you were the first non-family member he ever came out to, as far as I know.”
“And you, you’ve had more practice?”
Sam puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. “Yeah, I guess. I knew when I was a kid. And my brother figured it out pretty quickly. He had no problems telling anyone . . . and everyone . . . so I guess I’m a lot more used to being outed. But I see what you’re getting at. Eric’s new at this.”
Mildred patted his arm gently. “You know in some ways Eric reminds me of George.”
Sam drew up an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Lord knows I love the man, but he wasn’t always the doting husband you see today. He used to be quite . . .unrefined. Wasn’t into the sweet romantic gestures or anything of the sort. But I worked my ways on him, and 35 years in we’re as in love as we were when we were young, if not more so, and I’ve been able to coax that stubborn man into things he swore up and down he’d go to his grave before doing. If you stick it out with Eric, you may discover some of those changes, too.”
“Yeah?” Sam chuckled, imagining a hen-pecked George. “So what kinds of things did you get him to do?’
“Dancing lessons, for one.”
Sam laughed out loud at the thought of Eric ever dancing.
Mildred laughed, too. “Listen dear, I know I’m just a busybody sticking my nose into other people’s affairs, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s obvious he cares about you a lot.”
“I know he does. I know he trusts me more than he’s ever trusted anyone. And I know he wants to be with me,” Sam agreed quickly, finding that the words reassured him as they left his lips.
“You just have to find the right balance, is all.”
Sam sighed, resisting the urge to pick at the chipped paint on his mug. “I guess I just have to figure that out then. Not sure if I should move in completely and show him I’m committed, or keep my place and show him I mean business when I say we have to find a way to work things out properly.”
“Your own place? I just assumed you were living together,” Mildred said, clearly confused.
“Oh, we are . . . but I still have my condo.”
Mildred raised both eyebrows in surprise as she nodded. “A back-up plan, I see. What does Eric think of that?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know that he cares.”
“I wonder if that might bother him . . . knowing you’re not all-in. I know you probably don’t consider Eric’s issues to be terribly grand, but from his standpoint at least, he probably thinks he’s put a lot on the line for you.”
Sam could only shrug again, letting the comment rest unanswered.
They sat together for some time longer, drinking a second cup of tea each and discussing George’s progress in the world of relationships before the headlights shining in through the darkened hallway caught Mildred’s eye.
With practiced speed she was at the window to assess their importance. “It’s a cab,” she said. “It’s stopping at your house.”
“Oh,” Sam replied. “That’s not good. Well, I guess it’s good he got a cab if he’s not fit to drive, but still, that’s not good. I’d better get over there.” He stood and collected his jacket, dropping his mug off at the sink on his way to the door.
“Alright dear, but any time you feel like talking, I’ll be here, okay? And that goes for Eric, too,” Mildred said as she escorted him to the door.
Sam smiled and nodded before running across the street to catch up with Eric. Mildred retreated back into her house but the light in her kitchen did not go off, and a shadow by the window told him where she’d most likely retired to.
Eric didn’t say anything as Sam approached, but he waited by the door, swaying slightly, until Sam fetched his own keys and opened it. They stepped inside and Eric shrugged off his jacket, concentrating deeply on two sloppy attempts before he was successfully able to hang it on the hooks in the foyer. Then they both paused and stared at each other.
“Are you going to leave me now?” Eric said slowly, his breath exuding the scent of hard liquor.
“Is that what you want?” Sam asked, his heart clenching in his chest.
“No,” Eric responded quickly. “No.”
“Then what do you want?”
Eric closed his eyes. “You. I want you.”
He lunged forward and Sam darted back, nowhere near being in the mood for drunken attempts at intercourse. But Eric took another step towards him, opening his eyes wide, and Sam suddenly realized that his words and his body language were not meant as sexual advances-- after all, he’d gotten to know those well enough long before he’d known any tenderness from the man. He stopped retreating and Eric completed his quest for his torso, wrapping his arms around Sam fully and burrowing his head against his shoulder. “I want you, Sammy. Please don’t leave me. Please. I’m sorry.”
Well, damn, Sam thought. He’d hoped to maintain a firm line and force Eric to sleep on the couch, or to endure some other sort punishment for his childish behavior, but he didn’t really have the necessary defenses to withstand the man when he was being so contrite and affectionate.
Hoping Eric would be too drunk to remember how he’d folded like a stack of cards in response to an embrace, Sam wrapped his arms around him tightly. “Don’t be silly, I’m not going to leave you. Let’s get you to bed.”
Upstairs, Eric dove into the bed without so much as taking his shoes off. Sam went after those first and then yanked him halfway up to take off his shirt, finding enough good humor to smile slightly at Eric’s inebriation.
“How’d you get so drunk so fast anyways?” he asked.
“Shots,” Eric responded matter-of-factly.
“How many?”
Eric shrugged.
“That many, huh.” Sam stifled a laugh.
“I guess I’m not as young as I used to be,” Eric agreed with a smirk. “Din’ used to get so drunk.”
“Are you going to be sick?” Sam asked, one nostril already pulling upwards in anticipatory disgust.
“Dunno,” Eric replied.
Sam dragged over a wastebasket. “Well, better safe than sorry.”
Eric stood and fumbled at his jeans, letting them slide down around his feet. He then very ungracefully tried to step out of them but instead wound up flailing backwards and landing in a sitting position on the bed with a gentle thud. Sam was not able to contain his laughter this time as he knelt down to get the pants the rest of the way off.
Suddenly Eric reached out to him, running a hand through his hair. “I love you,” he said.
Sam glanced up at Eric’s dopey, drunken smile and his bloodshot eyes, and found himself both annoyed and pleased at how easily Eric had let the words slip out. Apparently, Eric was a loving drunk. It was just too bad it took those lowered inhibitions to make him comfortable enough to reveal how he felt.
“I bet,” he responded, but pleasure won out in the end and he said it with a smile.
He retrieved all the discarded clothing and placed it in the hamper before getting ready for bed. Eric looked to be deeply asleep when he finally crawled in beside him, so he was rather surprised at how quickly he began to make his way over, halting briefly when a mound of covers got in the way.
Sam instinctively put an arm around him to pull him closer, and Eric settled happily against his chest, his eyes still closed.
“Love you,” Eric whispered.
*
When he woke up the next morning Eric was fast asleep and snoring slightly, his mouth hanging open with a thin trail of drool seeping out onto the pillow. Figuring he’d be dead to the world for a while longer, Sam pulled on some sweatpants and grabbed the novel he was currently reading from his nightstand. He hadn’t had nearly enough time to read it lately, which in the end was rather nice since it meant he’d been occupied by social interaction instead of being holed up alone. He’d just started to head out when a low moan escaped Eric’s lips, and he turned around to find him peering up at him through weary red eyes.
Wishing he were better at keeping a grudge, Sam sat next to him on the bed and wove his fingers into Eric’s hair, massaging his scalp gently. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like an idiot,” Eric groaned.
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Sam agreed with a laugh.
Eric glared at him. “Quit looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Sam edged back a bit.
“All . . . lovingly. I was a jerk yesterday. You should be mad at me.”
“I am,” Sam replied, but he kept stroking Eric’s hair. “But I also love you.”
Eric snorted and closed his eyes again, and after sitting for a few more minutes Sam got up and retrieved his book. “Well I’m gonna go read downstairs for a little while. Guess I’ll see you when you get up.”
Eric's eyes shot open. “Can’t you . . . read up here?” he asked quietly, his words mumbled and rushed.
Sam grinned. Maybe Eric was still a little bit drunk.
He returned to the bed and set his book down on the nightstand, getting back under the covers. “Come here,” he said, opening his arms up towards Eric, who eyed him suspiciously for a moment until he beckoned him over more forcefully. “I said, come here.”
Eric had the decency to look contrite at how easily Sam had seen through him, but he accepted the invitation and pressed in close. “I see you’re trying the killing me with kindness approach,” he remarked. “Aren’t you worried I’m just going to keep doing stupid shit like this if you let me off so easily?”
Sam moved his hand along Eric’s cheek gently. “Not really,” he said. “Because I think you end up hurting yourself more than you hurt me, and you’re smart enough to figure that out eventually.”
Eric grunted noncommittally. “I guess. And I am sorry . . . I won’t run off like that again. It just sucks to feel so . . . exposed. Sometimes I wish I could fast-forward through this whole awkward phase.”
A smile bubbled inside Sam and before he knew it had spread to his lips.
“Okay, no need to laugh at me,” Eric said with a frown.
“No, I’m not laughing at you . . .it’s just . . . you said fast-forward.”
“So?”
“So, you could have said rewind.”
It was a dangerous statement to make, Sam knew, because there was a variety of ways it could be interpreted. Rewind could mean rewind to before Eric decided to ‘half-way’ come out, rewind to before he’d met Sam, or rewind to before his injury, the last of which Sam would never fault him for regretting.
But Eric merely shrugged with a smile and yawned. “Nah, I don’t want to rewind,” he said before closing his eyes and falling right back to sleep against him.
******
NEXT: Foreign Language