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I look at these boys and I think to myself: Is this what true love looks like?
After his mum died, it seemed like Baz had closed himself off from the rest of the world. I mean, he was five, there’s no discernable way he could know what his mother’s death meant for his life--he was too young to conceptualize anything. But it was like he understood it--understood what it meant to be Natasha’s only child. What it meant to be a Pitch, through and through. I was worried for a long time, during Baz’s early teen years, right before he came out. I was worried that he’d never find love, never make a friend that wasn’t related to him, never find happiness. If it wasn’t for his cousin and Niall, I don’t know what would have become of him. He was jaded, too jaded, from a too-young age, and I think he thought, or maybe still thinks, that he doesn’t deserve it.
When Baz was little, he never wanted attention, at least not the same way that Mordelia did, or the twins, or the littlest one now. He was always alone, and that’s how he liked it. The day that Baz came out was one of the hardest of his life, I think. Finally, after battling with himself for so long, he let it go. The words came out like rainfall, steady and fast, like they’d been hiding right behind his teeth for ages, begging to be released. He didn’t cry at all, even though I had expected him to, and that’s when I knew that he was sure. Baz was finally, after a decade and a half, coming into his own, and it was mesmerizing to watch. Baz has that signature Pitch strength. Just like everything else about him, he got that from his mum. He sat with me on my couch for hours, and I just let him talk. He was so young—only fifteen—and I couldn’t believe how aware he was. Of his heart, of his mind, of the world around him. This kid, becoming a young man right before my eyes. Watching Natasha’s kid become more and more like her every day.
But things are so different now, and they have been that way since Baz started uni. Things came full circle when he met Simon Snow, I can tell you that much, and they haven’t been the same since. I’d never seen Baz feel so much. Like someone took his emotions and turned the dial up to eleven. His first year at uni, he was always too much of everything. Too angry, too upset, too happy, too excited. He would throw things against walls and scream at the top of his lungs all the time, I actually thought he’d lost his mind. And stupid me, I thought he was upset about school of all things. I didn’t know he’d just met the Elizabeth Bennet to his William Darcy, or whoever the fuck Baz compares them to. I didn’t know this boy would turn his life upside down. I didn’t know we’d be here seven years later, that’s for damn sure.
Things changed over time. His second year, I thought he was actually going to commit murder. I thought he was going to kill Simon Snow in cold blood and leave his body floating in the Thames. He was so angry, all the time, and I had no idea how to help him. The boy was driving himself insane with his love, his passion, his fire, and it had nowhere to go but out. I tried, really, to be supportive, but he didn’t want it. He had this wrath, and it was so uncontrollable that he’d say things he didn’t even mean , just to make himself feel something other than whatever it was that he was feeling for Simon. But he was making it worse, and all I could do was stand by and watch as this beautiful boy let love destroy him from the inside out.
When Simon punched Baz in the face, I thought he was going to throw himself in the Thames. You ever see someone in a film cry quietly, looking out a window whilst it’s raining? That was Baz over Christmas that year. That’s all he could do. Read sad (bad) poetry, drink cheap (Daphne’s) tea, and cry right along with the angels. Malcolm tried to get him to play rugby, and he always said no. Mordelia would ask him to plait her hair, and he’d do it without complaint. The twins would cry and scream and he’d just rock them quietly and let them soak his jumpers with their drool and their tears. All of this with two black eyes, too, the wanker.
Deep down, I always hoped that Baz saw Tasha in me. I wanted him to. I wanted to be what was left of her, but I could never fill those shoes. I tried my fucking hardest, but nothing in this whole world could match up to her. Except her son. In general, I think she’d be thankful and grateful that he followed her path instead of Malcolm’s. She never would have wanted Baz to take over the Grimm business. Agriculture and sustainability, all that Earth-saving bullshit, that’s not us. Tasha would have wanted Baz to do whatever he loved, whatever made him happy, and it was never going to be saving the planet if he didn’t even want to save himself.
The night I waited for him outside his apartment, I was so sure he was done. Done with it all--Simon, school, the cafe--all of it. I’d never seen him look so defeated. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes were hollowed, and his hands were trembling. He looked just moments from withering away and it killed me as I sat on his couch and watched him make me tea. At that moment, I thought that maybe I should have pushed him. Pushed him to say something to Simon other than a searing remark, make him listen, tell him how he felt. But the universe doesn't work that way, it seems. I was sitting next to him on his pretentious leather sofa, stealing glances at him just to make sure those brows didn’t knit themselves into a panic, and all I could do was wait, and hope, and wait some more.
When I saw him again for Daphne’s party, I knew something was different. Something had changed. His eyes were brighter than I’d seen them in years, he actively participated in discussions with his father and his colleagues, and he actually smiled , like with his eyes, using every muscle in his face. It was unreal. Took my bloody breath away, that. Daphne was standing next to me when we saw it, ‘wow’ , is all she said. Couldn’t have said it better myself. When I cornered him about it, the kid had the audacity to blush and then lie to my face. I had Mordelia steal his phone later that afternoon. I knew everything by dinner.
Three years later when Baz told me he was going to ask Simon to marry him, I cried, which is very un-Pitch-like, but I wasn’t crying for the reasons you’d assume. I was crying for the little Baz from my memory, who would sit alone in the backyard in Hampshire with a book and nothing else. For the Baz that sent a bottle of wine sailing across my London flat. For the Baz that lost himself completely, and needed someone to pull him back down. I cried because I had prayed, everyday, for Simon to pull Baz back down. Little did I know, he was always the one keeping him tethered to the ground.
The day after, I went to see Tasha. I told her everything. I told her about Baz’s life, and I didn’t leave out a single detail. I told her how supportive Simon was about Baz’s writing, and how they’d made the perfect little life for themselves in Chelsea. I told her how much I saw her in him, how much he reminded me of her, and how much I wished she could have watched him grow up. But really, I know he wouldn’t have been the same. Losing his mum made Baz who he is. He needed to be broken by pain so that he could be rebuilt in love. I like to think that he and Simon still would have found each other, no matter what, and I know that if she was still alive, she would have loved Simon more than the rest of us do. Hell, she’s probably watching them as we speak, thanking him for saving his life. I know I’ll be thanking him too.
It’s a wonder to see Baz like this, you know. Looking so much like her. When I think about Natasha and Malcolm’s wedding, did she ever look at him the way Baz looks at Simon? Did her eyes ever sparkle and crinkle at the edges when she smiled at him? Did she ever smile like that? It feels like ages ago now that Tasha and Malcolm got married, and in some ways, it has. Baz is twenty-five, so it’s been almost three decades. Where have the years gone? I’m almost forty, for fucks sake. I watched this little shit grow up, and now he’s standing in front of me, getting married , and all I can do is cry my eyes out.
This is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen him, I think, standing on that dais. Looking at him and Simon together is like looking directly into the sun without sunglasses on, and I’m thankful to be going blind. They both look so lovely and they’re both crying the most delicate, heartfelt tears, and as Baz rambles on about his love for Simon, I know. I know that this was always going to be it for him. Loving Simon would either have killed him, or brought him back to life, and we were just waiting to see which way the curtain would fall.
So, I look at these boys and I think to myself: Is this what true love looks like?
And yeah, I think it is.