Bits and Pieces

[ChrisGibson]

Well, they have made up, and they do make up, and the Brendan and Sheridan in Elegy are a few years after this, so we know things are alright. But not the same. They've done too much for them to be the same. Well, it's good to see you back and there will be more, for sure, tomorrow.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT, THE BEGINNING OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN OF BITS AND PIECES




THIRTEEN










“We’re only strong when we have each other.”

- William Klasko



“So… you’re here to stay?” Kenny said.
“Yes,” said Brendan. They were all gathered in Todd and Fenn’s living room after the funeral of Fenn’s grandmother. Dylan had been fifteen then, and on punishment.
“Why?”
“Because this is home.” Brendan spoke as if this was obvious. “Because I can work normal hours instead of losing myself. Because everyone I love is here.
“Because you are here, Kenneth,” he touched the red haired man’s arm. “Because I did betray you and leave you in the lurch and… I really can’t do this without you. All I am is shit without you. I forgot that. So now I’m back.”
Kenny looked truly worked up. He clinched his jaws and shook his head.
“I got something going on right now. I don’t know if you realized that.”
Brendan looked over to Chad, who was talking to Bryant, and said, “I think he’ll understand.”
Kenny didn’t say anything for a while. When he finally did, it was, “Goddamnit, Brendan.”
“You don’t want to melt to me right now, it’s okay. I’ll give it time. As much time as you need. But,” Brendan said as he was walking off, “you gotta remember, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Bren!”
“Yes?” Bren turned around with a mischievous look on his face.
“Call me tonight.”
“Alright,” Brendan said, smiling triumphantly.
“Bastard,” Kenny added.


Dena Reardon Affren came out into her living room that was lit only by the blue of the television. Brendan was on the couch in cargo pants and a tee shirt. When she yawned he yawned, and they sat together on the sofa.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she said.
“Didn’t want to.”
“I thought you’d stay with Kenny tonight.”
“I thought that was jumping the gun. You can’t just switch men like that. Let him sleep alone a few nights. Invite me when he wants to.”
“How long do you think that’ll be?”
“You trying to throw me out?’
Dena hit him with a pillow.
“You know me better than that, Bren. If I wanted you out, I’d say get the fuck out.”
“Yes,” Brendan reflected. “You would.
“Well, with me and Kenny being me and Kenny, I suspect—”
Brendan stopped, making a strange face.
“Hold on! My ass is ringing.”
He got up, pulling his phone from his back pocket.
“Uh… it’s Kenny.”
“Answer it.”
He did. The conversation was short, full of “ums” and “yeahs”. When it was over Dena looked up at Brendan:
“And…”
Bren grinned. “Well, it seems like he’ll be ready tomorrow night.”
“He’s got it bad for you, boy.”
Brendan sat back down with a mild smile and, after texting him, said, “We’ve got it bad for each other. Now shush and let’s watch the movie.”
“What is it?”
“It’s one Paul did on IFC.”
“Well,” Dena said. She folded her legs under her on the sofa.
After a while she said, “You and me and a Paul Anderson movie. That’s how all this shit started.”
“Is it?” Brendan said, “I don’t recall.”
“I do,” Dena said. “I recall everything.”
On the screen Paul was saying:
“It doesn’t really matter what I say, or what I do. I can’t prove anything to you. Look, this is who I am, and this is who I’m going to be. I can’t stop it!”

“We need some popcorn,” Dena said, getting up.
“Agreed,” Brendan told her.
“With extra butter?”
“Or not at all.”
“Right,” Dena said, rising. “I’ll be right back.”
“I love you, Dena,” Brendan said. “Sometimes I forget how much. I’m so glad we broke up, and I came out. I love you more than I ever did.”
“Oh, Brendan Miller,” Dena said, heading to the kitchen, “I really like you too.”
Brendan chuckled because he knew that was all he was going to get, and from Dena Affren, that was more than enough.

The whole house was asleep when Brendan went out walking through town. Only now, at twelve o clock in Rossford was he aware of how different this was from Chicago where he would never consider walking at night. He went down to Overton Street and entered the Quicky Mart with its harsh fluorescent light the smell of cold cut sub sandwiches in its refrigerators and the security guard.
“Brendan!” Sheridan had just finished paying for a Coke, and he was standing there with a backwards cap on and a plaid shirt, and Brendan smiled at him, but didn’t speak.
“What’s up?” Sheridan said again, the boy waving his hand slowly in Brendan’s face, half in mockery, but only half.
“Nothing,” Brendan shook his head. “I was just walking.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Dena’s. I could sleep. I came to get something to drink.” Then he said, “I wanted to get something to drink for real, but I don’t want to drink by myself.”
“Howabout this?” Sheridan pointed outside. “I drove, and if you will be so kind as to pay, then we can get something to drink, and I will be glad to drink with you.”
Again Brendan just seemed to be looking at him, and Sheridan said, “I’m not a kid, Brendan.”
“I know you’re not,” Brendan said. Then he smiled. “Maybe I don’t know that. But…” he shrugged. “Let’s go.”

Sheridan was gagging on a cigarette and Brendan laughed. “I told you you couldn’t handle it.”
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Sheridan said, looking at Bren/
“I don’t. Not often. But tonight.”
He passed the bottle to Sheridan and Sheridan took a swig from the paper bag saying, “We look so homeless.”
“Speak for yourself,” Brendan still had on his shirt and tie and Sheridan nodded. “You’re right. You look good.”
“I know,” Brendan said, with more confidence than he felt.
“You always look so fucking good,” Sheridan said.
Neither one of them was so drunk that Brendan didn’t raise an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry,” Sheridan said in that insistent tone that meant he was not sorry, “but you’ve looked good to me since I was… shit… a little kid. You just look so good.”
Brendan didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say and Sheridan added, “And maybe I’m being bold, but if I was Kenny I wouldn’t have a hard time following to Chicago.”
“Don’t you have someone right now?” Brendan said.
Sheridan looked very old right now, and Brendan didn’t know what he meant when he thought that. His eyes were very blue.
“I don’t know what I have,” he said. Then: “Can I kiss you?”
“Huh?”
Sheridan took a quick swig from the bottle and then pressed his mouth to Brendan’s, and for a moment, Brendan protested. He was about to get back with Kenny, right? But Sheridan was holding his hands down and pressing his mouth against him, thrusting his tongue into him, and he had never really paid attention to Sheridan. It was strange He’d always thought of Sheridan as this skinny kid, but right now Sheridan’s hands, his mouth, his body, was clearly that of a man, the same size as him, and he felt so good. Sheridan pressed against him, pressed Brendan down, spread himself over Brendan. Brendan sighed while Sheridan sucked on his throat.
‘ “You’re so fucking beautiful,” Sheridan murmured while he unbuttoned Brendan’s shirt.
“Sheridan, what are we doing?”
Sheridan unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants and Brendan sighed as Sheridan took him in his mouth. It felt so good. He closed his thighs around Sheridan’s head feeling his mouth go all the way down Sheridan swallow him, his tongue all around him, Sheridan snaked back up and kissed him and pulled Brendan’s liquor sour mouth to his, and then Sheridan went down on him again.
“I always thought you were like a little brother,” Brendan said, his breath shallow.
“That’s really gross,” Sheridan said, while Brendan shrugged off his shirt and pulled Sheridan into his arms.
Brendan chuckled while Sheridan kissed him.
He held onto Brendan’s face while Brendan kissed him, and he pulled Brendan to the bed.
“Yes,” Brendan whispered, running his hands under Sheridan’s shirt, “it’s pretty gross. Good thing you aren’t my little brother at all.”
Those dress pants he always wore hanging at mid thigh, his shirt on the bed, Brendan gripped Sheridan’s hips and pulled him closer as he fucked him. They both shouted, jarred and surprised by the intensity of their sex. Mouth open, eyes closed, Sheridan held onto the backboard and now and again, called out of the deep place, he opened his eyes to see if anyone was coming back to the house. The bed groaned under them as Brendan, face approaching his throat, cheek touching his, pushed him into him harder and then, with a surprised groan his body jerking violently, he moved away, holding Sheridan’s hips, almost unable to keep his balance as, still in him, still fucking, he came.
“Thank you, Sheridan,” Brendan whispered into Sheridan’s ears as he held him close.
“Uh… yeah,” Sheridan murmured, not knowing what else to say, treasuring Brendan’s body, his arms, the memory of Brendan inside of him.
“I haven’t been with someone… I haven’t felt… loved… like a man in a while.” He kissed Sheridan’s shoulder. “Thank you so much. I hope you don’t hold it against me in the morning.”
Sheridan turned around with a slight grunt and looked into Brendan’s eyes, his nose touching Brendan’s.
“I feel exactly the same way and I needed the exact same thing from you. I love you, Brendan. It wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Like a brother? Incestuously.”
“Don’t be gross,” Brendan pulled him close, smiling. “I love you like a Sheridan.”
Exhausted, they gradually shrugged out of all of their clothing until they lay naked, sprawled together on the bed, and passed into sleep.

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion. Am I right in thinking this is set in the past before the current events of this story? Maybe I am just confused. Either way I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, we already covered all that on Facebook. Yep, its in the past.

 

[ChrisGibson]

BACK IN THE PRESENT, MEREDITH AND KENNY HAVE A SERIOUS DISCUSSION ABOUT THE FUTURE


“But between you, me and the devil,” Meredith said, “were you thinking of going to bed with Brendan?”
“I’m thinking about going to bed with Brendan even now,” Kenny said.
He sat up and said, “I’m not entirely sure what I thought when I wrote him.”
“Did you think about getting him back?” Meredith said. “Cause there were a bunch of times I thought of getting Mathan back.”
“If you wanted me to give you a real answer I would have to think about it,” Kenny said, “and I’ve sort of made it a point to not think about it.
“It was so strange. He found Sheridan so quickly, and I never found anyone.”
Meredith had been part of Kenny’s world since she had come to Rossford over twenty years ago, but for years they had been on the peripheries of each others lives. It was the death of Robin Netteson that painted a black band over both of their lives and united them in sorrow. And this was because Robin Netteson’s death had been a suicide.
Robin had been the best friend of Meredith, but she had been Kenny’s younger cousin. In her seventeenth year she had been raped, and brutally so. The despair had led her to step out in front of a train. The rape was a little before Thanksgiving and she was dead by Christmas.
“I never faulted her,” Meredith told Kenny. “By then all the choice and all the power was gone from her life, and she just wanted a little control. If she couldn’t control her life…”
Yes, well the rest did not need to be said. Only now, years later, Meredith often wondered, what if she had taken the very hard road and eventually gotten through it? What life would there be for her now? Would they still be friends? Would she have turned out fabulous with four children, looking back on that horrible year, but not letting it drown her? Girlfriends were so few, especially of her age, and over and over again now she thought of a grown up Robin, and how that adult had been robbed from her.
When she got this way, Kenny said nothing. He was well grown, with Brendan for several years when the event had happened, and it was the day of Robin’s funeral that he was driving home from that cold winter time burial, the cars black, their coats black, the earth scratched open for the mangled body of a seventeen year old, that Kenny had stopped the car in front of an art store. The fluorescent light was glaring, and Brendan followed after him and Kenny thought, good, for once you should follow me and not the other way around. He had bought an easel and he had bought up oil paints and brushes and then loaded them into the back of the car. He didn’t talk to Brendan that whole night as he prepared to paint.
“I didn’t know you did that,” Brendan said.
“I used to paint as a kid all the time,” Kenny said. “I took a class in college. I wasn’t really good. I don’t really have to be good. I just want to do something right now.”
He wasn’t very good when he started, but he had a sort of hunger for it. So he always spent the money on paints thought what he wished he had was some sort of mentor or perhaps a decent class to help him be who he should be. But no matter, the painting and sculpting also, got him through. The collage making as well. By the time he was in Chicago, the only way he survived the intense loneliness of living there, making little money while Brendan pursued legal cases, was to immerse himself in art.
“I feel like I knew I was depressed when Robin died. But I wonder if I was depressed all along? I never thought about it, but the whole time I was in Chicago, I was barely alive. If only she had had something. If only she had had something to get her through that pit.”

Whatever gets you through the pit, use it! Morality be damned. After Robin died, Kenny saw his grandmother, stretched out on her sofa, done in by life with a heavy steel rosary in her hand, and isn’t that something? Years later, when she died, Kenny found that rosary and put it in his pocket, and he still had it, and if that got her through, fine. Mass had gotten him through sometimes. Prayers had gotten him through, but art had done it, sleeping all weekend, and sometimes sleeping with a man he didn’t know. Sometimes one could only survive. The time to thrive hadn’t come yet, and when voices whispered that Robin had the right of it, to resist those voices, to do anything to keep on living was what mattered.
A year ago he had painted his first Crucifixion. He had thought about it for years, but for some reason, more than anything else he had done, he had thought a crucifixion would wear him out. It took over a month and was strangely traditional, but as he painted it he began to think, “All of those phrases, Jesus is the answer, all of that business about Jesus dying for our sins, everything that said that Cross plus Something equaled some answer, some solution easily communicated in a sermon, may not have been true. When he finished that Crucifixion he painted another one, which he had given to Jonathan. It was not Robin per se, but it was a crucified girl and train tracks went across her body in an X. She was beaten and broken and there was a dark winter night behind her. The death of Robin had no answers. It was a scar that asked more questions and provided no salvation. It was a ruination and an abomination and maybe this is what the Crucifixion was supposed to be.
“It is a Mystery,” someone had once said to him. “A mystery as long as the world endures, and anything solved, is not a mystery.”

The phone rang and Meredith said, “Are you going to answer it?”
“That’s why God made voice mail.”
“Do you know,” Meredith said, “I have actually never managed to learn how to open my voice mail.”
“I can show you.”
The phone stopped ringing.
“I’m good,” Meredith said.
Kenny picked up his phone and touched the call log.
“It was Brendan.”
“You’d better call him back.”
Kenny nodded. It was good being with him last night, being with all their friends like old times and finding out they still had things to talk about.
“Sorry I missed your call.”
“That’s alright,” Brendan said. “You’re here now. Ey, you wanna get something to eat?”
“Sure, can I bring Meredith with me?”
Meredith raised an eyebrow, and even on the phone Kenny could tell that Brendan was taken aback.
“Sure. That’ll be great.”
When Kenny was off the phone he said, “When a married man asks his ex to lunch and the ex says yes that equals desperate. I didn’t want to seem desperate.”
“I totally understand you,” Meredith said. “And yet, I have to get back home.”
“It really doesn’t matter,” Kenny said. “I don’t mind eating alone with him. I just mind making plans to eat alone with him. If that means anything.”
Meredith nodded.
“It does. A little.”

They met at the new Mexican restaurant near the airport, the one on Blue Island. Brendan said, “I thought Meredith was coming.”
“She changed her mind.”
“Good,” Brendan said. “I thought about bringing Sheridan, but left him behind. It’ll be good for just us.”
“Yeah,” Kenny said.
“The fajita burrito is excellent,” Brendan said. “Because it’s just like fajitas without all the mess of having to make them and… Well, you should get it.”
“Alright. We could get two. Or split them.”
“Let’s not kid ourselves. Let’s get two.”
They went through the glass doors into the little vestibule before entering the restaurant, and Brendan turned back and said, “Sheridan told me it was alright if I wanted you. Alright if I wanted to sleep with you and I do, Kenny.”
Kenny blinked at him.
“You’d think that would take care of everything,” he said. “And yet…”
“I know,” Brendan said, and then turned around and pushed the glass door into the restaurant. When they sat down the waitress said, “Are you ready?”
“Just water,” Brendan said. “For now, we’re still thinking.”
“Still thinking,” Kenny echoed though both had decided on the fajita burrito before they’d ever come through the door.

 

[CharmedFan28]

Great to get back to this story! Well it looks like Brendan and Kenny will sleep together and I don’t know how to feel about it. Conflicted I guess. I look forward to finding out if they actually go through with it. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

It really is conflicting. I'm going to ask you in person who you feel about it, but I know I wasn't quite sure of what should happen, and things certainly do seem to be rolling in that direction.

 

[ChrisGibson]

END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN



Brendan frowned again and put his key in the ignition, turning hard.
Again the engine roared, coughed, squealed and died.
Brendan was about to twist the key once more when Kenny stuck his head in the car and said, “You can abuse it all you want, I don’t think it’s gonna happen today. You don’t have jumper cables to do you?”
“No,” Brendan said.
“Well, neither do I. You want a ride?”
“I live near Edgefield.”
“Cool. That’s not far out of my way.”
Brendan climbed out of the car, inquiring: “Do you need gas money?”
Kenny laughed. “I don’t need anything from you but for you to get in the car.”

“So whaddo you do for fun? How come I never see you?”
“Well, aren’t you in the cool crowd?” Brendan said.
Kenny laughed.
“There isn’t a cool crowd.”
“Yes, there is,” Brendan protested. He listed on his fingers, “You’ve got all the folks who are in physics and AP classes and work on the newspaper and quiz bowl and the swim team. Maybe water polo.”
“That’s a big group. A lot of people do that.”
“No,” Brendan disagreed. “I mean that’s one group of folks. And then you got everyone in band and choir.”
“That’s you.”
“Pretty much. And the folks that do all the plays and the art classes. And then there are all the sports nuts.”
“I am not a sports nut.”
“You’re on the Lacrosse team. And you do track and field. That’s like what all the majorly cool folks do.”
Kenny cackled and pointed ahead, “That’s the beginning of Edgefield.”
“I live off of Callahan.”
“Oh, okay. Then that makes you one of the rich crowd!”
“Shut up.”
“Hey, if you’re gonna make fun of me I can make fun of you.”
“I’m not making fun of anything. I’m just telling the truth.”
The light turned red.
“So,” said Kenny, striking a pose. “Does that make me cool? Do I look cool right now?”
Brendan snorted.
“Right now you just look goofy.”



Brendan Miller had been staying over at Kenny’s for months. The first time they stayed up all night and went through illegal downloads of Guy McClintock, Casey Williams Online and Corby Studios.
To Kenny it seemed natural that when Brendan stayed over, he would always yield the bed to his guest. Tonight, as he lay on his pallet, Brendan said into the dark, “Why don’t you come up here?”
“Huh?”
“Kenny,” Brendan said. “Come up here.”
So Kenny climbed out of his bed pile and climbed into his bed, then Brendan pushed his long body into Kenny.
“Do you like this? We can be like this,” Brendan said. “It’s warmer.”
It was warmer, and it felt so good and he could feel Brendan stiff against him, but Brendan didn’t seem to care and so they pressed themselves together closer and closer, moving slowly, writhing a little now and suddenly Brendan moaning. And then Kenny’s tongue was in his mouth, and it was a shock, but it felt so good. And they were pressing together, slowly pulling away their tee shirts and then their shorts. That night they moved under the covers until the covers were gone and then slowly, remembering all he had seen in those movies, remembering what they had seen tonight, Kenny began to try this and try that. Brendan felt so good in his mouth and he moved along in sympathy with the other boy’s body tightening, the noises Kenny made, his fist clutching the bed was sacred. And then there was what Brendan was doing to him. They exploded, Brendan first, Kenny second. He’d never come so much, all of Brendan’s belly up to his chest was slick in the little light yielded by the computer screen. Breath heaving, bodies shaking, both of them with their hands still in the air, they said nothing.
Eventually, when Brendan trusted himself to speak, he said, “Kenny, was that sex?”
And Kenny replied, “I’m sure it was.”



There was a knock at the back door, but it was just a formality, and then Dena came in and Layla said, “I didn’t even hear you park.”
“I parked down the block because I knew people would be coming.”
“Thank God for a bigger house. Can you get that basket of sheets for me?”
“Is it deceptively heavy?”
“No, I did those sheets just came out of the dryer.”
“Well, you had that whole 1950’s clothesline thing going on last time I was here.”
“We had an Indian summer,” Layla said, “but now we’re on the verge of an Indiana winter. Clotheslines are done.”
“It seems like winter sneaks in so quickly,” Dena lamented.
A few years ago, Will and Layla had adopted first Madeleine and then Simon, and when Simon was coming to them, Layla’s mother and stepfather decided that it made little sense to keep living in their large house, but that they could swap homes with Layla and Will, which they did, and now Layla lived in the same house she had grown up in, the house she had lived in since she was around eight. Back then it had belonged to the father who was betraying her mother, and the mother who was trying to make a life that could not happen, and Fenn had been living with Tom in an apartment on Royal Street. Todd was still in college.
“Who all is coming?” Dena asked as they spread out the sheets and began to clothes pin the yellow old sheets.
“Brendan, Sheridan and of course Rafe. Kenny, and is it strange they came here at the same time?”
“Not if they’re getting back together.”
“Oh, Dena, don’t say that!” Layla took up a towel and clipped it to the rack.
“I don’t mean to be the stormcrow,” she said.
“I don’t want to think about it,” Layla said. “Meredith and her lot are coming. I think that’s about it.”
“No Claire?”
“Oh,” Layla remembered, “And Claire, and Julian, and the nephews.”
“Paul and Kirk?”
“I don’t think so. And your uncle and my uncle are staying home.”
“Oh, Maia may pass through,” Dena said.
“That would be lovely. I miss my cousin.”
“Dylan?”
“Yes,” Layla said. “I miss him, and we won’t even be here for Christmas. Me and Will might go up and see him.”
“Not here for Christmas,” Dena said, “but back for New Year.”
“Yes,” Layla said, “back for New Year.”

Layla was no fool. When people said they wanted a dinner party she provided the house, cleaned it and that was it. Dena was the one who liked to cook, and she had Milo, Rob and Cara bring over the enchilada casserole, the tacos and the fresh bread. Meredith’s family brought everything else, not that Meredith ever cooked, but Charlie’s oldest, Edward was married to Maggie and Maggie had at last mastered doughnuts and several other pastries so, before long, there was chicken and tamales, fresh hummus and couscous with cucumber sauce, gyros, apple pie, chocolate pie, strawberry pie, chocolate cake and ice cream, and by seven o’ clock there was that general hum of happiness that comes when people who want to be with each other are together.

Well into the evening, Will, hair a mess as usual, beard grown out, having hugged all of his children sufficiently, and not minding that the youngest was tugging on his blue jeaned leg, declared, “We won’t even be together for Christmas.”
“Ey,” Sheridan said, “You’re the one who’s going to England.”
“I hate that we’re all scattered!” Will declared.
This, Sheridan and Brendan knew was coming, and Kenny, sitting with Milo, cringed because it always seemed like an accusation.
“We’re only strong when we have each other.”
“We do have each other,” Sheridan, who was wrapped in his brother’s embrace said. “We only live an hour away.”
“Two hours,” Will said. “It takes a good two hours to get from here to Evanston.”
“At least,” Kenny murmured.
“And at least you’re coming back,” Will said. “Kenny, oh Kenny, ah God, Kenny, I miss you.”
“You miss him?” Milo said. “Damn, I’m glad to have this bastard back.”
“What’s a bastard?” a little, wide faced black haired boy asked.
“A bastard,” Maggie, his mother said, “is a word your grandfather shouldn’t be using in front of a three year old.”
“Maggie, whaddit I tell you?” Milo said, “I’m much too young to be a grandfather.”
“If you’ve got a grandson,” Charlie Palmer, who was a good decade older than Milo said, “you’re not too old.”
“Loretta Lynn was twenty-nine when she had her first grandchild,” Will stated.
“You would know that,” Brendan smiled at his best friend.
“Of course I would,” Will told him. “Because I do.”
They sat like old friends, side by side, legs pressed together, hands touching in that affection friends, and lovers, but not always family, had, and he said, “I’m sorry I don’t call the way I should.”
“We talk all the time,” Will said, looking surprised. “Brendan, you’re the best friend a guy could wish for.”
“Stop that,” Brendan said.
“You are the best friend a guy could wish for!” Layla cried, overhearing.
“I nominate Kenny,” Milo said.
Sheridan stirred from his brother’s arm’s looking like a little boy just waking up. Layla saw him looking from Kenny to Brendan and looked for Dena, but it was Claire, in the corner who met her eyes.
“Why don’t we just say everybody’s great,” Brendan said.
“Why don’t we just get real drunk?” Milo suggested.
“Can I get drunk?” Charlie Jr asked and Maggie said, “You can get ready for bed. Ed, are you about ready?”
“I was actually thinking about getting drunk with my father-in-law.”
Maggie looked from Milo to Edward and murmured, “Well, that is the benefit of having a father-in-law that’s less than twenty years older than you. It’s Saturday. You all do what you want to do.”
“Uh, I’m going to think about it, but I’m a married man and my husband’s here,” Brendan said, “And we have a little boy who’s right over… there… So.”
“You guys wanna go out, I’m cool with it,” Sheridan said. “I’ll let you have your night out and you let me have mine when we get back to Chi.”
“Come on,” Bren,” Milo said, planting a hand on Brendan’s knee. “Let’s have some fucking fun.”
“You can have all the fucking fun you want to have after you clean this house,” Layla said. “The stone age is over. Everyone’s gonna pitch in.”
Brendan rose to take his plate to the kitchen and Kenny, sitting between Meredith and Jonah, waited for a discreet moment, until it seemed alright for him to follow. He opened the kitchen door and saw Brendan on the other side of it, blinking, ready to come out again.
“Excuse me, Kenny.”
“No,” Kenny said quickly, pressing Brendan back in. He looked around the kitchen, and then took his head in his hands and kissed him quickly.
“I want you,” Kenny whispered. “Alright? I don’t know what we’re gonna do about that, but I want you. Alright?”
Kenny’s hand was holding onto Brendan’s so hard it hurt, and Brendan Miller’s throat hurt like his heart was in it. He wanted Kenny to kiss him again. He wanted ot kiss him, but didn’t dare.
“Alright,” he said.
“Let’s work something out, okay?”
“Yes,” Brendan said.
He could hardly speak.


TOMORROW, THE BOOK OF BATTLES

 

[ChrisGibson]

DONOVAN


the opposite of eulogy



This is the end. This is the end of the story of the beginning. This is the end of the story of my grief, but not the end of grief. Grief is a five letter word for memory and regret and rage and sorrow and many, many things but today, somewhere in that is joy. Or could it be that grief, being part of this life, is wrapped up in joy? We will think about death. We will think about those gone tomorrow, and even today, but this afternoon, in this house we think about other things. I had not planned to stay in Ely so long. I thought we would be back by nine in the morning, but this is because I am always leaving out reality, always leaving out my procrastinations. We come back at nearly twelve and I guess I am used to cooking, used to making things ready, but Simon says, “Sit.” Cade says, “Sit”. I realize I’m afraid of them screwing things up, that I am like my mother who wore herself to the bone because she wouldn’t trust other people to do cooking or cleaning because God forbid it would turn out differently than she liked. She controlled and controlled till there was nothing left of her, and in her weariness she fell into a deeper and deeper sleep until she was gone. Even on Christmas Day I stop to think about her and I am so sad and so angry at the same time because none of this had to happen. When Loretta the greeter at Wal Mart says, “You can’t get mad at God. God always knows what he’s doing,” I agree. But God wasn’t the one who ignored signs of slipping health or kept things to himself. God was not the one who left me, left us, in the blink of an eye and died in an instant.
The snow is white and winks with crystals and the sky is the sharpest, brightest blue. Isaiah pours me a drink and sits on the other side of the fire with me.
“I know how you feel. One minute angry as hell, one minute sorry, one minute thinking the world could not possibly be more beautiful than it is.”
One minute wondering why there isn’t music, the next exalting in James Brown Funky Christmas, Santa Claus Come Straight to the Ghetto, the song white folks have never heard, the next moment listening to the solemn pronouncements of old Latin hymns, Of the Father’s Love Begotten. Natus Hodie, Adeste Fideles.
When DJ and Rob and Josh arrive, when Jason arrives with his trim beard, merry eyes, his large hug, his “Don, I heard, I’m so sorry,” the food is coming to the table.
“I remember when my mother died,” Jason says frankly, “and I didn’t talk about it to anyone. Maybe you’ll talk with me after dinner.”
“I hear you’ll be in town for a while.”
“Longer than I thought,” he says, “And more frequently.”
“Everyone should like that,” I assure him. I add, “I will like it. Family should be close. We should be close as possible. We only have so much time.”
This is the largest damn turkey I’ve ever seen. I wonder that it can be so juicy. Sweet potatoes with pecans and brown sugar baked like a candy shell, broccoli in cheese and cheesy bacon Brussels sprouts because Simon insists on it. Quinoa that no one accounts for and wild rice and mushrooms and white rice, and I think of gumbo that is not there, but that will be here come New Years, because life goes on, years go on. And Melanie has brought a great hen, and someone, I’m not sure who, a trout that I was not expecting but looks delicious, and there is cheesecake and pumpkin pie and apple pie and my nephew DJ’s attempt at a plum pudding. We all say it looks wonderful. Josh, who I think is his boyfriend, insists that it is and then makes a joke that takes DJ out of his momentarily embarrassed mood. Jason and Frey, like good fathers, both decide to be the first to taste the plum pudding. They declare it delicious and proudly Isaiah pushes a piece toward me. I do my duty as a cousin and then my eyes pop open.
“Oh, my God, well, that’s it DJ, you’re going to be helping us in the kitchen from now on. You’ve been holding out.”

In the beginning of the world days are short. By four o clock the blue sky is deepening and darkening and shadows ride across the snow. I am glad to not be going anywhere tonight, and glad of everyone in this house. In days of old, green boughs were hung, singing and drinking done at this delicate time of year, and everyone buckled down while the spirits of the cold and chaos moved outside, but inside, where there was love and music, song and food, was safety.
There is a knock at the door and in their best arrive Brian, the one time lover and his husband Chad, the one time enemy. We, all three of us, kiss on the cheeks, and I embrace Chad and feel the embrace of Brian that reminds me of so many times before.
“We haven’t talked in a while,” Chad notes as I take his coat, and I say, “We’ll have to remedy that. In fact, let’s do so tonight.”
They insist that they are not hungry, but when I put, “just a bit of turkey” on plates for both of them, they see how good mashed potatoes and pudding and a role would taste too, and then they are in the midst of it all along with the latecomers, my cousin Sharon and Aunt Loretta, Loretta, my mother’s sister.
“ I can feel Adrienne,” she says, “I can feel her presence right here.”
I cannot. But she is welcome. Before these days are over Deanna will be here and probably Cade’s mother, and before these days are over I will have a meal with Chad and Brian in their own house.

I once heard a man telling his story to the family he stayed with. He had been a refugee and he told them about his trip from Syria across the sea, and into Europe, over mountains and across borders. He spoke of losing family members and seeing people whose children had died, whose spouses and friends had drowned in the sea or frozen in the mountains.
He said, “When it happens it is sad, but there is no time to mourn. Your mind will not hold the space for it. You just have to set it aside and move on.”
Surely this is what all those people on the prairie, crossing the continent in Conestoga wagons did, the women who at their husbands’ graves took a second husband because they needed one and the circuit preacher wouldn’t be around for another half year. One wonders what damage such forgetting of wounds did the psyche of a nation.
Kaddish is said for the year, the Jewish twelve months, after the time of the passing of sister, brother, spouse, father… mother. It took me a long time to realize I was making peace, slowly, between what was gone, and what remained, between an imperfect heaven and a wounded earth. All death is jagged. We have to search of a resolution. The would will be wounded as long as we forget to make resolution, and resolution will be gone as long as we forget how to mourn. When people knew a wound untreated festered, ruined, abscessed into obsession they wailed for Nine Nights, they sang the Book of the Dead. They sat on the floor in sackcloth, lifted their voices and sang Kaddish. They knew that a grief observed was a grief shared and that such a grief could slice open the ill bound wounds of those who had never learned to mourn. And so they created silence and shiva, and a space for weeping even while living. They did not reject their sorrow, but watered what was gone with the tears for what would not be. And though saltwater grows nothing but a mangrove, those tears brought from death life. From an old world, old people brought about the creation of the new world. So though they had to move, live, dream, love, make love, they made time to lay low on the ground and weep. They made a testament to their grief, that they might, in time, come to something new. Thus have I done. Thus will I continue to do.


THE END

 

[CharmedFan28]

Those were both wonderful portions! Bits and pieces seems to be heading for sure to Brendan and Kenny sleeping together but I am starting to feel less conflicted and more accepting of it. That was a beautiful ending to Elegy and as you know I have enjoyed it a lot. I look forward to The Book Of The Battles tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

FOURTEEN



“Why should we be sad over things we cannot change and people we cannot help?”

-Layla Lawden


“Ouch,” Milo’s eyes flew open and Will watched as he rolled his tongue in his mouth.
“Bit on a popcorn kernel,” he lamented even as he put his hand into the popcorn bowl again.
“Are you alright?” Will asked.
“Fuck,” Milo murmured, then said, “I’ll live. But fuck.”
“Well, then I’m glad I’m done complaining,” Will said.
“But you’ve got some real shit to complain about.”
“It’s just,” Will went on, “education is so fucked. I wonder what do I want? What do I really want? And maybe if it was just me and Layla I would have been a little more honest. But I filled in for this teacher for four fucking weeks. Tenured, PhD, everything. He hadn’t done a damn thing, not a test, not a paper not the smallest assignment, and he still kept his job. How the hell professional is that? And how professional is it to show up in a class and say, “Hi, they hired me on the spur of the moment to fill in for this class, and I’m leaving who the heck knows when? And then someone else will come and keep doing what I started. Only in a different way?”
On the jukebox, the Grateful Dead sang:

It's a buck dancer's choice my friend;
better take my advice.
You know all the rules by now and
the fire from the ice.

“They did that at the junior college I was working at,” Milo said. “Hired too many fucking adjuncts cause they didn’t want to pay a real teacher, and then gave the students a dumbed down syllabus and no one tried to make it better. I mean, I put some meatier stuff on it, but I could tell I wasn’t supposed to.”
“How did you know?” Kenny said.
“Well,” Milo shrugged, “I am no longer employed there. That was an excellent sign.”
“Is that in store for me?”
“You already worked at Loretto,” Milo reminded him. “and I bet art is totally different.”
Kenny nodded and Brendan said, “Well, I just think any place you work for has what you don’t want.”
“Yes,” Milo agreed, “but some places have more of what you don’t want than others. In that way you two kids are lucky,” he gestured to Kenny and Brendan with his bottle of beer. “When you’re writing, or when you’re painting, there isn’t any boss but you.”
“Most people need a boss, though,” Will decided regretfully.
“Do you?”
“I need to see someone running things who gives a crap,” Will said, frustrated. “I feel like all the people who care leave.”
“Don’t you leave, Will,” Brendan said earnestly. “Schools need good teachers like you. Good profs I should say.”
“Well a prof is a teacher and it’s a title you call yourself to feel better. I’m a teacher, and I’m not going anywhere. Not for now.”
Brendan started to say that was good, but suddenly, in the darkness of the bar he felt a hand on his thigh.


Goddamn, well I declare, have you seen the like?
Their wall are built of cannonballs, their motto is
"Don't tread on me".
Come hear Uncle John's Band playing to the tide,
Come with me, or go alone, he's come to take his
children home.
It's the same story the crow told me;
it's the only one he knows.

He didn’t look at Kenny. He didn’t want to give anything away. But he didn’t do anything to stop the hand from traveling up his thigh and pressing down, cupping him.
“I think I’m about to call it a night,” Kenny declared, his voice raising while his hand kneaded Brendan who stopped himself from moaning, and looked down at the counter top.
“The night’s early,” Milo declared.
“It’s not,” Kenny said.
He got up, his hand slow to leave Brendan’s sex, lingering over his thigh, and then threw his arms around Milo.
“I’m out,” Kenny declared.
Brendan gave him a perfunctory hug and continued on his beer. The rest of the beer. Five more scoops of popcorn. The phone ring. He pulled it out from his jacket.
“What’s up babe?” he said loudly.
“Follow me to Salem Street,” Kenny said.
“Yeah,” Brendan continued. “If you insist. Yes. I’m on my way. See you soon.”
“Sheridan?” Will said.
Brendan hung up quickly and shrugged.
“Hubby wants me home.”
“Is the night coming to an end?” Milo demanded.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” Brendan said with what wasn’t entirely feigned regret. He embraced Milo and he held Will tight trying not to think that he was going to sleep with Kenny and keeping it from the both of them. For good measure he hugged Ed Palmer, and then, his heart pounding, trying to stop himself from running, Brendan was off to follow Kenny.


When Will came home that night, Layla was still up. She did not want her husband to know she had been waiting, and so when she heard the car outside of their bedroom window, she flicked the light off and, discarding her nightgown, climbed into the bed.
Only a few moments later she heard him entering the house, heard him making the rounds, looking into the childrens’ rooms and then, at last, coming into their room. He stripped to his underwear and tee shirt and crawled into the bed, smelling, Layla had to admit, like the bar.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“Huh?”
“You knew I wasn’t really asleep. What happened at the bar, Will?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you smell like the bar, and in the time I’ve known you, you never come to bed without showering.”
“Would you like me to?”
“This,” Layla said in the darkness, “is called deflecting. And yes I would, but what happened?”
Will sat up and then climbed out of the bed.
“You’re right,” he said, “I will shower.”
“Will!”
“A shower is what I need,” he said, “and then I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
“Well, then,” Layla sat up in bed, her old tee shirt full of holes. She turned on the light and, reaching for her housecoat, headed to her desk. “I will occupy myself until you come back.”
Will went down the hall to the bathroom, and a minute or so later, she heard the shower running. There was a tap on the door.
“Yes?”
“Mommy,” Marla entered, twisting her pajama top, “did Daddy just get home?”
“He did.”
“Can I stay up with you all?”
“You can’t,” Layla said, turning around to hug her daughter. “Daddy came in to see you.”
“I know,” Marla said whispering. “I pretended to be asleep. But he kissed me on my head.”
“Well, wait for him to come in so you can say goodnight to him. You can stay up with Mommy until he gets here.”
“Will you tell me a story?”
“No, cause it’s one in the morning, and mommies get sleepy. And Marlas shouldn’t be awake anyway.”
When Will came in the towel was wrapped around his waist and his wet hair, clung in dark tendrils to his head and hung to his shoulders. He looked like Jesus to her for a moment, and she thought of laughing. Of course, they were both her Jewish saviors.
“Whatareyou doing up?” he said to their daughter in the tender voice he always used for his children, and Marla came to him and clung to him. Will placed the deodorant and lotion, the comb and the brush on the bed, and the little girl placed her cheek on her father’s stomach, unconscious of its flatness, the shape of it, all those things her mother looked to with pleasure.
“I heard you come into my room,” she said to him, joyfully.
“And now,” Layla said to her shaggy haired, bearded husband, “you can take her back.”
She heard her husband’s long feet padding down the hall to Marla’s bedroom, and for a moment she thought of her twenties and how she had almost married someone else. What strange paths she might have taken. Was it possible that she could have been with someone else other than Will? He came back into the bedroom and shut the door, and she came to meet him, taking the towel from around his waist and tenderly drying his body. She wanted to ask him, “Was it possible that we were almost not together?”
“Now, my love,” she said, coming to her knees to dry his legs, and then sitting him down so that, gently, she pulled the comb through his tangles, “why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Brendan’s going to fuck Kenny,” Will said, flatly. “I know he is.”
Layla stopped. She sprayed detangler in her husband’s hair, more because she didn’t know what to do, and then pulled the comb through his locks.
“How can you know?”
“Bren’s been my best friend for over twenty years. Kenny too. The way they were looking at each other, the way they came here together. They way… they weren’t looking at me.”
Layla squirted lotion into her hands and rubbed it about in her palms till it was warm.
“Yes,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t seen it until now. Not really. Or maybe I didn’t want to. I could ask Dena. She would know. Bren wouldn’t tell me either, and he hasn’t been himself.”
“Well, I don’t even know what to do.”
Layla massaged the lotion into his back, feeling the muscles in his shoulders, running her hands up and down his back. He took the lotion and rubbed his legs while she sat on the side of the bed with him and watched her husband finish his toilet.
“Are you angry with him?” she said.
“I can’t even prove that anything is happening,” Will said.
“When I was seventeen, Brendan and Dena went with me to stalk my father, to see if he had a mistress. That was how I discovered Julian.”
“Well, Dena is apparently keeping this from both you and me,” Will said, “and… the day I stalk Bren…”
“I know,” Layla shook her head. “I’m just saying… I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“And I’m not angry,” Will decided, folding his towel while Layla got up to find his housecoat.
“They were together for years. And… I know that from Kenny’s point of view Brendan left him for Sheridan, so now…” Will shrugged. “I don’t know how to feel.”
Layla put her hands to her black hair.
“You broke into Saint Barbara’s on my wedding day. I was engaged to Kevin, standing on the altar in white and you came in and stopped it.”
“You had no business with that clown, anyway.”
“Well, I can see that now, but it makes it a lot harder to feel any way about what may be happening with Brendan. And I emphasize, may be happening.”
“I know.”
“If they belong together—like we belonged together.”
“Kevin wasn’t the only person I stole you from.”
“No,” Layla agreed, “not if you can legitimately steal one person from another.”
“And Kevin wasn’t the first guy I pushed past to get to you.”
“No,” Layla said again. “It didn’t matter who I was with, and what’s more, it seems I agreed with you.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion! Looks like Kenny and Brendan are going to sleep together but will they be stopped by their friends? I will have to wait and see. Excellent writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Oh, anything may happen. And yet Layla's quote at the top indicates that, at the end of the day, she is more concerned with what happens between her and Will than what happens with Brendan and Sheridan.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Kenny paid for the motel. Brendan offered, but Kenny said it would make more sense for him. He didn’t point out that no other people would look at his credit card statements and wonder where he had been. He didn’t point out that even though Sheridan had said it was alright, how could it be? Really? They took the key to the room, and Kenny led Brendan upstairs.
“I’ll shower,” Brendan said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he said. “It’s been a whole day I mean.”
Kenny let him, and for some reason he didn’t ask Brendan to strip outside, and when Brendan undressed in the bathroom, and then he heard the water running, though Kenny was excited by it, he never once thought of going in after him. Brendan had been with Sheridan for half a decade. It had been that long since Kenny had seen him naked, and he trembled thinking about it. When Brendan came out, wrapped in a towel, Kenny went in. When he came out, he saw Brendan sitting on the bed, towel wrapped about his waist.
“You look just like a kid. You look just like you did when we were kids,” Kenny said.
He stood there and said, “I was about to think of a specific time… but I can’t think of it.”
Kenny lay on the bed, wrapped in his towel beside Brendan, wrapped in his, and they lay shoulder to shoulder.
“I did you so wrong,” Brendan said.
“What?” Kenny turned to him.
“From beginning to end I did you wrong. The way we began, how I went back to Dena—”
“Bren, not now.”
“Let me finish,” Brendan said gently.
“How I was always, always about me. How you came back from Indianapolis after college. For me.”
“You weren’t the only reason I came back.”
“But you did come back, and I never went anywhere for you. You came to be my support in Chicago. It was Fenn and Dylan who had to bring you back here where you belonged.”
“Where I cheated with Chad. If you want to be specific.”
“But you didn’t cheat with Chad. If we’re being specific. I was so caught in myself.”
“Brendan, why are you—?”
Brendan turned to him.
“Because I’ve always been caught in myself. I have tried to be the good guy.”
“Bren, you are the good guy.”
“No,” Bren cut that off. “That’s who I want to be. I want to think of myself as good Bren who is going to have this one sin, going to bed with you. But that’s not true. I’m not good Bren. I am Bren who has done a lot of selfish things to the people I loved and been so fucking confused in my feelings.”
“Are you saying you’re confused about me? About wanting me?”
Brendan didn’t answer at first. He furrowed his brow.
“I am unconfused,” he said. “For one of the first times in my life I am unconfused about you. About loving you. About how much I missed you. Oh, shit.”
Brendan said “Oh, shit,” because tears had come to his eyes.
“You were my best friend. Sheridan has his best friends. His ex lover best friends. He’s got Chay and Logan, sees them all the time. And… Fenn is Tom’s best friend. You can see that. You can see how much they still love each other. It’s… It’s different types of loves. It’s the type of love you can have for the best friend who shared your life, and your bed, and I missed you, Ken. I missed you.”
Kenny lay on the bed, watching Brendan, and he nodded.
“I missed you too, Brendan.”
“I need you in my life,” Brendan said. “I don’t need a one night stand in a motel, I need you back in my life. I need to love you again and… I need to be committed to Sheridan. Because… we are committed.”
They were both quiet, and then Brendan said, “I love him because I committed to him, because I became a grown up with him, Ken. Not because I love him more than you. Does that make any sense? I married him, and put a ring on his finger and chose to bring up a child with him.”
“Duty,” Kenny said.
“Huh?”
“Sometimes it is about duty,” Kenny said, sitting up. “Love… without duty is bullshit.”
“Yeah,” Brendan said
“Stay with me tonight,” Kenny said. “I don’t want you to go anywhere.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Brendan told him.
They lay together, Brendan holding him.
“Kenny?” Brendan began.
But Kenny was snoring, and a few moments later, Brendan had fallen asleep too.

MORE TOMORROW?

 

[CharmedFan28]

Well that was a surprise but a good one! I am glad with how things turned out and Brendan is right, he needs Kenny in his life. Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Brendan and Kenny very much needed a meeting of the minds, and of the hearts, and it's blessed that they got to have one. A one night stand could have never been enough.

 

[ChrisGibson]

WELCOME BACK TO A NEW WEEK



In the her first two years of college, Layla Lawden had done an admirable job of not seeing Will Klasko, but sophomore year Brendan said that enough was enough and they were all going to lunch together.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Layla disagreed.
“Are you still angry?”
“No, I’m not angry,” Layla almost snapped. It was a little while before she admitted, “The truth is I’m afraid. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, and that was in high school and I’m not even sure what he looks like or… anything. It would just be better for him to be in the past.”
It wasn’t really possible for him to be in the past forever though. Brendan was very much a part of her present, and he had adopted Sheridan, Will’s younger brother. What was more, Sheridan was friends with Dena’s stepsister and with Noah’s son, and the boy was over at Fenn’s house, playing with Dylan all the time. It was almost impossible not to see Will, sort of amazing she had gone so long without doing so.
She was dating Tony Matthews, her first Black boyfriend, and she was proud of that. All was as it should be. He had a great physique and everything. She told him Brendan was having her meet Will.
“You don’t still feel something for him, do you?”
“I don’t even know what he looks like,” she said.
“Well, then don’t worry about it.”
The main appeal of Will was everyone loved him. Milo still vaguely resented Brendan for cheating on Dena, but everyone in their circle agreed that Will was the most stand up guy in the world. Layla arrived at lunch late, and was coming to the table where she saw her friends. She bumped into a hot young thing coming out of the bathroom and wondered if she’d ever get over her craving for white boys.
“Sorry about that,” she said, picturing him with an electric guitar, or perhaps an acoustic one, making sensitive songs for his live in girlfriend. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Layla,” he placed his hand on hers.
“What?” she began.
“Layla,” he said, reproachfully.
She blinked at him.
“Will?”
“I grew a beard,” he explained.
“Sure,” she said, because he had done more than that.”
“You ready to eat?” he asked her, looking amused.
“Uh… yeah.”
I grew a beard was the understatement of the year. Will had grown a personality, which was not fair to say, she knew that. But there was a fluidity to his movements, an ease to his laughter that had not been there. And the hair which threatened to be untidy had grown into shoulder length curls. Her Will had the baby fat around the face, but this Will had grown into himself, six feet easily, lanky. She wanted to run her hand over the dark scruff on his face.
“So Aidan’s gone?”
“He’s still around,” Layla said. “We’re just not together anymore.”
“What happened?”
“How curious you are!”
“Just asking.”
“Nothing really happened,” she shrugged. “We had some good times.”
“I broke up with Annalise.”
“Yes, I know that,” Layla said. “I mean Aidan told me. Who are you seeing now?”
“No one really.”
“It doesn’t really matter.”
“Who are you seeing now?” Will asked.
“Well, now, it’s just like I said,” Layla said, “It really doesn’t matter.”
“If it doesn’t matter,” Will decided, kicking the small pile of leaves they were walking past, “then it must not be that great.”
This caught Layla up short. She did not answer right away, and then she said, “What I meant was it isn’t the most important thing we can discuss.”
“I seem to remember that when I said we should go to different schools and not make our relationship the most important thing that was why you split up with me.”
“Maybe I was really stupid. Cause I was seventeen.”
“Maybe you weren’t stupid at all, and you knew just what you were talking about, and so whoever this guy is, you’re selling yourself short if you’re not wildly, crazily in love with him.”
“That is… but you always were a romantic.”
“Of course I am, m’lady.”
“Well,” Layla said, turning her head, “I like him well enough. Romance can’t be everyday.”
“It can’t?”
“Will, you were the one who said—”
“What I said. Yes, I know,” Will said.
The carillon was ringing and Layla said, “We don’t get the same holidays you do at your fancy public school. I’ve got American Lit.”
Will started to reach for her hand, but pulled his away.
“Can I see you before I go?”
Her face changed. “Of course you can, Will. You can see me anytime. We’re friends.”
“Well… I’m leaving tomorrow. But could you come to dinner tonight? With all of us?”
Layla was about to say of course she could and why would Will think differently, but for two years she had avoided him. So she only said, “Yes.”

The next day when Will came to the door she didn’t say she had to go to class, though she had just dressed and she was on her way to biology. She thought she’d said goodbye to him last night, and she had smiled thinking about him and then, in the middle of the night, awakened with a dull ache because he was gone.
“You’re here!”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
She opened the door for him.
“You live alone?” Will looked around the room. “Of course you live alone.”
“I need my space.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Will, I’m not single.”
“You’re not married. You’re not engaged. Of course you’re single. Just let me kiss you.”
She didn’t say anything, so he stooped to kiss her, to take her face in his hands, shutting the door behind him. His mouth tasted like spearmint. It was late fall and just starting to get cold, and his jacket smelled of it. They went to the bed and she gave way, she wrapped her arms around him, and then she placed her hands in his hair. They pressed themselves close together and parted now and again, Will pulled off his jacket and Layla pulled him across her, running her hands over his shirt.
“Layla,” his voice was a little moan like a wail, “I gotta go.”
“I know,” her voice sounded like a whimper, but she wasn’t embarrassed. “You should—”
“I want to make love to you. Don’t think I’m horrible. I want to be inside of you.”
“I…”
“He doesn’t have to know,” Will said, shaking his head, his face in her shoulders. “I’ll be gone in more than an hour.”
They lay side by side.
“It should have happened a long time ago,” Will told her, placing the back of his hand against her cheek.
She kissed him and placed her face in the crook of his neck. She felt like if she didn’t say yes, then it was okay. If she just quietly undressed him and undressed herself it would be okay.
“I don’t have a con—”
She put a finger to her lips and shook her head.
She was sure it took the whole of the hour it was supposed to take. She had never even seen Will shirtless until then. In her bed, looking up at the ceiling when she looked at all, she clung to him, her thighs held him in. Her hands that had taken the shirt off his back attempted to take in the entire scape of his back, of his shoulders, of his dark hair, savor his mouth on hers, on her shoulders, the way he moved inside of her, his dear, dear, tender ass, those thighs.
“I’m going to come,” he warned her, but she pulled him deeper in.
“I’m going to…”
She pulled him inside of her while he struggled, while his body buckled. Her hands were frantic up and down his back, on the black hair of his buttocks, in the orgasm that overtook her. They clung together for a while before Layla told him, “You’ll miss your train.”
It was not that she wanted to get pregnant, but for the next few days there was the nervous possibility of it. He was Will, and nothing bad could happen with Will. However, at the usual time—a blessing was that she was like clockwork—while she was in the bathroom her period came. She ought to have been overjoyed, and in a way she was, but all that night she cried, and was glad she lived alone and had to explain this to no one.

 

[CharmedFan28]

Great to read some of Layla’s past that I think I haven’t heard before. I am glad she reconnected with Will at that stage. Excellent writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, at last it is time to come to Layla and Will and tell the untold parts of their love story. Of course something had to happen to them between those ten years.

 

[ChrisGibson]

CONCLUSION OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN



She woke him in the middle of the night, thinking to herself why should they be sad over things they could not change and people they could not help? She had done plenty of weeping in her life. She knew the love of her life. He was right here. All those years ago they wrote letters and talked on the phone, and all that month after the first time they’d slept together, she knew Will wondered if anything had come of it. One day she had casually brought up her period, and then their conversations had dwindled. Hadn’t it? Or was she only imagining that? Had she offended? It was twenty years ago almost. Ah, but she had not been honest with him, They had been honest for one day and then they had parted. Dena and Milo had married when they were twenty-one, their junior year, and all of their friends had been there. Kenny and Brendan had been on the verge of their first break up, and Claire had made some stupid speech about how if they broke up she wouldn’t believe in love anymore. And so Kenny and Bren had stayed together another year. Layla wondered if they did not just stay together from mere boredom. But at that wedding she had taken Will to bed again, and they still wouldn’t have the sense to come together for another four years. What time they had wasted. Or had they? Will said no. She wondered.
Her life with Will had never taken off, and so she settled into her life with Kevin, but Will came to break that up and upset her at the altar. In those days before Christmas she could not admit what she always knew years later, that she had been hoping he would come to her rescue. Rescue from Kevin? No, he was just Kevin, but from that foolishness inside her, from the Layla who had ceased to believe in herself and was moving in any and all directions.
It was Dena who talked her into finding Will and one day, with her best friend, she had gone to his parents’ home and thumped on the door. She heard his friends. Brendan was on the other side of that door.
As he opened the door, he said, “But it’s Layla and Dena.”
Layla touched Bren on his cheek, and then walked ahead of him, down the steps and entered the apartment.
“Hello, Kenneth. Where’s Will.”
From the kitchen Will’s voice cried, “Is someone looking for me?”
He came out, wiping his hands on his pants.
“Layla?”
“We need to talk,” she said, simply.
“I agree. Would you like a sandwich?”
“We’ve got ham and chicken salad—” Brendan began.
“No,” Layla said.
“Uh… Well,” Will looked around the room. “You wanna take a drive or…”
“Yes,” Layla said. “Let’s go.”
“Well, then we’re off.”
Will went for his coat and he said, “Guys, we’ll be back later. We’re gonna talk things out.”



“So, you’re staying?” Layla said as they sat by the fountain, across from the Abercrombie and Fitch.
“Yes. I don’t want to go anywhere else.”
“You’re going to be this constant presence in my life?”
“Yes, just like herpes.”
Layla looked at him.
“Well, that’s the way you sounded.”
“No,” Layla said. “I’m glad to have you around. Its just you’ve really fucked up my life. And Kevin’s mother came by the house and called three and four types of bitches.
“And you took it?”
“Under the circumstances I felt sort of obliged to.”
Will nodded and Layla reflected.
“I never really liked Kevin that much, now that I think about it. And I would be his wife if you hadn’t ruined things.”
Suddenly a small train commanded by a bored teenager and carrying small, equally bored toddlers came rolling by with an electronic choo choo, and as it passed, Layla said, “Now that is damned annoying.”
“Not as annoying as the smell from that Abercrombie.”
“I know. That’s the strongest cologne in the world and… could I just say the black and white poster of the shirtless white dude… Not my type at all.”
“I hope not,” Will said, smiling.
“No,” Layla looked at him. “I can’t see you taking your shirt off and doing a smoldering pose.”
“That’s more a Brendan thing.”
“You think so? I can’t see him… Well, that poster does look like Bren. Bren’s actually kind of hot, isn’t he?”
“He’s good looking,” Will conceded.
“I never really thought of him that way until now.”
“If you told him that it would be like the ultimate Christmas gift.”
“And a cheap one,” Layla agreed.
“We split up for a stupid reason.”
“It wasn’t stupid then,” Layla said. “But… almost eight years later, it is stupid. I agree.”
Will chuckled.
“What?”
“You were always so… stoical,” said Will. “There’s a lot of your uncle in you.”
“I prefer to think there’s a lot of me in him,” said Layla.
And then she touched Will’s hand.
“Will?”
“Hum?”
“Take me somewhere? The mall’s getting old and I’m tired, and that two times life size Brendan staring down at me with the frosted hair is sort of fucking my shit up. Take me somewhere.”
Standing up, Will took her hand, squeezed it, and as she rose he said, “Follow me.”
She was used to Will taking charge, and he hadn’t. He had let her do anything. Now she followed him. They left the mall and went to the car.
“Let’s get a hotel.”
“Will!”
“We can’t go to your house, and we can’t go to mine,” Will said. He had put the key in the ignition and the car was rumbling to life in early winter. “I want to spend the night with you.”
She turned from him and he said, “We have to stop coming together here again, there again.”
“William,” Layla said, still not looking at him, “If I go with you. If we do this, we’re together.”
“We were always together,” he said.
He didn’t wait for her. He just pulled out of the space and they drove to the hotel. He paid for their room and Layla didn’t pay attention to the woman talking about the continental breakfast. Will took her by the hand. They went to the third floor.
Again she was sure it took the whole of the hour it was supposed to take. In the bed, looking up at the ceiling when she looked at all, she clung to him, her thighs held him in. Her hands attempted to take in the entire scape of his back, his shoulders, of his dark hair, savor his mouth on hers, on her shoulders, the way he moved inside of her, his dear, dear, tender ass, those thighs.
“I’m going to come,” he warned her, but she pulled him deeper in.
“I’m going to…”
They clung together, their bodies tensing as Will thrust and thrust, emptying himself into her, his mouth, open, his eyes closed to the light that dazzled them purple, blue, and red stars through his lids.

“That was…”
“Yes, it was.”
The faint sound of the traffic from the strip came through the beige curtains.
“I completely wasn’t… It was.”
“We don’t have to talk.”
She had always wondered about this hotel, or one of the many hotels on the strip between town and the suburbs where out of town people stayed. So this was what it was like, nothing like the sleazy hotels on Meridian. She could get used to this.
“No… We don’t have to talk,” he agreed. “We don’t. But… It was.”
She confessed: “It was unbelievable.”
Silence.
He cleared his throat.
“Are you sorry that it happened?” he murmured.
On the other side of the bed, Layla Lawden sat up, looked down at his chest and touching it, said, “Will, I can’t be sorry. I’m not even surprised. It should have happened, we should have never split up. We’ve wasted so much time.”
“Don’t say that,” Will said. “If the other years never happened, we might resent each other. We might hate each other. I believe everything happens the way it should,”
Layla touched his hair and turned from him.
“I can’t have children,” she said. “I went to the doctor last year. I’ll probably never have children. I never told Kevin. It’s so much I never told him. But I’m telling you.”
Will turned on his side and pulled Layla into his arms.
“As long as you can have me, that’s what matters. Will you have me, Lay?”
“Yes, Will,” she said. “I will.”


Brendan came into the dark room where Sheridan was sleeping, and he could feel Sheridan’s breathing all through the room. He slipped off his shoes and began to undress. From the bed, Sheridan spoke.
“You’re home.”
“Yup.”
Bren stood in his boxer briefs and Sheridan said, “Did you fuck him?”
Brendan didn’t answer.
“I told you that you could. I know you wanted to.”
Sheridan sat up in bed and then lay on his side.
“You know the first time we had sex, you were semi cheating on Kenneth. And I know how you feel about him. I’m not stupid. And I’m not resentful.”
“I stayed with him last night,” Brendan said quietly.
“Do you want to do it again?”
“I… uh…”
Sheridan pulled the covers back and sat up naked before him.
“Look, Bren. I’ve thought about this. I really want us to be able to talk about this. I know what it is to love. I know what it is when feelings change. I went from Chay to Logan and back again, hurting everyone, and if you still love him…”
“I think I do.”
“But do you still love me?”
“Absolutely.” Brendan said.
“Then there is no problem,” Sheridan. “Not really. We can work things out. Come to bed.”
“We should discuss something,” Brendan said, lying on his back beside Sheridan. “I don’t know if it will make any sense to you, and I don’t know if you are going to think it is cheating or not. It is… what it is.”
“What are you getting at.”
“We started it. We went to the motel room. We checked it out, showered, stood looking at each other. And then we just started talking. About the past. About everything. We talked and talked all night, and mostly I talked about being committed to our marriage.”
Brendan turned to Sheridan.
“There is something more important than me and, believe it or not love, than you.”
“Rafe?”
“Well, yes, but even our child isn’t enough. The marriage is the most important thing. The us. The two of us that became the three of us that might one day be the four or the five of us. Us. Together, made me a grown up. Made you one too. Somewhere along the line we became an us, and that is everything. It’s beyond feelings. You get me?”
“I think so.”
“Good. And I don’t want you to think I don’t have feelings or love for Kenny. He’s going to be around. I need him, Just like you need Chay and Logan.”
“I get that.”
“He’s my best friend and I also realize that I was never really good for him. If our relationship changes… If anything ever happens, then it’s got to be good for all three of us.”
Sheridan had been nodding all this time. Finally he said:
“Have you showered?”
“Not yet.”
Sheridan nodded.
“Then get in the shower, and I’ll come and join you.”

MORE TOMORROW