Chapter 14
DeAnna Zankich
Sequel to | Sweet Redemption
Summary: The days leading up to the big `I do'.
Warnings: None
Author Notes: A thousand thanks to my sweet friend Kristina Grönberg for the title.
Spoilers: None
Even as he woke up, he felt changed. There was something different about that day. Saturday, June 2. He sat up in bed, sighing as the soft cashmere blanket brushed his arms, and looked around the strangely quiet flat.
Vince must have slipped out while Stuart was sleeping because he was definitely not there. He frowned, recalling how oddly Vince had behaved while they were snuggling in bed the night before. Every time Stuart pressed against him, he would pull back slightly from the middle. It was as though he didn't want Stuart to touch his belly, which made no sense. Vince's belly was the most sensitive part of his body--other than his hands. Normally, he loved to have that center of himself touching Stuart in some way. It had also been strange sleeping next to each other when they were both fully clothed. They hadn't done that since they first got together.
Stuart figured all that weird behavior had something to do with Vince not wanting them to make love the night before the wedding. If Stuart had got hold of Vince's belly, he might have got too excited and not been able to stop himself. The desired result had been achieved--Stuart missed his lover's touch and couldn't wait to sleep with him that night. That was clearly what Vince had wanted--a bit of separation to make them slightly hungry for each other. A little extra desire would only fan the romantic flame of their first time making love as life partners.
Shoving the covers off, Stuart stood up and stretched. The bedside clock told him it was just after ten. The caterers were due to arrive at 11:00 so he had less than an hour to get himself together. He went down to the kitchen to make coffee when he realized he already smelled coffee. Glancing around he looked for the press that he assumed Vince must have left for him. His eye fell on the shiny device where it sat cleaned and upturned in the dish drainer. Lifting his nose into the air like a cat, he inhaled deeply trying to locate the source of the smell of coffee. Following his nose he went curiously into the lounge.
There on the coffee table was a paper cup of coffee from the French bakery around the corner and a small pink box of pastries sitting beside it. Stuart walked over to the couch and sat down, opening the box to see what was inside--even though he already knew. An apple Danish and a croissant were perched prettily on folds of tissue paper inside the box and there was also a note from Vince. Stuart plucked out the folded bit of paper and sat back on the couch to read it.
`Good morning, love. I thought you might be a bit hungry so I brought you some sweets. I'm on my mobile if you need me--otherwise I'll see you at 3:30 at your parents'. I love you, Vince.'
Stuart bit his lip and grinned at the fact that his boyish lover made no mention of the contents of the box. Vince was clearly trying to see if Stuart remembered what he'd brought him for breakfast the first day they had crossed the line from friends to lovers. He giggled and reached in for the croissant, taking a big bite out of it.
While he ate, he looked around his flat and took in all the changes that had occurred over the last year or so. Originally the place had been professionally decorated to reflect his fast-paced, well- financed lifestyle, but since Vince had lived there the energy of the space had changed completely. There were framed photos everywhere of them and of the people they loved, photos from the trips they had taken together.
Almost without Stuart's notice, Vince had incorporated a color scheme into the furnishings--deep browns and sage green--very warm and inviting. Earthy. All the pillows and throw blankets were soft to the touch and plushy. And then there were those candles, sneaky things. Each one of them had the soothing scent of either jasmine, lavender, eucalyptus or lemon. They mixed with Stuart and Vince's own personal scents in the flat to make a completely unique aroma that he had come to associate with their home.
The scent was layered with the smells of so many wonderful meals, so much fresh brewed coffee, so much jasmine soap and massage oil and lotion, so much cologne and good red wine, fresh clean sheets. Stuart could actually separate the smells as he sat there--he could tell which things were Vince and which things were him. He could also tell which scents were a combination of both of them. Those smells were the nicest.
He took a few bites of the apple danish then put it back in the box, choosing the cup of coffee instead. Sitting there in the comforting quiet, he drank half the cup then decided he was finished. He had to shower and get his clothes packed up to take to Hazel's.
As he stepped back up to the bedroom, he spotted an envelope on the pillow they hadn't used the night before. Walking over, he sat on the bed and opened the next sweet surprise of the morning.
No personal note that time, just an old photograph. He had to look at it for a moment before he remembered when it was taken. In the photo, he and Vince were facing each other and smiling. Vince's arms were draped over Stuart's shoulders and their foreheads were touching. They appeared to be dancing but the photo was close up and Stuart couldn't tell. Looking at their hairstyles and clothing, he tried to piece together the timeframe and then, all at once, it came to him.
Alexander took that photo of them at the party they threw for Stuart when he graduated university. He and Vince were twenty-one years old in that shot and they HAD been dancing--all night, in fact. Dancing close and slow in a corner of a little bar on Canal Street, the name of which Stuart couldn't recall just then. It was a pubby, comfortable place the boys liked when they were young but it had since been closed down. O'Malley's or O'Hara's or O'something's. He smiled at the picture in his hand, turning it over to see if there was anything inscribed on it. Never being one to miss an opportunity to be sentimental, Vince had scribbled on the back of the photo in blue ink: `Stuart's graduation party. Finally had him all to myself for the first time in three years.'
Looking at the photo one more time, Stuart propped it up against the bedside lamp. He and Vince looked like kids in that shot--they HAD been kids. But he could tell why Vince had chosen that particular photo to leave for him on the morning of their wedding. Even then-- nine years before--it was obvious from the way they looked at each other that they were completely in love.
He made the bed in a cursory manner, just tucking the comforter up and around the pillows, carefully covering the cashmere blanket to protect it. Opening the wardrobe, he took out his clothes for the ceremony and laid them on the bed in their zippered cover. Grabbing an overnight bag, he left it open on the bed to throw in whatever grooming supplies he would need at Hazel's. Then finally, he went in to get showered.
Stuart stripped off his sleeping clothes and left them in a pile on the floor, like he always did with his dirty garments. Somehow they never failed to make it into the hamper. Just as he stepped into the shower, he heard the phone ring and he rushed out to the bedroom to answer it.
Diving across the bed, he grabbed the cordless phone and spoke into it. "Yeah?"
A burst of static made him grimace and hold the receiver away for a second. Then he heard Alexander shrilling out his favorite nickname for Stuart.
"Shitface, is that you?"
"Yeah. Are you in Manchester?"
"Yes, yes. I'm getting in a taxi at the airport. Where's Vince?"
"Out. You can reach him on his mobile if you want him."
"No, I wanted to talk to you," Alex said. He spoke to the taxi driver briefly, giving him directions to a hotel near Hazel's house. "Listen, I want to know something before I stand up there in front of God and everyone and show my support for your union today."
Stuart frowned, pursing his lips and waiting. He said nothing, not wanting to encourage Vince's meddling friend.
"You still there?" Alex said.
"Yes. What do you want?"
"I want to know that everything's been resolved with that cheeky American bloke--even if he was unbelievably dishy."
"What do you mean?" Stuart said crossly. He assumed Vince had discussed Brian with his friend, but he wasn't sure how much detail he'd gone into.
"Vince told me all about it, you bastard! ARE you still in love with that bloody American?" Alex insisted.
"Twat! This is none of your business."
"Listen, gorgeous. I'm not coming to the wedding until you convince me that you're not pining for that yummy Yank."
"Oh, and you not being at my wedding is really going to distress me, isn't it?!" Stuart barked.
Alex was quiet for a moment and then he said "it will distress Vince greatly. You wouldn't want to do that to him on HIS wedding day, would you? Now, convince me."
Clenching his jaw so hard his eyes watered, Stuart took a shaky breath. "Alex, I don't owe you anything. The situation with Brian is none of your Goddamned business and I won't be discussing it with you. If you want to disappoint your friend by skipping out on his wedding, that's up to you. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a toss. As far as I'm concerned, you can FUCK OFF." He hung up the phone and bounded to the bathroom, hurrying into the shower.
All of a sudden, he felt like he was running late.
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Michael:
After boarding the plane, Brian stood up and paced around the first class cabin. He looked out the portal windows at the gray sky over Heathrow as he made a slow lap of the space where they would spend the next seven and a half hours.
Michael sat in his plush seat arranging his books and magazines around him for easy access. He glanced anxiously at Brian as he paced by their seats. "What's wrong with you?"
"I'm just moving around while I can," Brian said crisply. He stood by his aisle seat and stretched his long arms over his head. In the process, his beige sweatshirt lifted up and exposed the soft line of hair between his navel and the waistband of his jeans. Michael had to look away, he wanted to touch that little tuft so badly. After tasting his friend in that hot sexual way, he'd been unable to concentrate on anything else. Brian, on the other hand, seemed to not even remember it happened.
Brian popped open the overhead bin and took out his carry-on bag, setting it on his seat to rummage through. Momentarily he found what he was after--a small prescription bottle that Michael knew held a variety of pharmaceutical delights. Brian flipped the cap off and emptied the multicolored pills into his hand, scanning them until he found the one he wanted.
"What are you taking?" Michael asked quietly, his eyes darting up to the flight attendants who were still busy greeting the boarding passengers.
"Just a little something to help me relax," he said. "Want one?"
Michael shook his head. "Why do you need help relaxing? Are you tense?"
"Is it still Saturday?" Brian looked directly at his friend, holding his gaze.
"Well, yeah . . ." Unsure of the connection, Michael's brow wrinkled.
Brian shrugged as though it should serve as an explanation and then popped a small white pill into his mouth, swallowing it dry. He returned the rest of the tablets to the prescription bottle, then closed it and zipped it back into his bag. When he stood up to replace the bag in the overhead bin, Michael let himself indulge in a nice long look at Brian's body. He knew he shouldn't torture himself, but he just couldn't help it.
He was wearing Michael's favorite jeans. They were soft and faded and hugged Brian's slender frame in all the right places. A little tear near the bottom of the fly showed just a hint of his underwear through the frayed threads and his ample package stretched the worn denim there irresistibly. Brian's legs went on for days it seemed, defined and lean but not too worked-out. Just perfect and powerful. If Michael had to chose his favorite part of his best friend's anatomy he would have to say it was Brian's arms. That baggy sweatshirt hung from his good shoulders and seemed to gently embrace the hard bunch of muscle at his deltoids. Michael let his eye follow the long curve of Brian's arm down to the sleeve of the his sweatshirt. The ever-present cowry shell bracelet peeked out from under the slightly stretched sleeve, glinting in the daylight from the windows.
Brian sat in his seat heavily and leaned over to whisper. "Were you just checking me out, Mikey?"
"So?" Michael said boldly. "I thought you loved it when people looked at you."
"I do. That wasn't a complaint. I was just asking." He offered a tiny, playful smile then he leaned over even further and connected his lips with Michael's. The kiss shot through him like a bolt of lightning.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," Michael muttered unhappily, looking down.
"I think we both know that's a buncha shit." Brian settled down in his seat and absently examined his fingernails. Ever since he was kid, Brian did that whenever he didn't want to make eye contact.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Michael snapped.
"Nothing," Brian said, still not looking up. "Never mind."
Heaving an indignant sigh, Michael said "listen, you think I'm just waiting around, pining for you like some pathetic Pound Puppy and that's just fucking BULLshit!"
A few of the other passengers in first class glanced over at the disruptive Americans then quickly looked away.
"Would you keep your voice down?" Brian said, finally looking at him with his hazel eyes wide and slightly hostile. "I don't think that, anyway. Michael, let's just drop it. This is a bad subject. It always has been."
"Now, what the fuck does that mean?" He had lowered his voice to a whisper, but the intensity of the tone was still there. "We have never ONCE talked about this, Brian. NEVER ONCE. I agree that it's always been there, but we've never, ever discussed it. Now that something . . . happened . . . I think we need to. It's just gonna sit there like an elephant in the livingroom otherwise."
Brian frowned and stared at his hands. "Nothing happened, Michael," he said finally. "That was just . . ."
"It wasn't nothing to me," Michael said and instantly he regretted it. Sighing, he shook his head and flopped back into his seat, completely annoyed with himself for dismantling his own defense. "I just wish . . ." Sighing again, he turned back to his friend. "I just wish you would have found another way to let me help you through that. I feel weird about it because of David, I feel weird about it because of us. I just feel WEIRD about it and I wish it hadn't happened like that."
Brian laid his head back on the seat and turned slowly to face Michael. His eyes were sad and slightly imploring. The subtle expression was heartbreaking. "Mikey, I don't want you to feel bad about it. I said I was sorry. I shouldn't have done it, I know, but . . . that was exactly the kind of comfort I needed and you were there to give it to me. I just wish you didn't feel like it was something awful--because . . . I thought . . . I thought it was kind of nice."
Still annoyed but knowing his complaints would only make things worse, Michael reached over and softly stroked Brian's cheek. He ran his thumb gently over that velvety earlobe and smiled wanly into Brian's beautiful eyes. "I did, too. You know I did. And unfortunately, I think I feel the weirdest about THAT. I mean, I have a boyfriend. I love David. I shouldn't have even touched you sexually . . . I feel like a bad person because I did it at all."
Brian sighed and turned his chin into Michael's touch just enough to put a kiss in the palm of his hand. His lips felt like satin and Michael got a little chill from their warm fullness. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could just smother Brian's mouth with deep, wet kisses, tasting him and teasing him until they were both so aroused they had to stagger into the lavatory and have crazed, passionate sex. But when Brian looked at him next, the only thing Michael felt was a wave of protective love.
"Will you let me thank you for being there for me?" Brian said softly.
"You never have to thank me for that."
"Yeah, but I've never asked anything that huge of you before. I never asked you to go so far outside your comfort zone just to take care of me. I appreciate it, Michael. I just want you to know that."
Smiling, Michael leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "Brian, you know I'll do anything for you. No matter how it makes me feel. I just wish . . . this whole thing with Stuart wasn't making you so sad. I wish you could see the positive side of it."
"And what, pray tell, would that be?" Brian said bitingly.
"That you actually fell in love with someone," Michael replied, slightly insistent. "You've NEVER been in love, Brian. Don't you think that's a good thing? That you went there? I mean, even I can see that you learned a lot about yourself from this experience with Stuart. Can't you see it--even a little bit?"
Shaking his head against Michael's, Brian groaned. "All I know is that it feels fucking horrible right now. I cannot WAIT to get off this island and get away from the fact that he's getting married today and that no matter what I did or said, nothing was going to change that."
"You don't know that for sure," Michael whispered. "I saw you two together. I think you could have changed things for him and Vince. Stuart cares for you. I'd even go so far as to say he loves you."
"He does not," Brian said.
"You can't tell, dumbass! You're inside it. I'm objective and I'm telling you Stuart loves you. And if you'd had more time with him, he might not be getting married today."
Scowling, Brian slumped down in his seat again. The flight attendants were walking up and down the aisles, making sure everyone had their safety belts on and that their stuff was secured under the seats. "I don't know if I would have wanted that," he said. "For him not to marry Vince. He needs Vince."
Michael sat quietly and waited for Brian to talk himself through his thoughts.
"I could never give him what Vince gives him," Brian went on. "He takes care of Stuart like a parent. He NEEDS a parent, he's such a fucking baby." He ran his fingers through his soft light brown hair then took a deep breath. "And we all know what a fucking shitty boyfriend I'D make."
"I don't believe that," Michael said, sensing his cue to interject. "In fact, I think you have the potential for greatness in Boyfriend-dom."
Brian looked at him incredulously.
"I'm serious. Look at how you are with Justin. You protect him and give him advice. You went all the way to New York to look for him just to make sure he wouldn't get hurt."
"He had my fucking credit card," Brian retorted.
"Whatever," Michael said laughing softly. "You went after him because you were worried about him. I know that. Justin knows that. He loves you so much he can hardly breathe from it, and I know you, Brian Kinney. You care about him, too. It shows in the way you deal with him. You kick his ass and make him live up to his own potential. You just refuse to let him fail. If that's not love, I don't know what is."
Michael waited for Brian to protest and deny his feelings for Justin, but Brian said nothing. He sat there picking at the hem of his sweatshirt, his eyes lowered thoughtfully.
Forging on gently, Michael said "and you wouldn't have said that about Stuart if you didn't want him to be happy."
Brian gave him a questioning stare.
"If you didn't love Stuart, you would never have considered what might be best for him. You wouldn't have cared. It would have been all about you and your own pleasure. But what you said, Brian . . . that came from the heart. You want Stuart to be happy and you know he'll be happy with Vince. That's you being selfless. Selflessness is the basic definition of love, in case you didn't know."
"Whatever," he grumbled, but Michael could tell he'd gotten through to his friend. Brian sighed and closed his eyes wearily. "You think it's weird, don't you?" he said after a while.
"What?"
"Me and Justin."
Michael breathed a little laugh. "What's weird about it? There's a bigger age difference between me and David than there is between you two. I mean, if that's what you meant."
"No, I meant do you think it's weird that I care about him?"
"That question doesn't make any sense," Michael said. "I think you probably cared about him from the very beginning. At least it was obvious you were instantly worried for him."
Brian nodded slowly. "He was not behaving responsibly that night."
"And going home with you WAS responsible?"
"That's what I mean! I couldn't have been a serial killer or some kind of freaky pervert that wanted to shove cactus quills up his ass. He should never have come with me."
"He must have sensed you were okay," Michael offered. "And, of course, he was drooling all over you. I couldn't tell which one of them needed a bib more--him or your infant son."
Brian chuckled. "Well, the attraction was mutual. And besides, you can't blame the kid. Look at me." He batted his eyes playfully.
"Yeah, look at you." Michael ruffled his friend's soft hair. "So, when can I start calling Justin your boyfriend?"
"Whenever you're ready for me to run you over with my Jeep."
Michael laughed teasingly. "Okay, okay. If he's not your boyfriend, you certainly never miss an opportunity to have sex with him. You even called him from London just to beat off over the phone with him."
"You're right," he said. "I like having sex with him. Justin's a very generous lover. He's adventurous. I respond to that."
"How could he NOT be adventurous? He's only eighteen!"
Brian laughed and smacked Michael's leg playfully. "Fuck you. At least he doesn't need a pacemaker to keep up with me in bed."
Michael shook his head. "You can only hope to be as big a stud when you're David's age. Believe me."
"Ick, I don't wanna know." He covered his ears and cringed. "I hate even thinking about you fucking that creepy old man."
"Why?" Michael said, truly surprised. "You're not jealous, are you?"
"Michael," Brian looked at him directly. "If I wanted to have you as a boyfriend, you'd BE my boyfriend."
"You think?" Michael raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't be so sure."
"Right. Call it a hunch."
The flight attendant walked by and politely scolded Michael about his carry-on bag on the floor. He stowed it under the seat in front of him then settled back and buckled his seat belt. When he looked at Brian then, his friend was staring at his watch fixedly.
"Is the flight leaving late?" Michael said.
"Huh? Oh. No, I don't think so." Brian sighed and checked his nails again.
Michael looked at his own watch wondering what it was about the time that had Brian's attention. It was only 11:41.
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Hazel:
She held the door open for Stuart as he carried his garment bag up from the Jeep. Hazel's hair was in curlers and her flowing flowered robe rippled in the soft mid day breeze. It was a fair afternoon-- warm and sunny but not too warm. A few puffy clouds floated on the edge of the sky, waiting there to enhance the sunset later on. The air was crisp and clean and Hazel took a deep breath of it as she smiled at her son's best friend.
"Goodmorning, kid."
"Hiya." He smiled into her eyes and kissed her cheeks sweetly. "You're not going like that, are you?"
"What? You don't like the curlers? They're the latest rage in Paris and Milan." She closed the door after him and flipped the lock. "You can put that upstairs in my room, if you like."
"Thanks." Stuart hauled the heavy-looking garment bag up the steep stairs and disappeared around the corner into her bedroom. Hazel wondered what he had in there.
She walked down the hall to the kitchen to put the kettle on. The house was quiet since Bernie and Vince left together earlier that morning. Her son had asked Bernie to help him with some final arrangements for his wedding night surprise for Stuart and the two had gone off in Bernie's beat up old car sometime after 7:00am. Vince had been glowing with happiness as he waved to his mother from the passenger seat of that barely road-worthy heap. The memory of his lovely smile made her feel warm all over as she stood there leaning on the kitchen counter.
Upstairs she could hear the soft thud of Stuart's footsteps in her bedroom. Hazel couldn't help thinking of all the times she'd heard his footsteps in her house over the last seventeen years. As the kettle rattled softly on the burner, she remembered one night in particular back when the boys were only sixteen years old.
She figured it must have been the weekend Vince lost his virginity. He'd never told her exactly when it happened, but her mother's instinct had been piqued when she picked him up from Dudley's house in Macclesfield that Sunday night. He seemed different and a bit quiet and he was in no mood to discuss the reason why. As soon as they'd come home, Vince had dragged the telephone upstairs to his room and shut the door. She knew he was ringing Stuart and that the handsome Irish lad would be `round any minute.
As expected, Stuart arrived within the half-hour and the boys huddled in Vince's room for the rest of the night. She remembered hearing their voices muffled and soft, their tone serious. Vince was doing most of the talking even though she couldn't hear what was being said. She hadn't tried to listen. Hazel valued the respect she and Vince had for each other's privacy and she didn't want to break his confidence by eavesdropping. Instead, she'd sat down in the lounge with her newspaper and a big mug of tea and listened to the radio while the lads talked upstairs.
After about two hours, they had come down for something to eat and she and Vince had looked at each other silently across the kitchen table. His lovely blue eyes told her that he knew she knew. She had smiled at her boy and cupped his cheek in her hand softly, but nothing had been said. Nothing had needed to be.
She had welled up from that memory by the time Stuart came downstairs and stepped into the kitchen. Hazel looked down shyly and wiped her eyes with her fingers. He smiled and walked over to stand near her. Gently he touched her leg with his and pressed against her. This was his way of showing support.
"All right, old woman?"
"Piss off, you cheeky little sod. I'm only five years older than you." She laughed brightly. "I reckon Margaret and I will be doing our share of crying today, anyway. The mothers are always blubbering away at weddings."
Stuart was watching her, his keen blue eyes glinting with curiosity. "What were you thinking of just then?"
The kettle began to hiss and she opened the cupboard over the cooker to get out the tea bags. "I was remembering the weekend Vince lost his cherry up in Macclesfield," she told him. "You two were holed up in his room for hours the night we came back, nattering away about it. It was weeks before he told me the details. What was the boy's name?"
"Kevin," Stuart said immediately.
"Right. That's right. Judith's neighbor friend." She got out two clean mugs and dropped the tea bags into them. "Do you know what he said when he finally told me about it?" she asked. Hazel watched his face closely as she waited for his answer.
Stuart looked down and crossed one leg over the other. His long fingers gripped the edge of the counter. "I'm assuming he told you he wished it had been me who deflowered him," he said softly.
"He told me he'd imagined it HAD been." Hazel smiled knowingly. "I always thought you wished that, as well."
Stuart lowered his chin and looked at her through his black lashes. "You're too smart for your own good, Hazel."
Again, she laughed. "Christ, if I had a penny for every time I've heard that!" Reaching into the cupboard again, she took down the little bottle of clover honey Stuart liked and brought it to the table.
"Where is he, anyway?" Stuart asked.
"He's off somewhere with Bernie. Some secret mission I'm not meant to know anything about." She grinned at him. "He didn't trust me to keep it from you, apparently." Taking the kettle off the burner, she poured the hot water into the mugs then brought them to the table with some spoons. "Sit down, luv. Let's have a chat."
Stuart pulled out a chair for her then sat down across the table, reaching for the bottle of honey. "I'm in no mood for a bollocking, Hazel, so if that's your plan . . . do me a favor and just stow it for another time."
She squeezed her tea bag into the mug then set it aside. "Stuart, luv. Even though you won't believe me and likely won't accept it, I . . . want to apologize. It appears I was wrong about you."
He stirred a large drop of the sweet honey into his cup with his spoon then looked across the table and right into her eyes. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said softly, a little coolly. "In fact, it seems to me that you might have been spot on."
She frowned, deeply disliking his tone. "How do you mean?"
He looked down into his cup and she could see the shadow cross his face. She'd known him for half his life and she knew that expression. Stuart was feeling uncertain.
"He's taking a terrible risk marrying me," he said, still not looking up.
"Marriage is always a terrible risk, kid. No matter who's marrying whom. Do you think other people have got married in the world with no sense of risk? It's never once happened, I assure you." She reached for his hand but he pulled away slightly--just enough to let her know he wasn't prepared to be comforted by her touch. That was fine. Hazel could wait.
He was silent for awhile, just looking into his tea and slowly stirring his spoon around in the cup.
"What are you worried about, luv?" she asked, even though she knew. Ever since she'd laid eyes on that gorgeous Brian Kinney, Hazel had known there was trouble in her son's little Paradise. "Is it that American?"
He still didn't look up, but his brow creased slightly at the mention of Brian's name.
"Has he gone home yet or is he still in the UK?"
Stuart glanced up at the clock on her kitchen wall. "He's leaving right now," he said, then he looked into his tea again.
Hazel sat and patiently watched him struggling with his thoughts for a moment. She could almost see the process of it. He would have a thought and hate the way it made him feel so he would try to rearrange it, dismantle it until it broke into pieces he found easier to digest. All these steps showed on his face and in his body language. After a long moment, watching him torturing himself became too difficult for her and she had to say something--anything that might help him along.
"You love him, don't you? That Brian."
Finally, Stuart looked at her. His stormy eyes locked on hers and seemed to transfer a bit of the turmoil he was feeling. She pursed her lips and gave him a softly imploring look.
"You won't let me hug you, will you?" she almost whispered.
"Can't," he said, shaking his head.
"Well," she said, trying a smile through her gathering tears. "You'll have to let me iron your shirt or feed you, then. I've got to do something." She stood up and went to the frig, pulling the door open so she could lean on it. Looking back at him, she was surprised to find his eyes on her. They were brimmed with sparkling tears and his lips turned up in the slightest of smiles. Hazel couldn't take it anymore. She closed the frig and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She pulled him close to her and hugged him for all she was worth.
At first he resisted, tensing in her arms and squeezing her wrist self-protectively. Hazel hated that he felt any sort of unease with her and she wished a thousand times that she'd never said all that rot about that bloody wolf. She kissed the satiny curls on top of his head and squeezed him even tighter, telling him with her touch that she loved him, that she forgave him and, above all, that she was sorry.
Stuart got that message and he finally relaxed into her embrace. He sniffed and reached up, turning in his chair to face her. They held each other that way for a moment and then he stood up slowly, pulling her against him and lowering his face into the soft crook of her shoulder. She felt her curlers press against the back of her neck from the intensity of the hug. They were both crying and their emotions seemed to feed each other, one stoking the fire of the other.
Petting his hair soothingly, she turned her face so she could whisper in his ear. "Sweetheart, life is complicated," she said. "At its best, it's an impossible load of crap. And I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but it doesn't." She moved back so she could look at him. Smiling into his glistening eyes, she wiped the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs, holding his face in her hands. "You're worried that you aren't good enough for Vince because you love Brian, too? Is that it?"
He just looked away.
"Well," she said. "If anyone asks me, NO ONE is good enough for Vince. But I'm his mother--and I want him to be happy. Stuart Alan Jones--look at me."
Reluctantly, he lifted his gaze to her again.
"You make my son happy," she told him in no uncertain terms. "And, if I'm not mistaken, he makes you happy, too. Am I wrong?"
"You know you're not." His voice was strangled and thick from crying and he cleared his throat. "I adore Vince. I can't stand to be more than three feet away from him."
Hazel moved gently out of their embrace and went down to the lounge. She grabbed a box of tissue off the table beside her favorite chair and brought it back to the kitchen. Holding it out for him, she smiled as he plucked two tissues from the box then blew his nose into them. "Sounds to me like you're ready to get married," she said.
He looked at her with his reddened eyes wide and incredulous. "Does it?"
She nodded, grinning at him playfully. "Luv, sit down." Grabbing out a tissue for herself, she blew her nose delicately then dabbed the tears off her face. Walking back around to her chair, she sat across from Stuart again and looked at him directly. "Do you want to call off the wedding?"
"NO!" he shouted.
"Right. Do you love Brian?"
He was less forthcoming with his reply to that question. Picking up his cup, he took a sip of the steaming tea before he said anything. But finally, he softly said "yeah."
"All right," she went on. "Do you think you could make a life with him?"
Stuart shook his head but said nothing.
"Would you want the opportunity to try?"
"No. He needs something . . . different."
"Meaning, he needs something other than you or he needs a different sort of love?"
"Both," Stuart said. "Brian needs a different sort of care all together. He's . . . not ready for anything like this--like getting married. He's not equipped. He's . . . got no skills."
"Relationship skills, you mean?" she asked.
"Right, yeah." He sipped his tea again and he seemed to be calming down.
Hazel let out a relieved sigh as she laughed softly. "Okay, then. I'm not going to take the piss outta you for assuming you ARE equipped to handle being married, but at least we've established that your lovely Brian is an emotional child--AND that you are not the right man to help him grow up. We agree on that?"
"We do."
"So, it sounds to me like there is no problem." She said this last quietly, leaning forward on the table to make him look at her.
He raised his eyebrows and blinked. "There isn't? What about that whole loving Brian thing?"
"What about it?" She sat back and picked up her cup.
"You're not seeing that as a problem?"
"Nope. I see it as an unfortunately consequence to a very dangerous party game. A consequence for which you and Vince are equally responsible, by the way."
Stuart shook his head. "Vince didn't fall in love with Brian."
"No, he couldn't have," Hazel said. "He's full to the brim with love for you. Poor lad's got no more room."
"And I do?" Stuart said sharply. "What, you're saying I don't love Vince with my whole heart?"
"I'm saying you have more room," Hazel said slowly. She watched his face as he processed what she was saying, waiting for him to figure it out. "Stuart, you're like a brand new sponge, luv. You felt like you were sopping full of love for Vince and then, out of the blue, comes this other bloke. All of a sudden, you were taking on more and more love and still holding it all it. You don't know yet how much you can hold. You've never done this before. Vince . . . my Vinnie has been full to the point of overflowing ever since he met you seventeen years ago. He's never wanted to be wrung out, he's never wanted to be filled anymore. He was stuffed. Do you see? You've got more room."
He squinted at her for a moment then he let out a crisp chuckle. "Hazel, your analogies are completely mad!"
She laughed happily. "That may be, but do you see what I mean, Stuart?"
"It sounds like you're saying it's a good thing I have feelings for Brian."
"It IS a good thing," she insisted.
"Why on earth?!"
"Because," she said emphatically. "After a bit, you'll stop loving Brian and then you'll have all that extra room for Vince. It'll happen just when you need it the most--you watch and see. There will be something that happens down the road where he will need every bit of you and then suddenly, you'll fall so deeply in love with him that you'll feel like you've drowned. And then . . . you'll be full to the edges with him, like he is with you."
He gave her a cheeky grin. "Time-released love?"
"If you like," she said. "Stuart, luv. Everybody loves differently. Vince's way is to just submerge himself in it completely. This is your way."
Stuart sipped his tea again, clearly contemplating what Hazel had said. She could always tell when she'd made him think.
She looked up at the clock then blew her nose again. She figured her future son-in-law had had enough of her emotional grilling for the morning of his wedding. She decided to let him off the hook for the time being. "So, what's in that garment bag you dragged upstairs, then? Looked heavy enough to be carrying a body."
"Yeah," he said. "That's it. I killed that meddling cunt, Alexander, and zipped him into the bag."
"Ah," she snickered. "Right. He rang me on his way to the hotel-- apparently right after he spoke to you." She shook her head. "What is it with you two? You've NEVER gotten on."
"I hate that little fucker," Stuart muttered. "He's always up in my face trying to tell me what to do. He should just fuck off and mind his own business."
She nodded her agreement but she was still snickering. "He's just looking after Vince, you know."
"Vince is none of his business!"
"Oh, now luv--I'm afraid you're wrong there. Vincent has a lot of friends. Loads of people care for him very deeply. You have to allow room for them if you're going to be his life partner. He allows room for YOUR friends--whether he likes them or not."
He scowled petulantly but said nothing.
"Stuart," she said, reaching over to touch his hand across the table. "You do have to share each other a bit."
"I know that," he grumbled.
"Right. Then try to ignore Alexander. I know you can't see it, but he means well."
"I told him to fuck himself," Stuart reported. "Is he still coming to the wedding?"
"Of course he is. I sorted that out for you when I talked to him." She smiled sweetly and gave his hand one more gentle pat. "His reading will be nice I imagine. Alex has got quite a flare for dramatic oration."
Stuart raised his eyebrows and they both laughed out loud.
"Christ, you can certainly say THAT again," he said. "I just don't want him to disappoint Vince . . . at least on my account. I reckon I was quite short with him."
"I'll say you were," Hazel said. "But I'm also sure he deserved it." She stood up and put her cup on the counter. "Right, I have to go take these curlers out and start the long process of making myself beautiful. The kettle's still hot if you'd like another cup."
"Yeah," he said. "I think I would."
She walked over and kissed the top of his head again. "Why don't you come upstairs and keep me company?"
Stuart nodded and stood up to get himself another cup of tea.
Hazel walked down the hall and up the stairs, stopping on the landing to glance over at Vince's old bedroom. Even though Bernie had mostly taken over the space with his motorbike memorabilia and loud patterned shirts, she could still feel her son's presence in there. She smiled sadly as she remembered all the times they sat talking together on the edge of his bed. Of course, most of those conversations had been about Stuart.
Young Mr. Jones stopped half way up the stairs and leaned on the banister with his fresh cup of tea. "What, now?" he asked softly, gauging her melancholy expression.
"Oh, you know," she said, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. "My son's getting married today."
Stuart just smiled at her.
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