Page 98 of Something Like Forever
“You weren’t a jerk,”Jason tittered. “You were just nervous. Right?”
Tim nodded. “I was scaredI would ruin it all. Had I known then how much better our liveswould be because of you, I would have been the first one huggingyou when you stepped out of that car. Hell, I would have forced youguys to pull over while still on my riding lawnmower, just to getat you.”
Jason laughed.“Stop!”
“Nope!”Tim said. “This day is the perfect excuse to tell you how I feel. Ilove you, Jason, and I’ll always be there if you or William needanything. I promise. Now come here.”
He opened his arms, andJason clung to him, stifling a sob. Tim didn’t want to let him go.He wanted to be selfish and insist that yes, Jason and Williamcould get married, but they would have to spend the rest of theirlives in this house with him and Ben. Funny how that worked. At onetime Tim had wanted nothing more than to be alone with Ben, butJason had snuck into his heart and found a place there. William hadtoo. So had Marcello, Corey, Eric, Chinchilla… Tim had a strangelittle family, some of the members lost to him or too far away, buthe felt blessed by how much fuller his life was now. He had come along way from the dark days when he only had Chinchilla forcompany, but he would be forever grateful to her, and he would nowlook back on those times as precious. They hadn’t been empty. Notwith her around.
“Jason,”Emma said, strutting into the room in a black tuxedo. “Can I borrowyou for a second?”
Jason finally pulled awayfrom Tim and casually rubbed at his eyes. “Sure. What’sup?”
“Marcello wants to go over the ceremony with you andWilliam.”
“Really?” Jason said, clearly excited by the prospect. “But hesays it’s bad luck to—”
“Seeeach other? That’s why I’m supposed to blindfold you before we goin the room. No kidding.”
Jason groaned inexasperation and dragged his feet while leaving. He looked backonce, eyes full of emotion. Tim just grinned and gave him athumbs-up. Then he turned that smile on the room, expecting toshare it with the other people there. He found only one otherperson, who was seated at the kitchen table and lookinguncomfortable. Thomas Wyman. His father. Their relationship hadnever been great. These days it consisted of pompous lectures abouthow things should be, his own life included among all the otherproblems of the world. His father only had criticism for him, butthen that’s how it had always been. Tim’s normal strategy was tominimize contact with Thomas and ignore any personal slights, buthe was still emotionally raw from all he had been throughrecently.
Tim nodded to the doorJason had left through. “That’s how it’s done,” he said. “That’show a man is supposed to treat his son.” He pushed away from thecounter, not expecting a response.
“That might be how yourkind do it,” Thomas murmured.
“What’s that supposed tomean?” Tim said, rounding on him.
“Just anobservation,” Thomas said coolly.
“Fine.”Tim marched over to the table. He pulled out a chair and sat acrossfrom his father. “Let’s hear it.”
Thomas regarded him with ahint of disapproval, probably because he always kept his emotionsin check. If he had any at all. “The man who gave you all themoney. What was his name?”
“Eric,”Tim said, irritated that his father didn’t know. His place ofemployment, the gallery he worked in, was named after the man! Heshould at least know it for that reason!
“I neverunderstood your relationship with him. Your mother promises me thatit wasn’t… inappropriate. Watching you and Jason together made mewonder if that’s what it was like.”
Was that a question? Nottechnically, but Thomas never asked him about anything personal.Not about his relationship with Ben, what it was like to be gay, oreven how his own grandson was doing. All he wanted to discuss waswork, sports, and politics. Tim was too jaded to expect this to bea heartfelt conversation, but he supposed he should at leastencourage an open dialog. “Eric was like a father to me. I guessthat’s why my relationship with Jason is similar.”
“But he doesn’t have afather. You do.”
“Not one who’s proud ofme.”
“I wasproud of you!” Thomas said, showing some passion. “How many of yourgames did I attend?”
“Baseball?” Tim laughed. “Sure, you were proud when my teamwon a game or I scored enough points, but come on, Dad, that’sancient history! Have I done anything since senior year to make youproud? Can you name one thing that you’ve bragged to a clientabout? I bet you don’t talk about me at all.”
His father wassilent.
“Really?I’ve had two art exhibitions. One in Japan! I was on television!That’s not worth mentioning to anyone?”
“Isupported your art,” Thomas shot back. “I provided you with a spaceto work in. I gave you a studio!”
“Onlyafter Mom complained about me making a mess at home. You didn’t dothat for me. You did it for her. I’m glad you love her so much.It’s just too bad that you didn’t have anything left for me. And Idon’t care what it is—baseball, painting, or hell, even if I hadstayed home all summer to learn the freaking accordion—as long as Iwasn’t hurting anyone, as long as I was doing something to bettermyself, you should have told me you were proud. You never even cameto look!”
“What do youmean?”
“Thestudio was in your office building. You must have walked by itevery day, but did you ever ask to see inside? Did you show anyinterest in my art?”
