Aquinas' Story - 7. Aquinas Invites

“Who invited you?”

He frowned and squinted at the slight, black-haired woman before him, as if doing so could help him hear better in the overcrowded kitchen. Though the room felt overly warm, with what seemed like two dozen people crammed into the space, he shivered. A definite draft – from the back door through which he had recently entered – made itself acquainted with the nape of his neck. All the other guests at the open house were talking at once, slowly grazing past platters heaped with snacks and hors d’oeuvres.

A burst of laughter penetrated the doorway from what must have been the dining room.

He had to raise his voice. “I’m Fletcher. Jones.” He craned his neck trying to see over what seemed like a surging stream of partygoers, searching in vain for his companion. Boyfriend.

The woman, who stood at about his height, raised an eyebrow.

He elaborated. “I, um, came with Tomás. Professor Aquino.”

“You’re kidding! Tomás? Tomás is here?” His interrogator’s voice changed in tone and pitch. Her eyes took on a brighter, more excited cast. Forgotten was her initial question in the flurry of new ones. “Where is he? Is he still here?”

“Um, he went through that door over there. He said he’d be right back.” Jones gestured with his head toward a third exit from the room.

“He didn’t even say he was coming! Oooooh, I want to murder him, but Mom will be thrilled.” An emerging smile belied her first threat.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch—” Fletcher tried again.

The woman turned away, distracted. “Carmelita!” she sang out. She might have set off a hand grenade for all the good it would have done against the wall of sound. Nobody was going to hear her.

Without further attempt at introduction, she pushed her way into the crowd toward that doorway leading further into the house he’d just indicated.

At a loss, Fletcher glanced behind him. The rear entry to the house seemed to taunt him, offering him an easy way to beat an ignominious retreat. It was still possible. After stuffing their coats into a mudroom closet, his man had left him in the overcrowded kitchen, directing him to wait. Should he wait, or follow? Or would a retreat back to their car parked down the street be smarter?

This wasn’t what he’d expected.

While on the interstate, Tomás had explained for the umpteenth time. “It’s just an informal thing. Nothing huge. Mom hosts it every year. It’s been a tradition for as long as I can remember.”

Fletcher had digested this as the wipers batted away heavy, fat flakes of snow that splatted on the windshield, diffracting the headlights of a thousand-thousand travelers in their cars, streaming in the opposite direction.

“So, you’re sure it’s not a big deal?”

“Not so much. Usually, it’s just neighbors; Mom’s co-workers from the hospital. However, I haven’t been home for Mom’s Advent Party in about a decade.”

“What’s kept you away?”

Tomás waited a long mile before replying. “It’s complex. Not that I don’t think my family loves me, but I have the sense that I’ve let them down. I feel like I’m the family disappointment.”

Fletcher kept silence as his boyfriend had gathered his thoughts before continuing.

“I’m not what they thought I was. You know, the religious kid, the one to take holy orders. The priest, a healer of souls. Except that didn’t exactly work out. Being an eternal adjunct or assistant professor doesn’t compare. They’ve all gotten married, started families—”

“If you’d been a priest – and thank god you never did – you wouldn’t have gotten married or had kids either.”

“I’d have been married to the church.” Tomás made a face registering something between revulsion and resignation.

Fletcher watched snowflakes smash themselves on the windshield. “You’ve never come out to them, right?”

Tomás had stared into the darkness beyond the glass separating them from the cold, wet world outside. “No. Nobody’s brought it up, and I’ve never really said.”

“Would it matter to anyone? To your mom?”

“I’ve never had the courage to find out.” The taller man behind the wheel had sighed.

Fletcher had let the steady mechanical thwop-thwop of the wiper blades disperse the residual tension in the car before asking his next question. “And why are we going to this shindig? Remind me.”

“Because I wanted you to meet everyone. Everyone in the family will be there.”

“I see. You plan to show me off.”

Tomás grinned, despite his nerves, visible even in the dim automotive lights. “Absolutely. The family needs to meet my brilliant academic rockstar of a boyfriend.”

“But will they meet me as your boyfriend?” Fletcher asked.

Silence had reigned for a mile or two. “I’m thinking about it” was the eventual reply.

“You don’t have to come out to them or anyone else for my sake.”

“I know that,” Tomás had said. “I’m torn.”

“Between…?”

“I think my siblings and mother will be okay with it, but I don’t know. There’s a risk whatever relationship I have with them will be damaged forever.” The tall man at the wheel had reached out his right hand and taken Fletcher’s left. “On the other hand, I’m in love with you. I’m not ashamed of it, or of you, and they should see that.”

Fletcher had squeezed back.

“But I’ve never brought anyone home. You’re the first and only. It’ll be a surprise.”

“I can imagine. I’m just hope it’s a good one,” Fletcher had said, releasing Tomás’ hand so the other man could concentrate on overtaking a slow, older model sedan in the slushy right lane.

“I’m the perennial bachelor.” Tomás had continued. “My brothers and sisters, they all live in the area. They’re established, with kids and dogs, and two car garages. I’ve bounced around from grad school to lecturer, to adjunct to this and that—”

Fletcher had pounced like one of the birds of prey he studied. “No. You’re not allowed to go there anymore. You’re a fantastic teacher and scholar. For heaven’s sake, you’re an assistant professor in Theology and Philosophy at a respected college with a Ph.D. and full classes. That’s not easy for anyone, especially in a field like yours.”

Despite the crazy traffic and bad weather, Tomás had glanced over at Fletcher with a wry grin. “You’re good for me, you know that? No self-pity allowed.”

“Not anymore. Not a feather’s weight.”

Tomás braked gently, keeping to the right lane.

“This isn’t a sibling rivalry thing, is it?” Fletcher changed the subject.

“Keeping up with my brothers and sisters? Of course not.”

Fletcher had pressed the point. “I’m serious: I don’t want to be some kind of proof to your sibs that you’ve made good at the adulthood game.”

“You think I’ve been using you?” An edge had crept into Tomás’ voice.

“No. You know I don’t.” The shorter man had wanted to grab hold of his boyfriend’s hand, as much for his own reassurance as for his lover’s. However, the crowded road and deteriorating weather stopped him. “But I’m not much good at family dynamics, either. You have what, five siblings, and I have none. My parents are great, but as an only kid, I don’t really get how things work between you all.”

Tomás hadn’t replied. Instead, he’d flipped the turn signal and moved the car over into the exit lane. Wordlessly, he had let the vehicle coast down the off-ramp and braked at a red traffic light. An instant later, he had leaned over and kissed Fletcher, taking his time with it.

Warm brown eyes shone in the dark. “I just want them to meet the man I love.”

Another kiss would have followed, but a sounding horn behind them refocused Tomás on his driving. Fletcher would ever recall feeling bewildered by the nighttime suburban landscape; he had been very happy that Tomás was behind the wheel, and even more relieved when they arrived at a large, brightly lit shingle style gambrel-roofed home, probably built sometime during the McKinley administration.

Through the many-paned windows shining over the verandah floor, Fletcher could see party goers enjoying themselves, laughing, drinking, deep in conversation. The spur-of-the-moment decision to drive north no longer seemed like a safe, theoretical notion. He had felt his stomach churn. The old house was packed.

And now, back in the kitchen, he wondered yet again if this trip to Tomás’ home had been complete madness.

The door from the back porch behind him opened, letting in another reveler along with a blast of cold air. Boots, stamped free of snow upon the mat outside, were unzipped to join an already burgeoning collection. At least the figure was dressed for the weather in a long puffy knee-length parka and knit hat with a bright blue pom-pom.

“Hi! Could you hold this for me for a sec?” A magnum bottle of red wine was held in extended gloved hands.

“Sure.” He took the proffered article gingerly in his hands. What else was he going to do?

The newcomer, unzipped and de-scarved, proved to be another slim, raven-haired woman. On closer inspection, Fletcher thought she might bear some resemblance to his boyfriend. Before he could reflect further on this, the woman turned to him with a smile.

“Thank you so much for taking that. I’m Samantha, by the way. Call me Sam, like everyone else. And you are?”

“Fletcher. Fletcher Jones.”

“Nice to meet you. I can take that now.” She reached out for the bottle he still cradled. “Are you new in the neighborhood?”

“You could say that. My, um, friend, and I drove up for this. We just got here.”

“Did you come a long way?”

“From North Carolina.”

“Oh, my gosh!” the woman called Sam cried. “That’s so far! My husband and I only came from New Brunswick.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s parking. So, how do you know…?” She left the question hanging, as if to encompass a world of possibilities.

“I came with Tomás.”

Just as before, there was a transformation at the news. “Tomás is your friend? Is he here? He actually came this year? How did you do it? What made him change his mind?” The questions flowed out in rapid succession.

“Um, well, it was his idea.” He raised his voice a bit, to compete with the noise level in the kitchen.

“I’m sure there’s more to the story than that.”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself, then.”

“But where is he?”

“He went through that door.” Fletcher turned and pointed in the direction he’d last seen his lover go. “He said I should stay here.”

“Well, that’s stupid.” Sam took him by the elbow. “Come on, you need a glass of something, and you need to meet people.”

“But what about your husband?”

“He can manage by himself. He’s a big boy driving his big SUV.” She grabbed a clean wine glass off the counter and handed it him. “Now, red or white?”

Armed with a full glass of something pinot-ish, Sam propelled Fletcher through the portal into a dining room. A large oval table groaned with a wide assortment of dips, chips, hors d’oeuvres and treats from which guests seemed to feed like a flock of ravenous, gaudily feathered crows. The sight of food prompted his stomach to growl for the first time.

Two teenagers leaned against the dark, textured wallpaper, deep in conversation. A shoal of younger children traversed the space, on some mission no adult could fathom.

His guide didn’t pause, however, but led the way out another doorway into a wide foyer by the front entrance to the house. This was a less crowded space, but there was no respite from the chatter of conversation, as the sounds of many voices seemed to ring off polished wood floors, wainscoting and a high plaster ceiling.

“Sammy!” A man about his own height in black-rimmed glasses stepped up to embrace the woman at his elbow. He bore a familial kind of resemblance to the first woman Fletcher had met, the one who had abandoned him earlier. “Where’s Anthony?”

“Finding a place to park the behemoth. You’ll never guess who made it this year! Tomás!” She grinned and turned to Fletcher. “And he brought a friend.”

“So it’s true!” The man seemed to ignore that last statement. “Mari was babbling something about it, and I could have sworn I saw Tomás earlier, but I didn’t believe my eyes.” The man pivoted to Fletcher with a cheerful smile and an outstretched hand. “I’m Marty Aquino, Tomás’ brother.”

His head spun. It was obvious now – Sam and Marty were siblings. “Fletcher Jones. Tomás and I teach at the same University.” A cold sweat broke out: he had been thrown in with Tomás’ family at the deep end.

“Theology?”

Fletcher struggled to pick up the thread again. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You work in the Religion Department?”

“No, I’m in Biology.”

Marty’s eyebrows rose. “There’s hope for my brother yet.”

“Hope? I don’t understand.”

“Tomás is something like the black sheep of the family.” Sam hastened to explain. “All of us are in medicine, one way or another. Mom’s an orthopedic surgeon, I’m an OB-GYN, Marty here and his wife are radiologists, our oldest brother Gabriel does GI work – you get the idea.”

“Gives a whole new meaning to ‘Family Practice.’” Nerves made Fletcher laugh at his own joke.

“The whole religion thing was way out there.” The brother went on with a smirk. “It’s good to know Tomás has one friend who’s a biologist. Maybe you can talk sense to him.”

“Technically, I’m a bird man. An ornithologist. I’m not sure he’s convinced I ever make much sense.”

“Hey, hey, Marty, Sam, Maligayang Pasko!” A taller, black-haired individual appeared, embracing the sister before patting Marty on the back.

The man then turned, and Fletcher had to look up to meet another face which looked akin to that of his beloved. “You must be Gabriel.”

“I am.” The latest brother looked perplexed. “Do I know you?”

Sam intervened. “This is Fletcher Jones. He’s a biologist who came with Tomás.”

Fletcher found his hand engulfed in yet another hearty handshake.

“Amazing! Tomás! You brought the prodigal son? Where is he?”

“Prodigal?”

“We never quite catch up to where Tomás might be. All we ever know is that he’s in some far place: California, New Orleans, South Carolina. We sometimes joke he’s the monk who’s squandering himself on riotous living.”

“More likely eating whatever the swine are having,” Marty rejoined.

“We really need to thank you for bringing him home,” Samantha said, her voice raised against a burst of laughter from across the room.

“I didn’t bring him.” Fletcher protested. “He brought me.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She waved her hand. “It’s a great reason to celebrate. Now if only we could actually find him!”

“Was he always hard to track down as a boy?” He craned his neck to see into the next room.

“Oh, no,” laughed Marty. “There was never any trouble locating Tomás. You could always find him sprawled over the sofa with a book.”

Fletcher had to smile. He’d found Tomás in just that position at home any number of times.

“Gabriel! Sam!” Two female voices broke over them from Fletcher’s right.

Fletcher turned. Joining the group were a pair of shorter, black-haired women: one slender and wearing an elegant black turtleneck; the other shorter and more solid in an almost painfully red sweater. Each bore the same strong Aquino family resemblance he’d experienced earlier. He recognized the one speaking as the person who’d greeted him first in the kitchen.

“Did you hear?”

“What, that Tomás was here?” Gabriel asked.

“You knew! Where is he? Carmelita and I looked everywhere, but we can’t find him.”

“Well, my new friend here says he arrived with brother Tomás.”

The new arrivals focused their attention on Fletcher.

The black-clad woman, whom he surmised was named Mari, examined him with a raised eyebrow, as if to ask Don’t I know you from somewhere?

He filled in an answer to the unasked question by introducing himself to the other sister. “You must be Carmelita. I’m Fletcher Jones. Your sister met me at the back door.”

“He’s a wildlife biologist,” added Gabriel.

Before he could correct the older brother, Marki asked, “Are you certain you came in with my brother?”

“I pretty sure—” Fletcher tried to begin.

“He’s really kind of too tall to miss, and nobody’s seen him anywhere in the house.”

“It might have been some other person named Tomás.” The red-sweatered one speculated.

“That must be it. A different Tomás.” Samantha agreed.

“Well, that would have been a classic mixup.” Marty Aquino laughed, his face relaxing. “It’s like something in one of those icebreaker-type games.”

“But I really—” the ornithologist protested.

“No, no, it’s all right.” Sam hastened to reassure him. “We all jumped to conclusions. It’s disappointing, but we got our hopes up.”

“Got your hopes up? What for?” A higher pitched voice was added to the mix as a bespectacled older woman with decidedly iron-grey hair made herself part of the circle.

“Oh, Mama, it’s so good to see you.” Sam leaned in to give her parent a warm holiday hug. “We’ve been talking with a new friend.” She gestured.

The maternal gaze swiveled to fix on him with a smile. “Ahhh, Dr. Jones, I presume.”

“Um, well, yes, that’s me.” Fletcher’s eyebrows rose. “That’s right. You must be—”

“Gloria Aquino.” The woman deftly eluded his proffered handshake and embraced him instead. Before releasing him, she spoke into his ear. “Thank you for coming home with Tomás.”

“I’m afraid I seem to have lost—”

“There you are!” Fletcher felt relief at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice at his left shoulder. “I searched for you everywhere.”

He turned to look up at the face he’d become so attached to. He saw joy there, but worry as well.

“Tomás!” Sam exclaimed, moving forward to welcome her brother.

The rest of his siblings were only a fraction of a moment slower. Fletcher watched with a certain amount of wonder and trepidation to see his man engulfed in a wave of delighted family. At the same time, he observed that his mother had held herself back. Still, she smiled.

A couple of other party guests turned to watch the spectacle.

After a few moments, the crush eased. “It’s been too long.” Gabriel chided with a wide grin.

“How many years has it been?” the sister named Mari asked.

Tomás took a moment to respond. “I think we were all together at Sam’s wedding in Maryland.”

“That was four years ago.” Marty pointed out.

Carmelita added: “I remember you couldn’t stay long. Something about a job interview?”

Tomás winced. “Yes. You remember right. I didn’t make the cut that time.”

“So, what’s the big occasion to drag you out of the ivory tower?” Gabriel challenged.

“What, a guy can’t come home to be with his family?” Fletcher noted the tension in the man at his side.

“You never come home.”

“Well, he did this Christmas, and that’s what matters,” his mother interposed.

“I needed to talk with Mom about something important,” Tomás said. “And now I have.”

“Is there something wrong? Are you sick?” Sam asked.

“No, it’s nothing like that. Besides, if I were sick, I’m not sure I’d tell. You’d all be arguing about the treatment.”

“You have a point.” Marty shook his head wryly.

“Still, I’d like to know why now, why this year.” Mari persisted. “It’s not like you to do something spontaneous.”

The group looked at their brother expectantly.

Tomás took a deep breath. “Since you’re not going to let me off the hook, I wanted to tell Mom in person that I’ve met someone. Someone, um, special.”

“That’s wonderful!” his sister exclaimed. “Where is she? Mom, did you approve?”

“I think she has.”

Dr. Gloria Aquino beamed at her son. Fletcher saw it and began to grin. He felt Tomás’ arm wrap around his waist, and pull him in close. A silence descended on the siblings.

Marty cocked his head a moment. Samantha’s brow furrowed.

“You mean, you and Fletcher are—?" Realization fully dawned.

Tomás borrowed Fletcher’s glass and drank a slug of wine. He nodded. “We are. Definitely.”

For four, perhaps five more long seconds, the conversations of a dozen guests washed over him. Fletcher held his breath.

“Oh, my God.” Sam gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

Tomás’ smile spread wide as his sister practically squealed like a game-show contestant. Fletcher found himself included in the chaotic family embrace that followed. His cheek kissed, his hand pumped – and thoroughly pumped – he was eventually released to stand on his own.

“How long, that’s what I want to know,” Mari said.

Tomás responded, not seeming to mind that a number of guests were watching in undisguised curiosity. “How long what? Have I been Gay?”

“No, silly, how long have you two been together?”

“A few months.” Tomás took Fletcher’s hand in a tight grip. He gazed down with deep affection.

“And you waited this long to tell us?”

Tomás shrugged.

Gabriel spoke up. “You thought we’d turn you away?”

“I wanted the time to be right. And I wanted Mom to be okay with it.”

The quiet delight on the older woman’s face spoke volumes.

“Okay with what?” Sam frowned.

Fletcher’s eyes were locked on his man. His pulse fluttered. Tomás spoke as if there the two of them were the only people in the room. “Fletcher, will you marry me?”

His mouth gaped. For a second, maybe two, the question hung in the air, not because he didn’t know the answer, but because it was so unexpected. But the hand holding his told him that, ready or not, the response would always be the same.

“Yes, Tomás. Yes, I will.”

The merriment and celebration at the Aquino Advent party went on much longer than was usual. Champagne appeared from somewhere. Despite the burgeoning snow, people stayed and laughed and celebrated.

Late in the evening, Tomás and Fletcher felt the need to retreat. The tall man led his boyfriend, now fiancé, up the staircase to the third floor, well out of range from the gathering below. Tomás pulled his man into a darkened room, pushing the door closed with his elbow. The roof overhead sloped down; dim scraps of light showed through a dormer window.

Fletcher reached up to pull Tomás into a kiss that left them both breathless.

“You had to wait to ask me, did you?”

Tomás nodded, their forehead’s touching.

“You couldn’t ask in the car, or in my parent’s living room, or god forbid, in our house at home?” The shorter man teased.

“No. I needed to do it here, in the place where I first learned despair. Right there, on that bed, I would pretend to do my homework and dream an impossible dream that I could somehow fit into the world; that there might be a man for me.”

“I said ‘yes,’ didn’t I?”

“I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“Oh, it’s real enough” Fletcher grinned. “Let me show you.” He pulled Tomás down onto the bed with him. Their next kiss was just as intense as the last. There was no denying their mutual desire. He felt Tomás fumble with the buttons on his shirt.

At that moment, the door swung open. Two boys, one black haired, the other blond, kissed and giggled in the light streaming from the hall.

“Shhhhh!” hushed the blond.

“Don’t worry, nobody comes up here,” the other replied as he kissed the blond again.

Tomás sat up and cleared his throat.

The young interlopers turned and stared, caught.

“I’m sorry, but this is a private party. Who invited you?”