Page 83 of Something Like Winter
Tim stepped back, watching her through the window. Allison offered a sympathetic smile before starting the engine and driving away.
Chapter Nineteen
Some ghosts haunt you for life. The best you can do is make room on the couch and get used to living with them.
That’s what Eric had said before Tim made the drive back to The Woodlands. Here it was, Spring Break, when most of his fraternity brothers were flocking to the beaches for booze and babes. And Tim? He was on a familiar street in a sleepy suburban neighborhood, standing across from a house that once felt like home. Not the whole house. Just one room on the second floor. Tim wanted nothing more than to knock on the door, pat Wilford on the head when Ben answered, and trot up the stairs to their special place.
In his mind, Ben was still seventeen years old, skinny legs exposed from the knee down, because of course it was summer. Whenever Tim pictured Ben, it was always summer. He wondered, if by some twist of fate he knocked on the door and Ben answered, if he would even be recognizable. Maybe Ben had changed since high school, finally hitting a growth spurt and taking on the features of a man. Would he still be impressed by something as trivial as Tim’s muscles or marvel that he could paint?
Remembering why he had returned to The Woodlands, Tim sighed and walked down the street to his car. Then he drove a few blocks to his parents’ house. He had memories here too, so many secret nights in his bedroom, but Tim had already muddied them in his senior year, tearing them apart and fighting them to exhaustion. The memories at Ben’s house—they were untouched, still pure in his mind.
“¡Gordito!”
Tim’s hand slipped off the knob as his mother opened the door. Smiling, she pulled him into a hug. “Mom! I didn’t know you would be here.”
“Of course,” she said as she ushered him in. “You called to say you were coming.”
Just to let them know. He didn’t expect them to wait for him. “Is Dad here?”
“No, he had to work, but I took the day off. Let me look at you!”
Tim basked in her attention. She took him to the kitchen, where she began heating up some leftover rice pilaf as a snack, promising to take him out to eat for a real meal.
“Then I thought we could go shopping,” she said. “You could use some new clothes. Look how big you are!”
She made this statement like he was still growing inches taller every day. Tim smiled anyway. He wasn’t expecting a welcome like this. Not by far.
“You eat. I’ll finish getting ready.”
His mother already looked fabulous, but Tim liked that she was getting dressed up for him. If only every day could be like this. He finished the leftovers, then put the plate in the sink and went upstairs to his old room. Little had changed, aside from the clutter. He hadn’t packed much when he left for Austin. Before leaving for college, Tim moved everything from his studio to here, knowing his father would want the space back. His paintings—and he had produced a lot of them that final year—were everywhere, all positioned so the fronts couldn’t be seen.
He flipped through them, scoffing at those he found embarrassing and setting aside the few he liked enough to show Eric. That familiar itch came back to him when he touched canvas, smelled the long-dried paint. How had he survived the last year and a half without this? Then again, painting at the frat house seemed impossible, even if he had the nerve to ask for studio space, so Tim dismissed the thought and took the paintings he still liked down to the car.
When he came back in, his mother was ready. The funny thing about parents was how easily they fell back into old roles. Tim might as well have been twelve again. His mother drove, then decided where they ate and where they shopped. She even tried to pick out his clothes for him. Luckily her taste wasn’t too different from his own, so Tim didn’t have to assert himself much. In the afternoon they walked the mall, both reluctant to call it quits, even though they had bought everything they wanted.
“Do you need cologne?” his mother asked.
“I have four bottles back in Austin.”
“Maybe you aren’t using enough,” his mother said. “Women like a man who smells good.”
He thought about telling her, right then and there. What did he have to lose? She would cry, but eventually she would get over it, he hoped. If not—well, he would miss days like these, but they were far and few between.
“When am I going to get a grandbaby?” Ella asked.
Tim laughed, mostly because his parents had never been ready for kids. But then he supposed grandkids might suit them better. Pick up the kids when they needed a fix and send them home when they were tired of them. His stomach sank. Of course she would be sad about that possibility flying out the window. Adoption was still an option, but he wouldn’t do that without a partner. For that matter, why should he come out when he didn’t have anyone? What was there to gain?
“We should probably head home,” Tim said. “I want to drive back to Austin before it gets late.”
“You aren’t staying?”
He shook his head. There would be no point once his father got home and his mother’s attention returned to him. Lucky bastard! Tim would love to have a person like that in his life, someone he could rely on. Someone who made him feel loved.
Then Tim realized that such a person already existed.
* * * * *
“It’s not about having something to gain,” Eric said. He was sitting at the dining room table, piles of mail and bills spread out on the wooden surface. The house had an office, but Eric always seemed more comfortable in an environment suited to food. “Coming out isn’t about convenience, either. You do it so that others can love you.”
