Fic
“Yeah, he does. He wants us to fly over there around Christmas.” Sam unfolded and refolded his napkin a few times, taking note of how the fluttering paper mirrored how he was feeling inside.
“I thought you said your dad was Jewish."
Praying for patience, Sam was careful to keep the irritation from his tone as he responded. “I think the point was he knows we both have vacation time.”
“I dunno, Sam . . . I’m not sure what days I can take off yet.”
Sam twirled his fork around in his pasta but didn’t take a bite. “So what you’re saying is, you think you want to spend your life with me, but you don’t want to meet my family,” he said slowly.
Eric stuck a meatball in his mouth, chewing it defiantly. “That’s not fair, Sam. I have my own life, you know. I can’t just drop everything to fly across the country with only a few weeks notice. I mean, I might need to . . .” He paused and stuffed in another mouthful of spaghetti. “I might have to . . .to . . .to . . .” After yet another bite he slammed down his fork. “Fuck.”
“What?"
“I can’t think of an excuse.”
Sam smiled hesitantly. “Does that mean you’ll come?”
“Unless I can think of a legitimate way out between now and then, I guess I have to."
“Come on, it won’t be that bad,” Sam encouraged, though he doubted Eric would take his reassurances.
“Are you sure your dad is really okay with . . . with you . . . being . . .” Eric began with a vague gesture of his hand.
“Gay?” Sam smirked. He hadn’t failed to notice how much difficulty Eric had saying the word. “Yes, he’s okay with it. I wouldn’t do this to you otherwise.”
Eric sighed into his spaghetti, then pushed the plate aside violently as if he had suddenly lost his appetite. “I haven’t met the parents of someone I was dating since I took Vicki McDermott to the prom. Her dad literally held a shotgun while he made me swear to be a perfect gentleman.”
“And were you?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I already knew by then, so it wasn’t exactly all that hard.”
Sam put his hand on Eric’s thigh and let it travel upwards in the direction of his groin. “Are you going to promise my dad you’ll be a perfect gentleman?” he teased. Distracting Eric in this way had always worked well for him in the past.
But today Eric was evidently not in the mood, and his response to the advance was an admonishing glare. “I hope you realize,” he said.
Eric often left sentences unfinished, especially when whatever was likely to conclude them was something overtly emotional. Sam didn’t really mind, though, since he felt he was growing pretty adept at filling in the blanks. This time he could tell from Eric’s expression that what he meant was I hope you realize how much I love you to be willing to do this for you.
“Yes, I realize, Eric. And I promise to show you just how much I appreciate it,” Sam continued edging his way closer to Eric and slipping his hand even further up his leg.
Eric pushed back his chair abruptly and stood to bring his plate to the sink. “Not at your father’s house, you won’t,” he grumbled.
***
Sam concentrated on taking deep breaths in and out of his nose. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back in the seat, thankful Eric had insisted they fly first class so at least he didn’t have to add cramped quarters to his list of current discomforts.
“Are you feeling okay?”
He popped open his eyes to find Eric studying him with concern. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Well you don’t look fine. You look really pale. Are you getting sick?” Eric lifted his hand, palm forwards, as if he were about to feel his forehead for a temperature, but a stewardess bustled past them in the aisle and he quickly dropped it.
“I said I’m fine. I’m not getting sick.” Sam wiped at his brow and put his hand down on the armrest, clutching at it tightly. He closed his eyes again and focused on making his breaths even. In and out. In and out.
“Sam . . . you’re not . . . you’re not afraid of flying, are you?” Eric asked, disbelief coloring his voice.
Sam peered through one eye at Eric to see if he was laughing yet. “I’m not afraid of flying. It’s the taking off part that sort of bothers me.”
“Bothers you? As in you’re going to throw up?”
“I am not going to throw up,” he mustered enough dignity to reply with disdain. “It just makes me a little . . . uneasy. I had a lot of inner ear infections as a kid and the whole rapidly climbing altitude thing would hurt like hell and make me really queasy.”
Now Eric did crack a smile. “But you don’t have any ear problems now, so what you’re really saying is, you’re letting the memory of being sick on a plane affect you. I’m surprised at you, Sam. You’re usually so calm and logical about everything.”
“I am perfectly calm and logical about it. You’ll notice I don’t let it stop me from flying, but I can’t exactly keep by body from reacting the way it does.”
Eric nodded. “Alright, well let’s start with this.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a pack of gum, unwrapping a piece and sticking it in Sam’s mouth. “It might help. If you swallow a lot it usually keeps your ears from popping.”
Sam smiled weakly. “Thanks.”
“Flight Attendants, please prepare for takeoff,” the speakers blared.
Sam tightened his grip on the armrest and returned to the relative sanctity of closed eyelids.
“Sam?”
“What?” Sam answered in a strained whisper. He really wished Eric would just stop talking to him about it, because adding embarrassment to his current state of mind was not helping matters. He was now bitterly regretting his decision to forgo medicinal aids due to the overwhelming drowsiness they caused him and his strange desire to be fully conscious for this journey in case he needed to talk Eric down off any mental ledges.
“Are you really that nervous?” Eric pressed, his tone no longer mocking
“No, I’m . . .” The plane began to roll forward and Sam swallowed down the rest of his denial
Suddenly he felt Eric’s hand on his, gently prying back his fingers one at a time from their clutch on the armrest. Once Eric had liberated all the digits he took hold of them, slipping both their hands beneath the metallic barrier. With his other arm he draped the little navy airline blanket over their interlocked fingers. After a second or so of careful consideration, he placed his travel pillow on top as well, then sat back to study his handiwork. Apparently unsatisfied, he lifted the pillow and replaced it at a more haphazard angle, adding Sam’s pillow to the construction for good measure.
Sam was so amused at watching Eric’s bizarre cloaking procedure that he didn’t really notice the plane’s acceleration. But he did feel the bump as the wheels left the ground and the nose headed upwards at a steep angle. He clamped down on Eric’s hand and felt Eric stroke him soothingly with his thumb.
“Relax, Sammy,” Eric whispered. “Just chew and swallow.”
Eventually the plane leveled out, and with it Sam’s pulse. The contents of his stomach were thankfully not threatening to make an appearance. He opened his eyes and refocused on his surroundings just as the seatbelt sign flickered off.
“Better?” Eric asked.
“Yeah, I’m okay now,” he grinned sheepishly.
“Then can I have my hand back?”
Sam released his hold and Eric pulled his hand out from under the blanket, clenching and unclenching it in an apparent attempt to get his blood circulating again. “That’s some death grip.”
“Sorry. You didn’t have to hold my hand, you know.”
“What, and miss out on being the mature, supportive one for a change? Not a chance,” Eric grinned, looking quite pleased with himself.
Sam wasn’t exactly sure that building the Fortress of Solitude over their entwined hands was all that mature, but he didn’t feel the need to share that. He was too busy getting lost in Eric’s smile, in feeling the crazy high of happiness that came from knowing there would always be someone by his side to comfort him whenever he needed it from now on.
Eric leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked on Sam’s and a similar expression of pleasure on his face. They stayed like that for almost a full minute, trapped in some sort of emotionally charged staring contest. Neither of them seemed willing to look away, yet they both knew there was no further recourse at present for the emotion they held inside.
The more often they were out together in public, the more times there were like this. If their lives were a movie, Sam imagined that music would be swelling in the background and everyone in the audience would be expecting for their lips to connect. It was rather unfortunate they couldn’t ever do such a thing in public. In the beginning Sam had felt sorry for himself, but now he figured there were a lot worse ways that lovers could be star-crossed. At least he got to have and hold Eric as much as he wanted when they were alone together.
Eric blinked, breaking the spell that bound them, and turned away rather reluctantly. “You’re not afraid of landing, too, are you?” he asked.
***
They got in late, as Sam had planned. As much as Eric would have liked to deny it, he had occasional bouts of social anxiety, usually brought on by confrontation with his sexuality. When they’d first met, Eric had used silence and caustic remarks to play off his shaky nerves. Increasingly, though, he had a tendency to work himself into a panic when anxious, ranting on without end and forgetting to breathe. As endearing as the latter mode may have been to Sam, neither option was conducive to starting off the encounter on the right foot. In light of that, a night to get acclimated before the real getting-to-know-you phase began seemed like a smart idea.
He’d had a minor argument with both Eric and his father about being picked up from the airport. Saul Miller did not like money to be wasted unnecessarily, but from Eric’s perspective the less time spent with his father, especially in close quarters, the better. He’d insisted they get a taxi so as not to be an inconvenience. Sam had tried to explain to him that parents are used to being inconvenienced by their kids, but in the end letting Eric win this small battle seemed only fair, since the fact he was even there at all was a pretty monumental occurrence.
They stuffed their luggage into the trunk of the taxi and by the time they had climbed in the back Sam could tell Eric was already getting nervous by the tight way he held his lips. In the hopes of conveying reassurance Sam made a half-hearted attempt to reach Eric’s hand, but Eric quickly made sure he was out of reach. Apparently cab drivers did not get to be privy to their relationship.
“Eric,” he whispered, so as to make sure to exclude the driver from their conversation
“What?"
“I didn’t tell my dad we were living together.”
Eric nodded. He did not seem at all perturbed by the admission.
Sam, however, was much less at ease with his subterfuge. His dad was not much of an interloper, like his mother had been, so for months he’d managed to avoid lying without offering much of the truth, either. At first all he’d done was mention he was dating someone and left it at that. After having attempted to convince his parents he was going to be with Mark forever, he was a little too embarrassed to gush over Eric-especially since Eric was not the gushing type-and declare to his father that whereas he’d been completely wrong before, this time, he was sure it was for real. But once he’d put his condo on the market he knew he owed his father a little more honesty, so he’d mentioned he was planning on moving in with Eric, which was what had prompted the request for a visit. He didn’t really think his dad would care all that much if he’d just come out and admitted they’d already gotten to that point, but his mother would have been incredibly hurt to not have been informed of such a life-altering decision. And even with her gone, Sam couldn’t really imagine treating his father as a separate entity, since his parents had always formed such a united front.
Luckily, Eric had a lot of experience in lying, even though Sam didn’t consider him all that great at it. “I’ll make sure not to say anything to him,” Eric said.
The cab pulled up in front of the house--a rather ordinary brown one-story with very little to distinguish it from the other houses on the street. It was not the house that Sam had grown up in, but his father had been uncomfortable living there without his mother, so he’d made the transition to a much smaller home. Sam had only been there once since the move, and as far as he knew, Billy had yet to grace the threshold. There was more than a little guilt nagging him as he realized he probably should have made a trip over much sooner.
Eric exhaled deeply as Sam knocked on the front door, and Sam felt yet another moment of pity for him. He knew it had to be pretty overwhelming to go from being completely in the closet to entering a potentially lifelong relationship in a relatively short period of time, and then have to meet his boyfriend’s father to top it all off. Not that Eric liked to be called his boyfriend.
“Sam, you made it,” Saul Miller greeted his son with a hug. He wasn’t a particularly affectionate man, but it seemed to Sam that he was getting more so in his later years, perhaps to fill the void left by his wife.
“Hey, Dad. This is Eric, Eric, this is my father.”
“Mr. Miller,” Eric said with a nod as he extended his hand.
“Please, call me Saul. Are you boys hungry? I have some leftovers I could warm up for you."
“Sure, Dad. Sounds good,” Sam replied before Eric could get out what he was positive was going to be a “no thanks.” He really did want to spend some time with his father on their short trip.
After they tossed their stuff into the guest room they settled around the kitchen table, where Eric made sure to sit several feet away. For the most part Sam had expected that, as it stood to reason that since Eric couldn’t be openly affectionate in front of Joan, the same rules would apply to his family as well.
“How was the flight?” Saul asked as he turned on the stove and tossed in some sort of meat and potato mixture from a bowl.
Sam waited a second to see if Eric would answer, but he didn’t take the bait, even though it was as an innocuous conversation-starter as any. “It was fine, Dad.”
“You still get motion sick, Sammy?”
Eric’s tightly held-together lips finally moved into a smile, but he still didn’t say anything.
“Not really,” Sam said, grinning at Eric. Eric chuckled a little, relaxing his shoulders as he did, and Sam started to hope it wouldn’t take him that long to warm up after all.
“So, Eric, what do your parents do?” Saul asked as he grabbed a couple of plates from the cabinet.
Crap, Sam thought.
“They’ve . . . passed away,” Eric mumbled.
Saul froze, his face somewhat reddened, and he shot a brief accusatory glance at Sam, no doubt upset at not having been forewarned. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Eric shrugged. “It was a while ago . . . especially my mom, she died when I was a kid.”
“Doesn’t mean it gets any easier to have them missing from your life,” Saul said quietly, and Sam felt that moment of soul-clenching sadness that overtook him whenever he thought of his mother. The feeling was compounded by having to see the emotion written on his father’s face as well.
“Well, here it is, boys, nothing special, though,” Saul continued on a more upbeat note as he placed the dishes in front of Sam and Eric. “I’m afraid I’m not that good a cook . . . Sam and his mother were the chefs in the family.”
Eric took up his fork and popped a piece of potato in his mouth. “That’s alright. Sam’ll tell you I’m a lost cause in the kitchen.” He blinked a few times and blushed, as if admitting that little tidbit somehow sealed the deal that he was, in fact, in a relationship with the son of the man who sat before him. But once the silence was broken Eric chatted amiably enough for the remainder of the meal, and even if he was somewhat terse with his contributions to the discussion, at least he was talking. Several times Sam considered nonchalantly scooting his chair over so he could lay an arm across Eric’s shoulder, or just pat his thigh a few times, and thereby give his father some visible indication of what they meant to each other. In the end, though, he thought better of it and decided to respect Eric’s boundaries.
Although it was only around nine o’clock, the time change was definitely catching up with both of them as they yawned their way through a slice of pound cake for desert, and eventually they excused themselves to turn in early.
Eric hastily dove into bed, using the comforter to build a strange sort of barrier between himself and Sam, though he smiled pleasantly enough when Sam moved in to give him a brief kiss.
“Your dad’s pretty nice,” he said.
“Yeah, he is,” Sam agreed.
“Nothing like my dad,” Eric added with a half-grin that did not quite reach his eyes.
It wasn’t the first time Eric had alluded to having a tense relationship with his father. For lack of any better information, Sam had decided a lot of Eric’s issues probably stemmed from whatever real or perceived opinion his father had had of him and his sexual orientation.
He reached forward to caress Eric’s cheek. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” Eric sighed. “I just meant my father would never have been so cool about this whole thing.”
“How do you know if you never told him?”
Eric laughed bitterly. “Let’s just say he was no friend of the gays.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly, continuing to stroke Eric’s cheek.
“It’s alright. Doesn’t matter anymore. It’s all in the past.”
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still affect you. Talking about it might be good for you.”
Eric rolled over to face the wall. “I’m kinda tired right now, Sam. I just want to go to sleep.”
“Alright, Eric,” Sam said in a sigh. He pushed his hands into the back of Eric’s hair, massaging his scalp gently and willing his fingertips to erase, or at the very least ease, the damage he knew lay beneath the surface.
They stayed like that for a good ten minutes while Sam grew hyper aware of the sounds of a strange house-the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clocks, the dripping of a pipe, the wind against the windows. As he catalogued the noises he mulled over the thought that he had taken his family for granted, and perhaps was continuing to do so by not visiting as often as he should, while Eric had no parents left and never really connected with them when they’d been alive.
Restless, he eventually rolled over and got out of the bed.
“Where are you going?” Eric asked groggily.
“Just gonna get something to drink. I can’t sleep . . . I’ll be back in a few.”
“Okay.” Eric yawned, tightening the blankets around him and closing his eyes again.
Out in the kitchen, Sam was surprised to find his father sitting at the table with a glass of milk. He looked much older than Sam remembered on his last visit; his face was thinner and the skin around his jaw line had begun to droop. But behind the glasses he had only recently started wearing after a valiant attempt to deny the decline of his eyesight were the same kind eyes that had always made him feel at home.
“You too, Sammy?” he asked.
“Yeah, couldn’t quite fall asleep yet."
Saul nodded and got another glass, filling it with milk and pushing it towards Sam. “You should have told me about his parents, Samuel.”
Sam winced. “I know. I’m sorry."
“Actually, you haven’t told me much about him at all . . . but I guess you always used to talk to your mom about that stuff.”
Again Sam wanted to kick himself. “Really, Dad. I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you about him at first because I wanted to make sure it was going to stick, you know?”
“And is it?”
Sam’s stomach fluttered, but it was with happiness rather than nervousness. “Yeah. I think so.”
Saul nodded. “He seems nice enough, I suppose. Were you thinking about getting married before moving in together?”
“We don’t need to be married to live together, Dad,” Sam said a little more forcefully than he had intended.
“I know that, I know that,” his father retorted, putting out his hands defensively. “I was only asking. You know your mother would have.”
Sam had to take a moment to remind himself he was fortunate to have parents who would want that for their gay son. “Sorry. I know I’m lucky to have had you guys as my parents . . . guess I shouldn’t really complain when you play the whole parent role."
Saul raised his eyebrows and smiled, running a hand through his curly mop of wiry gray hair.
“Not everyone is that lucky,” Sam added.
“I take it Eric wasn’t.” His father gestured towards the bedroom with one hand.
“You could tell?”
“Well, he seems a little gun shy,” Saul chuckled.
“Yeah, he is, but he’ll get over it. He’s a really great guy when you get to know him.”
“Well, I hope you’ve found the one you were looking for, Sammy,” Saul said as he downed the remainder of his milk. “You know, it’s funny, but I guess your mother had it right all along.”
“Had what right?”
Saul sighed, tapping his finger on the table a few times as if he were considering whether or not to continue. “Sam,” he began slowly. “I’m glad you think you’re lucky to have me as a father, but I know I’m not perfect. When you first told me you were gay I struggled with it. I was . . . scared for you. I didn’t want you to be gay because I thought it was going to make your life so much harder . . . and no parent wants for their child to have more obstacles to have to overcome.”
Sam swallowed down a growing lump in his throat, coating it with a swig of milk for good measure. He would never have said that he and his father were distant, but he was nevertheless surprised by the degree of emotional candor that the man was displaying now, as it had never been a key component of their relationship.
“But then you just attacked life and got everything you wanted out of it . . . good grades . . . a scholarship to the university, law school, a great career . . . you never let being gay stop you from achieving anything you set your mind to.”
“So what is it that Mom had right, then?”
Saul shifted his gaze, staring off into the shadows of the hallway. “She was never concerned about you meeting your potential. What she was afraid of was that it was going to be so much harder for you to find love.”
Sam ducked his head down, blushing in embarrassment as he thought of his mother fretting over his admittedly haphazard love-life. “I’ve had lots of relationships, Dad.”
“That’s just it, Sammy. Your relationships never seemed to pan out and she was afraid you weren’t going to be able to just let love find you in the . . . the old-fashioned way. I met your mother at a library, you know.”
“Yeah, Dad, I know,” Sam interjected with a laugh.
“Well, I just meant it was by chance that we met, and connected, and then it was that connection that carried us all the way to the altar. But with you, because you were gay . . . she figured it would be much harder for you to just casually “run into” the person you were meant to be with. You were always dating the guys you met at those gay organizations, or being set up on blind dates by people . . . and she was rather afraid you were going to go to those strange gay bars to try to find a man. She wasn’t sure there was going to be enough chemistry there when the pool seemed so much more limited for you.”
Sam’s cheeks were burning even more now, and he was mortified by the sudden image of his parents lying awake in bed at night, discussing his failed attempts at romance. And here he’d thought they’d only been worried about Billy. “Well then maybe you’d be happy to know Eric and I got together by accident, Dad. He spilled a cup of coffee one day-“ Sam cut himself off abruptly. “Well I don’t need to go into details,” he mumbled, his skin so hot he was sure his father could guess what he was glossing over. “But suffice it to say it was a surprise to both of us. I don’t think either of us expected to fall in love, but we did.”
His father reached over to pat him on the back. “That’s good, Sammy. That’s how love is supposed to be . . . one big, unexpected surprise. And despite what your mother thought, I don’t think it matters where or how you met, if you feel that connection, you know it."
Sam nodded, suddenly overcome by emotion as he breathed in through flared nostrils in an attempt to keep in any tears that were plotting their escape. “I do know it. I just wish Mom could have met him, too.”
“If you’re happy, she’ll know,” Saul said, pushing back his chair. “Well, I’m going to get to bed. Gotta think of something to do with you kids tomorrow. I’m sorry I’m not all that entertaining.”
“That’s okay, Dad. We didn’t come here to be entertained, just to see you.”
Saul nodded appreciatively. “Good night, Sammy.”
Sam slipped back into the bedroom and edged his way into bed. Eric was still facing the wall, wrapped up securely in the blankets.
“Eric, are you awake?”
There was no response, so Sam leaned forward and put his arm on Eric’s shoulder. He wouldn’t have put it past Eric to feign sleep just to get out of having to talk any more about touchy subjects. “Eric?”
“Mmm?” Eric grunted.
“I love you."
He figured Eric really had been asleep when he felt him tug the nudging arm from shoulder to waist level and then snuggle into the resulting embrace. “Love you too, Sammy,” Eric mumbled.
********
Part 2
“I thought you said your dad was Jewish."
Praying for patience, Sam was careful to keep the irritation from his tone as he responded. “I think the point was he knows we both have vacation time.”
“I dunno, Sam . . . I’m not sure what days I can take off yet.”
Sam twirled his fork around in his pasta but didn’t take a bite. “So what you’re saying is, you think you want to spend your life with me, but you don’t want to meet my family,” he said slowly.
Eric stuck a meatball in his mouth, chewing it defiantly. “That’s not fair, Sam. I have my own life, you know. I can’t just drop everything to fly across the country with only a few weeks notice. I mean, I might need to . . .” He paused and stuffed in another mouthful of spaghetti. “I might have to . . .to . . .to . . .” After yet another bite he slammed down his fork. “Fuck.”
“What?"
“I can’t think of an excuse.”
Sam smiled hesitantly. “Does that mean you’ll come?”
“Unless I can think of a legitimate way out between now and then, I guess I have to."
“Come on, it won’t be that bad,” Sam encouraged, though he doubted Eric would take his reassurances.
“Are you sure your dad is really okay with . . . with you . . . being . . .” Eric began with a vague gesture of his hand.
“Gay?” Sam smirked. He hadn’t failed to notice how much difficulty Eric had saying the word. “Yes, he’s okay with it. I wouldn’t do this to you otherwise.”
Eric sighed into his spaghetti, then pushed the plate aside violently as if he had suddenly lost his appetite. “I haven’t met the parents of someone I was dating since I took Vicki McDermott to the prom. Her dad literally held a shotgun while he made me swear to be a perfect gentleman.”
“And were you?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I already knew by then, so it wasn’t exactly all that hard.”
Sam put his hand on Eric’s thigh and let it travel upwards in the direction of his groin. “Are you going to promise my dad you’ll be a perfect gentleman?” he teased. Distracting Eric in this way had always worked well for him in the past.
But today Eric was evidently not in the mood, and his response to the advance was an admonishing glare. “I hope you realize,” he said.
Eric often left sentences unfinished, especially when whatever was likely to conclude them was something overtly emotional. Sam didn’t really mind, though, since he felt he was growing pretty adept at filling in the blanks. This time he could tell from Eric’s expression that what he meant was I hope you realize how much I love you to be willing to do this for you.
“Yes, I realize, Eric. And I promise to show you just how much I appreciate it,” Sam continued edging his way closer to Eric and slipping his hand even further up his leg.
Eric pushed back his chair abruptly and stood to bring his plate to the sink. “Not at your father’s house, you won’t,” he grumbled.
***
Sam concentrated on taking deep breaths in and out of his nose. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back in the seat, thankful Eric had insisted they fly first class so at least he didn’t have to add cramped quarters to his list of current discomforts.
“Are you feeling okay?”
He popped open his eyes to find Eric studying him with concern. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Well you don’t look fine. You look really pale. Are you getting sick?” Eric lifted his hand, palm forwards, as if he were about to feel his forehead for a temperature, but a stewardess bustled past them in the aisle and he quickly dropped it.
“I said I’m fine. I’m not getting sick.” Sam wiped at his brow and put his hand down on the armrest, clutching at it tightly. He closed his eyes again and focused on making his breaths even. In and out. In and out.
“Sam . . . you’re not . . . you’re not afraid of flying, are you?” Eric asked, disbelief coloring his voice.
Sam peered through one eye at Eric to see if he was laughing yet. “I’m not afraid of flying. It’s the taking off part that sort of bothers me.”
“Bothers you? As in you’re going to throw up?”
“I am not going to throw up,” he mustered enough dignity to reply with disdain. “It just makes me a little . . . uneasy. I had a lot of inner ear infections as a kid and the whole rapidly climbing altitude thing would hurt like hell and make me really queasy.”
Now Eric did crack a smile. “But you don’t have any ear problems now, so what you’re really saying is, you’re letting the memory of being sick on a plane affect you. I’m surprised at you, Sam. You’re usually so calm and logical about everything.”
“I am perfectly calm and logical about it. You’ll notice I don’t let it stop me from flying, but I can’t exactly keep by body from reacting the way it does.”
Eric nodded. “Alright, well let’s start with this.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a pack of gum, unwrapping a piece and sticking it in Sam’s mouth. “It might help. If you swallow a lot it usually keeps your ears from popping.”
Sam smiled weakly. “Thanks.”
“Flight Attendants, please prepare for takeoff,” the speakers blared.
Sam tightened his grip on the armrest and returned to the relative sanctity of closed eyelids.
“Sam?”
“What?” Sam answered in a strained whisper. He really wished Eric would just stop talking to him about it, because adding embarrassment to his current state of mind was not helping matters. He was now bitterly regretting his decision to forgo medicinal aids due to the overwhelming drowsiness they caused him and his strange desire to be fully conscious for this journey in case he needed to talk Eric down off any mental ledges.
“Are you really that nervous?” Eric pressed, his tone no longer mocking
“No, I’m . . .” The plane began to roll forward and Sam swallowed down the rest of his denial
Suddenly he felt Eric’s hand on his, gently prying back his fingers one at a time from their clutch on the armrest. Once Eric had liberated all the digits he took hold of them, slipping both their hands beneath the metallic barrier. With his other arm he draped the little navy airline blanket over their interlocked fingers. After a second or so of careful consideration, he placed his travel pillow on top as well, then sat back to study his handiwork. Apparently unsatisfied, he lifted the pillow and replaced it at a more haphazard angle, adding Sam’s pillow to the construction for good measure.
Sam was so amused at watching Eric’s bizarre cloaking procedure that he didn’t really notice the plane’s acceleration. But he did feel the bump as the wheels left the ground and the nose headed upwards at a steep angle. He clamped down on Eric’s hand and felt Eric stroke him soothingly with his thumb.
“Relax, Sammy,” Eric whispered. “Just chew and swallow.”
Eventually the plane leveled out, and with it Sam’s pulse. The contents of his stomach were thankfully not threatening to make an appearance. He opened his eyes and refocused on his surroundings just as the seatbelt sign flickered off.
“Better?” Eric asked.
“Yeah, I’m okay now,” he grinned sheepishly.
“Then can I have my hand back?”
Sam released his hold and Eric pulled his hand out from under the blanket, clenching and unclenching it in an apparent attempt to get his blood circulating again. “That’s some death grip.”
“Sorry. You didn’t have to hold my hand, you know.”
“What, and miss out on being the mature, supportive one for a change? Not a chance,” Eric grinned, looking quite pleased with himself.
Sam wasn’t exactly sure that building the Fortress of Solitude over their entwined hands was all that mature, but he didn’t feel the need to share that. He was too busy getting lost in Eric’s smile, in feeling the crazy high of happiness that came from knowing there would always be someone by his side to comfort him whenever he needed it from now on.
Eric leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked on Sam’s and a similar expression of pleasure on his face. They stayed like that for almost a full minute, trapped in some sort of emotionally charged staring contest. Neither of them seemed willing to look away, yet they both knew there was no further recourse at present for the emotion they held inside.
The more often they were out together in public, the more times there were like this. If their lives were a movie, Sam imagined that music would be swelling in the background and everyone in the audience would be expecting for their lips to connect. It was rather unfortunate they couldn’t ever do such a thing in public. In the beginning Sam had felt sorry for himself, but now he figured there were a lot worse ways that lovers could be star-crossed. At least he got to have and hold Eric as much as he wanted when they were alone together.
Eric blinked, breaking the spell that bound them, and turned away rather reluctantly. “You’re not afraid of landing, too, are you?” he asked.
***
They got in late, as Sam had planned. As much as Eric would have liked to deny it, he had occasional bouts of social anxiety, usually brought on by confrontation with his sexuality. When they’d first met, Eric had used silence and caustic remarks to play off his shaky nerves. Increasingly, though, he had a tendency to work himself into a panic when anxious, ranting on without end and forgetting to breathe. As endearing as the latter mode may have been to Sam, neither option was conducive to starting off the encounter on the right foot. In light of that, a night to get acclimated before the real getting-to-know-you phase began seemed like a smart idea.
He’d had a minor argument with both Eric and his father about being picked up from the airport. Saul Miller did not like money to be wasted unnecessarily, but from Eric’s perspective the less time spent with his father, especially in close quarters, the better. He’d insisted they get a taxi so as not to be an inconvenience. Sam had tried to explain to him that parents are used to being inconvenienced by their kids, but in the end letting Eric win this small battle seemed only fair, since the fact he was even there at all was a pretty monumental occurrence.
They stuffed their luggage into the trunk of the taxi and by the time they had climbed in the back Sam could tell Eric was already getting nervous by the tight way he held his lips. In the hopes of conveying reassurance Sam made a half-hearted attempt to reach Eric’s hand, but Eric quickly made sure he was out of reach. Apparently cab drivers did not get to be privy to their relationship.
“Eric,” he whispered, so as to make sure to exclude the driver from their conversation
“What?"
“I didn’t tell my dad we were living together.”
Eric nodded. He did not seem at all perturbed by the admission.
Sam, however, was much less at ease with his subterfuge. His dad was not much of an interloper, like his mother had been, so for months he’d managed to avoid lying without offering much of the truth, either. At first all he’d done was mention he was dating someone and left it at that. After having attempted to convince his parents he was going to be with Mark forever, he was a little too embarrassed to gush over Eric-especially since Eric was not the gushing type-and declare to his father that whereas he’d been completely wrong before, this time, he was sure it was for real. But once he’d put his condo on the market he knew he owed his father a little more honesty, so he’d mentioned he was planning on moving in with Eric, which was what had prompted the request for a visit. He didn’t really think his dad would care all that much if he’d just come out and admitted they’d already gotten to that point, but his mother would have been incredibly hurt to not have been informed of such a life-altering decision. And even with her gone, Sam couldn’t really imagine treating his father as a separate entity, since his parents had always formed such a united front.
Luckily, Eric had a lot of experience in lying, even though Sam didn’t consider him all that great at it. “I’ll make sure not to say anything to him,” Eric said.
The cab pulled up in front of the house--a rather ordinary brown one-story with very little to distinguish it from the other houses on the street. It was not the house that Sam had grown up in, but his father had been uncomfortable living there without his mother, so he’d made the transition to a much smaller home. Sam had only been there once since the move, and as far as he knew, Billy had yet to grace the threshold. There was more than a little guilt nagging him as he realized he probably should have made a trip over much sooner.
Eric exhaled deeply as Sam knocked on the front door, and Sam felt yet another moment of pity for him. He knew it had to be pretty overwhelming to go from being completely in the closet to entering a potentially lifelong relationship in a relatively short period of time, and then have to meet his boyfriend’s father to top it all off. Not that Eric liked to be called his boyfriend.
“Sam, you made it,” Saul Miller greeted his son with a hug. He wasn’t a particularly affectionate man, but it seemed to Sam that he was getting more so in his later years, perhaps to fill the void left by his wife.
“Hey, Dad. This is Eric, Eric, this is my father.”
“Mr. Miller,” Eric said with a nod as he extended his hand.
“Please, call me Saul. Are you boys hungry? I have some leftovers I could warm up for you."
“Sure, Dad. Sounds good,” Sam replied before Eric could get out what he was positive was going to be a “no thanks.” He really did want to spend some time with his father on their short trip.
After they tossed their stuff into the guest room they settled around the kitchen table, where Eric made sure to sit several feet away. For the most part Sam had expected that, as it stood to reason that since Eric couldn’t be openly affectionate in front of Joan, the same rules would apply to his family as well.
“How was the flight?” Saul asked as he turned on the stove and tossed in some sort of meat and potato mixture from a bowl.
Sam waited a second to see if Eric would answer, but he didn’t take the bait, even though it was as an innocuous conversation-starter as any. “It was fine, Dad.”
“You still get motion sick, Sammy?”
Eric’s tightly held-together lips finally moved into a smile, but he still didn’t say anything.
“Not really,” Sam said, grinning at Eric. Eric chuckled a little, relaxing his shoulders as he did, and Sam started to hope it wouldn’t take him that long to warm up after all.
“So, Eric, what do your parents do?” Saul asked as he grabbed a couple of plates from the cabinet.
Crap, Sam thought.
“They’ve . . . passed away,” Eric mumbled.
Saul froze, his face somewhat reddened, and he shot a brief accusatory glance at Sam, no doubt upset at not having been forewarned. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Eric shrugged. “It was a while ago . . . especially my mom, she died when I was a kid.”
“Doesn’t mean it gets any easier to have them missing from your life,” Saul said quietly, and Sam felt that moment of soul-clenching sadness that overtook him whenever he thought of his mother. The feeling was compounded by having to see the emotion written on his father’s face as well.
“Well, here it is, boys, nothing special, though,” Saul continued on a more upbeat note as he placed the dishes in front of Sam and Eric. “I’m afraid I’m not that good a cook . . . Sam and his mother were the chefs in the family.”
Eric took up his fork and popped a piece of potato in his mouth. “That’s alright. Sam’ll tell you I’m a lost cause in the kitchen.” He blinked a few times and blushed, as if admitting that little tidbit somehow sealed the deal that he was, in fact, in a relationship with the son of the man who sat before him. But once the silence was broken Eric chatted amiably enough for the remainder of the meal, and even if he was somewhat terse with his contributions to the discussion, at least he was talking. Several times Sam considered nonchalantly scooting his chair over so he could lay an arm across Eric’s shoulder, or just pat his thigh a few times, and thereby give his father some visible indication of what they meant to each other. In the end, though, he thought better of it and decided to respect Eric’s boundaries.
Although it was only around nine o’clock, the time change was definitely catching up with both of them as they yawned their way through a slice of pound cake for desert, and eventually they excused themselves to turn in early.
Eric hastily dove into bed, using the comforter to build a strange sort of barrier between himself and Sam, though he smiled pleasantly enough when Sam moved in to give him a brief kiss.
“Your dad’s pretty nice,” he said.
“Yeah, he is,” Sam agreed.
“Nothing like my dad,” Eric added with a half-grin that did not quite reach his eyes.
It wasn’t the first time Eric had alluded to having a tense relationship with his father. For lack of any better information, Sam had decided a lot of Eric’s issues probably stemmed from whatever real or perceived opinion his father had had of him and his sexual orientation.
He reached forward to caress Eric’s cheek. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” Eric sighed. “I just meant my father would never have been so cool about this whole thing.”
“How do you know if you never told him?”
Eric laughed bitterly. “Let’s just say he was no friend of the gays.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly, continuing to stroke Eric’s cheek.
“It’s alright. Doesn’t matter anymore. It’s all in the past.”
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still affect you. Talking about it might be good for you.”
Eric rolled over to face the wall. “I’m kinda tired right now, Sam. I just want to go to sleep.”
“Alright, Eric,” Sam said in a sigh. He pushed his hands into the back of Eric’s hair, massaging his scalp gently and willing his fingertips to erase, or at the very least ease, the damage he knew lay beneath the surface.
They stayed like that for a good ten minutes while Sam grew hyper aware of the sounds of a strange house-the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clocks, the dripping of a pipe, the wind against the windows. As he catalogued the noises he mulled over the thought that he had taken his family for granted, and perhaps was continuing to do so by not visiting as often as he should, while Eric had no parents left and never really connected with them when they’d been alive.
Restless, he eventually rolled over and got out of the bed.
“Where are you going?” Eric asked groggily.
“Just gonna get something to drink. I can’t sleep . . . I’ll be back in a few.”
“Okay.” Eric yawned, tightening the blankets around him and closing his eyes again.
Out in the kitchen, Sam was surprised to find his father sitting at the table with a glass of milk. He looked much older than Sam remembered on his last visit; his face was thinner and the skin around his jaw line had begun to droop. But behind the glasses he had only recently started wearing after a valiant attempt to deny the decline of his eyesight were the same kind eyes that had always made him feel at home.
“You too, Sammy?” he asked.
“Yeah, couldn’t quite fall asleep yet."
Saul nodded and got another glass, filling it with milk and pushing it towards Sam. “You should have told me about his parents, Samuel.”
Sam winced. “I know. I’m sorry."
“Actually, you haven’t told me much about him at all . . . but I guess you always used to talk to your mom about that stuff.”
Again Sam wanted to kick himself. “Really, Dad. I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you about him at first because I wanted to make sure it was going to stick, you know?”
“And is it?”
Sam’s stomach fluttered, but it was with happiness rather than nervousness. “Yeah. I think so.”
Saul nodded. “He seems nice enough, I suppose. Were you thinking about getting married before moving in together?”
“We don’t need to be married to live together, Dad,” Sam said a little more forcefully than he had intended.
“I know that, I know that,” his father retorted, putting out his hands defensively. “I was only asking. You know your mother would have.”
Sam had to take a moment to remind himself he was fortunate to have parents who would want that for their gay son. “Sorry. I know I’m lucky to have had you guys as my parents . . . guess I shouldn’t really complain when you play the whole parent role."
Saul raised his eyebrows and smiled, running a hand through his curly mop of wiry gray hair.
“Not everyone is that lucky,” Sam added.
“I take it Eric wasn’t.” His father gestured towards the bedroom with one hand.
“You could tell?”
“Well, he seems a little gun shy,” Saul chuckled.
“Yeah, he is, but he’ll get over it. He’s a really great guy when you get to know him.”
“Well, I hope you’ve found the one you were looking for, Sammy,” Saul said as he downed the remainder of his milk. “You know, it’s funny, but I guess your mother had it right all along.”
“Had what right?”
Saul sighed, tapping his finger on the table a few times as if he were considering whether or not to continue. “Sam,” he began slowly. “I’m glad you think you’re lucky to have me as a father, but I know I’m not perfect. When you first told me you were gay I struggled with it. I was . . . scared for you. I didn’t want you to be gay because I thought it was going to make your life so much harder . . . and no parent wants for their child to have more obstacles to have to overcome.”
Sam swallowed down a growing lump in his throat, coating it with a swig of milk for good measure. He would never have said that he and his father were distant, but he was nevertheless surprised by the degree of emotional candor that the man was displaying now, as it had never been a key component of their relationship.
“But then you just attacked life and got everything you wanted out of it . . . good grades . . . a scholarship to the university, law school, a great career . . . you never let being gay stop you from achieving anything you set your mind to.”
“So what is it that Mom had right, then?”
Saul shifted his gaze, staring off into the shadows of the hallway. “She was never concerned about you meeting your potential. What she was afraid of was that it was going to be so much harder for you to find love.”
Sam ducked his head down, blushing in embarrassment as he thought of his mother fretting over his admittedly haphazard love-life. “I’ve had lots of relationships, Dad.”
“That’s just it, Sammy. Your relationships never seemed to pan out and she was afraid you weren’t going to be able to just let love find you in the . . . the old-fashioned way. I met your mother at a library, you know.”
“Yeah, Dad, I know,” Sam interjected with a laugh.
“Well, I just meant it was by chance that we met, and connected, and then it was that connection that carried us all the way to the altar. But with you, because you were gay . . . she figured it would be much harder for you to just casually “run into” the person you were meant to be with. You were always dating the guys you met at those gay organizations, or being set up on blind dates by people . . . and she was rather afraid you were going to go to those strange gay bars to try to find a man. She wasn’t sure there was going to be enough chemistry there when the pool seemed so much more limited for you.”
Sam’s cheeks were burning even more now, and he was mortified by the sudden image of his parents lying awake in bed at night, discussing his failed attempts at romance. And here he’d thought they’d only been worried about Billy. “Well then maybe you’d be happy to know Eric and I got together by accident, Dad. He spilled a cup of coffee one day-“ Sam cut himself off abruptly. “Well I don’t need to go into details,” he mumbled, his skin so hot he was sure his father could guess what he was glossing over. “But suffice it to say it was a surprise to both of us. I don’t think either of us expected to fall in love, but we did.”
His father reached over to pat him on the back. “That’s good, Sammy. That’s how love is supposed to be . . . one big, unexpected surprise. And despite what your mother thought, I don’t think it matters where or how you met, if you feel that connection, you know it."
Sam nodded, suddenly overcome by emotion as he breathed in through flared nostrils in an attempt to keep in any tears that were plotting their escape. “I do know it. I just wish Mom could have met him, too.”
“If you’re happy, she’ll know,” Saul said, pushing back his chair. “Well, I’m going to get to bed. Gotta think of something to do with you kids tomorrow. I’m sorry I’m not all that entertaining.”
“That’s okay, Dad. We didn’t come here to be entertained, just to see you.”
Saul nodded appreciatively. “Good night, Sammy.”
Sam slipped back into the bedroom and edged his way into bed. Eric was still facing the wall, wrapped up securely in the blankets.
“Eric, are you awake?”
There was no response, so Sam leaned forward and put his arm on Eric’s shoulder. He wouldn’t have put it past Eric to feign sleep just to get out of having to talk any more about touchy subjects. “Eric?”
“Mmm?” Eric grunted.
“I love you."
He figured Eric really had been asleep when he felt him tug the nudging arm from shoulder to waist level and then snuggle into the resulting embrace. “Love you too, Sammy,” Eric mumbled.
********
Part 2