Shattered Glass (50 page)

“What happens to Detective Buchanan now?” Peter asked, taking a deep breath and sinking into the pillows.

“Dave? He made a deal. Three years federal prison for his testimony, and then he’s going to split to Sweden. His wife and kid are there now.” I took the remote and flipped the TV back

on.

“Austin?”

“Hm.”

“Thanks.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to watch the game.”

In the aftermath, the sprint into my relationship with Peter was marked by blips of volatility during the intervening quiet.

Four days after Peter’s room change, we learned that Leila had succumbed to her head trauma. I didn’t mourn her loss; nor did I think about the fact that I had caused her death. I had more important things to do. I spent that evening fighting with

Peter over the remote control.

“I’m sick,” he protested when I flipped the channel to a baseball game.

“Anyone who doesn’t like baseball is sick.” “Were you always this boring?”

“I’m boring because I don’t watch political shows? There are millions of people around the world who would disagree.” “What kind of man takes the remote from an invalid?” “The kind who is enlightening his man to the beauty of baseball.” I said it to shut him up. It worked, but it equally shut me up. I ended up missing the entire game because I was busy thinking about the implications of that statement. I didn’t even notice when Peter took the remote.

The next night I brought in my laptop so he could watch his cable news channels and I couldn’t say stupid things like ‘my man’. Propping my feet on his bed, I watched the game. Neither of us, thankfully, brought up my slip of the tongue. And every once in a while, Peter’s finger would trail along the arch of my foot propped on the bed near his hip. I would shiver and shift in my seat. He would smile.

The charges against Cai were dropped, with a signed witness statement from Frank Marco on how Leila—now conveniently dead—pulled the trigger on her husband. Who knew if that was the truth. Cai refused to talk about it. Not long after his release, Luis brought Cai to the hospital along with Rosafa; and we left Peter alone with them to catch up.

“Looks like I owe you again,” Luis said as I filled the vending machine with quarters.

“For what?” I knew he was talking about my having taken

full blame for concealing Peter’s crime. At the same time, I had handed in my resignation.

"Don’t play idiot.”

“You tried to stop me.”

“I didn’t stop you, is the point.”

I smiled, handing him a cup of coffee and got a second cup for myself. We sat in the waiting room, side-by-side, studying the opposite wall.

“I was quitting anyway. After all the mistakes, figured I might as well do something right on my way out.” “The captain didn’t buy that I was clueless.” “Internal Affairs did. That’s what matters.” “I.A. isn’t interested in what was pled down to a misdemeanor.”

“We’re even, Luis. You don’t owe me anything.” “How you figure?”

“You never trusted Peter. You always thought Cai was guilty.

You held back because you trusted me.” He pointed his cup at me. “In that case, you’re right, you owe me.”

“I’ll send you a gift next hump day.” My grin widened.

“If I even see your face on a Wednesday from here on out, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.” “Luis, only Peter can shoot on my face.” “I’m outta here.” He hustled out of his chair with more grace than a man his size should have.

I finished my coffee with a lighter heart, knowing my friendship with Luis wasn’t lost.

On the way back to Peter’s room, I found Angelica gracefully

parked in a plastic hospital chair. She pressed her lips together when we made eye contact, took a deep breath and relaxed her mouth into a smile.

“I miss you,” she said with a shrug.

Maybe one more friendship could be salvaged.

“I miss you, too,” I replied. I slid into the chair beside her. She laid her hand on my arm.

A nurse passed by and smiled at us both. Me in my jeans and sneakers, Angelica in her favorite navy skirt suit. We were mismatched, but we looked like a couple. What would be the nurse’s reaction if Peter was next to me? If I held his hand? If I kissed him? It didn’t seem fair to wonder about things like that for the rest of my life.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Once again, I didn’t have to ask what. “Me either. Especially now that I have so much free time to think.” “I have gay friends. One of the firm’s lawyers is gay, and we hang out.”

“I know a lesbian,” I offered.

“I’m not counting coup, Austin. I just don’t understand. I never had a question about homosexuality being something you’re born with. Unchangeable. But you’re twenty-six. I’m trying to get it through my head because of every man I know, you’re the least likely person to ever
choose
to be gay. But just suddenly…”

I leaned my head back against the wall and shut my eyes. “I hope you’re not asking me to explain it. I’ve been gay for ten

minutes. I don’t know how it works. Last night I asked Peter if I had to like the Village People and wear leather chaps.” Her musical laugh danced along the hall. Then she rested her cheek against my shoulder. “He’s nice, your,” she hesitated, “Peter?”

“He’s snarky and vindictive, and romantic,” I shuddered, “and yeah, he’s nice.” Too nice for me. Much too good for me.

“Romantic?”

“I don’t think he expects flowers, but he doesn’t gag when I call him my boyfriend.”

“That is probably too romantic for you.” “Luckily he makes up for it with a mouth that could suck a ping pong ball through a Twizzler.” Her upper lip drew up to reveal her teeth. “Too soon?”

Her laughter shook my body as she hid her face in my shoulder. “I love you, Austin.”

“Me, too.” I took her hand. “Me too, Angel.” “I have this crazy idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you wait until this one proposes to you?”

Don’t Look At Me, I’m Not Even Here A fight about Cai staying with us was in full swing in Peter’s room. I sat in a corner chair and buried my nose in a celebrity magazine like it was ESPN porn.

“He is my son, Petya. You cannot expect me to leave him behind forever.”

“I’m sorry, Rosa, but it’s what’s best for Cai. It’s not fair, and I’m a terrible person for having taken him from you. But we’re

all he knows.”

“Rosa, if there were any other way.” Darryl said.

“This is not right. He belongs with his mother.” Rosafa watched her son with tearful eyes.

While they argued, I tried not to look up. When I did, I caught Cai staring at me while playing with the beaded black necklace around his neck.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asked.

Everyone turned to me and waited for an answer. I, of course, responded with my clever and insightful, “Huh?” “Do you want me to stay with you?” Cai repeated.

I thought about how he must be feeling right now. How difficult it must be to choose between his mother and the only people who never failed him. I hoped to hell he wasn’t hinging his decision on me. I wasn’t exactly impartial. “Yes. I want you to stay. I think it would be best if you stayed. No one could love you as much as Peter, not even his mother. But I’m biased when it comes to mothers.” I went back to reading my magazine.

“And…I like you, too,” I grumbled.

He kissed my cheek, and I felt the wetness on his lips. First thing I was teaching him was how to not cry all the goddamn time. I didn’t look up when he made his announcement. “I’m sorry, mamma.”

“No. I will not allow it.”

“Let me know when you’re done with this conversation.

Peter needs his tongue bath. I mean sponge bath.” “Austin, Dammit!” Peter rubbed his face.

Cai hiccupped a giggle. Everyone else was silent as I licked a finger and turned another page.

“You see? He is an animal. You want my son to be with an animal? Sex. All he thinks of is sex. He does not even have a table for a family meal.”

“Aaaand we’re back to that,” I said, flipping another page. I opened my mouth to say exactly what I’d do to Peter on a dining table, but Peter must have read my mind.

“Not helping, Austin.” he took a deep breath. “I promise I’ll buy a table. We’ll eat dinner as a family. I’ll even take Cai to the mosque.”

“But…um…I don’t believe in,” Cai meekly trailed off, “God.”

The argument waged on for an hour. Cai pulled up a chair next to me and watched them like a home movie, cringing in parts, crying in others, sometimes burying his face in his knees.

“It shouldn’t be this easy to say goodbye to her,” Cai said for my ears only.

“It shouldn’t,” I agreed, “But it’s not your fault, kid. You don’t know her. And staying is what’s best for you. She’ll realize that before she goes.” In retrospect I shouldn’t have been the one comforting Cai about his mother leaving. My interest lay in his feelings. I had little sympathy for her. Or mothers in general.

In the end, Rosafa did realize what was best for Cai was staying with Peter and Darryl. I had to give her credit for that.

Later, I would find that my behavior with Rosa that day incited Peter to insist I resolve things with my own mother.

Angelica had me thinking about proposals and the future. Gay.

It changed everything. But then, it always had. Being gay had

defined my whole life, and I hadn’t even been aware of it.

Gay was the reason I had no close male friends after high school. Except for Dave. Because I was never attracted to him.

Dave was safe. Other men weren’t.

Gay was the reason I quit playing football with the guys.

After a few boners in the middle of a game, I gradually became busy on Sundays so I could spend them with Luis, with Dave and Marta, with Angelica. Excuses so I could avoid my reactions to sweaty male bodies.

Gay was the reason I hopped from one woman to the next.

The reason I never held onto a relationship. If I dug deep enough, I could probably find a host of other ways that being closeted had impacted my life. But what was important now, what I couldn’t stop thinking about was: Would my outlook change now that I had accepted I was gay? Would my moral views change? Did I believe the same things? Monogamy?

Marriage? Kids? Peter seemed to think I shouldn’t.

“I’m just sayin’ it’s not realistic,” he said, placing his foot on my chair between my legs.

“You and your realism.” I lifted it and pulled his sock on, then forced his foot into his shoe. “Because I’m gay I’ll suddenly change?”

“Because you’re just out. You’re going to find a lot of things change. Starting a relationship with the same mentality isn’t realistic.”

I finished tying his sneaker and motioned for his other foot.

He complied, smiling as I rubbed the arch before shoving his foot in the other sneaker. “What about you?” “It’s different for me.”

“Because you’re not gay?”

“Because I’ve sucked and fucked enough to figure out that one dick is just like another, one vagina isn’t any more special than another, and I’ve got more important things to do than looking for a new trick every night.” He winced and rubbed his abdomen. “I already found out that marriage isn’t what holds people together, Austin. And infidelity isn’t what tears them apart. We’re going to be together on our own terms.” He pulled off his shirt and immediately my questions took a backseat. His abdomen was a patchwork of scars, from the surgical one running straight down his torso to the smaller ones from his colostomy bag and the bullet wound. Their red raw nature reminded me that Peter was still in pain. That his wounds itched and burned so badly he slept in fits. Not a good time for me to start an argument.

As he pulled on a fresh t-shirt, I determined not to give in to the heart pounding fear that was tying knots in my throat. My hands shook as I secured his other shoe. The fight wasn’t worth the heartache. “We can talk later.”

“I thought we worked this all out?”

“We worked out that I forced monogamy on you when I didn’t really figure out if that’s what you wanted. Or even if I could be.”

“You think I feel obligated to be with you on your terms?” He smiled, tossing me an empty gym bag. I started to pile in the clothes that Darryl and I had bought for him.

“Your mother thinks you’re indebted to me because you owe me money. Darryl thinks you owe me because of Cai. And Rosafa thinks you’re with me because Cai is choosing to stay

here after you decided to move in with me. Yeah, I think you might feel obligated.”

“Overthinking. It’s like a disease with you. They should make pills for it.”

“They do. Little blue ones that drive the blood from the brain straight to the cock.”

“Hardons don’t make you think less. They make you think stupid. Which makes me think you must have one 24/7.” “Ouch.”

“Austin.” He propped back on his hands, his t-shirt sliding up to reveal a portion of the scar on his abdomen. My stomach contracted in empathy. “For the record, I want to be exclusive.” He had carefully avoided my question. “Do you feel obligated to me or not?”

“Of course I do. I told you that before. But it’s not why I want to be with you.” He zipped up the bag and picked up the newspaper-wrapped gift I’d given him an hour earlier. Instead of opening it, he’d set it on the side table and ignored it while he got dressed. In the wake of this discussion, I had forgotten it.