Page 3 of Missile Tow
“Denver?” she gasped. “Denver?In December?Driving cross country?” she shrilled.
“Calm down, Mom. The BMW is all-wheel drive,” I stated. “And I hope it snows like a motherfucker while I’m driving.”
“Your words, Van!” she scolded, always being a mother. “Then what about the mountains?” she asked, her voice rising two octaves higher. “Just getting across Snoqualmie Pass out of Seattle can be bad in winter, and you want to go through Idaho, Montana, and other godforsaken places like that?”
“I’m sick of the Seattle chill, Mom. Seattle is not friendly to single gay boys these days,” I said. “Dating is vicious, and I’m tired of trying.”
Mom hesitated, and I knew she’d soften her tone when she deciphered what I was really saying. “I know this has been hard, honey. And I know you miss Evan. I used to love him, too, but there are other nice boys here for you.”
Her attempt at sympathy landed on deaf ears. “Evan is not dead, Mom. In fact, he lives in the same building, in case you forgot. You can’t miss a guy who replaces you with another when he’s right under your nose. ”
“I bet he hopes for a reconciliation,” she offered. “He probably misses you too, dear.”
“Did you hear me? Helivesin thesamebuilding. With a new guy, Mom. I don’t think he misses shit, to tell you the truth,” I reported. “Besides, I’m done sobbing into my Cheerios. I want an adventure with a new view.”
“You can move to Mars, Van, but your troubles will still follow you,” she said. “You need to spend Christmas with family.”
“I only have you, Mom. That’s my entire family. But then you chose to be with someone who is the antithesis of all I stand for, so no thanks!”
“I’ll let you decorate the Maui condo,” she bribed.
My mother knew that her son, born on Christmas Day, was a Christmas freak, a complete holiday junkie. I lived forChristmas. Snow, real trees, holiday décor, pumpkin spice lattes, shopping, and a month-long immersion in Christmas carols, especially Mariah’s famous hit.
“I’m going to find me a country boy for Christmas,” I announced. “A certified Wrangler-wearing cowboy.”
“What about Nordstrom and Starbucks?” she teased. “Do you think Denver has those?”
“They do,” I stated. “Of course, you know I checked. But I’m thinking more along the lines of a Montana or Wyoming stud. A real ranch type who needs a man by their side.”
“Get real, son.”
“I’m serious, Mom. I’ve decided to manifest a Christmas miracle of who I want to meet and love next.”
“Things don’t work like that, Van. Besides, you’re city, not country.”
I pushed one of the ten pillows on my couch to the side and plopped onto it. I needed a seat for the next topic. Mom was open to my beliefs, but this one might test even her.
“The universe spoke to me again,” I began. “You know I get these odd messages from time to time, and this one was loud and clear.”
I heard the exhausted exhale on the other end of the call. “Oh, honey. Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?”
“Now you sound just like Evan,” I pointed out. “Remember him? The partner who chastised me for believing in miracles and messages. What I need right now is support, Mom.”
“But Vance. Basing major life decisions on silly messages? Should you be doing that?”
I gazed at my clear-polished nails. “Who’d I learn that from, Mommy Dearest?” I quipped. “Seems to me you used to do that. But might I suggest your last message concerningRogerwas way off base, so maybe you’re right.”
As a child, my mother was the queen of cable TV. She adored shows about psychic messages, mentalists, and especially the mediums who could speak with the departed. She often told me to make sure I was open to messages from beyond. Her words, not mine.
“I’ve come to appreciate reality, dear,” she stated. “You’re still young, so now would be a good time to think and act responsibly.”
“Listen to me closely, Mom. Iamgetting a Christmas miracle. Hewilllove Christmas as much as I do, and hewilllove me. And I can’t just sit around waiting for that to happen, so I’m going to look for him on my way to Denver. Trust me, Mom. I’ll get my gift. You’ll see.”
Mom laughed out loud and, I’m sure, at the same time, shaking her head on the other end of the call. “So, no Maui?” she pushed.
“Nope,” I insisted. “I leave tomorrow. First stop, Spokane! They have cowboys in Eastern Washington, too, you know.”
“Well, better than Colorado,” she responded. She was silent for a few moments. “Are you okay, honey? I mean, really?”
