I'm Your Man (44 page)

“Martin kept Ken's ashes until we were able to dispose of them in a way Ken would have wanted.”

“What does this have to do with—”

“Do you want to find out, or should we just part now and vow never to speak again?”

“Please stay,” I said.

“Martin and I always knew we'd fulfill Ken's final wishes together, but we couldn't do it until we were all right with each other. If Martin had taken the ashes by himself, without telling me, and spread them in Greenwich Village, how do you think that would have made me feel?”

“Betrayed,” I said. “Left out.”

“Right. And like he gave up. Like all the planning we'd done, the importance of doing it together, meant nothing to him.”

“Daniel, when we split up, you made it pretty clear we weren't going to get back together.”

Daniel's bottom lip quivered, but his eyes showed no sign of weakness. I, on the other hand, felt like my feet were sinking into the concrete, and if I didn't move soon, I would become part of the sidewalk.

“You still don't get it,” he said. “Think about how Gretchen and Gwendy just made you feel. Does that give you any insight into how I've been feeling?”

“Yes,” I said quietly.

“It's a good thing we don't have any more interviews,” he said. “I can't fake it anymore. I think it's best if we finish our business with Lillith Allure, but after that, I don't know.”

I felt defeated, but not hopeless. Daniel shot a halfhearted smile at me before he turned to leave again. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he turned the corner to go back uptown.

The entire day had left me reeling. Rather than follow him and head toward home, I walked east, finally ducking into a diner that was only half full of people, most of whom were reading in solitude at their tables. I slid into a corner booth and ordered coffee from a waitress who thankfully didn't seem inclined to make small talk.

I tried to sort through my feelings about Gretchen and Gwendy. If I took the baby out of the equation, I knew that I'd be happy for them. I liked and admired both women. It was apparent that Gretchen had finally conquered her tendency to get involved with the worst possible girlfriend. The happiness she'd worn like a particularly flattering outfit over the past few months hadn't been only because of her pregnancy. She was in love with someone who knew how to treat her. Especially how to take care of her, since Gwendy had been able to accomplish the impossible—persuading Gretchen to take a leave of absence from work.

I also agreed that their decision to go to Happy Hollow until just before the baby was born was sensible. Gretchen needed to get away from the public farce that Daniel and I had been living, not just to avoid the possible leak of our secret, but for her own peace of mind. The past couple of months had been stressful for all of us.

What bothered me was the strange sense of disconnection I had. I remembered Adam's cautionary words when I'd told him what Gretchen and I were considering:
What about when she gets involved with someone? That's one more person involved in how your child is raised.

It was an issue that I'd had no reason to think about, but now I couldn't dodge it. For the rest of Gretchen's pregnancy, during her delivery, and every day afterward, Gwendy would have an intimacy and access that excluded me. I'd gotten used to being the person Gretchen relied on. I'd felt like we were partners. And even though we wouldn't be living together, I'd anticipated being a solid half of the parent dynamic.

Gwendy would be living with my child. Gwendy would gradually know more than I would about how to take care of him and meet his needs. It would be Gwendy who changed his diapers, comforted him after a bad dream, and celebrated all his firsts with Gretchen. When he started crawling, walking, and talking. When he got his first tooth.

But he was
my
child. All these things were supposed to be what
I
did. No matter what happiness I took from the news that two people I loved had found something beautiful and affirming to celebrate together, I couldn't deny that it left me feeling jealous, shut out, and—

“Oh, fuck,” I said out loud, tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling. “Daniel.”

I should have told Daniel what I was thinking of doing before I gave Gretchen an answer. I should have made him part of the baby decision from the very beginning. Not just as Gretchen's friend and my ex-lover, but because I finally understood what he'd been trying to tell me.

I'd not only excluded him, I'd taken one of our dreams and given it to someone else. The baby wasn't conceived the day Gretchen was inseminated. It was conceived as an idea, a possibility, and a promise in Daniel's bed.

We were always safe; but in spite of our vow of fidelity and our consistently negative test results, and even though we didn't really believe we had reason to worry, whenever we got tested we experienced a giddy euphoria after hearing that everything was okay. The last time we'd been tested, we'd gone to Daniel's doctor instead of the usual anonymous clinic, and Dr. Canady, who was gay, had asked to speak to us together before we left. After commending us for staying safe and healthy, he'd suggested we both continue to get regular checkups. Some of his patients had testicular and prostate cancer, and he brought up the idea of sperm banking.

“Is there an ATM machine for that?” Daniel had quipped.

Dr. Canady laughed and said, “Seriously, it's protection. A lot of my patients are straight, so they preserve semen samples as insurance against something going wrong and preventing them from having children. But more of my gay patients, too, want children these days. Should either of you ever decide to go that route, you can store clean samples without worrying about HIV or other complications, like cancer, impotence, or some physical disability. Things happen. It's better to be prepared.”

We'd taken the information for a lab he recommended and gone on our way. That night, in bed, Daniel had run a finger over my stomach and said, “Here they are. All our unborn babies mingling together.”

“Maybe we should do it,” I'd said.

“Where were you the last hour or so?”

“Not that.” I laughed. “Bank our sperm.”

“You've always been the fiscally responsible one,” Daniel teased.

“Both of us,” I insisted.

We stayed in bed for hours, talking about the future, the possibility of having a child, and how it would change our lives. It wasn't the first time we'd talked about it, but it seemed more real that night as we discussed adoption, insemination, surrogate mothers, and women we might be able to coparent with. Gretchen's name had come up, because Daniel knew she wanted a child. Just before we fell asleep, we'd come to the conclusion that of all our options, the one that seemed the least complicated was a surrogate. Some kind stranger who would carry our baby for us, then hand it over and vanish from our lives.

We contacted the lab recommended by Dr. Canady and found out things were more complicated than we'd expected. We couldn't just play around at home and proudly deliver our plastic chalices to the lab. Instead, we had to abstain from any sexual activity for three days, go to the lab, provide our samples, wait ten days, do it again, then repeat the process a third and final time. Which essentially made it a month-long commitment, with at least nine days of abstinence.

“I've found, pledged eternal love, and broken up with boyfriends in less time,” Daniel complained.

“I'm sure the idea of not having sex with me is agonizing,” I said. “But you'll survive.”

The first time, we went to the clinic together. We'd hated our solitary little rooms, but both of us were horny and managed to provide our samples without much trouble. The second time, I'd been out of town, which helped with the abstinence, but I felt sad about the fact that we'd gone separately to make our deposits. The third time, I was just over it. The room looked drearier than ever, and I couldn't get hard. I zipped up and sat on the uncomfortable plastic chair, kicking at a loose piece of tile. I was even more disgruntled when I heard Daniel outside his door talking to the nurse. Apparently
he
wasn't having any problem.

I opened my door and glared at the two of them, saying, “It's hard—”

“It's supposed to be,” the nurse joked.

“—to concentrate with you two out here whispering.”

The nurse looked from Daniel to me and said, “When we bring you back here, we leave you alone. Do not contaminate the sample with saliva or anything else.” Then he shoved Daniel into my room and shut the door.

“You can't do it either?” I asked.

“I can now,” Daniel said, grabbing me.

It was hot and exciting and sneaky, even with the ridiculous plastic cups labeled with our names. After it was over, while I leaned against the wall gasping, Daniel got an evil gleam in his eye.

“You know, I could mix these up, give them half and half, and we'd never know—”

“Don't you dare,” I said. “If they figure it out when they test it, they might make us come back. I'm done with this place.”

“Oh, all right,” Daniel said. He hit the call button and the nurse returned, grinning like an idiot when he took the samples from Daniel. I wondered if they had hidden cameras. If so, we'd provided a hell of a porn scenario.

I had no idea which of my samples had been sent by my lab to Gretchen's clinic, but it didn't matter. Daniel was justified in feeling that I'd taken his baby,
our
baby, and given it away. I hadn't discussed it with him. I'd kept it a secret for months. He'd found out in a way that was unsettling and humiliating, because it had been clear that not only Gretchen and I, but Adam and Jeremy, had known something he hadn't. As if all that wasn't enough for him to deal with, it was obvious from what he'd said earlier,
You always make decisions for yourself and help yourself to whatever is available,
that Gretchen had told him we'd used my banked sperm. She'd had no idea what effect that might have on him.

The anxiety and sense of exclusion I had felt after hearing about the town house, and especially after being told Gretchen and Gwendy's news, was exactly the kind of thing that had tormented Daniel for months. And the charade for the press I'd asked him to go along with was a mockery of everything we'd shared and lost. I'd never felt so dishonest, not even with Sydney.

I paid for my coffee and walked home, climbing the five flights to my apartment like my legs were made of lead. When I put my key in the lock, Gavin opened the door to greet me with a wary look on his face.

“Brace yourself,” he said.

“No. I don't want to.” I started to walk into the apartment and was appalled when Gavin blocked the doorway.

“You have visitors.”

I pushed past him to my living room, and my sister-in-law Beverly stood to greet me. Standing at the window with his back to me, Nick was enveloped by a floor-length black trench coat. From behind, he looked like a goth gunslinger.

“Blaine, we need to talk.”

“Hello to you, too, Beverly. Welcome to my home.”

Beverly took a shallow breath and let it out audibly. She smoothed a loose strand of hair into place and said, “I'm sorry. It's been a long day—week—month—months. I need your help.
We
need your help.”

“What's wrong?” I asked.

During our exchange, Nick remained standing with his back to me. I thought it odd, since Nick and I had established a bond, that he wouldn't acknowledge that I was in the same room.

“We need your help with him.” She gestured over her shoulder toward her son. “He's out of control, and I don't know where else to turn.”

“I'm not sure I follow you. Out of control how?”

“Show him, Nicky,” Beverly said to her son's back.

“No,” came the reply.

“Show him,” his mother asserted more forcefully.

“
No,”
he answered with equal passion.

“Okay,” I interjected, “let me explain something. I've had a long day—week—month—months, too. All I want is to go to bed and slip into a coma. Let's cut to the chase. What happened, and why are you here?”

Beverly continued to stare at Nick's back. No one spoke as my disgruntled mood permeated the room. Nick slowly turned to face us, exposing a black eye.

“Oh, geez,” I said. “What's that?”

“It's a black eye,” Beverly said.

“Yes, Bev, thanks. I can see it's a black eye. Who gave you that? What happened?”

“You should see the other guy,” Nick said with a half smile.

“His brother gave him that,” Beverly answered. “And you
should
see ‘the other guy.' Nicky attacked him.”

“Nick, what happened?” I asked. I couldn't believe someone as thin and wiry as Nick would go after one of his athletic brothers.

“Chuck called me that name one too many times. I guess I snapped.”

I didn't have to ask what the name was.

“You know,” Beverly began, “I'm not sure what you hoped to accomplish by telling Shane and me what you did when you were home—”

“This
is my home,” I said.

“—but you made an awful mess that I've spent months trying to clean up. He's been sullen and out of touch ever since he overheard that conversation.” She misinterpreted my quick glance at Nick and went on. “Yes, that's right, he heard it when you talked with your brother and me in the kitchen. I can't even list for you all the things he's done since then. Do you know what he did? He came out”—she used her fingers to make quotation marks—“at school! Tony's away at college, but do you know what that's done to Chuck? All the other boys in the locker room have been badgering him ever since. Somehow, things got back to one of his friends' parents, and now they're saying things to Shane at work. At work! Can you imagine? We don't live in New York City or San Francisco. We live in Eau Claire! People aren't anonymous there like they are here.