Categories > Movies > Newsies > Mikey and Me
Ryan is a godsend.
There's no other way to describe it. In the next week after our meeting, Ryan helped me get the rest of the house unpacked, showed me where to shop, gave me directions around town, helped me find an alternate school, and made peanut butter cheerio treats with Terry. Terry instantly loved him about as much as I did, and Ryan seemed to take to Terry, too, and I think half the times I saw him he just wanted to come over and play with my son.
Which was fine by me. He kept Terry busy while I got work done and settled into my new job, in charge of stock, ordering, and other equally boring things for a local bookstore. (Not one of those awful chains, a real local bookshop.) It was a dull job, but I got a nice discount, and Terry loves to be read to and is learning to read himself quite well.
He started school, Ryan started tutoring to make up for the lost income (the settlement he reached with the school had him being paid as a part time teacher), and I settled down into a nice, new life. I still missed Charese terribly, but for the first time since she died, it felt like we were a real family again—me and Terry, and, oddly, Ryan.
Everyone should have a best friend like mine.
It only took two months for me to realize how much a part of the family he was.
This evening, as usual, Ryan was sitting in my living room with a book, a bottle of beer, and the TV on. He does this on two out of every three nights or so; Terry and I don't object any. Like I've said, it's nice to have the company.
"So," I said, sitting down after Terry finally fell asleep (he's getting better and better at finding ways to stay up—one more glass of water, one more bedtime story, one more trip to the bathroom, and so on. I have to keep on my toes, he's a smart kid,) "How's your day been?"
"Miserable," he says.
"Oh... Yeah?" I frown. I didn't realize. "Why's that?"
"Jared called this morning. He won't be able to make it on Friday night."
"Why?" I ask, knowing from his tone of voice that it isn't just a casual cancellation that will be made up later.
"Because I'm too old, unemployed, and the hot college student at Starbucks asked him out."
"Bastard," I say vehemently, and he nods.
"Failed relationship number eighteen," he mutters.
"You were too good for him, anyway," I say.
"Yeah, sure. It wouldn't hurt so much if he wasn't right." He groans. "I'm twenty-seven, unemployed, and spend all my free time mooching off my best friend's beer."
"Ryan, you're going to get a job," I say firmly.
"Yeah, I'd better. Guess who was late on rent again this month!" He takes a drink of beer. "Luckily, the landlady thinks that if she wears enough tank tops, I'll be swayed over to the dark side."
"Dark side?" I ask, laughing.
"Yeah, your side," he says, and shrugs. "My lease is up next month anyway; I might as well start shopping around for somewhere cheaper. Hell, maybe one of the schools will finally call me and I'll move closer to wherever my new job is..."
But he doesn't sound hopeful.
"Uh, Ryan," I say, knowing it's the right decision before I even figure out what I'm offering, "I do have a spare bedroom here, you know."
"So?"
"So... if you're having trouble with rent and want to save or something, you could just stay here."
"I wouldn't want to impose."
"Believe me, it wouldn't be. It would be worth it to have a live-in babysitter."
"Come on, Mikey," he says, and swats at my shoulder lazily. "You don't want me around all the time. I mean, what's the fun of being able to go out whenever you want if you can't bring her home?"
"Like I can bring a girl home with my five-year-old asleep in the house?" I point out. "I mean, if you want it can just be for a few months, until you find out where you'll be working next year—so you don't get another lease until you know where you're moving."
He shrugs. "I'll think about it."
"Besides," I say, "Terry loves you."
"Terry's a good kid," he says. "Thanks for letting me borrow him."
"Borrow?"
"Well, I figure I'm not likely to have any of my own..." He shrugs. "I mean, half the reason I became a teacher was because I love kids."
"Well, you're welcome to Terry any time," I say.
Ryan, as it turns out, takes me seriously.
*
In my town, the grocery store is kind of a nexus point. Everyone passes through it, and you never know quite who you're going to run into.
So I'm not too shocked to hear a kid yell, "Mr. Ballatt! Mr. Ballatt!" (But believe me, it took six months to get used to being 'Mr. Ballatt'.)
I look around to see who it is, and to my surprise, it's none other than Steve Peterson. He waves at me so I walk over; he's standing around, probably waiting for a parent or something.
"How've you been, Steve?" I ask conversationally.
"Great." He gives me a slightly shy smile. "I kind of have a boyfriend now. He's on the track team at AHS, I met him at one of my bother's meets."
"Great!" I say. "Things okay at school?"
"Yeah." He frowns. "Mr. Ballatt, I just wanted to say... I mean, I wanted to tell you I'm real sorry."
"Sorry?" I ask, frowning.
"That you were fired. I know it's kind of my fault... But I swear I only told them the truth, all you did was give that asshole detention!"
"You mind your language," I say, back in teacher mode automatically, then register what he means. "Oh, Steve, I didn't... It wasn't your fault, you didn't do anything," I add quickly.
"But you got fired for... helping me out," he says.
"I got fired," I say, phrasing it carefully, "because some people aren't very understanding. Everyone at school knew the truth, but they didn't want it to blow up into some big thing."
"They still shouldn't have fired you," he insists.
"I agree, but I didn't want it to be too big of a deal, either," I say. "I mean, I know who I am and that I didn't do anything wrong. What other people think doesn't matter to me."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he says. "I'm still sorry, though. Your replacement sucks."
I feel a little vindicated by that, and as I'm grinning wickedly, Michael walks over, wheeling Terry in a grocery cart. "Hey, Ryan, this your student?" he asks.
Steve stares at him for a minute, then grins at me. "Mr. Ballatt," he says, and I realize what he's about to say as he says it, but don't have time to stop him, "he's cute."
Mikey sputters for a moment, and turns red. I try to recover more quickly and say, as calmly as I can, "I guess he is, but he doesn't swing that way, Steve."
"That's too bad," Steve says, and he's checking Mikey out. And I have to bite back a laugh, because Michael looks like a deer caught in headlights.
"It was good seeing you, Steve," I say finally.
He grins and starts to walk off, then looks back and says, "By the way, you were my favorite teacher!"
Mikey punches my shoulder. "You should see the dorky grin on your face. Does it get like that whenever anyone calls you his favorite teacher?"
I nod. "It makes it worth dealing with the bullshit," I say.
"Well, I'm glad something does. The world needs more teachers like you."
"Skittles?" Terry puts in.
"Terry—" Mikey starts.
I interrupt with, "You know the rules, kiddo. You have to say please and eat all of your dinner, even the broccoli."
"I hate broccoli," Terry says and pouts.
"Then no Skittles," I say, and can see Terry debating internally.
Finally he says, "Daddy, can I please have Skittles?"
"Sure," he says, and gives me an odd look.
I think I neglected to tell Michael about that new rule I made up a couple weeks ago. He doesn't like Terry to have too much sugar, understandably (the kid is five, like he needs sugar...) but I figure if I can get him to be polite and eat his veggies, a bag of Skittles now and then isn't so bad.
"No making rules when I'm not home to vet them," Mikey whispers to me as he begins pushing the cart again.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time, especially with the please thrown in," I say.
"Once a week," he says.
"Deal." I totally won.
"Don't think you won," he says. "My son, my rules."
"Right." I nod. "Sorry, I didn't mean to undermine you or anything."
"No problem." He smiles at me. "I know you'd only do what's best for Terry, anyway. Right, Terry?"
I ruffle Terry's hair, and he grins back at us. "Daddy, can I have ice cream, too? Please?"
"No," he says.
"Ryan, can I have ice cream too, please?"
"You heard your dad, kiddo, you get one treat."
"Please?" he begs.
I shake my head no, and he pouts, thrusting out his lip.
"Uh huh, and what did I tell you about pouting?" I ask.
"Oops," he says quickly.
"What did you tell him?" Michael asks.
"Only to pout at Daddy and never at me, because it works on him and it doesn't on me," I say.
He raises an eyebrow. "What did Ryan tell you about pouting?" he asks Terry.
"That if I pout too much my face'll get stuck!" he says enthusiastically. "And a bug will land on my lip!"
He looks over at me, and I shrug. It's the same basic thing.
"And Ryan knows lots and lots about bugs 'cause he's a science teacher and he took me to the library on Tuesday and we got a book about bugs!"
"You did?" Michael asks me.
"Well, we stopped on the way home from school," I explain.
"What's your favorite kind of bug?" Mikey asks.
"Locusts!"
"Are we into plagues this week?" Michael asks, sounding amused.
"What's a plague?" Terry asks.
Michael and I kind of stare at each other. "Well..." I finally say, when Michael shakes his head a little. "See, there was this guy named Pharaoh, who behaved really badly."
"Did he get a time out?"
"Well, kind of..." I say, and look at Mikey for help. "This is what I get for making up rules, isn't it?" I ask.
"So, did Pharaoh get a time out?" Mikey asks, and I mock-glare and try to figure out how to answer this whole thing.
*
My first hint should have been the glee I experienced on Ryan's behalf when Steve Peterson called him his favorite teacher. I mean, anyone would be excited for his best friend getting good news, but I was genuinely vindicated on Ryan's behalf. I was pretty much ready to call the school that fired him and yell, "HA!" in the phone and hang up.
But, being me, I didn't notice that.
My second clue should have been that my breath caught in my throat when I realized that there was nothing in the world that made Ryan happier than being with me and Terry. Or really, just being with Terry.
What happened was, I asked Terry if he wanted to play outside. It was a nice afternoon and I did get a house with a yard for my son, after all. What Terry answered was, "I don't know what to play."
My immediate thought was, Oh my God, my child has no imagination, I have to get him more books! but Ryan said, "You don't know what to play? Mikey, I'm ashamed to call you my best friend."
The next afternoon, Ryan showed up at my house with a tee, a wiffle ball, a plastic bat and a kid-sized glove. I sat on the porch and watched them play against a backdrop of changing leaves, for hours. Ryan taught Terry how to keep his eye on the ball, how to hold a bat, and they spent a good three days in a row on batting stance.
When Terry is old enough for little league, he's going to kick some serious ass.
But the fact that I looked at Ryan and Terry playing ball and thought, I'm glad Terry has a second daddy incase something happens to me, didn't clue me in, either. I mean, that's understandable, right? Something horrible and tragic happened to my wife, Terry's mom, and so I can't just pretend that such things couldn't happen. And at the time, I just figured it was nice to know that there would be someone who Terry loves, who loves Terry back, who would take care of him if something happened to me.
Also, when I watched Ryan teaching Terry all about the first Yankees dynasty during batting practice (they both referred to it that way very seriously), I couldn't stop grinning because my son and my best friend loved each other, and I adored them both so much.
What finally got me was just now.
I had to work late, dealing with a shipment of books that had been delayed, and getting them ready to shelve and such, and Ryan said he'd pick Terry up from daycare (they know him on sight, now, since I authorized him to pick up Terry and he does it so often) and get him dinner and ready for bed—and though Ryan is a huge part of our lives, the pleasure of reading Terry his bedtime story is still mine and mine alone.
But I was late getting home tonight, and it was almost Terry's bedtime. I figured Ryan would be trying to con him into taking a bath, but there was no sound of chaos. There wasn't any sound except murmuring from the back of the house, where Terry's room is.
So I approached quietly, curious about what the scientist might be teaching my son this week. There are some questions I'm glad Ryan's around to help field—why girls and boys have different body parts, where babies come from, that kind. Terry and I already had a long talk about death and what happens when you die, but, well, he was four and he missed his mommy, and so did I. It's hard to explain to your son why God takes away people you love, especially when you're crying yourself.
Ryan, as it turns out, handled it better than I did.
I stood outside Terry's room, and could hear that Terry was upset, sniffling. I started to rush in, then stopped to listen.
"When's Daddy gonna be here?"
"Soon, kiddo, he said he'd read you your bedtime story."
"I want Mommy to read to me."
"Oh." Ryan paused, and I nearly rushed in again, but he started talking again. "Well, your mommy... She, uh, she can't be here, but I know she loves you very much."
"Where'd she go?"
"Well, you see, kiddo... That's a tough one to answer. You sure you don't want to know why the sky is blue again?"
"When I ask Daddy where she is, he gets sad."
"That's because your daddy misses her too. Um, the thing is, no one knows exactly what happens when someone dies."
"Why did Mommy die?"
My kid is quite precocious, all these questions. All these questions that I'd like answers to, too. But Ryan, though he sounded a little strained, seemed to be handling them well enough, and honestly. If he wasn't honest, I think I'd have been pretty mad, but I should know Ryan better than that. After all, he got all kinds of bullshit when his mom died...
"You're full of tough ones today, aren't you?" Ryan answered. "Well, see, no one knows why people die. It's not... It isn't bad, though. Even when you're really sad and you miss her, that's okay. Everything... Everything happens for a reason."
"Why?"
"I don't know, kiddo."
"Did your mommy die?"
"She did, she died in a car wreck, like yours."
"Really? Did it hurt?"
"It did," Ryan said. "But it doesn't anymore."
"Were you sad?"
"Sometimes, I'm still sad," he said. "But the thing is, I look around and see you and your daddy, and all the people who still love me, and that makes me feel better."
"What if Daddy dies?"
"Oh, kiddo, c'mere." I could tell that Ryan was hugging Terry—and you know, Terry knows he's absolutely safe when Ryan hugs him. He knows that when Ryan is there for him, nothing could go wrong. "If your daddy dies, you and I will be very sad. But we'd still love each other and I'd take care of you, just like he does. So even though we'd be sad, we'd be okay."
"I don't want Daddy to die."
"Me, neither. But he probably won't for a long, long time."
"Will he be home soon?"
"I hope so, kiddo. I really, really hope so. I love him too, you know."
"Does Daddy love you?"
Oh, my son is brilliant. I barely heard Ryan say, "Sure, I'm his best friend." Because my brain was thinking, Yes, Terry, Daddy loves Ryan very much.
Daddy's not gay. So far as he knows.
But good Lord, do I love Ryan. And the thought of raising Terry without him sends me into a cold sweat.
And that was how I realized, and why I look a little flush as I hurry into the room.
"Daddy!" Terry yells, and I pull him out of bed to hug him tight. Ryan raises an eyebrow and I realize he realizes I must have heard some of the conversation, but it occurs to me that, for once, I've figured out something before him.
I love Ryan.
Holy shit, you know, I love Ryan.
"Oh, Terry, I love you," I murmur into his hair, still hugging him. "I love you, baby."
"Then can I stay up late?"
"Not a chance," I say, grinning. My kid is brilliant.
Ryan stands up. "Well, it's time for your bedtime story, which means it's time for Daddy." He ruffles Terry's hair
"Wait, one sec, Ryan." I deposit Terry back in bed. "I'll be right back, okay, Terry?"
Terry frowns, because this is supposed to be father-son time, but he nods, and I follow Ryan out of the room. He gives me a quizzical look, and I grab his arm—his hand.
"Move in with me," I say.
"Uh." He gives me a confused look. "Mikey..."
I kind of push him against the wall and look up into his eyes. "Move in with me," I repeat. "Please."
"I, uh..."
"What if something happens to me?" I ask him. "Terry loves you, I love you, please. Help me raise my son. Move in with me."
"Okay," he says, staring at me like I've grown another head. "Are you okay?"
I nod emphatically. "Best I've been in a long time, Ryan." I flash him a grin and head back to my son's room, to read him a bedtime story.
*
Something is definitely up. I know Mikey too well for this. He seems to be in a great mood—something must be good. Maybe a promotion at work or something? Maybe he met a nice, hot guy in his late twenties who said he's yearning for a nice blond man to start a life with. Though I bet then he wouldn't have just demanded that I move in with him.
Or have pinned me up against the wall like he used to do to Jess in high school.
I make myself comfy on his couch with a beer and my book (Mikey's discount at work is quite nice, I must say), and wait. Normally I'd flip on the TV, but I figure Mikey's got something to say. Or maybe I'm reading into it.
I mean, I do love him. It's possible I'm reading too much into it, even though I know I shouldn't be hopeful like this. Just because he kind of, sort of held my hand, just because he pushed me into a wall and said he loves me and wants me to move in with him... I mean, yes, in other people that would kind of imply that I'm not so off base in my daydream that he maybe, I don't know, has come to his senses and realized that he's so gay.
And while I'm wishing, I've always wanted to play first base for the Yankees.
It takes twenty minutes before he joins me in the living room, and takes the book out of my hand. He grins directly into my face.
"Mikey?" I ask. "Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Meyers?"
He laughs—I love his laugh—and shoves me back against the couch, and kisses me.
I stare at him.
He laughs at me.
"Mikey..." I start, and don't even know what to say.
"Yeah?" he says nonchalantly.
"Why?" I ask.
He grins. "It seemed like the right thing to do. Can I do it again?"
"Well, I won't stop you, but—"
I don't get to explain the but, because he kisses me again, and since I'm expecting it this time, man, is the kiss better. It really is like something out of my fantasies, Mikey putting his arms around me and kissing me with tongue and everything. Good lord, Mikey is kissing me.
When he finally stops, arms still around me, I get to ask, "Um... Mikey, aren't you straight?"
"I have no idea!" He laughs. "I just, I realized something. Ryan, I haven't been this happy since, since before Charese died."
"Well, good!" I give him an odd look. "So, why'd you kiss me? Exactly?"
"Because I love you," he says, and smiles over at me. "I don't know, I guess wanting to spend my life with you makes me bi or gay or something. I didn't think I was. Maybe I'm not even, I don't feel gay. Maybe it's just that I love you."
I blink.
He waits for a response.
I stare at him.
I suddenly understand how it's possible that, out of sheer confusion, we lost contact for ten years.
Did Mikey just say he loves me? Did Mikey just kind of inadvertently propose to me?
"Mikey... Smaller words, maybe?"
He nods. "Okay, let me see if I can explain. I, um, since Charese died, I've been thinking, you know, I'll never meet anyone like her, anyone who makes me feel like she did. She made me feel so great, like I was the best man in the world, and she made me feel... whole. I thought I'd never, ever feel that again.
"But then I heard you explaining to Terry that you love him, and realized that he feels about you the same way he feels about me—that he felt about Charese. That you're his parent. And then I realized that you... You make me feel like that, the same as she did. Like I'm whole again.
"I realized, I love you. And I don't want to be without you. Not ever. Ryan..." He takes my hand and stares in my eye. "Ryan, I love you."
"Oh," I say, a bit startled. "Well. You know. Okay."
"Okay? All I get is okay?"
"Well, yeah." I smile a little. "I guess if you love me, and I guess if you want me to move in and spend my life with you, I could do that. You know, for Terry's sake."
"Right," he says. "For Terry's sake. Uh... I've never made out with a guy before."
"You did a pretty good job for your first time," I assure him, and am surprised by how... not frightening this is. But, I think, it's because this isn't the beginning of our relationship. Mikey and me, we've been together since we were Terry's age.
It just took us this long to realize it.
You know, my best friend kissed me today. He said it felt like the right thing to do. I think it was the best day of my life.
Thanks to everyone for reviewing and Harmony for beta-reading.Check out the Blink Week info page: queenitsy[dot]com[slash]newsies[slash]blink
There's no other way to describe it. In the next week after our meeting, Ryan helped me get the rest of the house unpacked, showed me where to shop, gave me directions around town, helped me find an alternate school, and made peanut butter cheerio treats with Terry. Terry instantly loved him about as much as I did, and Ryan seemed to take to Terry, too, and I think half the times I saw him he just wanted to come over and play with my son.
Which was fine by me. He kept Terry busy while I got work done and settled into my new job, in charge of stock, ordering, and other equally boring things for a local bookstore. (Not one of those awful chains, a real local bookshop.) It was a dull job, but I got a nice discount, and Terry loves to be read to and is learning to read himself quite well.
He started school, Ryan started tutoring to make up for the lost income (the settlement he reached with the school had him being paid as a part time teacher), and I settled down into a nice, new life. I still missed Charese terribly, but for the first time since she died, it felt like we were a real family again—me and Terry, and, oddly, Ryan.
Everyone should have a best friend like mine.
It only took two months for me to realize how much a part of the family he was.
This evening, as usual, Ryan was sitting in my living room with a book, a bottle of beer, and the TV on. He does this on two out of every three nights or so; Terry and I don't object any. Like I've said, it's nice to have the company.
"So," I said, sitting down after Terry finally fell asleep (he's getting better and better at finding ways to stay up—one more glass of water, one more bedtime story, one more trip to the bathroom, and so on. I have to keep on my toes, he's a smart kid,) "How's your day been?"
"Miserable," he says.
"Oh... Yeah?" I frown. I didn't realize. "Why's that?"
"Jared called this morning. He won't be able to make it on Friday night."
"Why?" I ask, knowing from his tone of voice that it isn't just a casual cancellation that will be made up later.
"Because I'm too old, unemployed, and the hot college student at Starbucks asked him out."
"Bastard," I say vehemently, and he nods.
"Failed relationship number eighteen," he mutters.
"You were too good for him, anyway," I say.
"Yeah, sure. It wouldn't hurt so much if he wasn't right." He groans. "I'm twenty-seven, unemployed, and spend all my free time mooching off my best friend's beer."
"Ryan, you're going to get a job," I say firmly.
"Yeah, I'd better. Guess who was late on rent again this month!" He takes a drink of beer. "Luckily, the landlady thinks that if she wears enough tank tops, I'll be swayed over to the dark side."
"Dark side?" I ask, laughing.
"Yeah, your side," he says, and shrugs. "My lease is up next month anyway; I might as well start shopping around for somewhere cheaper. Hell, maybe one of the schools will finally call me and I'll move closer to wherever my new job is..."
But he doesn't sound hopeful.
"Uh, Ryan," I say, knowing it's the right decision before I even figure out what I'm offering, "I do have a spare bedroom here, you know."
"So?"
"So... if you're having trouble with rent and want to save or something, you could just stay here."
"I wouldn't want to impose."
"Believe me, it wouldn't be. It would be worth it to have a live-in babysitter."
"Come on, Mikey," he says, and swats at my shoulder lazily. "You don't want me around all the time. I mean, what's the fun of being able to go out whenever you want if you can't bring her home?"
"Like I can bring a girl home with my five-year-old asleep in the house?" I point out. "I mean, if you want it can just be for a few months, until you find out where you'll be working next year—so you don't get another lease until you know where you're moving."
He shrugs. "I'll think about it."
"Besides," I say, "Terry loves you."
"Terry's a good kid," he says. "Thanks for letting me borrow him."
"Borrow?"
"Well, I figure I'm not likely to have any of my own..." He shrugs. "I mean, half the reason I became a teacher was because I love kids."
"Well, you're welcome to Terry any time," I say.
Ryan, as it turns out, takes me seriously.
*
In my town, the grocery store is kind of a nexus point. Everyone passes through it, and you never know quite who you're going to run into.
So I'm not too shocked to hear a kid yell, "Mr. Ballatt! Mr. Ballatt!" (But believe me, it took six months to get used to being 'Mr. Ballatt'.)
I look around to see who it is, and to my surprise, it's none other than Steve Peterson. He waves at me so I walk over; he's standing around, probably waiting for a parent or something.
"How've you been, Steve?" I ask conversationally.
"Great." He gives me a slightly shy smile. "I kind of have a boyfriend now. He's on the track team at AHS, I met him at one of my bother's meets."
"Great!" I say. "Things okay at school?"
"Yeah." He frowns. "Mr. Ballatt, I just wanted to say... I mean, I wanted to tell you I'm real sorry."
"Sorry?" I ask, frowning.
"That you were fired. I know it's kind of my fault... But I swear I only told them the truth, all you did was give that asshole detention!"
"You mind your language," I say, back in teacher mode automatically, then register what he means. "Oh, Steve, I didn't... It wasn't your fault, you didn't do anything," I add quickly.
"But you got fired for... helping me out," he says.
"I got fired," I say, phrasing it carefully, "because some people aren't very understanding. Everyone at school knew the truth, but they didn't want it to blow up into some big thing."
"They still shouldn't have fired you," he insists.
"I agree, but I didn't want it to be too big of a deal, either," I say. "I mean, I know who I am and that I didn't do anything wrong. What other people think doesn't matter to me."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he says. "I'm still sorry, though. Your replacement sucks."
I feel a little vindicated by that, and as I'm grinning wickedly, Michael walks over, wheeling Terry in a grocery cart. "Hey, Ryan, this your student?" he asks.
Steve stares at him for a minute, then grins at me. "Mr. Ballatt," he says, and I realize what he's about to say as he says it, but don't have time to stop him, "he's cute."
Mikey sputters for a moment, and turns red. I try to recover more quickly and say, as calmly as I can, "I guess he is, but he doesn't swing that way, Steve."
"That's too bad," Steve says, and he's checking Mikey out. And I have to bite back a laugh, because Michael looks like a deer caught in headlights.
"It was good seeing you, Steve," I say finally.
He grins and starts to walk off, then looks back and says, "By the way, you were my favorite teacher!"
Mikey punches my shoulder. "You should see the dorky grin on your face. Does it get like that whenever anyone calls you his favorite teacher?"
I nod. "It makes it worth dealing with the bullshit," I say.
"Well, I'm glad something does. The world needs more teachers like you."
"Skittles?" Terry puts in.
"Terry—" Mikey starts.
I interrupt with, "You know the rules, kiddo. You have to say please and eat all of your dinner, even the broccoli."
"I hate broccoli," Terry says and pouts.
"Then no Skittles," I say, and can see Terry debating internally.
Finally he says, "Daddy, can I please have Skittles?"
"Sure," he says, and gives me an odd look.
I think I neglected to tell Michael about that new rule I made up a couple weeks ago. He doesn't like Terry to have too much sugar, understandably (the kid is five, like he needs sugar...) but I figure if I can get him to be polite and eat his veggies, a bag of Skittles now and then isn't so bad.
"No making rules when I'm not home to vet them," Mikey whispers to me as he begins pushing the cart again.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time, especially with the please thrown in," I say.
"Once a week," he says.
"Deal." I totally won.
"Don't think you won," he says. "My son, my rules."
"Right." I nod. "Sorry, I didn't mean to undermine you or anything."
"No problem." He smiles at me. "I know you'd only do what's best for Terry, anyway. Right, Terry?"
I ruffle Terry's hair, and he grins back at us. "Daddy, can I have ice cream, too? Please?"
"No," he says.
"Ryan, can I have ice cream too, please?"
"You heard your dad, kiddo, you get one treat."
"Please?" he begs.
I shake my head no, and he pouts, thrusting out his lip.
"Uh huh, and what did I tell you about pouting?" I ask.
"Oops," he says quickly.
"What did you tell him?" Michael asks.
"Only to pout at Daddy and never at me, because it works on him and it doesn't on me," I say.
He raises an eyebrow. "What did Ryan tell you about pouting?" he asks Terry.
"That if I pout too much my face'll get stuck!" he says enthusiastically. "And a bug will land on my lip!"
He looks over at me, and I shrug. It's the same basic thing.
"And Ryan knows lots and lots about bugs 'cause he's a science teacher and he took me to the library on Tuesday and we got a book about bugs!"
"You did?" Michael asks me.
"Well, we stopped on the way home from school," I explain.
"What's your favorite kind of bug?" Mikey asks.
"Locusts!"
"Are we into plagues this week?" Michael asks, sounding amused.
"What's a plague?" Terry asks.
Michael and I kind of stare at each other. "Well..." I finally say, when Michael shakes his head a little. "See, there was this guy named Pharaoh, who behaved really badly."
"Did he get a time out?"
"Well, kind of..." I say, and look at Mikey for help. "This is what I get for making up rules, isn't it?" I ask.
"So, did Pharaoh get a time out?" Mikey asks, and I mock-glare and try to figure out how to answer this whole thing.
*
My first hint should have been the glee I experienced on Ryan's behalf when Steve Peterson called him his favorite teacher. I mean, anyone would be excited for his best friend getting good news, but I was genuinely vindicated on Ryan's behalf. I was pretty much ready to call the school that fired him and yell, "HA!" in the phone and hang up.
But, being me, I didn't notice that.
My second clue should have been that my breath caught in my throat when I realized that there was nothing in the world that made Ryan happier than being with me and Terry. Or really, just being with Terry.
What happened was, I asked Terry if he wanted to play outside. It was a nice afternoon and I did get a house with a yard for my son, after all. What Terry answered was, "I don't know what to play."
My immediate thought was, Oh my God, my child has no imagination, I have to get him more books! but Ryan said, "You don't know what to play? Mikey, I'm ashamed to call you my best friend."
The next afternoon, Ryan showed up at my house with a tee, a wiffle ball, a plastic bat and a kid-sized glove. I sat on the porch and watched them play against a backdrop of changing leaves, for hours. Ryan taught Terry how to keep his eye on the ball, how to hold a bat, and they spent a good three days in a row on batting stance.
When Terry is old enough for little league, he's going to kick some serious ass.
But the fact that I looked at Ryan and Terry playing ball and thought, I'm glad Terry has a second daddy incase something happens to me, didn't clue me in, either. I mean, that's understandable, right? Something horrible and tragic happened to my wife, Terry's mom, and so I can't just pretend that such things couldn't happen. And at the time, I just figured it was nice to know that there would be someone who Terry loves, who loves Terry back, who would take care of him if something happened to me.
Also, when I watched Ryan teaching Terry all about the first Yankees dynasty during batting practice (they both referred to it that way very seriously), I couldn't stop grinning because my son and my best friend loved each other, and I adored them both so much.
What finally got me was just now.
I had to work late, dealing with a shipment of books that had been delayed, and getting them ready to shelve and such, and Ryan said he'd pick Terry up from daycare (they know him on sight, now, since I authorized him to pick up Terry and he does it so often) and get him dinner and ready for bed—and though Ryan is a huge part of our lives, the pleasure of reading Terry his bedtime story is still mine and mine alone.
But I was late getting home tonight, and it was almost Terry's bedtime. I figured Ryan would be trying to con him into taking a bath, but there was no sound of chaos. There wasn't any sound except murmuring from the back of the house, where Terry's room is.
So I approached quietly, curious about what the scientist might be teaching my son this week. There are some questions I'm glad Ryan's around to help field—why girls and boys have different body parts, where babies come from, that kind. Terry and I already had a long talk about death and what happens when you die, but, well, he was four and he missed his mommy, and so did I. It's hard to explain to your son why God takes away people you love, especially when you're crying yourself.
Ryan, as it turns out, handled it better than I did.
I stood outside Terry's room, and could hear that Terry was upset, sniffling. I started to rush in, then stopped to listen.
"When's Daddy gonna be here?"
"Soon, kiddo, he said he'd read you your bedtime story."
"I want Mommy to read to me."
"Oh." Ryan paused, and I nearly rushed in again, but he started talking again. "Well, your mommy... She, uh, she can't be here, but I know she loves you very much."
"Where'd she go?"
"Well, you see, kiddo... That's a tough one to answer. You sure you don't want to know why the sky is blue again?"
"When I ask Daddy where she is, he gets sad."
"That's because your daddy misses her too. Um, the thing is, no one knows exactly what happens when someone dies."
"Why did Mommy die?"
My kid is quite precocious, all these questions. All these questions that I'd like answers to, too. But Ryan, though he sounded a little strained, seemed to be handling them well enough, and honestly. If he wasn't honest, I think I'd have been pretty mad, but I should know Ryan better than that. After all, he got all kinds of bullshit when his mom died...
"You're full of tough ones today, aren't you?" Ryan answered. "Well, see, no one knows why people die. It's not... It isn't bad, though. Even when you're really sad and you miss her, that's okay. Everything... Everything happens for a reason."
"Why?"
"I don't know, kiddo."
"Did your mommy die?"
"She did, she died in a car wreck, like yours."
"Really? Did it hurt?"
"It did," Ryan said. "But it doesn't anymore."
"Were you sad?"
"Sometimes, I'm still sad," he said. "But the thing is, I look around and see you and your daddy, and all the people who still love me, and that makes me feel better."
"What if Daddy dies?"
"Oh, kiddo, c'mere." I could tell that Ryan was hugging Terry—and you know, Terry knows he's absolutely safe when Ryan hugs him. He knows that when Ryan is there for him, nothing could go wrong. "If your daddy dies, you and I will be very sad. But we'd still love each other and I'd take care of you, just like he does. So even though we'd be sad, we'd be okay."
"I don't want Daddy to die."
"Me, neither. But he probably won't for a long, long time."
"Will he be home soon?"
"I hope so, kiddo. I really, really hope so. I love him too, you know."
"Does Daddy love you?"
Oh, my son is brilliant. I barely heard Ryan say, "Sure, I'm his best friend." Because my brain was thinking, Yes, Terry, Daddy loves Ryan very much.
Daddy's not gay. So far as he knows.
But good Lord, do I love Ryan. And the thought of raising Terry without him sends me into a cold sweat.
And that was how I realized, and why I look a little flush as I hurry into the room.
"Daddy!" Terry yells, and I pull him out of bed to hug him tight. Ryan raises an eyebrow and I realize he realizes I must have heard some of the conversation, but it occurs to me that, for once, I've figured out something before him.
I love Ryan.
Holy shit, you know, I love Ryan.
"Oh, Terry, I love you," I murmur into his hair, still hugging him. "I love you, baby."
"Then can I stay up late?"
"Not a chance," I say, grinning. My kid is brilliant.
Ryan stands up. "Well, it's time for your bedtime story, which means it's time for Daddy." He ruffles Terry's hair
"Wait, one sec, Ryan." I deposit Terry back in bed. "I'll be right back, okay, Terry?"
Terry frowns, because this is supposed to be father-son time, but he nods, and I follow Ryan out of the room. He gives me a quizzical look, and I grab his arm—his hand.
"Move in with me," I say.
"Uh." He gives me a confused look. "Mikey..."
I kind of push him against the wall and look up into his eyes. "Move in with me," I repeat. "Please."
"I, uh..."
"What if something happens to me?" I ask him. "Terry loves you, I love you, please. Help me raise my son. Move in with me."
"Okay," he says, staring at me like I've grown another head. "Are you okay?"
I nod emphatically. "Best I've been in a long time, Ryan." I flash him a grin and head back to my son's room, to read him a bedtime story.
*
Something is definitely up. I know Mikey too well for this. He seems to be in a great mood—something must be good. Maybe a promotion at work or something? Maybe he met a nice, hot guy in his late twenties who said he's yearning for a nice blond man to start a life with. Though I bet then he wouldn't have just demanded that I move in with him.
Or have pinned me up against the wall like he used to do to Jess in high school.
I make myself comfy on his couch with a beer and my book (Mikey's discount at work is quite nice, I must say), and wait. Normally I'd flip on the TV, but I figure Mikey's got something to say. Or maybe I'm reading into it.
I mean, I do love him. It's possible I'm reading too much into it, even though I know I shouldn't be hopeful like this. Just because he kind of, sort of held my hand, just because he pushed me into a wall and said he loves me and wants me to move in with him... I mean, yes, in other people that would kind of imply that I'm not so off base in my daydream that he maybe, I don't know, has come to his senses and realized that he's so gay.
And while I'm wishing, I've always wanted to play first base for the Yankees.
It takes twenty minutes before he joins me in the living room, and takes the book out of my hand. He grins directly into my face.
"Mikey?" I ask. "Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Meyers?"
He laughs—I love his laugh—and shoves me back against the couch, and kisses me.
I stare at him.
He laughs at me.
"Mikey..." I start, and don't even know what to say.
"Yeah?" he says nonchalantly.
"Why?" I ask.
He grins. "It seemed like the right thing to do. Can I do it again?"
"Well, I won't stop you, but—"
I don't get to explain the but, because he kisses me again, and since I'm expecting it this time, man, is the kiss better. It really is like something out of my fantasies, Mikey putting his arms around me and kissing me with tongue and everything. Good lord, Mikey is kissing me.
When he finally stops, arms still around me, I get to ask, "Um... Mikey, aren't you straight?"
"I have no idea!" He laughs. "I just, I realized something. Ryan, I haven't been this happy since, since before Charese died."
"Well, good!" I give him an odd look. "So, why'd you kiss me? Exactly?"
"Because I love you," he says, and smiles over at me. "I don't know, I guess wanting to spend my life with you makes me bi or gay or something. I didn't think I was. Maybe I'm not even, I don't feel gay. Maybe it's just that I love you."
I blink.
He waits for a response.
I stare at him.
I suddenly understand how it's possible that, out of sheer confusion, we lost contact for ten years.
Did Mikey just say he loves me? Did Mikey just kind of inadvertently propose to me?
"Mikey... Smaller words, maybe?"
He nods. "Okay, let me see if I can explain. I, um, since Charese died, I've been thinking, you know, I'll never meet anyone like her, anyone who makes me feel like she did. She made me feel so great, like I was the best man in the world, and she made me feel... whole. I thought I'd never, ever feel that again.
"But then I heard you explaining to Terry that you love him, and realized that he feels about you the same way he feels about me—that he felt about Charese. That you're his parent. And then I realized that you... You make me feel like that, the same as she did. Like I'm whole again.
"I realized, I love you. And I don't want to be without you. Not ever. Ryan..." He takes my hand and stares in my eye. "Ryan, I love you."
"Oh," I say, a bit startled. "Well. You know. Okay."
"Okay? All I get is okay?"
"Well, yeah." I smile a little. "I guess if you love me, and I guess if you want me to move in and spend my life with you, I could do that. You know, for Terry's sake."
"Right," he says. "For Terry's sake. Uh... I've never made out with a guy before."
"You did a pretty good job for your first time," I assure him, and am surprised by how... not frightening this is. But, I think, it's because this isn't the beginning of our relationship. Mikey and me, we've been together since we were Terry's age.
It just took us this long to realize it.
You know, my best friend kissed me today. He said it felt like the right thing to do. I think it was the best day of my life.
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