Chapter Text
Gather All Around the things that you love . . . and prepare to lose them.
- Colum McCann - "Let the Great World Spin"
Justin will never forget exactly where he was that night. It was May fifth. He’d just stepped off the curb and was about to cross illegally at the intersection of Barrymont and Hoover. Above him, a streetlight sputtered its last electric gasps before it went dark, while below him, there was a pothole deep enough to break an ankle in. If there was ever a lawsuit, he remembers thinking, the city was fucked.
He also remembers how Ethan squeezed his hand to warn him there was a car coming. It was a good thing. Justin was so giddy after their escape from Babylon that he would’ve walked right out into the street without looking. He remembers the driver was listening to “Boys of Summer.” He remembers the car was blue. He remembers the unpleasant smell of his own sweat and the sensation of mist on his face.
But most of all he remembers a siren’s screams, the way they sliced through the night like knives made of sound.
Later, he’ll recall feeling sick to his stomach, but he’s not sure if that’s true. It might be nothing more than nauseated hindsight – an abiding belief that if he hadn’t felt sick, then he should have.
There are things he does know, though. He knows that Ethan came to Babylon, and he knows that they kissed right there on the dance floor. He also knows that he took Ethan’s hand as they walked toward the door, and that, just before they left, he turned around and saw Brian. Brian’s face . . . But then Ethan tugged on his hand, and the crowd parted as they headed to the exit only to surge back to fill the empty space after they were gone.
That was the last time he saw Brian alive.
He didn’t find out about the accident until the following morning. His mom called his cell phone. He remembers how he almost let the call go to voicemail, thinking it was probably Michael intent on bitching him out.
He knew right away from her voice that something was wrong and thought for a moment that she was going to lecture him about having left the party without telling her and Daphne. He was ready to apologize. It’d been shitty of him to just leave them like that, but he’d desperately needed to be outside, to feel the cold, Alleghany-damp wind on his skin.
But she wasn’t calling about the party. She was calling about Brian.
Justin can remember nothing but tatters of their conversation.
“Justin . . . oh, sweetheart . . . something terrible . . . accident . . . died on the way to the hospital.”
He also remembers forgetting how to breathe.
“Honey . . . pick you up . . . Daphne . . . call . . . I think you . . . alone . . . maybe . . . Ethan’s address . . . right now . . . Justin . . . sweetie . . . don’t . . . seat belt . . . drunk driver . . .”
It’s funny – the thoughts that go through your head in times like that. While his mom was talking, Justin remembers noticing that a picture on the wall was slightly crooked and the neighbor downstairs was vacuuming. It was only seven. Who vacuums at seven in the morning?
After he hung up, he dropped his phone on the floor and walked zombie-like to the sofa. Ethan sat down beside him and put his arms around him. He didn’t know the details, not yet, but he obviously could tell that Justin had just received devastating news. Justin remembers being unable to be comforted by his embrace. His muscles had turned into bone. All he could feel was the sofa’s worn velvet under his bare thighs and the thud thud thud thudding of his heart.
He didn’t move. Not even when he heard a knock, scarcely audible over the clanging of the radiator, and Daphne’s voice calling his name. Ethan rose to let her in. Justin turned to look at her, not knowing what to expect. Was she going to run to him? Or was she going to just stand there in the doorway? Apparently, it was the latter.
“Uhm, hi,” Ethan said. “You must be Daphne. I’m Ethan.” He held out his hand, but she didn’t seem to see it.
“Oh, Just,” she said, wringing her hands. Was her sparkly nail polish pink or purple? Or purplish-pinkish? He couldn’t tell from so far away.
Ethan stood there, looking back and forth between them, a lost, frightened look on his face.
“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” he said.
Daphne looked at Justin, seeking his permission. He moved his head in the ghost of a nod.
She turned to Ethan. “It’s about Brian,” she said. “He . . . there was an accident last night . . . after you guys left. The driver was drunk. Brian . . .”
“Is dead,” Justin said flatly. “Just say it, Daph. He’s dead. Brian is dead.”
Ethan turned to look at him, his mouth open, his eyes wide with horror.
“Oh, my God,” he breathed. “Oh, my God. Justin. I’m so sorry.”
Justin’s voice had broken the spell. Daphne and Ethan sat down on the sofa beside him. They tried to take his hands, but they were clenched in bloodless fists. None of them spoke. Justin will be forever grateful for their silence, for their calm, quiet presence.
When his mother knocked on the door, he stood and tried to remember how to walk. One foot in front of the other – step after step. He remembers the knob felt cold in his palm.
“Sweetie,” his mother said and pulled him into her arms. “Baby.”
“Where is he?” he remembers mumbling into her hair.
“What do you mean ‘where’?” she asked. “You know where.”
“The morgue?”
“Probably.”
“So, I can’t see him.”
She stroked his head, and suddenly a memory, like a splinter, slid into his brain – two nights ago. Brian. Brian twirling his finger in his hair.
“But I need to see him.”
“I know, sweetie. I know. But you can’t. You just can’t.”
He remembers feeling someone place a hand on the base of his neck. Was it Ethan or Daphne? Did it matter? Whoever it was, he appreciated the soothing touch. He was having a hard time breathing; it was as though his lungs had shrunk to half their size. He must’ve started hyperventilating because the next thing he knew, three pairs of hands were helping him return to his spot on the sofa.
“It’s okay . . . it’s going to be okay,” Daphne said, sitting down beside him and rubbing his back.
But it wasn’t going to be okay, and they all knew it. How could it be okay?
He remembers sitting there for a very long time. Eventually, Ethan got up and made some coffee, while Daphne brought Justin his clothes. He stared at them. He hadn’t even noticed he was wearing nothing but boxer shorts. The clothes Daphne had given him looked vaguely familiar. Especially the shirt. It’d been one of Brian’s favorites. Maybe it was even one Brian had bought for him. Justin can’t remember no matter how hard he tried. Brian had bought him so many shirts. It was hard to keep track of them all.
“I’ll go get some donuts or something,” Ethan said, putting on his jacket and heading for the door. He probably wanted to escape the grief hanging in the air like a heavy fog. Justin didn’t blame him.
Justin’s mom had been leaning against the wall, her arms wrapped around herself. At the sound of Ethan’s voice she lifted her head.
“That sounds great,” she said, smiling like an automaton. “Here, let me give you some money.”
She started hunting in her purse, but Ethan stopped her.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got it.”
His mom looked oddly distressed as though Ethan had just said something troubling.
“No, please,” she said. “Really. I insist. You and Justin are going to need every penny you’ve got.”
Ethan took the twenty she held out to him with a weak smile that fled his face when he met her dull eyes.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Now what? Justin remembers thinking. What do people do in these kinds of situations? He had no idea, but he wanted to do something. His bones were trying to escape his body, tenting his skin and straining against their tangle of veins. He was pretty sure he’d lose his mind if he had to just sit there all day doing nothing.
“Who told you?” he asked his mom, bringing the silence left in Ethan’s wake crashing down like a shelf stacked too high with china.
“Debbie,” she replied. “She called me this morning. Daphne and I left the party immediately after you and Ethan did, so I didn’t know about the accident.”
Justin dragged his fingers through his hair. He remembers thinking he needed a shower. Last night felt greasy on his skin as though it’s memory was oozing through his pores. But how do you do things as mundane as take showers or eat donuts in these types of situations?
“It’s my fault,” he said.
His mom stomped over to the sofa and slapped him hard enough to leave his cheek pink.
“I knew it was only a matter of time before you said that,” she shouted, ignoring his exclamation of dismay and Daphne’s cry of “Mrs. Taylor!”
“But it’s true,” he replied just as angrily. “If I hadn’t left with Ethan, Brian wouldn’t have left the party when he did.”
“Even if that’s true,” she said, “what good will come from blaming yourself for what happened afterward? Justin, you didn’t make Brian leave, and you sure as hell didn’t put him in the path of a drunk driver. Brian made his own choice and fate did the rest.”
“Fuck fate!” Justin yelled. “And fuck donuts, too,” he added as poor Ethan walked through the door with a Dunkin’ Donuts box in his hands.
He doesn’t remember where he went, but he does remember leaving the apartment. He had to. He needed to be outside. He needed to be alone. The morning was butter-yellow and warm. Birds sang in the unkempt bushes lining the street. A light green hazy of new leaves hovered in the branches of the trees. He remembers thinking how cruel it was that spring was in the air.
When he returned, his mom tried to get him to eat something, but the thought made him gag. Everyone else dutifully ate a donut as though watching them might change his mind. It didn’t. Quite the opposite. He remembers thinking that he’d never eat another donut ever again, and he hasn’t. Just the sight of them sucks him down the drain of time until he’s back in that moment – back in Ethan’s apartment, back to the morning after Brian died.
When none of them could take the piano-wire tension another minute longer, Justin’s mom switched into mom-mode. Ethan, she said, should go to his classes, and Daphne should come with her and Justin back to the condo. Justin looked at Ethan. He was being excluded, and he knew it.
“It’s okay,” Ethan said. “I’ve got that recital coming up. I should really practice.”
Justin smiled wanly but gratefully.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Sure,” Ethan replied. “Call me.” He kissed Justin’s cheek. Daphne and his mom looked away as though they’d just glimpsed something illicit. Justin suddenly felt dirty. When Ethan turned to leave, he wiped the memory of his kiss off his face. It made him sad to realize Ethan was going to end up as collateral damage. He didn’t deserve it.
On the way to his mom’s condo, Justin sat in the back of the car with Daphne, holding onto her hand tight enough to whiten his knuckles. His mom drove the long way around, carefully avoiding any place remotely near downtown even though the drive took an extra fifteen minutes. When they arrived at their destination, Justin went straight inside, trying to ignore the ghost of Brian’s presence sitting there on the steps, sunglasses on and a tennis ball in his hand.
C’mon, you can do it.
No, I can’t.
Yes, you can.
Fortunately, Molly was at a friend’s house. Justin was glad. She couldn’t possibly have said anything that wasn’t unhelpful.
“Molly met her at day camp last summer,” Justin’s mom said as they walked through the door into the narrow hallway.
Justin stared at her. What the fuck was she talking about?
“The friend that Molly’s with,” his mom explained, setting her purse on the table and taking off her jacket. “They met at day camp – remember? That riding program Connie put together? The horses are all former race horses that’d been donated by their owners. You’ll have to go see them sometime. They’re beautiful. Maybe you could do some sketches? I remember you used to love drawing animals. Oh, speaking of which, that cat Ethan has is a real talker, isn’t he? I think he did more talking this morning than the four of us combined. Oh my, is that the time? I should probably make something for lunch. Would you kids like sandwiches? I could have that sandwich place put together a take-out order. You know the place I mean, Justin. The one right on the corner with the blue awning . . .”
Justin continued staring at her as she kept babbling on. Daphne gave him a sympathetic look.
“Let her talk,” she whispered in his ear when Justin’s mom went to the kitchen to see if “there was enough pop in the fridge.”
He just nodded. He supposed his mom’s chatter was better than silence.
Debbie came over in the afternoon just after three. He remembers his mom going to the door and pausing before she opened it.
“Are you okay with visitors, honey?” she asked him.
He shrugged. To the extent he was okay with anything, he supposed he was okay with visitors.
Debbie was unrecognizable. The tornado of color that followed her everywhere had been replaced by a weak gust of drab exhaustion. She wasn’t wearing even a hint of make-up.
“Sunshine,” she said when she saw him and moved awkwardly to take him in her arms.
He wanted to tell her not to hug him – that he didn’t deserve it, that all of this was his fault, but he sensed that it would be exactly the wrong thing to say. Maybe she needed to hug him more than he needed not to be hugged.
“Were you there?” he asked.
She stepped back and cupped his face in her hands. They smelled like the kind of soap hospitals use in their restrooms.
“Yes, I was there,” she said. “But, honey, he’d already lost consciousness.”
Justin swallowed and nodded.
“He died on the way to the hospital.”
He swallowed and nodded again.
“Debbie,” his mom said. “Please. Not now.”
But Justin shook his head without turning to look at her. He needed to know. He needed to know everything.
“What happened?” he asked.
“His Jeep was hit by a drunk driver,” Deb said. “The asshole rear-ended him going God only knows how fast. He . . . he wasn’t wearing a seat belt. God damn it! Why wasn’t he wearing a fucking seat belt? The police said he might’ve survived if he had been.”
Deb covered her mouth as tears welled in her already puffy eyes. Justin took her arm and led her to the living room where she collapsed on the couch.
“Can I get you anything?” Justin’s mom asked her. Justin knew she was freaked out. The country club set the Taylors move in don’t break down. At least not in company.
“Only a box of Kleenex,” Debbie replied.
Daphne went to the bathroom to get her one. Deb thanked her and then blew her nose messily.
“Asshole,” she said.
Justin’s mom sat down beside her and took her hand.
Meanwhile Justin remembers just standing there. He’d never been so aware of his limbs. How should he stand? Should he put his hands in his pockets or should he clasp them behind his back? Maybe he shouldn’t be standing at all; maybe he should sit down. He tried, but he couldn’t stay still. At a loss, he walked over to the window and stood there, his back to the room, staring out at the kids playing in the street. Four of them were wearing almost identical red shirts. They looked like cardinals flitting around a bird bath.
“Who else was there?” he asked without turning around. He needed to know.
“Michael,” she said. “He got there first. Brian was still conscious.”
Justin dropped his head and scrubbed his face with his hands. He remembers being both grateful and furious – grateful that Brian hadn’t been alone, and furious because . . . because it’d been Michael. It should’ve been him.
But then again, he’d given up the right to be there, to take Brian’s hand and urge him to hang on. To tell Brian he was loved. To tell him it was going to be okay.
“I don’t know how he’s going to live through this,” Debbie said, choking around a sob. “He was covered in blood. The EMTs had to drag him away so they could get Brian on the stretcher.”
“Debbie,” Justin’s mom said. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just . . . it’s too soon. Of course, Michael is going to grieve. We all are.”
Justin remembers feeling his mom glaring at his back, willing him to turn around and say something. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. His mind had been taken hostage by the image of Brian lying there in the street surrounded by broken, bloody glass.
“I . . . I heard the sound of screeching tires and this crunching, crashing sound,” Debbie said. “I just knew . . . part of me just knew something terrible had happened. I knew one of my boys – one of my babies – had been hurt. I just knew it. Mothers know that kind of thing . . . and before you say Brian wasn’t my son, let me set the record straight. That boy practically grew up under my roof. The first time I saw him, he was this string bean of a kid with a black eye and a split lip standing there at one in the morning, right on my doorstep, asking for Michael. I loved him at first sight. Now, I’m not saying he wasn’t trouble with a capital “T” because he was and then some, but he was one of mine. Just like you, Sunshine. I know you’ve already got a mom – and a wonderful mom at that – but you’re like a son to me too. And Ted and Emmett. You’re all my kids . . . you’re all my boys . . .”
She started sobbing.
Justin remembers thinking there was something wrong with his throat. He kept swallowing and swallowing, but it wouldn’t loosen. It only got tighter.
“Were they there, too,” he asked. “Ted and Emmett I mean?”
“They got to Brian just before I did,” Debbie replied, her voice scratchy with tears. “But like I said, he’d already lost consciousness. Thank God, Michael was there! Thank God, Brian wasn’t alone!”
Justin remembers taking a deep breath and turning around to look at her.
“You must hate me,” he said.
She wiped her eyes with her wadded Kleenex and looked up at him. He remembers her puzzled frown.
“Of course, I don’t hate you,” she said. “You’re suffering as much as any of the rest of us.”
Justin remembers never feeling more grateful toward anyone in his entire life. It was that gratitude that finally – finally – twisted the valve in his heart and set his grief free. Daphne came over to him, and he let her lead him to the couch and hold him while he cried.
Later, when Debbie said she should go home to check on Michael, Justin’s mom tried to get her to stay and rest for a couple of hours. Predictably, Deb said no.
“I can make up the bed in the guest room,” his mom said. “It will only take a minute.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” Debbie replied. “But I’m not tired.”
When Justin’s mom tried to protest, Debbie stopped her.
“I remember you were awake for days after Sunshine was bashed,” she said. “That’s what mothers do. Now tell me, when do you think you’ll head over to Melanie and Lindsay’s? I need to know because . . .”
“Because?” Justin asked.
Debbie took a deep breath. “Because your visit shouldn’t overlap with Michael’s.”
Justin closed his eyes. He knew Michael would hate him with the fiery heat of a thousand suns, but hearing it implied out loud . . .
Debbie stood, but then leaned down and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll try to talk to him . . .”
“No,” Justin said, shaking his head. “Don’t. I don’t blame him. I’d hate me too if I were him.”
“He’ll get over it,” she said.
He just looked at her. She was lying. They both knew it.
“I . . . we’ll wait to go to Lindsay and Mel’s tomorrow,” he said.
“And your things?” she asked. “I mean, the things you left at Brian’s? You did leave things there, right?”
Justin nodded. Yeah, he’d left things at Brian’s. After all, he hadn’t planned on walking out on Brian without even saying good-bye.
“Michael’s going over to the loft later with Ted and Emmett after they get some rest. Maybe . . . maybe now would be a good time for you to go.”
Justin nodded again. He remembers he was just about to say something – he can’t recall what – but then suddenly he realized he was going to be sick. He barely made it to the bathroom before he started puking his guts out.
* * * * * * * *
It was agreed that Daphne should accompany him to the loft. They drove to Home Depot and bought a couple of boxes, a roll of packing tape and a bag of Styrofoam peanuts. Neither of them said a word on the drive to Brian’s, but when they arrived, Justin pointed out Brian’s parking space in back of the building. It was empty. Of course it was empty. Daphne pulled in and turned off the engine.
He remembers sitting in the car for a long time, crying while Daphne rubbed his arm. When he finally pulled himself together, they got out and carried the boxes and the rest of the stuff up the stairs. He would’ve taken the elevator, but it would’ve brought back too many memories of drunken laughter and lascivious promises.
When they reached the top of the stairs, he took several deep breaths before inserting his key in the lock and sliding the door open. He needed to brace himself. It was nearing six o’clock. Normally, Brian would have just gotten home from work and would be untying his tie and taking off his suit, getting ready for a shower. Justin needed to brace himself for the reality that Brian wouldn’t be there.
“Are you going to be okay?” Daphne whispered as though they were in church.
Justin merely swallowed. Of course, he wasn’t going to be okay, but he was ready to get his things and leave. He didn’t want to linger. Maybe someday he’d enjoy remembering his and Brian’s life together, but not then. Not yet. Probably not for a very long time.
He inserted his key and turned it until he heard the clunk of the bolt’s release. Then he slid the door open . . .
He remembers thinking how predictable it was that the first thing he noticed was the silence. Of course, the loft was silent. It was empty. There was no one there. He called Brian’s name anyway. There was no reply.
Daphne moved quickly, unfolding the boxes and putting them together. The screech of the tape echoed ominously.
“C’mon,” she said, but Justin didn’t join her frantic packing of his art supplies. Instead, he walked slowly up the stairs to the bedroom. The bed was unmade and littered with nearly a dozen black shirts. Brian had tried on one after the other, searching for The Perfect One for the evening. Justin remembered thinking how shallow Brian was, how overly concerned with appearances. He picked up a shimmery shirt, feeling its silk slip through his fingers. What shirt had Brian ultimately chosen? Was it even a black one at all, or was it another color? Justin remembers being crushed by grief when he realized that he didn’t know.
For some reason he would never be able to explain, even to himself, he picked up each shirt, smoothed out their wrinkles and hung them back in the closet. When he was finished, he turned his attention to his own clothes and started stuffing them into his duffle bag. He was just about to zip it closed when he saw one of Brian’s t-shirts – one of the t-shirts he wore to the gym. It was crumbled in the back of the closet, obviously having escaped the laundry basket. Justin had to get on his knees and crawl over Brian’s shoes to reach it. Brian had obviously had a vigorous workout the day he wore it; it stank. Justin sat down on the bed and buried his face in it, breathing deeply. Someday, the smell would fade, but he didn’t care. He wanted to keep it anyway.
He was just about to go back downstairs to the living room to help Daphne pack up his computer when suddenly he heard a sound . . . it was the sound of the shower running. Looking back, he thinks that was the moment he started losing it, but at the time, he felt perfectly sane.
He stuffed Brian’s t-shirt in his duffle bag and tiptoed to the bathroom. There was Brian, naked, in the shower, his head tipped back as he rinsed shampoo from his hair.
“You’re here,” Justin said, surprised.
“Of course, I am. Where else would I be?” Brian replied. “C’mon. Join me.”
Justin opened the door and stepped in.
“You’re just in time to wash my back,” Brian said.
He handed Justin the soap and turned around, dropping his head so that Justin could reach his neck. Justin paused for a moment to admire him. He had the body of a classic nude, tall and lean-muscled. Undeniably beautiful. Even Ethan had thought so. Justin soaped his back and his neck and then his ass and the backs of his thighs.
“Thorough tonight, I see,” Brian said.
Justin didn’t reply. He just reached his arms around Brian’s waist and took Brian’s cock in his hand, enjoying the way it swelled and stiffened in his grasp.
Brian made a sound like the purr of a tiger and braced his arms against the wall, indicating he wanted Justin to make him come like that – with his hand.
When he looks back, Justin can still remember his thoughts at the time – his weird thoughts. He imagined that he was an animal tamer and Brian was his animal. He could be anything – a wolf, a lion – it didn’t matter. The point was that Brian had been wild, but he wasn’t any longer. He’d succumbed to the kiss of Justin’s whip. Whatever Justin commanded him to do, Brian would do it. Justin had tamed him. Brian was his . . .
. . . and then a memory crept into his mind. His mom reading to him when he was a boy. The little prince and his wise fox.
You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed, the fox had told the little prince. Never forget that.
The memory felt like a revelation. He’d always thought of himself as the captured animal – captured by his obsession with Brian – but in reality, it was the exact opposite. Justin hadn’t had to change to be with Brian. He was still the same person he’d always been. If anything had caused him to change, it was the bashing, not loving Brian. Loving Brian had made him more himself, not less so. But Brian . . . Brian had become a changed man. Justin hadn’t seen it, but he did now. Brian had been learning how to love and be loved. Justin had soothed the wild beast inside him, gentled him, made him feel safe. Maybe not safe enough to be able to say “I love you,” but how far off could that moment have really been? If Justin had only been patient . . .
“Stop thinking,” Brian said and reached down to wrap his fingers around Justin’s and strengthen Justin’s grip on his cock. Justin felt a surge of joy. He pressed himself against Brian’s back and placed his free hand on Brian’s chest – right over his heart, feeling it beat, pumping blood through Brian’s veins. Brian let his head fall back, exposing his throat, trusting he’ll be cared for and protected. Trusting Justin not to hurt him, not to betray his vulnerability, not to neglect the wildness he’d tamed . . .
Then suddenly – just as Brian was about to come – suddenly he heard a voice crying his name. Daphne’s voice.
Reality smashed through the fogged glass wall of his consciousness. He was standing in the shower, fully clothed, sopping wet and very much alone.
“Oh, Justin,” Daphne said, starting to cry. “Justin, what are you doing?”
She came over, opened the shower door and turned off the spray. Then she went to the bedroom to get some dry clothes out of Justin’s duffle bag. Without the white noise of the shower, the loft’s silence was suffocating. He slid down the wall to his knees. There was a tinfoil condom wrapper sitting on top of the drain. He stared at it, remembering how Brian had torn it open with his teeth and spat out the corner. Justin closed his eyes. He remembered being annoyed that Brian wanted to fuck before they left for the party. For all intents and purposes, Justin had broken up with Ethan the night before. He hadn’t been in the mood to be pounded against the foggy glass. But Brian hadn’t fucked him quick and rough like he usually did when they fucked standing up. Instead Brian had moved slowly and deliberately, rolling the condom on his cock and then using soap-slippery fingers to prepare Justin’s body for penetration. When he finally pushed inside, Justin was shaking with want. Brian had been so hard. So needy. So pleased to be the one Justin had chosen.
“Hey,” Daphne said quietly. “I hope these are alright.”
He opened his eyes and took the clothes she handed him. They didn’t talk about what had just happened, but Justin asked her not to leave while he changed. He didn’t want to be alone with Brian’s ghost. She sat on the toilet, examining her fingernails while he stripped off his wet things.
“Is there a dryer here?” she asked. “We can dry your . . .”
“No, there isn’t,” he said. Even if there was, it wouldn’t matter. He wanted to throw the wet clothes in the garbage. The jeans, the socks, the boxers, the shirt . . . especially the shirt. He would never be able to wear it again. Brian had helped him put it on, and Ethan had helped him take it off.
“No dryer?” Daphne said. “How did you guys do your laundry?”
“We didn’t,” Justin replied. “Brian had a laundry and dry cleaning service pick it up every week.”
He dropped his head into his hands as he realized someone was going to have to call them and tell them not to come anymore. The same with Brian’s housecleaner. Whose job was it to inform them Brian was dead? Shouldn’t it be his? After all, he’d been living with Brian for nine months. Brian’s laundry had been his, too. Brian’s messes had been his as well. They’d just been two among a myriad ways their lives had become entwined.
“Peapod,” he said.
Daphne stopped buttoning his shirt.
“What?” she asked.
“Peapod.”
“What – or who – is ‘peapod’?”
“Peapod is the grocery delivery service Brian and I use. We order stuff online and they bring it to us.”
Daphne nodded, clearly unsure where the conversation was headed.
“It’s Monday night,” he continued. “Peapod is coming tomorrow morning with the order we placed before we went to Babylon.”
He remembers clearly the sudden strange sense of panic that coursed through him.
“Daph,” he said. “Peapod is coming! Peapod is going to be here! I have to stop them! How do I stop them?”
He grabbed her shoulders. What was he going to do?
“We need to get online . . . or call them . . . oh my God . . . what if they’ve already put our order together and it’s on a truck somewhere? How do I reach the driver? Daph! What am I going to do? I won’t be here like I usually am . . . I mean, I can be here, but I don’t want to be here. Please, don’t make me be here when Peapod arrives! I gave . . . I gave Brian a list of ingredients I needed to make chicken cordon bleu. Peabody is going to bring chicken breasts and cheese and bread crumbs and ham and . . . Oh God . . . I’d planned to make enough to bring some to Ethan. I gave Brian a list of enough ingredients to make dinner for both him and Ethan! Daph! I even cheated on him with food and now Peapod’s going to come and my cereal is going to be . . . the cereal I like and Brian can’t stand and his stupid guava juice . . . Daph! We have to stop Peapod!”
Daphne took his hands firmly in both of hers and started walking backward out of the bathroom. When they reached the bed, she helped him to sit down and encouraged him to take deep breaths . . . in, out . . . in, out . . . in, out. But the thought of Peapod and the laundry service and the housecleaner and the bills and the newspaper overwhelmed him so completely that he couldn’t concentrate on her instructions.
“I . . . Oh God, who? How? I don’t know Brian’s social security number. How am I going to get Comcast to turn off the cable? And what about his cell phone? His credit cards? The bills . . . all those bills . . . who pays them? Who, Daph?!”
“Shhhhh,” she said, sitting down beside him and rubbing his back in soothing circles. “Don’t worry. Someone will take care of it.”
“But who?” he wailed.
“I don’t know. What about Debbie or Michael or Ted? Didn’t you say Ted is Brian’s accountant? And Lindsay probably knows Brian’s social security number because of Gus.”
Justin remembers knowing he should feel comforted by her words, but they had the exact opposite effect. He’d been Brian’s partner. He and Brian had been lovers. They’d shared a home together – a life. He should be the one who shuts off the utilities and freezes the credit cards and decides what to do with Brian’s things. But it wouldn’t be him. No one had told him yet, but he already knew. Michael would never let him have a say. He was probably lucky that Michael hadn’t had the locks changed so that he, Justin, couldn’t get into the loft.
Just then, as if on cue, the door clanged open, and Ted and Emmett walked in.
Both of them froze rather comically when they saw him walk down the stairs, leaning on Daphne for support. Justin remembers thinking that he’d never seen Emmett dressed less flamboyantly, and Ted was wearing a dark blue polo shirt and black pants. They looked suitably funereal. Justin glanced down at his own attire and winced – the cheerful plaid and faded jeans.
“Hey,” Emmett said.
“Hey,” Justin replied.
In the history of awkward silences, there was, and perhaps never would be, a more excruciating moment.
“Need help packing?” Ted asked. His hands were crammed in his pockets so far that his elbows were locked and his arms were straight.
Justin shook his head. He wondered what they made of his wet hair and whether they’d talk about it after he left.
“Is Michael . . . ?” he asked.
“No, he’s at home,” Ted replied.
Justin nodded and then added. “Is he okay?”
“Yes,” Emmett said.
“No,” Ted replied, their answers overlapping.
“Teddy,” Emmett said. Justin remembers his voice sounded weary and resigned.
“What do you want me to do?” Ted asked. “Lie?”
Another awkward silence unraveled like a badly knitted scarf. Daphne returned to the job of packing. Thank God for the screechy tape. Ted walked over and peered into one of the unsealed boxes.
“Are you taking anything?” he asked.
Justin decided to lie about the t-shirt. “No,” he replied.
Ted nodded. “Good. That makes our lives a lot easier. Michael sent us over here to ‘supervise,’” he said, using finger quotation marks.
Justin bristled. “Well, feel free to tell him he needn’t worry,” he said . . . but then he remembered. He’d walked out on Brian. Michael had not. As of the moment when Justin took Ethan’s hand, he’d forfeited his right to Brian and everything involving Brian.
He got down on his knees and started filling the last box with Styrofoam peanuts. Emmett walked over and knelt beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” he said. “I mean that.”
A lump formed in Justin’s throat, strangling him and cutting off his voice. He could only nod his thanks. Ted walked over to the windows and stood quietly looking out.
“I’ll help you carry this stuff to your car,” Emmett said, picking up a box. Justin waited for the expected joke about how many dildos the box contained and whether they were made of cement, but it didn’t come.
It took two trips but finally all that was left to carry down to the car was his duffle bag. Meanwhile, Ted hadn’t moved. Justin thought he wasn’t going to say anything, but then, just as Justin was walking out the door for the last time, Ted turned around.
“Don’t you want to know?” he asked.
“Teddy,” Emmett said. “Why?”
“I’m just asking if he wants to know,” Ted replied evenly. “Do you?”
Justin remembers standing in the doorway for almost as long as Ted had stood by the windows.
“No,” Daphne whispered. “Please, Just. Let’s please go.”
“Yes,” he finally said, his voice steadier than he would have imagined it could be. “I want to know.”
Ted nodded and walked to the kitchen where he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. The three of them watched as he searched for an opener. Justin knew where it was, but for some reason he couldn’t pinpoint, he didn’t say anything. When Ted finally found what he was looking for, he opened the beer, took an un-Ted-like swig and leaned against the counter.
“You left,” he said, looking down at his feet. “Shortly afterwards – I’d say maybe five minutes, maybe less – Brian left without saying anything to anyone. Michael followed him. Em and I weren’t sure what to do. Michael might need us, but Brian might feel like a caged animal if we were around. You know how he gets sometimes.”
Justin swallowed as an image of Brian as a wild animal tamed by his whip flitted through his mind again.
“Anyway, Em and I were getting our jackets and still debating what to do when we heard a crash. Our first thought was of Michael, that maybe he’d gotten hit by a car or something running after Brian. We ran outside, and that’s when we saw Brian’s Jeep – or rather what was left of it. We kind of froze, both of us, but then we heard Michael screaming for someone to call 911. So, I got out my phone. Meanwhile, people are started to come out and crowd around. Em and I tried our best to give Brian space, but it was hard. Then Deb and Lindsay were there, and there was a lot of screaming and yelling. God, it was a fucking nightmare. Mel took over trying to keep the crowd back, and I went to see how . . . if Brian . . . how he was. I thought he was dead. There was blood everywhere, but then the EMTs arrived and said he still had a pulse. Michael rode in the ambulance, and I drove Deb and Lindsay to the hospital . . . oh right, sorry. Yeah, Em was with me too. When we arrived there was a lot of commotion. We sat around in the waiting area for what felt like hours . . .”
“And no one called me,” Justin said.
Ted and Emmett just looked at him.
“Honey,” Em said gently. “We . . . no one wanted to bother you.”
Justin remembers a tsunami of anger smashing into him, threatening to rip him apart and strew his limbs all over the loft in a tide of unbearable grief. Bother him? Bother him! He dropped his duffle bag and ran to the kitchen, shoving Ted out of the way.
“Justin!” Daphne cried when he started wrenching open cabinets and smashing every breakable thing he could get his hands on.
“How could anyone have thought that hearing Brian was dying would ‘bother me’?” he shouted. “How? Please tell me because I don’t understand. Brian was my boyfriend!”
“The operative word in that sentence being ‘was,’” Ted shouted back. “Excuse us if you weren’t at the top of our list of concerns.”
“Teddy . . .” Emmett said, trying to place a calming hand on Ted’s shoulder, but Ted shook it off.
“A lot of people are going to tell you that what happened wasn’t your fault,” Ted said, “and it wasn’t. Brian is dead because he drove too fast out of the parking lot without putting on his seatbelt and was hit by a drunk driver. That is why he is dead and our best friend’s life is ruined. But you – you have no right to be yelling at us and smashing Brian’s stuff. You cheated on him, lied to him, and then you left him in front of everyone at a party he threw for you. He must’ve done something truly horrible for you to do something so thoughtless, so cruel. It’s the only explanation . . . either that or you’re a little shit who didn’t deserve to be considered last night, let alone called. Fuck!”
Ted threw his beer in the sink and practically ran to the door and down the stairs. Emmett stood still, frozen, unable to decide who might need him the most.
“Go,” Justin said brokenly. “He’s your boyfriend . . . and on top of that, he’s right.”
“He is not right,” Emmett said. “He’s just sad and exhausted and scared to death for Michael. You didn’t deserve that. I don’t know why we didn’t call you. I honestly don’t. There was a lot going on all at the same time, and then we got the news that Brian had died on the way to the hospital. After that, we were all focused on Lindsay who fell completely apart. Thank God, Mel was there.”
“So, everyone was there, except me,” Justin said, his voice dull and flat. “Michael was there. Ben was there. Deb was there. You and Ted were there. Lindsay and Mel were there. Didn’t anyone think that I should’ve been there, too?”
He remembers starting to shake and having to sit down on the floor amidst the shards of his destruction.
“Did . . . did he say anything?” he asked.
Emmett shook his head. “Michael said he was trying, but he couldn’t.”
Daphne walked over and swept aside the broken glass so that she could sit down beside him and take his hand.
He nodded. He remembers that part of him was relieved. He was not at all sure he wanted to know what Brian was trying to say. Either it would’ve been about him or it wouldn’t. Knowing either would be devastating.
“I’m . . . I should really go see how Teddy’s doing,” Emmett said. “Are you going to be okay?”
Justin laughed weakly because, really, Emmett couldn’t have asked a stupider question. “No, but go anyway,” he said.
Emmett walked over and squeezed his shoulder.
“Take good care of him,” he said to Daphne. “Brian would want that.”
“I will,” Daphne told him.
Emmett leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“Good-bye, baby,” he said to Justin.
And then he was gone.