Two

TWO

I woke up and I was alone. Half of me was thrilled that he was gone, but the other half, the sentimental half, was hoping that he would have stayed to at least eat dinner with me and take a stroll down memory lane.

"Hey, you're awake," he said as he walked into the room.

Dixon Bain, the man I had not seen in ten years, sailed back into my hospital room looking better in black jeans and a gray crewneck sweater under a leather jacket than he had in the suit earlier.

"You're still here." I was floored.

He held up a bag and jiggled it for me. I saw the name of my favorite Chinese restaurant in the city on the outside.

The fact that he remembered, after a decade, made it suddenly hard to breathe.

"I asked," he told me, pulling the sliding hospital table around and setting down the bag. All his movements were always decisive and fast and abrupt. He startled a lot of people but, for some reason, never me. "And they said that kung pao and sweet and sour soup wouldn't kill you."

"Thank you," I replied, trying not to sigh as he continued to arrange the utensils and the take-out containers in front of me. There was a Pepsi for me too, and that looked like heaven.

He got me situated, moved the pillows around, raised the bed, and when I was comfortable and he was confident of my angle, I was allowed to eat. He sat beside me, but there was nothing for him.

"Dix" I said softly, reverently, "you want some?"

"No, baby, that's all yours. I ate on my way over."

The baby had come right back. He was only one year older than me, but always it had been his word for me. I never let any other man use it. "Thanks for thinking of me. This is really nice of you."

"Yeah, well, what's the use of storing useless information in your brain if you never use it?"

I smiled over at him.

"But it's funny, ya know," he mused. "I doubt I could tell you what my last boyfriend liked on his hamburger, but if you ask me to tell you what you like, I'll say ketchup, mustard, and pickles, no onions, extra cheese."

"And you would be right." I chuckled, which was pretty good considering my heart was in my throat.

His gaze was unwavering, and I would have glanced away if I could have. But looking at Dixon Bain had always been my pleasure, and nothing had changed.

"Hey," he began, breaking the spell. "Do you remember when I used to work those double shifts at Boondocks and I'd come home and you'd cook me dinner?"

"Uh-huh," I replied, remembering the bar and grill close to campus that he'd worked at all through college. I had gone the copy shop route; he'd been a waiter.

"I had to work to show my dad I was serious about my own education."

"Yes, I know."

"But when I'd get home, we'd screw around and you'd rub my back and I'd fall asleep."

"I remember," I barely got out.

"I used to wake up, and you'd be asleep next to me, and… I always loved that."

"I know you've spent the night with other people since me."

"Yeah, but you're the only person I've ever lived with."

"Really?" I was surprised.

"Yeah, really." He sounded defensive.

"Interesting."

"Why's that?"

My eyes flicked over to him. "Because it's something grownups do, Dix."

He grunted.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just… I can't get over seeing you. It's so weird."

At least I wasn't the only one.

"Weird and expected at the same time."

"Expected?" That made no sense.

"Well, yeah. I always figured I'd see you again."

"You did?"

"Sure, that's why I wasn't all racked up when I left, ya know? It never felt like forever."

"It did to me. I didn't realize you were actually going to go until you kissed me that last time and walked out the front door."

He was staring at me, studying my face.

I smiled wide. "Jesus, Dix, I was so crazy about you I thought we'd be adopting kids together and have a house in the suburbs. I had no idea about anything."

He got off the bed, crossed the room, and brought back one of the ugly regurgitated-yellow hospital chairs to sit in.

"You're getting comfortable," I teased him, "you planning to stay all day?"

"Yep. I talked to your doctor. He said you could go home tomorrow. I already stocked the fridge and––"

"What?" I nearly choked on a piece of chicken.

"What?" He appeared confused.

Home?

"Evan?"

"Home?" I finally got the word out.

He squinted at me. "I missed something."

"You're taking me home?"

"Well, yeah," he said, making a show of glancing around the room. "I don't see anybody else waiting to do it."

"Dixon, you––"

"I took your keys and your wallet and went to your place. I like your apartment. It's small, but that's to be expected on your salary. You own it?"

I was still stuck on the first thing he said. "On my salary?" I was indignant.

"Pull the stick out of your ass, Evan. We both know you don't make shit. You don't have to be a dick about it. You can fit three of your place into my loft in Manhattan."

"Okay." I put down my fork. "I will have you know that that apartment is in a historic building and––"

"Yeah, I already knew it was small. But I don't care if you own it. Either way it can be sold, whatever… let's just worry about tomorrow. Now, I already got––"

"What are you talking about?" I yelled.

His scowl was dark. "Tomorrow when I take you home, I need to make sure that your place is stocked until you're okay enough to fly to New York with me for Christmas."

"You hate Christmas!" Which was not what I meant to say, but it was what came out.

"Yes, I do," he admitted, reaching for my hand, which, for whatever reason, I let him have. It was an automatic response: if Dixon wanted something, I gave it to him. It was ingrained deep inside me, too deep to try and reason with. "And I hate it for other reasons now, but back when we were in school, it was because I couldn't have you and my family together."

"It was?"

"Yeah. When I was with you, I missed my family, and when I was with my family, I missed you."

"I'm sorry," I said, and meant it. "I never wanted you to have to choose."

"Well, I've been thinking, maybe if I take you with me to New York this year, then everything will be different." He sighed deeply. "Maybe this year I'll finally have everything I ever wanted."

My brain was going to explode. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You. Me. The Big Apple. I think that's my ticket to happiness."

He had lost his mind in the last ten years, and apparently no one had noticed.

"I have someone I would like you to meet."

I watched as he got up and walked out of the room. I took that opportunity to make sure I was awake. I felt awake, everything looked normal; there were no clowns anywhere that I could see… it all felt real.

And then the fear hit me.

Someone I would like you to meet.

That's what he was trying to tell me. He had finally told his father to go to hell, and now there was a man he loved in his life who he wanted me to meet. Oh dear God in heaven, I was not quite ready for that. You closed the door forever on possibilities in your secret heart when you met the significant others of old lovers.

"Evan."

I looked up, and there at the door was a very beautiful, very elegantly dressed woman wearing a long white fur coat. When she took off her gloves, the diamond on her left hand caught my eye. It was as big as an ice cube.

"Oh," she murmured, crossing the room to me, "from the way Dixon always went on, I thought he was exaggerating, but your eyes really are the loveliest shade of sepia, and those cheekbones—if I'd been so blessed, I would have married better."

"Mother," Dixon groaned like he was in pain.

She cackled evilly and walked up beside the bed. "I'm Lucinda Bain, Dixon's mother," she announced, smiling down at me. "And you're Evan Kano, are you not?"

I coughed hard, offering her my hand. "Yes, ma'am."

She bent and kissed my cheek, and when she leaned back, she turned to ask her son to take her coat. Apparently, he needed to be careful with it since it was fake fur and was less robust than the real alternative.

"I've been told," she began, straightening her suit jacket, "real fur holds up better over time, but really, don't we think it would have done better on the animal?"

"Yes," I agreed, turning to look at Dixon, who hadn't moved, still holding her coat.

"At least drape it over the chair, darling," she suggested with a smile, before her eyes were back on me. "He's so enamored of you; he's forgotten his manners."

I looked over at him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Evan."

I turned back to the woman standing there beside my bed in the Donna Karan suit. Everything about her was tasteful elegance, and she had the warmest eyes.

"It's so good to finally meet you," I apprised her, and I heard my voice catch because I had always hoped to meet her and had instead met Dixon's father, who hated me. He had been in town on business, and Dixon and I had had dinner with both his father and grandfather. It had been the end of us; I just didn't realize it at the time.

"Oh, my dear," she cooed, hand on my cheek as she brushed away a stray tear.

I was overwrought from being shot. I had my out.

Dixon came around the bed, leaned over, and wrapped me in his arms. My breath hitched because I wasn't expecting it.

"Hug me back," he ordered, "you know you're dying to hold me."

And I was, even if he was being an arrogant ass about it.

I turned my face into the side of his neck and hugged him as hard as I could. He was warm and solid and strong and just him, just Dixon. And I was terrified that somewhere buried not so deep down was a love that had simmered for ten years.

"Okay," he rumbled after long minutes, letting me go, easing me back before gesturing at his mother. "Tell him."

"Oh really? Is it my turn now?"

He growled at her, and her smile was luminous. She didn't just love him; she adored him.

"Evan," she began with a smile, "darling, I know I don't deserve it after the way I've treated you, but could you spare me a few moments of your time?"

"I don't… when exactly have you ever treated me bad?"

"Sweetheart, I never once picked up the phone to see how you were after you and Dixon broke things off," she confessed, moving to perch delicately on the edge of my bed. "I wanted to of course, but I wasn't certain how you'd feel about that since we had never actually met face-to-face."

"I––"

"I mean, I heard all about you of course… how smart you are and how beautiful and funny and just every little thing, so I felt I knew you, but still, I didn't think it was my place to just ring you up out of the blue."

"I would have loved that, Mrs. Bain," I assured her.

"Please call me Lucinda."

"Lucinda," I repeated.

"I just felt terrible… after four years and then to just have it end because of…." She took a quick settling breath. "There's been a terrible mistake made."

"And what is that?"

Another deeper breath. "It's a bit of a story."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," I soothed her. "Take your time."

She moved a lock of hair that had escaped the French twist from in front of her face. I was betting that when she let the thick blonde mane down, it fell to her shoulders.

"Well, a week or so ago we were all having dinner together, the whole family, even my father was there, eighty-eight and still going strong." She stopped and smiled at me. "He's a pistol, but that's… anyway, while we were eating, Dixon brought up the fact that you had been involved in a shooting, and all of a sudden Mr. Bain, Dixon's father, asks after you."

"Oh, that's kinda funny," I replied, trying to keep the sadness out of my voice, plus I had no idea what else to say. I didn't want to make the comment that because her husband was a homophobic asshole and that her son was a coward, four years of my life had been flushed down the toilet.

"No, you don't understand. Dixon became furious. He got up and yelled at his father right there and told him to stop pretending that he cared at all." I held out my hand, which she immediately took. "I had never seen that particular look on my husband's face before, and it took me a minute until I realized what it was."

I waited. I didn't really care, but the story was interesting.

"He was baffled. Mr. Bain was at a complete loss, and so he asked Dixon what in the world he was talking about."

Horrible that Dixon's father would try to pretend that he had no idea, but no one ever liked being confronted by the elephant in the room. It made sense that he would plead ignorance.

"Well, out of the blue my father remarks that he's confused. He had thought that Miles ended it with the girl because of how unsuitable she was. He thought that Mr. Bain's opinion of the girl had been unfavorable."

I shrugged. "That's okay. I know Dixon's grandfather, your father, is from old money. I'm sure to him I wasn't good enough to date his grandson."

"You didn't hear me," she countered. "Listen again: Miles' girl was unsuitable."

My head snapped back to her from where I was looking out the window.

She nodded.

"Miles?" Dixon's brother? His brother, Miles? "Girl?"

"Yes, to both." She sighed, patting my hand. "I asked my father where he ever got the idea that the girl was unsuitable, and he turned and looked at my husband and said that they had been talking about it ages ago when they were in Chicago on business."

I waited as she took a deep breath.

"Now Dixon is fuming at this point and says his grandfather has it all mixed up and that the conversation had nothing to do with Miles or a girl but had everything to do with you, Evan, his boyfriend. There was no girl, there was never a girl, there was only you. He told both his father and his grandfather that he had overheard the conversation in question and that was why he broke up with you, because he knew his father would never accept you into the family."

"Wow." I shook my head. "Well, it's certainly nice to finally hear the––"

"No." She quieted me, her fingers curling around mine, squeezing gently. "Listen now. So Mr. Bain is just sitting there staring at his son, and finally tells him that he owes his grandfather an apology. My father doesn't have anything wrong, Dixon does."

"What? I'm so lost I––"

She smiled wide. "I know. I was too. We all were. Myself, Dixon, my son Miles, my daughter, Alyssa, all of us sitting there staring at Mr. Bain like he'd grown another head."

"What happened?" I asked her, riveted now.

"Well, finally Dixon says that he knows his father and grandfather didn't approve of you, and do you know what my father said?"

"No."

"He said that he was unaware that Dixon dated women," she announced with a laugh. "That was a good one, I have to tell you."

I glanced over at Dixon. He was looking at me with the most pained expression on his face, fingers laced on top of his head.

"No one heard him when he said girl, either," she told me.

"Oh shit," I breathed out. "They were never talking about me."

"That's right," she agreed, nodding, "they were never talking about you."

"Oh my God."

"Oh my God is right. Mr. Bain then tells us that the night he spoke to my father about bad choices in partners, he was speaking of Danielle Vicksburg, Miles' girlfriend from college. He had been saying that even though she was from an excellent family, he had found the girl completely unsuitable and dull as dirt, not at all like Evan ." She finished, enunciating my name for maximum effect.

I had to start breathing before I passed out.

"Oh yes." Her smile was huge. "He went on to say that he and my father had both found your zeal to help the common man admirable, if deluded." She chuckled. "And that you were a pistol, and the way you had bantered with him had been delightful. You didn't back down from your moral stance, and he found that refreshing. He told Dixon that he had always been confused by the fact that, as enamored of you as he said he was, the romance was not pursued after college. He found that strange but thought perhaps the two of you had simply drifted apart. He was certainly not about to interfere in the love lives of his children outside of premarital agreements."

"Oh." I stared at her, stunned.

"Yes." She nodded. "I couldn't believe it, and Dixon was just completely shaken. Sweetheart, he went absolutely ashen, let me tell you."

"I'll bet." I grinned at her, looking over at Dixon. "He broke up with me for no reason."

"Yes, he did."

He was standing at the window with his back to us, watching the rain come down outside.

It was surreal… and sad… very sad.

"And may I tell you that his father gave him quite a lecture on eavesdropping and acting on impulse without the facts. He went on, quoting some line from Othello , but by that time, I know Dixon wasn't even listening."

"Well." I sighed. "It's nice to know that Mr. Bain had a good impression of me. We got along well that day, and so when Dixon told me what he said… I was confused. People normally like me or hate me right off, so it was weird. Good to know that I actually read him right."

"You did," she assured me. "I only ever wanted my children to be happy, and even though we come from what is construed as old money, that does not necessarily go hand in hand with racism, homophobia, or prejudice, as much as other people may presume. My father taught me that character was the true test of a man—or woman—and Mr. Bain's family, my husband, gave him those same values. We instilled that same appreciation in our children."

"Yes, ma'am," I said softly.

"Lucinda," she corrected me.

"Lucinda."

We were silent, staring at each other. She had a great face.

"Where are your parents, Evan?"

"They're on an Alaskan cruise for the holidays."

She nodded as she let my hand go and stood up. "Well, I just came to see you, and now I have to get back to the airport, as I have to be back in New York by tonight. Dixon's father and I are going to the opera."

"Sounds fun," I offered lamely.

"It sounds hideous, but it's for charity, so… but tomorrow I meet with the caterer about Christmas dinner and New Year's, so… will you come?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"Your parents are on a cruise. What other plans did you have?"

"Oh no, Lucinda, I have friends here in town who––"

"Talk to Dixon and then let me know," she said, leaning over to hug me.

She smelled like musk and spice, not girly, and I liked that. I got a kiss on the cheek after the hug, and she stood over me and smiled. "I think I finally understand why there's never been anyone else serious in my son's life."

I smiled weakly at her.

"Let me know, sweetheart," she ordered, turning to go.

"Thank you for coming," I rushed out, catching her hand, keeping her there. "It means a lot to me that you made the time."

Heavy sigh from her. "I'm late, but it's genetic really." She chuckled. "I got it from my mother, and I passed it along to Dixon."

"Please give Mr. Bain my best."

"Please come for Christmas and tell him yourself," she pressed, crossing the room to her son and the fake mink coat he was holding up for her.

He helped her on with it and then spun her around and hugged her tight.

"Oh my," she said, chuckling, patting his back. "I like being rewarded this way. What else may I do for you?"

He put his face down in her shoulder, and I saw him shudder.

"My love." She sighed deeply. "I hope you get what you want this year."

I turned my head away, looking out the window to give them some semblance of privacy. When she called out the goodbye to me from the door, I had enough time to turn and see her wave before she was gone.

Alone with Dixon, I had no idea what to say.

He cleared his throat.

"You could have just told your father to go to hell when you believed what he thought was real. You could have, but you didn't."

"No, I didn't, and there's no excuse for that."

"You were a coward."

"Yes."

"You didn't want to be disinherited."

"No."

"And so you threw me away, because the thought of losing me was easier than the thought of losing your family and your money."

"Yes."

At least we were clear on everything.

After long minutes of thundering silence, I told him to go.

"Why would I go now?"

I shook my head. "This, me knowing, changes nothing. I mean, it was awesome of your mom to hop on the family jet and make the trip from LaGuardia to O'Hare, but nothing is fixed. You still left, I still stayed… we have completely different lives."

He shoved his hands down in the pockets of his jeans and moved closer to the bed. "I want you to come home with me."

"I could never do that."

"Why not?"

I shook my head. "Because what am I, above all else?"

"I don't know. What?"

"You know."

"No, I don't fuckin' know," he growled, suddenly irritable.

"Yeah, you do."

"Evan, I––"

"I'm a romantic . You know that."

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah… I do know that."

"So you know that us, together, that was done so long ago."

He cleared his throat. "I don't accept that."

I sighed heavily, owning up to my piece of the mess.

"Some of it, more than half of it, the reason we broke up… yeah, most of it was how you thought your dad felt and so in turn how your family would feel, but some of it was me. I loved you too much, too hard, and it was suffocating, so you got rid of me. I get it. I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were stupid."

I shrugged, hoping to piss him off, hoping he'd go away so I could be alone to process the last ten years of my life.

He looked at me hard. "I think it's great that you know everything."

"Not everything." I gave him a slight grin. "But I do know the difference between being in love and being in lust and being a convenience."

"You're wrong."

"I don't think so."

"You're such an ass."

"Sorry," I said even though I wasn't.

"No, you're not. Don't say––you know I hate automatic apologies."

I probably knew that better than anyone.

"I think I should go."

I nodded. "I think you should too."

"I thought you needed me."

"I used to." I felt the sting behind my eyes. "Not anymore."

He put on his leather jacket, adjusted it, and then faced me. "If you change your mind, will you call me?"

"Yeah," I promised, wiping a tear away.

He shrugged. "I always end up leaving."

"It was good you came. It means a lot."

"Did it?"

"Of course," I conceded, motioning him toward me. "Gimme a hug."

He moved fast, and his arms were wrapped around me, his face in my shoulder. "I'll say it so you have it to hold over me… I want you back."

"No you don't." I smiled, leaning my cheek in his hair. "You just got nostalgic when you heard I was hurt. It'll pass."

"No." He pulled back, straightening up, turning for the door. "I want you. I'll call you, all right?"

"Okay." I spoke to his back as he left the room. It was a very dramatic exit. I was sure he was pleased. For someone who so hated theatrics in others, he loved performing himself.