Work Text:
‘ Even when I look away I am still looking.’
— Richard Siken
01 .
His dad threw him a well-worn baseball and cheered him on when he caught it, “well done, Tommy!” He was five years old standing in the lobby of a hospital while his Aunt Barbara had her appendix removed. He was taken out of school that day and he wanted to thank his aunt for her appendix bursting, but when it came time to go in he stood in the corner gripping the baseball with all his might. Even though his father warned him, he wasn’t ready for all the wires attached to her or the beeping of the machines. Or even the doctor dressed head to toe in blue who looked like he was trying to camouflage himself into the wall.
They went out to dinner that day at the Burger Chef down the road. They never got fast food so he added it to the things to thank Aunt Barbara when she was better. When he reached for a chicken tender his dad had cut for him, his mom stopped him, “how about we say grace?”
They rarely ever said grace, he stared at his parents as they both closed their eyes and his mother started speaking, “bless us oh Lord for these thy gifts that we're about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord…”
“You have to close your eyes buddy,” his dad whispered in his ear, he nodded and did as he was told.
“Think, O' God, of Barbara who is ill, whom we now commend to your compassionate regard, Amen.”
His dad gently placed a hand on the back of his head and tilted him down, “now ask god for your Aunt Barb’s swift healing.”
He nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, please heal Aunt Barbara, he opened his eyes and scanned his mom and his dad to make sure they were absorbed in their own prayers before he squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for one more thing: and please get me a new mitt for my birthday.
02 .
On his first date, they saw Honey, I Shrunk the Kids in theaters. He bought the tickets and popcorn with the money he got bussing tables and cleaning dishes, he even got a kiss out of it. A month later, walking the halls of his middle school, he was holding her hand.
Michelle Cameron, the prettiest girl at his school with the English teacher for a mom. Like The Beatles song, she said every time she introduced herself like it was some sort of trophy her parents were still hippies well into the eighties, but Tom found it somewhat endearing and was surprised when she said yes when he asked her on a date.
The school’s winter dance left a lot to be desired so when the spring fling came around he was excited to go with Michelle. “Could I get Saturday off to go to the dance?” he asked his dad one day over dinner, his mom was working late.
“Sure, Tom, but you gotta ask your mom.”
He stayed up late that night to catch her when she got back, watching an episode of Saved by the Bell but he didn’t understand the hype. His mom got home closer to eleven and she huffed when she saw him sitting on the couch, “it’s a school night, Tommy.”
Tom turned off the TV and moved on the couch to watch her take off her coat and throw her bag onto the kitchen counter, “I know, mom,” he swung his legs over the back of the couch so he was at an awkward angle, “I wanted to take Michelle to the spring fling, could I take Saturday off work?” He worked at a Bennigan within walking distance from their house, though he usually took a bus.
She stood there for a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose. He knew her answer: “no, Tom, you have to save for a car.”
“It’s one day!” he complained, it never went well when he argued.
“I said no, Tom, now get to bed.”
“Dad already said it was okay!”
“ Bed , Tom.” She warned.
He let out a defeated sigh and let himself fall back onto the couch so his head hung off the side and his hair touched the carpet.
Tom bussed tables that weekend and had to watch his classmates all dressed up sitting by the window, he had to watch Tyler Cohen put an arm around Michelle as they all laughed about something someone said. He avoided them that night, he caught Michelle’s eyes but they both knew it was over. He cried in the back room during his break.
03 .
The summer before his freshman year of high school his parents sent him to a science camp filled with theater kids and kids with grades so high they would probably skip through most of their life, but no real science, more robotics.
During his first week, he built a self-sustaining robot that broke down the second it crossed the starting line of a set-up race, he later was grouped up with some other kids closer to his age and they built a parachuting rocket that required them to chase after it and make sure it didn’t crash into the multi-purpose center.
There was an off-limits pool house that some people broke into halfway during the summer, Tom was invited but he refused, being able to live vicariously through his roommates who all begged for him to open the door in the middle of the night just so they could stain the floor with mud and warp it with the water. He got a letter from his parents at the end of every week that was more of a life update on their end than wanting to know how he was doing. Though he wouldn’t tell them if they asked.
On the last night of camp, he joined a group of boys to go swimming at the small lake that could pass for a pond, he caught a fish with his hands and pretended to kiss it just to get some laughs out of the others.
04 .
“Brush your hair, Tommy,” his mom reminded as she adjusted herself in the mirror behind him.
“I will, mom,” he said around his toothbrush before spitting the foamy paste into the sink to watch it swirl into the drain. His dad was watching the TV loudly in the living room, a Coke commercial echoed throughout the house and his mom rolled her eyes.
Tom wanted to wear a band t-shirt his uncle had gifted him but his mom made him wear the long sleeve sweater that was reserved for the church visits they never attended. He put the shirt in his backpack to change in the bathroom during passing period.
At lunch, there was a club fair in the courtyard spanning from chess to the GSA. He was interested in the theater club, they had set up a little light show and they seemed to put more of an effort than any other club, even the football players wearing their jerseys or letterman jackets were lining up to take a pamphlet. He found himself wandering further down the line to the debate club where no one was lined up, hell, there were more people willing to openly stand out in front of the GSA sign than the debate club. It was kind of sad to put them next to the film club of mullet and mohawk having goths with a tapestry of Princess Leia in her slave outfit with the duality of a Dead Poets Society poster signed by the cast. Tom felt bad so he put his name down even though he knew he wasn’t much of a debater.
05 .
His first car was a 1983 Datsun he got for Christmas Eve during his sophomore year. It was used and his parents kept calling it his early Christmas present when it was his money used to buy it. His dad gifted him a small collection of cassettes; The Smiths, The Beatles, some recorded infomercials about the moon landing, and fossils. The AC was spotty, when he need the cold air it would only blast hot and vice versa, sometimes it worked fine, it worked fine when he drove his extended family to his Aunt Barbara’s funeral where they spent all of Christmas in church. His mom wouldn’t leave her pew so he sat there holding her hand while she prayed.
“Join me in prayer, Tommy,” she said and the way her eyes searched his face made his heart break.
“Sure, mom.” He didn’t know what he was supposed to pray for, God being such a foreign concept in his mind, so he closed his eyes and hoped the snow didn’t box him in.
06 .
He graduated with a 3.9 GPA and was accepted into Cornell University. His mom told him it was part of God’s plan and that prospect made him nauseous. His senior dance was held in the gym with the bleachers reeking of weed by the end of the night. He danced with Katie Hess who had just gotten her braces removed so she was smiling way too much like she was showing off the glue residue. Katie Anthony, who was almost at his height, slow-danced with him when Katie H. was asked to dance by Ian Johnson who was infamously known for rigging the boys' locker room with firecrackers. Katie A. took his hand into the girls' locker room and asked him if he had a condom. He did.
07 .
His mom decided they needed to go to church more so they did. His dad had quipped something about her finding Jesus but she had huffed and rolled her eyes so neither said anything. Tom had mentioned him not being in school and that he should be old enough to make his own decisions when it came to going out but his mom had said something about it being her house and her rules and if he were to stay in her house waiting for a semester of college (she somehow betted he wouldn’t make it though) he must abide by her rules, so he went with his hands stuffed into his pockets and his head bowed because the crucified Jesus mounted to the wall kept staring at him.
Tom sat to the left of his dad as his mom went into the confessional and he contemplated skimming through the church pamphlet to pass the time but he was afraid if his mom saw him showing interest in the church she might encourage a weekly visit, so he leaned back in the pew and watched the dust fall off a chandelier.
His eyes found their way shut and his mother’s hand on his shoulder woke him, “your turn, Tommy.”
When he opened the screen he considered kneeling, that maybe if he kneels it’ll be over quicker but he chose to sit, watching the screendoor close as his mother kneeled before the cross.
“Good morning,” Tom said nervously, cracking his knuckles.
“Good morning, son.”
“I’m not really the, uh, religious type, is it okay if I just sit here? To appease my mom?”
He could see the priest nod through the checkered screen so he leaned back in the chair and hoped his mom didn’t pester him too much.
08.
On a whim he signed up for the ice hockey team, it was something he kept seeing around campus and even in his fraternity. He lost his first major game but his mom pulled him off the ice into her arms to take a picture of him.
“Oh, Tommy, look at you.” She would tug at his jersey and adjust his helmet like he was a boy at prom.
His first year of school went by faster than he wanted and his second went by even quicker. His third year he started seeing some girl from his economics class but when summer came he couldn’t remember her name and she couldn’t remember his so by year four they both pretended like they were strangers. His fifth and final year was his worst, a constant reminder of what was outside hazing and ice skates, around every corner and at the start of every conversation; “What do you plan on doing for work?” “You apply to any jobs yet?” “Are you going to reenroll?” By the time he was packed and ready to move back into his parent's guest room (a sad grave of his teenage interests and life), he had said goodbye to the friends who were staying behind, getting numbers from his hockey teammates he would never call and hugs from girls he didn’t know he had a chance with.
When he pulled into his parent's driveway he considered hitting the plastic easter cross stuck up in the grass but he knew how that would unfold so he didn’t. The front door opened before his hand even collided and he was greeted with applause and a banner in sloppy marker sporting Class of 1998 which glitter fell from.
“Congrats, Tommy!” his dad pulled him into a hug and Tom wanted the floor to consume him.
His cousins helped him get his packed life into the guest room which still had his E.T. and Arachnophobia posters bunched in the corner with the shell collection he forgot about. The room was now an office and a gym: his father's desk sat closest to the door with his Macintosh stacked precariously on old textbooks and a radio that if Tom were to turn on it would be spouting nonsense he would roll his eyes at, nearest to the window was a treadmill collecting dust and weights that were rusting themselves to the floor. They pulled out their blow-up mattress from storage and when Tom let himself fall into it he more or less sunk and he could imagine his dad getting distracted by his brother in the foyer bringing up football playoffs or asking where the bathroom is even if he had been there a hundred times.
His mom made a casserole everyone avoided so dinner ended up being a constant rotation of garlic knots and bread rolls.
“Why don’t we say a prayer?” Everyone groaned.
“Linda, you can’t be serious,” his uncle scoffed, midway through eating one of his over-buttered rolls.
“ Jerry ,” his mom said in a low tone that even his cousins put down their butterknives and napkins, “we are going to say grace, join us or don't.” Half of the table joined in hands while the other half didn’t, it was awkward and unnecessary but he kept his hand clasped to his moms because he was scared of what she might say so he asked God, in whatever way he might be real, to get him out of that house as quick as he could.
09.
His mom prayed over the fireplace for thirty minutes in wait for the new millennium, whispering under her breath in short cantations that seemed to put his father on edge. When the world didn’t end and the computers continued to work, Tom flipped through some newspaper ads looking for a roommate.
When he turned thirty his lack of a midlife crisis gave him a midlife crisis. His hair, which was usually long and his roommate once compared him to Rick O'Connell on multiple occasions, was now short of a buzzcut under the pretense that he needed a change, he tried growing out a beard but when it came out in silvery and white speckled dots around his chin he went to shaving it down at the embarrassment it didn't come in brown or even blond. He wondered if there was anything he could do with a few years of college ice hockey even if it was a while ago. His life's purpose and constant questioning went away a few months into thirty-three.
When he was closer to forty than he ever expected to be ten years ago with his own apartment away from Minnesota and with a stable job in New York and with a dog that was more of an impulse adopt than anything else, he met a girl at a party. She was throwing up in the bathroom and he stayed with her to hold her hair and offer her his water because his work buddies stapled Designated Driver to his head when he wasn’t looking. She laughed when he told her that before it caused her to double over the toilet.
“Your name Tom?” she questioned as she wiped her mouth, staining her cheek with her lipstick as she did so.
Tom looked down and peeled the Hello my name is nametag from his chest, “yeah, guess it is.” He sticks it to the graffitied wall behind him.
“Shiv,” she said but it seemed to pain her, “I’d shake your hand, but, y’know.”
“I know.”
They met again a year and a half later and Tom would look back at it as the best and worst decision of his life.
10.
He hated having to make decisions on gifts, he wouldn’t want a watch, so why would Logan? Maybe it was the silver he was presented with when he opened the watch box or the engagement ring burning a hole into his thigh but he felt sick.
The baseball field was large and he had Shiv help him put on his mit.
“Would you kiss me?” It was funny, Tom found it that way at least, putting his last grip of hazing expertise to use.
“What?”
11.
He hadn’t really meant to let Greg stay with him so often but it was nice when Shiv was out making a name for herself and the guest bedroom was finally being used. Mondale seemed to like him.
He liked Greg too, it didn’t feel like a competition when talking to him and he didn’t seem to mind the background noise of movies that hadn’t held up after 1999. Greg seemed to like his eggs too so every morning Greg would stay the night, the same question was asked: “How would you like your eggs?”
And the answer was always the same: “Scrambled.”
12.
Reading the documents of Parks and Cruises made him sick yet he couldn’t stop reading. An endless loop of picking up, reading, flipping, reading, putting down, repeat. He wanted to curse Bill for this burden, for this plague, but he knew he couldn’t blame it on him, at least he tried not to.
“You’re family.” It was a cheap hit and when Greg thanked him it made him feel better. Misery loves company.
He hadn’t meant to sit so close, hadn’t meant to scare Greg, hadn’t meant to pull him away from thanksgiving to shred files that could fuck them both.
He guided Greg down a hallway with a hand to his back and it was thrilling.
He took him out on the town. “You trying to seduce me, Tom?”
Something shot through his body that his mother would probably recite the Bible at him. “Yes I am! Yes I am, Greg.” he knocked his knees with Greg’s.
He took Greg to a bar that if he were back home would’ve bankrupted him and his family and whatever hypothetical kids he might’ve had but with Shiv it was barely a scratch on her stone of fortune, not even a knick. When Greg grabbed his shoulder to shout something over the music playing, he considered it a successful night. He just didn’t know if he liked the way Greg made him feel.
13.
Shiv. She was a beauty. The dress, the hair, the jewelry, the ring . Even when she broke his heart all he could think about was how lucky he was.
“I’m not sure I’m a good fit for a monogamous marriage.” He didn’t know if he was upset with her cheating or the sudden proposal of an open marriage. Maybe he was upset that their special day, the day he wanted since they started dating, was just a box-set death march to her. He didn’t know if he was more upset with the fact she cheated or the fact she waited so long to tell him that she did, but he could try the open marriage. For her.
14.
He found himself at Greg’s door with an expensive bottle of wine and it felt like he was peacocking. When he knocked he was greeted by messy hair and a sinking feeling in his gut.
“Time to expand your palette, Gregory!” He waved the bottle in Greg’s face as he passed, helping himself to the wine opener stashed in the corner of a drawer. He watched Greg out of the corner of his eye and stopped himself from commenting on the mismatched glassware or the unopened silverware sitting in the sink like he was optimizing space he had plenty of.
“Wasn’t expecting guests, sorry,” Greg said as if he already knew what Tom was thinking.
“No, sure,” Tom brushed off, pouring them both a glass. “Pretty spacious, Greg,” he started as he took his glass and walked around the kitchen island-bar, “pretty empty.”
“Yeah well,” Greg took a sip of the wine and Tom pretended he didn’t see the sour look that flashed across his face, “I didn’t have a lot of furniture to bring down here, so Ken got the place furnished.”
It didn’t all match, so when he pocked at the dusty statue stacked on a few college textbooks he somehow knew Greg had never read, Greg spoke up, “some of it I found around.”
“Around?”
“...Facebook Marketplace.” A pause. “Craigslist.”
“Oh, Greg,” Tom made a face and downed the rest of his wine.
The couch was hard and not as comfortable as it looked, Tom thought he broke his hip falling into it, “Jesus.” He found the remote hidden between the cushions and as Greg sat he flipped through the channels until an episode of Friends played that he hadn’t seen since it aired. He made note of Greg’s lack of coasters and decided he would get them as a housewarming gift.
There was a silence that followed that wasn’t comfortable or uncomfortable so he notes the smell of marijuana and the peach-strawberry air fresher used to conceal it, “have any weed?” He thought he could have phrased it better but he just downed his wine to soothe the awkwardness as he reached for the bottle taunting him on the coffee table.
“Weed? No, I don’t—”
“ Gregory ,” Tom refilled his glass, and then Greg’s, he tried not to laugh at his poor lying, “c’mon man.”
He watched Greg get up and watched him retrieve the small tin on the fridge that his mom and grandma would’ve had sewing needles and thread for projects they would never finish in. He insisted on rolling the first joint, a thing he hadn’t done since his bachelor party and before that his sophomore year of college, but a part of him wanted to show off and Greg as an audience heated something deep in him. When he turned Greg wasn’t watching so he offered him the first hit just to watch him struggle with the lighter and watch the smoke escape his lungs in a plume of smoke.
When he sank into the couch and it no longer felt like it was going to break his back, he considered it a good day. Greg clinked their glasses with a laugh and Tom was mesmerized – “What?” He wanted nothing more than to know what was going on in Greg’s head, to know what had made him laugh so genuinely that maybe he could use that material for later just to get the same reaction.
“Nothing, man, just… nothing.”
15 .
Greg. A fleeting touch here or there felt like a drop of water to a dying man, but then he cut his hair and he still looked good, even if Tom wanted to get the barber fired for allowing the cut to happen in the first place, he’d like to think he had some civility so he said nothing.
His hand burned when he touched Greg and he chose to ignore it.
16 .
Tom dropped the coat hanger onto the bed after Shiv left, he should’ve just gone through with it, make her happy, even if the idea made him sick. On his way up deck, he grabbed one of Shiv’s towels that smelt faintly of their detergent and her perfume so he tried not to breathe too hard.
The pool lights illuminated the deck in bright whites and blues and Greg laid in the middle of it all like an angel with it’s wings extended. Tom absently wondered what his mom would say about the scene, if she would compare Greg to a fallen angel but Tom scrapped that because it was ridiculous.
“Care for some company?” He smiled to himself when Greg fumbled, giving him a moment to respond.
“Sure.”
Tom wondered if he was putting on a show as he removed his shirt, but it was a silly thought so he just stepped into the shallow end, “it’s warm.”
“Mhm.”
Tom knelt on the bottom like he did as a kid and he let himself feel weightless, like the turmoil of the three-way and Shiv’s perfume wasn’t sticking to him. But he floated towards Greg, so he let it happen. A bird jumped around on deck and for some reason, it reminded him of Mondale.
Greg leaned against the side with him and Tom considers bumping their shoulders, he doesn’t.
“Shiv tried to,” he didn’t know why he was telling Greg or why it was so hard for him to say it, “she tried to set up a three-way. Threesome.” He didn’t know which was right or better but neither made him feel good.
He couldn’t look at Greg and the silence itches at his eyes and he wondered if he shouldn’t have said that.
“Uh. Wow, that’s, uh, that’s hot, right? Sexy?”
Tom rests his chin on his arm, “yeah, Greg, hot.”
“What’s— what’s the matter? Didn’t like it?”
“No, not that,” Tom turned and met Greg’s eyes, he wondered if they’d always been that brown, if his beauty mark had always been so prevalent, “just couldn’t do it, man, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Greg frowned and Tom watched, he couldn’t help but notice how much he didn’t like it and he wondered what he could say to make it go away, to get a smile or a laugh. He said nothing and looked away.
17 .
Tom wondered if a suit fitting would be the only way to touch Greg, so he took him. He needed a new suit anyway, at least that was what he told himself. Greg looked good though so he took his arm, “try the jacket.”
“This feels a bit much,” Greg said, a frown etching its way onto his features. It was never a bit much Greg just wasn’t used to nice things.
“Nonsense, Gregory,” he assured as he adjusted the lapels so they were neater.
“It’s too big, man.”
“But you like the brand?”
“Sure, yeah, I like it.” Tom grinned at that.
Tom took one of his arms and pinched the fabric at Greg’s elbow to see how it might look once it fit him, “what do you think?”
“Uh, yeah, I like it.”
The suit, regardless of how it fit or didn’t, made Greg look like someone out of 007. “Look at you, man!” Tom punched his shoulder with a smile, “let’s get you checked out, huh?”
When he found a worker to get them registered and recommend the tailor down the road, he wondered if he could get Greg to grab a late lunch with him, maybe go to that high-end bar with swingers and cougars that had that sickly sweet drink he liked, but Tom didn’t want to push his luck.
18 .
“I’d castrate you and marry you in a heartbeat.”
19 .
An option was presented to him: Shiv or his job.
He didn’t know why it was such a dilemma, his wife, always, should be the option, but there he hesitated when Greg appeared with the sun shining a halo above his head and Tom wondered how he could have been so blind.
“Do you want to come with me,” a beat, “Sporus?”
20 .
Shiv couldn’t look at him and he stopped trying to get her to talk about what happened so he packed a bag and left while she slept in the guest bed. He debated with himself if a hotel or a motel would be better, or perhaps that hostel that Greg had been staying at (he didn’t trust those living arrangements) but before he could call any to check for availability, Greg is opening his door with a too-tight t-shirt and messy hair, “mind if I steal your couch for the weekend?”
Greg stepped aside for him, “of course, man.”
Tom dropped his bag under the bar and helped himself to the wine he had left but Greg took it from him and poured them both a glass, it was nice. Greg pulled out a prerolled joint and offered him the first hit, it was somehow better than the first one they smoked together and he wondered if it was laced with something, though he didn’t care much to ask.
“Jesus,” Tom said after a few minutes of passing the joint back and forth, he couldn’t help but laugh and when he started he couldn’t stop.
“Good?” Greg questioned as he took the joint.
Tom nodded, his body laying back further into the couch so his head rested on the back cushions comfortably, “good.”
He felt like he was back in college smoking in the locker room before hockey practice or when he and some friends got high and helped decorate their fraternity when Kurt Cobain's death was advertised across every station, still somehow a good memory in his mind.
He looked to Greg who seemed wrapped up in his own mind, staring at nothing like it was everything, “hey, Sporus?”
Greg finally looked at him and Tom couldn’t stop staring, “hm?”
He didn’t know what, he didn’t have a plan for when he did look, but he couldn’t stop himself from raking his eyes over Greg’s every feature from his unbrushed bedhead to the beauty mark begging to be kissed. His eyes fell to Greg’s lips.
He wondered in what universe would it be okay to kiss his wife’s cousin, his cousin-in-law, and what unspoken rule he would be breaking with his wedding ring still pinching his finger, but Greg moved first with hands clutching his shirt and Tom was grateful. He kissed back before he could regret it, before the shine of his ring was blinding him.
All he could focus on was Greg.
21 .
He woke up with an arm around his waist and legs tangled in his, it took him a moment to realize it was not Shiv but the anxiety settled when Greg’s shoulder curled into him. He watched him for a moment, the way his eyelids twitched and his hands moved to let Tom out of confinement. Tom pressed his lips to Greg’s forehead and got out of bed.
There wasn’t much to cook with but he found a pan and a carton of eggs with only one missing. He found the silverware Greg had had in the sink his last visit unwrapped and placed in their own spot in a drawer. He set up a plate.
He could hear Greg sitting at the bar, “Good morning, Gregory.”
“Morning.”
“Making breakfast, want some?” Tom turned so he could get a look at the messy hair and tired-slumped shoulders, he couldn’t help but smile, Greg looked good but he wasn’t sure if he could say that so he kept his mouth shut.
“I’d like some,” it came out gentle like he was holding back a yawn.
Tom cracked an egg into the pan, “how would you like your eggs?” He didn’t need to ask, he knew the answer, he smiled as he mixed the yolk into the whites.
“Scrambled.” And how could he deny Greg anything.