Fin & Matt (19 page)

“He used to be those things too!” he shouted.  “Until I ruined that… two years ago.”

“That’s simply not true, honey.  Cirrhosis doesn’t happen overnight.  He was an alcoholic.  Marc told me he’d always been abusive.  You can’t blame yourself for his depression – his drinking – he did that all on his own.  Get your bags and we’ll leave in a few minutes.  I’ll call on the way and see if we can stay at the same hotel.  I’m hoping that you get your answers when we’re there, baby, but if you don’t,” I said, placing my hands around the sides of his neck, “you’ll always have them here.”

♂♂

“We’re almost there, baby,” I said softly, placing my hand on his thigh. 

The lights of the city shone brightly as Matt slowly came to.  His face was worn from sleep, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Sorry I slept so long.  I just meant to close my eyes for a few minutes.”  As we pulled into the hotel turnabout, Matt clicked his seatbelt.  “Maybe we should have stayed with my mom instead of the hotel.  You think she’ll be mad?”

“I think she’ll be glad you’re here.  It’s late.  We can just sleep and go to the hospice center in the morning.”

“Should we go
now
?” he asked sluggishly.

I put the car in park and turned to him.  “That’s up to you.  Do you
want
to go now?  Marc said the visitation is twenty-four hours for family.”

He nodded.  “I think so.  Are you tired?  I can go alone.  You just drove five hours.”

“No, honey,” I responded, putting the car back into drive, “I’m here to be with you.  I want to be wherever you are.”

As we drove the short five minutes to the facility, Matt turned toward me, slumped in his seat with a smile.  “You were listening to a podcast earlier.  Was it about gay travel?  What the hell is different about
gay
travel rather than just… travel?  Nicer luggage?”

I smiled.  “I was thinking about going to a resort for our honeymoon, but I wanted a place we could hold hands and kiss without thinking about it, you know?  A place that felt safe, I guess.  Stress-free.”

“Hmm, kissing in public.  That would be nice.  It’s weird that the only safe place to kiss in most cities is a gay bar.  Think about how strange that is.  Straight people can kiss anywhere, but we’re pretty much just limited to our houses and some random club.”

I laughed quietly.  “I was thinking about something my dad said.  He’s convinced that within the next few years, being gay won’t be any different than being straight.  There won’t be gay resorts because we won’t need them.”

“I wish I was as optimistic as your dad.  I fear there will always be a little bit of a struggle for us.”

“Mexico has a lot of resorts.  Cancun, Puerto Vallarta.  But there’s also a cruise option from Singapore to Hong Kong.  Oooh, or Rome to Istanbul.”

“Do you really want to go to a place like that, Fin?  Remember what happened at the bar?  Now imagine thousands of single men and throw in a Speedo and a pool,” he teased.

He had a point.  Men reacted to Matt.  The last thing I needed was to ruin my own honeymoon by having a meltdown poolside.

“You wear a Speedo?”  I smiled and squeezed his knee.  “I see where you’re going with this though.  You’re right.  Maybe something a little less… gay.”

♂♂

“Dad?” Matt whispered, placing his hand on his father’s arm. 

I chose to sit across the room, next to Marc, whereas Matt took a seat next to their mother.

“Matthew?” he croaked.  “Is that you?”

“Yeah… it’s me.  Are you feeling okay?”  Matt rubbed his thumb across the frail man’s arm.

His father jerked it away quickly, accidentally knocking a water pitcher onto the ground with a loud thump.  The water pooled under the bed, but no one seemed to notice as the whole room became tense with dread.

“Get your fucking faggot arm off of me!” he yelled as Matt lifted his hands up in retreat. 

Pam stood, firmly placing her palm to his neck.  “You listen to me, you miserable son of a bitch.  You being in this bed does not give you the right to talk to my son like that.  I have listened to you for the last time.  You want to die alone?  That’s your choice.  Make it now.”

Max lifted his fragile hand and gripped Pam’s throat weakly.  “Get out,” he responded.  “Take your queer sons and go the fuck home.”

“Oh, you’ve got it, old man.  I hope you think long and hard about cutting your sons out of your life just days before your time is up.  Have you thought about that?  I don’t care if you cut me out.  You did that the first time you threw a fucking punch at me.  I didn’t defend myself then, but you can be assured that I’m not going to let you bully me all the way to the grave.”  Spit flew from Pam’s mouth as she gritted the last sentence through her teeth.

“If I was able to get out of this bed, you’d be fucking over.  Lucky for you, I can’t.  Otherwise, you’d be sharing the room with me!” he shouted, stirring up a string of coughs.

Pam leaned back with a strange smile.  “Lucky for me, I
am
stronger than you.  Last chance, Max.  Do you have anything to say to Matthew?”

Matt’s face was pale with anguish, his eyes wet with moisture, as his mother stood over his father’s disintegrating figure.

Max turned toward Matt, brushing his thumb across his tear-stained cheek.  “Have a nice life, son.  Hope you get everything you deserve.”

It wasn’t heartfelt.  It was his final fuck-you.

Matt stood with a tearful laugh.  “I don’t know what I thought would happen by coming here.  I feel like a fool, thinking that maybe – just fucking
maybe
– you would have something to say to us… to
all
of us before you left this earth.  How about an apology to Mom?  Not because of what you just said to her a minute ago… that’s just a typical Monday night, right, Max?  I mean for
everything
.  You drank your entire life away and the one good thing you had was her.  You even managed to fuck that one up.”

“Matt,” Marc whispered, reaching to touch his arm.

“No, Marc, he needs to hear this.  In your final days, you want to sever the only tie you’ve ever had.  You fucked her friends.  You fucked her co-workers.  You did all that and insisted it was her fault.  You never bought her a single gift.  Do you even know that?  Not a Christmas gift, because Christmas was for the kids.  Not a birthday gift because that would have been too sentimental.  Not even a fucking anniversary gift because why?  I mean, why celebrate the woman who did fucking everything for you?”

The tears flowed down his face as he choked out every word.  He wasn’t done though.

Not by a long shot.

“And Marc.  Remember when he rode his bicycle up the driveway and accidentally fell into the car?  I do.  There was barely a scratch on that ten year-old piece of shit, but you made sure he knew never to ride up the driveway again, didn’t you?  And he was so smart – got the best grades in school – all because he was trying to impress you, Dad.  To make you finally love him.  Then, when he came home with a fucking C in
one
subject, you punched him so hard, you dislocated his shoulder.  Made him miss the tennis regionals.  Remember that? 
He
does.”

“Matt,” Marc repeated.  “Stop.  It’s over.”

“Oh, and remember that doll that Mom bought for me?  We went to the store and she told me I could pick one thing.  Anything as long as it was under ten dollars.”  He looked over to Pam with a smile before continuing.  “I found this sweet little baby doll with a stroller.  Anyway, I asked her and, even though it was over ten dollars, she bought it anyway.  She told me to stay in my room with it.  I wasn’t sure why at the time, but I did.  I stayed in that room playing with her for days.  Then, I decided I wanted to show her to you.  You were watching football and I rolled her in.  The look on your face… Christ, it was priceless.  Later that night, she was gone.  I looked everywhere.  I asked Marc… he just shrugged his shoulders, but I knew he knew.  You destroyed her, didn’t you?  You destroyed her because you couldn’t stand the fact that your son preferred to play with a toy for girls.”

I rubbed my fingers up Matt’s spine.  “Honey,” I whispered. 

Max smiled unnervingly.  “Your wife is talking to you.”

Matt laughed aloud.  “Here’s what I came here to say.  I love you, Dad.  In spite of all of the fucking horrible things you’ve done to us, I still love you.  I’ve said what I wanted to say, so I’ll go.  You’ll never have to see me again and the rest of your life will be exactly how you’ve always wanted to spend it.  Alone.” 

His tears were gone, leaving his emotional state behind.  Pam took one last look at her husband before linking her arm through Marc’s.  Matt tugged on his leather jacket before helping me into my own.  His hands brushed against my shoulders, as if removing nonexistent lint off of them.  Linking his fingers through mine, he turned back for one final look at his shell of a father.

“I’ll always love you,” he said softly.  “And I know, somewhere in there, you love me too.”

M
ax DiFiore died the next morning, nearly six hours after our visit. 

Pam made phone calls, one after the other, as we sat quietly with her in the kitchen of Matt’s childhood home. 

“You okay?” I asked him.

I had asked that same question multiple times that morning.  Each time was returned with a nod and a smile.  Marc busied himself, shuffling through the closet for an appropriate suit to bury their father in.  When he joined us back in the kitchen, he let out a long sigh.

“We have to go shopping.  Nothing in there will fit him now.”

“I’ll do it,” I responded, desperate to help.  “I’ll find one.  You guys could use some rest and I’m not doing anything to help.  How tall?  Um… do you know his jacket size?  I mean, approximately?”

It felt strange asking questions about their deceased father’s measurements, but I had to get it right.  I had to do this one thing correctly.

Marc shrugged his shoulders.  “It’s hard to say.  He used to be a forty-six long, I think, but I don’t know now.  He was six-four, like us, I think.  Matt?  Six-four?”

“Hmm?” Matt asked, staring into his empty coffee cup.

“Six-four?  Dad?”

He rubbed his eyes lazily before nodding his head.  “Yeah.  Same as us.”

“You know,” I replied uncomfortably.  “Maybe you could give me the number for the funeral parlor.  I could get a closer fit.”

Marc dug through the paperwork on the table.  “Yeah, here it is.”

Before I excused myself to call the director, I asked Matt one final time, “Are you okay?”

He smiled and pressed his dry lips to mine.  “Yeah, I really am.”

♂♂

I sat in the car, picking up my phone and pressing the three on speed-dial.

“Fin!”  My father’s cheerful voice immediately soothed me, warming through my tired bones.

“Hi, Dad.  I miss you,” I immediately blurted.

“I miss you, too.  Your mum and I are coming this weekend though, right?”

“Well,” I said with a sigh.  “Matt’s dad died this morning.  We’re here in Pittsburgh.  The services are on Friday morning.”

“Oh my God,” he whispered.  “Is Matt alright?  We’ll fly out there tonight.”

“It’s okay, Dad.  Thanks, though.”

“Your mum would put me face down in the pool if we didn’t come.  Matt is our son too, you know.  I’ll call you back once we know what time we’ll be arriving.”

I took a deep breath of relief.  I
wanted
them to be there.  Things were always better when they were around.

“Okay,” I said with a nod.  “Actually, I need to find a suit for Matt’s father.  I promised I’d find something and I can’t mess this up, Dad.  It’s the last time they’ll see him.  I know you know where to go around here, but this needs to be done quickly, you know?  I can’t—”

“Alright, Fin.  Deep breath.  I know a shop that can help you.  I’ll hang up and send you the details, okay?  We’ll be there shortly.”

“I love you.”  The words flowed easily from my throat.

“We love you, too, Finlay.”

♂♂

I stood in the mirror, clad in a smart, navy blue suit with a crisp white dress shirt while Victor placed four ties in front of me.

“Navy and gray stripe, navy and red circle neat, silver Tahitian Pearl, navy tonal texture… do you like any of these?” he asked in a thick and proper British accent.

I tried to picture myself in that box.  Lying in eternal slumber… dressed in a two-button 1818 Brooks Brothers.  Would I sleep easier knowing my collar stays were perfect?  That I had the proper tie bar?  That my pocket square was the perfect accompaniment to my Mother-of-Pearl cufflinks?

“This suit.  Fit point collar shirt in white.  Sutherland Repp tie in light blue-and-navy.  No pocket square.  Crisscross tie bar.  Textured cufflinks, same as the bar,” I instructed, handing him the card with Max’s measurements scrawled on the back.

“Very well,” Victor said with a smile, lowering the ties back to the table.  “Your father is an excellent customer.  We can have this fitted by tomorrow afternoon if that’s early enough for you.”

I smiled at him with a nod.  “That would be perfect.  Thank you so much.” 

As I started to dig into my wallet, Victor held up a hand.  “It’s all been taken care of, sir.”

“My dad?” I asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Your mother called.  She’s a hard woman to say no to.”

I laughed lightly.  “That she is.”

“I’m sorry, sir.  About your fiancé’s father.  Our condolences.”

“Thank you again.”  I unbuttoned the jacket and handed it back to Victor, picking up my phone and typing a quick text to Matt.

Meet me at the hotel.

♂♂

We lay together on the mattress, fully clothed and clutching at one another.  Matt’s fingers dug into my back as I breathed in his familiar, comfortable scent.

“My mom and dad are on their way.  Dad says they should be here around seven.  They want to take all of us to dinner.”  I paused, running my fingers across the front of Matt’s t-shirt.  “Did your dad like blue?  The suit I picked… it’s navy.”

“I’m sure whatever you picked is fine.  Let me know how much you paid, okay?” he mumbled.  “I’m sure it was way too much.  More than he deserved.”

“Matt,” I whispered.  “Don’t say that, okay?  First of all, it’s
our
bank account now, not mine.  Secondly, my parents took care of it, okay?  And before you say anything, they wanted to.  My dad was listed fifteenth of the richest CEOs in America last year.  He can afford a suit, honey.”

He sighed and squeezed me tighter.  “Thank you for calling me.  I needed to get out of there for a while.”

“I figured.  Marc was going nuts.  He had already talked to Karen ten times.  Will we meet her?” I asked.

“I think so.  He said she’d be over later.”  His hand drifted into the waistband of my pants, dragging his thumb over the back of my briefs lightly.  “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” I returned.  “Listen, I’m sorry about last night.  We didn’t talk about it, but—”

“That’s because there’s nothing to talk about.  I told him what I needed to.  I’m okay with that.  At least I know I tried.”

I pressed my lips to his for a brief second.  “You were a lot nicer than I would have been.  You said you loved him… at the end.”

“Because I do,” he said with a shrug.  “Regardless of everything he said to me, I still do.”

Minutes went by in silence as Matt hugged me closer, nearly crawling into my body.  We were separated by a text from his mother, asking when we were planning to come back.

Matt texted
leaving now
, before settling in for a long, lazy kiss to my waiting lips.  “A week from this Saturday.  Just eleven days and we’ll be married.”

“I wanted to ask you about that.  Are you sure we should still do it?  It’s too soon, maybe… after—”

“I wouldn’t let anything get in the way of our wedding.  Please, Fin,” he begged.

“Okay, it’s fine.  I was just worried about you.  About your family.”

“My family – now, as it is – accepts us.  They want us to be happy.  And I’m only happy if I’m with you.  I can’t wait until this ring is real.  Until we get that license, you know?  I’m going to frame that fucking thing.”  His smile beamed wide as he pressed another kiss against my cheek.  “Eleven days.”

“Eleven days.”

♂♂

Max DiFiore had a lot of friends.  The throngs of guests filtered in quickly, gathering around the plot where he would soon be lowered into the ground.  It rained a bit that afternoon, but no one seemed to care, hardly an umbrella opened in sight. 

Pam stood stone-faced, staring out into the cemetery blindly, as my mother clutched her hand.  They had talked a lot in those few days; Pam was grateful for the distraction and my mother yearned for outside female companionship.  Even though Pam was nothing like the women my mother socialized with back in Arnold, she reveled in the new closeness, even convincing Pam to have a shopping-slash-spa day.  Pam did deserve that, even coming back with a new dress – one that she would bury her husband in.

Matt stood with Marc on the other side of her as my father and I remained behind.  I wanted to reach for him.  To kiss him.  To comfort him.

This event wasn’t tailored for a man like me.  It was a blue-collar affair and the faggot boyfriend of Max’s estranged son wasn’t exactly what you would call welcome.  So, when he reached his hand back for mine, I ignored it, keeping them both shoved deep into the pockets of my overcoat.  His eyes were mournful, but he turned back toward the casket, his hands resting at his sides.  I stared at them, unable to look anywhere else.  Those hands were home to me and I couldn’t touch them.

I felt shame in that moment as my father’s elbow met with mine, nudging it softly.  “He needs you,” he whispered.

I stepped an inch closer and touched the back of his leather jacket with trembling fingers.  His eyes closed as he took a single step back, forcing my hand to press against his spine.  I left it there for the remainder of the service, giving one gentle squeeze as the wooden box descended into the earth.

Back at the house, Matt sat on the old sofa for hours, his fingers clasped against mine.  Hardly anyone stopped to give their condolences, passing the two of us up in exchange for Marc’s company instead.  He was greeted with many words of sympathy, nodding and smiling, with his hand cemented against Karen’s back.

Karen looked over at me often, smiling softly and sharing uncomfortable glances.  We were the outsiders in that somber crowd.  Even my mother and father fit right in, scrambling about with food and helping with parking along the street.

She separated from Marc and came close, leaning to whisper in my ear.  “You wanna drink a beer in the backyard?” she asked. 

I excused myself from Matt’s grip and followed her as she retrieved a six-pack from behind the air conditioner.  She popped the cap off of an IPA with an opener attached to her keychain and handed it to me.  “Girl Scout,” she mumbled, lifting the beer to her lips.

“Thank God,” I returned, swallowing heartily.  “It’s brutal in there.”

“Well, you’re in the steel belt, uncomfortably holding hands with your boyfriend in his childhood home at his dad’s afterlife-party.  All in all, I’d say you’re doing pretty well.”

“I told him that I could go back to the hotel and wait.  I told him that it wouldn’t be easier if I was around, but he insisted.  I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“At least you look fantastic,” Karen joked.  “That suit is fucking hot.  Looks like you’re going to the Oscars.”

I laughed lightly, clinking my beer against hers.  “And the winner is…”

“Pam DiFiore… for best actress.  Can you imagine?” she quipped, “being married to someone like that?  Max was horrible to her.  He hated me too, as I suspected he hated you.”

I nodded.  “I can’t say he was my biggest fan.”

“No, of course not.  It was Jim Beam, I think.”  She kicked a rock into the side of the house, pinging against the gutter.  “I have a son, you know.  I’m a single mother, so that automatically makes me a whore,” she teased. 

“I’m gay, so… I win.”

She laughed aloud.  “You do, most likely.  I imagine that was a fun conversation.  I was here, you know.  In the back room.  I was nervous as hell when your mother came back and said you were out there.  I thought there might be a fight.”  She swirled her beer around before taking a swig.  “It’s not a true Italian-Catholic affair until there’s a fight.”

“He did say I looked like a woman,” I said quietly.  “So that’s fun.”

“Has he
seen
many women?  Well, then again, Pam’s about as feminine as the Marlboro man, so…”

I liked Karen.  She was smart and clever.  Even more beautiful than Marc had described, with long, wild black hair and olive skin tone.  Her teeth were a bit crooked, perhaps from a lack of braces, but it only added to her charm.

“Pam stood up for us, you know?  To Max… at the care center.  I know she doesn’t understand Matt being gay, but she’s been really supportive anyway.  I like her,” I said, following up with a whisper, “even if she does look like the Marlboro man.”

She sighed loudly, placing her empty bottle back into the cardboard container.  “Let’s go.  I’m sure Marc needs somewhere to put his hand.  And your man looks like he could use one of these,” she said, pointing to the beer.  “You know where they are.”

“Thanks, Karen.  Hey, are you guys coming?  Next weekend?”  I looked down at my shoes.  “For the wedding?”

“Hell yes.  No one does a wedding like the gays,” she teased.  “My brother got married as soon as Pennsylvania became legal.  They had a Cher impersonator.  Fuckin’ right.”

“Fuckin’ right,” I agreed.  “Although I don’t think my mom hired Cher for ours.”