When Love Takes Over - 4. Brandon Learns There Are Worse Things Than Breakups

I made home to North Louisiana about 3pm, and when I saw my dad, I was appalled. He had been in his 40s when I was born, so he had always seemed old to me. But he had been blessed with good health, always hale and hearty and suntanned; in fact, only a few, maybe six, months earlier on my last visit, he had still been that way. But the man who greeted me with a tentative hug was a frail shadow of the father I knew. Ruby saw the expression on my face and gave me fierce hug. “I’m so glad you’re here Brandon.”

Dinner was a quiet affair, and my father whose enormous appetite was legendary, picked at his food. Only a few bites actually made it into his mouth. I tossed and turned in the narrow bed in what had been my room growing up and which now was the computer room. I was up early the next morning, surprised that my father wasn’t up yet. He had risen by 6 as long as I had known him. He was still asleep at 8 when Ruby entered. Though still in her robe, her hair was fixed, and she was in full makeup. In all the years, I had known her, I had never seen her without “her face” on.

“How long has he been like this?” I asked.

“He started slowing down this summer, but I didn’t really think anything about it. I mean, he is almost 80. But the last couple of weeks, it’s like he’s another man.”

Tears started welling in her eyes. I knew she had lost her first husband to cancer after a long battle, and I could see she was worried. “I’ll go get him up. Maybe I can get him to eat something before his appointment,” she said.

I had managed to get an early appointment to see Dr. Harris, dad’s doctor for years, and I was sickened by the shocked look he gave my father as Dad shuffled in. Dad sat docilely as the doctor and his nurses poked, prodded, drew blood, took his temperature, etc. My worry grew. Of all things, my father hated going to the doctor, and for him to agree to a sudden appointment, to not demand to know who I was to come up and make him go, to sit calmly there as he underwent test after test and we talked around him….. Well, I knew it was serious.

We would have to wait several days for some of the results, but Dr. Harris did notice that Dad’s blood pressure was very low, which was causing the dizziness, and that he seemed to have lost blood since his last check up. He was also worried about dehydration, but wasn’t ready yet to hospitalize Dad and add fluid. He made a few changes to his medication list, and sent me home with instructions to bring Dad back in a few days to take some more measurements to use as a comparison. I tried to interest dad in a hamburger from the town’s one greasy spoon, but he disinterestedly told me he wasn’t hungry. Suddenly, I wasn’t either.

That night it came to a head. Unbeknownst to either Ruby or me, Dad decided to take a bath. We thought he had just gone to bed; he was going to sleep ever earlier in the evening. We were sitting in the kitchen talking about everything but Dad’s health. I was wondering if I had any bourbon left in the bottle that I had hidden in my former closet during my last visit (I was pretty sure Reed and I had polished it off) and was cursing myself that I hadn’t stopped in a wet parish to pick up another bottle. Then we heard the crash from the bathroom. ‘

I got to him as fast as possible. He had slipped on the floor. He seemed okay, but disoriented. I couldn’t tell if he had hit his head, but I got Ruby to call the ambulance just in case. He was naked, so I got a robe to cover him. As I was lifting his head to put a folded towel under it, I saw the growth on his neck. It wasn’t large, but I knew it hadn’t been there his last visit, but so far during this one it had been hidden under the collared shirts he favored. I saw it and I knew….cancer.

The next few days passed in a blur. They settled him into the hospital at Ruston and started giving him fluids to deal with the dehydration. They also checked his head for trauma, but it seemed the fall hadn’t caused any major damage. However, the growth on his neck was cause for concern. Dr. Harris refused to make a diagnosis without proper testing and the Ruston hospital wasn’t equipped for that kind of procedure, so he located a doctor in Shreveport who was willing to do a biopsy. However, we had to improve Dad’s condition enough to make the three hour round trip and day long testing possible. Harris hoped a short hospital stay would do it.

Honestly, I knew, even in the early days, it wouldn’t happen. The hospital gown he wore exposed the growth on Dad’s neck, and the tumor seemed to grow by the hour. He still refused to eat, and Ruby was growing hysterical. She had moved from the isolated farm into her daughter’s house for support and comfort..

I hadn’t heard from Reed since the day I left the house, still refusing to take his calls. After seeing the seriousness of Dad’s condition, I had sent him a brief email letting him know what was happening, and he had sent me a sympathetic and sweet reply. I had avoiding asking Ben about Reed in our infrequent telephone calls, but now I needed him. I ached for him. My anger at his not being here for me was only matched by my longing for him. When there was yet another delay in the trip to see the oncologist, I called Reed.

I’m not sure I really expected him to answer. I had made it clear I never wanted to see or hear from him again, so I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had taken me at my word. But he didn’t. He answered.

“Brandon?”

I swallowed. It had been so long since I had heard that voice. “Reed…” I couldn’t say anything else.

“What is it? Your dad?”

“It’s bad…..it’s really bad.”

“I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

I started crying on the phone. “I don’t know what to do….Ruby’s gone....she said she can't do this again….I’m alone….I don’t know what to do” I continued sobbing.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “It will be okay in the end, I promise. You’ll get through this. You always do. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“Not this time.”

“Yes, this time. I promise,” he said. And after all that had happened, I still believed him when he said that. “I’ll be there tomorrow as soon as I can,” he said and paused. “If that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. It’s the least I can do. I want to help you and,” again a pause, “he’s the closest thing to a father I have.”

I hadn’t thought of that. HIs father had died when he was an infant, and his mother, if not quite disowning him when she learned he was gay, made it quite clear that she had no real interest in pursuing a relationship with a “deviant” son. So when my dad and stepmother, if not exactly overjoyed with a gay son and a yankee “son-in-law,” were at least polite and hospitable when we visited for holidays and special occasions, he had been touched. My father, in fact, had come to like Reed quite a bit, and Ruby never failed to inquire how my “friend” was doing whenever we talked on the phone.

“That would be nice,” I said. And I almost meant it.

“Is there anything you need. Anything you want me to bring you?” I almost automatically said “No.” But there was something I wanted something I regretted leaving behind, though I hurt to admit it. My pride was almost too strong, but after witnessing how fragile life really was, I decided, for once in my life to tell pride to go fuck itself.

“Yes, actually there is. I….” I couldn’t quite say it.

“Okay,” he said. “What?” The silence stretched.

“You know the picture I kept on my night stand. Please bring me that.” God, that was hard.

“Of course. I know which one you mean.” He voice was thick with emotion. “Brandon…..I’m so sorry. So..”

“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep that night.

It was another endless day sitting at the hospital. Dad had, over the past couple of weeks, had a steady stream of visitors, but not today. Today, it was just me, Dad who kept drifting in and out of consciousness, and lots of bad basic cable. Nothing to keep me from thinking about losing Dad and Reed and wondering what I had apparently done to piss off the gods. I felt terrible for worrying, even just a little bit, about something as unimportant as my ex when my father was dying. I was also conscious that I looked like complete shit.

I had quit shaving….with a long commute to and from the hospital to the farm, the last thing I wanted to do was worry about shaving. The same for cutting my hair; so between the beard and the hair hanging down in my eyes, I looked like I was getting ready to audition for the traveling musical version of fucking Duck Dynasty. Plus, a couple of weeks of convenience food and hospital snacks meant that my small spare tire was becoming a massive inner tube. Oh well, at least I still have my sparkling personality, I thought sourly. I had gotten a text from Reed letting me know he was close, so I was on edge waiting for him, trying to determine how to approach him: gracious? haughty? angry? coldly polite? Of course all my plans went out the window.

The minute the door opened and I heard his tentative “Brandon?” I had launched myself across the room and into his arms, sobbing hysterically on his shoulder. He managed to put down the orchid and the small bag he was carrying and then wrapped me into his arms, whispering calm words into my ears until I had cried myself out. Eventually, I came to, and stepped back, frantically searching for tissue to wipe my eyes (and snotty nose).

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

After repairing as much of the ravages of crying as I could with a box of off brand tissue, I managed to actually look at Reed. Well, that’s good I thought. At least I’m not the only one who looks like shit.

Of course, Reed’s version of looking like shit meant he had lost weight, not gained it, and the resulting hollows under his cheekbones meant he looked even more like a model. Still, his clothing hung distressingly off his frame, and his eyes were deeply shadowed. He turned to my dad. I saw Reed wince at his wasted form. He leaned over to talk to Dad, who grasped Reed’s hand in one of his own feeble ones. Tears welled in Reed’s eyes as he kissed Dad on the forehead. Immediately after, Dad closed his eyes and drifted off into his drugged sleep.

Reed came to me and enfolded me into his arms again. I stayed there for a bit, enjoying the warmth and smell of him, but after a few minutes, pulled away.

“He’ll be asleep for a while. Let’s go for a walk. I know… we can go walk around campus for a bit. It’s break so it will be empty.”

We didn’t talk during the short car ride, and once we got to campus, conversation was light. I had shown him around before of course, but he patiently listened to my college tales again. We were sitting in one of the concrete benches in the Quad, enjoying the beautiful old oaks. It was winter, but still warm, and the sun was bright.

“I hate to bring this up now,” he said, looking genuinely troubled, “ but I need to talk to you about the house. There’s a serious offer.”

“It’s yours. Do what you want with it.

“I didn’t mean that. I want to give you a percentage of the sale.”

“Reed,” I said firmly, “I mean it. Do what you want.”

“We can talk about that later. It’s really the contents I need to talk to you about. I just want to know what you want. The buyers actually want to buy a lot of things, like the window treatments and the dining room furniture; I know you don’t care about those, but I want to make sure you have anything you want. I know you can’t deal with it now; I’ll have it put in storage till you’re ready. I’ve taken some things for my condo,” he looked embarrassed at the mention of the condo, “but again, if you want any of them or the art or books or anything, just let me know.”

“Honestly Reed, I don’t care what you do with any of it.”

“I didn’t think you did.” He looked a little sad as he said it. “But I didn’t want to make any decisions without at least asking you.”

“I appreciate it.” I meant it. But then I couldn’t help myself. “Did you give John a chance to pick out what he wanted?”

“John?” He said in a questioning voice. Before I could scream, “Yes, John, you know, John, the homewrecking whore you fucked for six months,” Reed said, “That’s over. There is no John now.”

I didn’t know what to say. After that was silence and awkwardness. He insisted we stop on the way back for a decent meal. When we got back to the hospital, he kissed Dad again and whispered his goodbyes. The awkwardness of the afternoon was gone, and we sat together again in companionable silence. Dad even perked up again as the afternoon turned into evening, and he and Reed had a real talk. Finally, Reed got up to go, and gave me a last hug.

“Do you want me to stay?” he said, eyes searching mine. “Give me the word and I will, otherwise, I’m heading back in the morning.”

“No,” I said. “Go….but thank you.” He looked at me a long time and then leaned forward. I braced for a kiss, trying to decided if I wanted it or not, but he bypassed my lips and kissed me gently on the forehead. “I’ll be thinking about you,” he said and then he left.

I sat in silence for a long time, listening to Dad’s light snores. Realizing the lateness, I gathered my things to leave for the day, and saw the bag Reed had brought. I opened it and pulled out the picture of us in our happiest days. Looking at it still hurt, but not in the same sharp way. I then noticed there was a box in the bottom of the bag. I pulled it out, curious, and opened it. It was my Rolex; the crystal had been replaced, and it had been completely refurbished, the bracelet polished and shining like new. I turned it over and to read the inscription I knew so well. It had been changed: I will alwayl love you. R.