Loving Sam Lynch - 5. Chapter 5

Renee, Sam’s mother, had been busy and hadn’t been able to greet them at the airport. So when they’d arrived it was to be greeted enthusiastically by both of Max’s parents. Max’s mother, who was keen on Sam, wasted no time in scolding them both on how thin they looked and that she’d have them looking healthy in no time. She was a lighthearted woman with hair that was dirty blonde and eyes that were as blue as her son’s. Although the resemblance ended there, for Max was more like his quiet and reflective father in his temperament.

His mood could have used some improvement just then. Agitated at Sam for being annoying, he shoved his fingers through his hair. Sam, who was in a light mood had blabbered all through the plane ride and wouldn’t shut up. He said through his gritted teeth, “Yes, Sam, I grabbed the camera, put it in its case and shoved it into my suitcase. The next time you ask me that I’m going to--.”

“--Shut up please?” Sam finished, grinning boyishly. A dimple creased his right cheek. It reminded Max of the times when they’d been younger and Sam had used that smile to get out of sticky situations.

“You are being distinctly annoying,” Max said though still gritted teeth, refusing to be swayed by the power of Sam’s grin.

“As long as it’s distinct and not unclear,” Sam said evenly, straight-faced.

“You two are the same as always.” His mother, Stella shook her head while his father Matthew grinned. “I remember when you were ten and had to sit in the back together. You’d argue the entire ride.”

Max frowned. “We did?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, we did. It was because you were so prissy and couldn’t stand me opening my mouth for one second. It hurt my feelings.” He then proceeded to pout. On Sam it looked both endearing and amusing at the same time.

Max recalled the time Sam was referring to vaguely. His lips twitched but he contained his smile. “So you responded to your hurt by being an even bigger terror?”

“Yes.” Max shrugged. “I was ten, okay? Logic escaped me.”

“You must not have grown up at all since then,” Max mumbled.

“I heard that,” Sam countered in an unnecessarily loud voice. Max shot him a dark look.

“You’re twenty-two years old, not four. Settle down.” Stella called out. “Twenty-two year old men, not women,” She added under her breath.

Sam grinned. “We heard that.”

“Yes, we did,” Max agreed. They both looked at each other.

“We’re not--.” They began at the same time.

“--We don’t act like women,” Max called to his mom.

“You could have fooled me, darlings,” Stella said sweetly while her husband grinned and refrained from commenting.

The rest of the ride passed with easy banter among them. It was like old times, back when they’d been kids and things had been simpler. Forgetting all the problems they’d developed, all the frustrations they’d been burdened with as of late was easy.

Sam said as much as they unloaded their belongings. Their parents had already headed in, leaving them on their own. He stated, “This feels right,” and flashed a smile towards Max.

Max nodded. “It feels right,” He echoed. Right in the sense that it felt like the old days when things hadn’t been so messed up—when he hadn’t been so messed up.

“I hadn’t realized how much things have changed until now, you know?” He murmured.

Max swallowed uncomfortably. “Things haven’t changed that much,” He disagreed.

“I, uh, miss how it used to be.” Sam flashed a tentative look at him again. Max felt his heart melt. How could he try so hard not to respond when his Sam was being so open? He knew how hard it was for him to admit things like that.

Sam and Max had been virtually inseparable their entire lives. When they were young, they’d developed an odd sort of camaraderie. Odd because of the way didn’t always need to communicate with words. Max had been a quiet child and Sam had been a talkative one, but when they were in one another’s company those conflicting characteristics didn’t cause cracks to form in their friendship. Instead Sam took care of Max and Max took care of Sam in return—both in their own respective ways.

There were so many things he could remember doing with Sam that were precious to him. Memories he could recall like they’d just happened yesterday. They’d liked to bike together, and Max had even taught Sam how to rollerblade. Then during the summer when they were older, Sam let Max draw him. Those had been Max’s artsy days. He even had that portrait he’d painted of Sam in the back of his closet somewhere.

One thing they’d always shared was a love for reading. Sometimes they’d just read together, as boring as it sounded now that Max reflected on it. Max, though creative, never grasped the putting-together of words as well as Sam did. It was because of Sam’s enthusiasm about the things he read, that Max felt compelled to read. Similarly, though Sam was more of the team-sports sort of guy, they even took tennis lessons together (though that wasn’t a long-lasting endeavor). Hell, Max engaged in a few games of basketball with Sam’s friends as well—back in the day. Now, he didn’t get too close with Sam’s friends.

They didn’t always get along, but boys were boys and they retained their friendship over time. Of course, it hadn’t been easy. Max had almost allowed himself to step away from him but Sam wouldn’t have it. It was just that the issue of their differences came to light once they reached high school and though their distinction in personality hadn’t been a problem before, it seemed to be one then.

Sam was the likable guy whom everyone sought to be friends with and Max was the reserved one who didn’t give a crap about getting to know anyone even if they wanted to know him. The love that Max recognized during those days had probably already existed between them for some time. He couldn’t recall having a flash moment of recognition. It was almost like he’d always known.

Once he realized what love between two people was, he knew he loved Sam Lynch. For his innocence; for the way he liked to take care of Max; for the way he spoke; or the way he looked at him. For everything Sam did—even the stuff that got to him. Like how Sam punched his boyfriends. Also how Sam tried very hard to include him in his circle of friends, even though Max didn’t care, because he didn’t want Max to feel excluded or hurt.

“Why don’t you come over to Blake’s house with me this weekend?” “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the party after the game?” “You could always come over anyway even though Jimmy will be over. I’ll miss ya.” And so on and so on. Most of the time, Max refused, but occasionally for Sam’s sake he would agree. Just like—mistakenly—for Max’s sake, Sam made the offer.

How could he do anything but fall in love with such devotion, kindness, and such a wonderful being?

“I miss it too,” Max allowed himself to say, coming back to the present. “But things change. People grow up. It’s life.” He forced a laugh.

“That’s not funny, Max. I don’t want things to change.” Sam said, sulking.

“Don’t sulk. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I do not sulk!” Sam was indignant.

“Good,” Max said simply, flashing a smile. “Race you to the door!” And off he went with Sam at his tail.

~*~
Later, after they were settled in, Sam next door and Max in his old room, they headed downstairs to the family room where their parents were. The house was as warm as he remembered it—cozy and inviting. His mom had decorated it in her favourite gold, leafy greens and warm brown tones. His room looked much the same as he’d last left it over the summer. The only things that were different, although familiar at the same time were the Christmas decorations.

Even the family room seemed to glow with light from the fireplace in the center of the long bricked wall, making it feel truly like Christmas. Max stood by its side, just staring into the flames while a soft happiness settled in him. Comfort—he hadn’t felt so much of it in a while.

“I have to warn you, Renee, uh, got engaged. Just so you aren’t surprised,” Sam murmured in Max’s ear, coming up behind him. Max jumped at the feel of Sam’s breath against his neck while he said the words in his ear. He forced his brain to shut off, and then stepped away.

“Oh,” He said, slightly surprised. “Alright, thanks for the warning.”

“No problem. She seems happy.” Sam shrugged dismissively.

Max knew there weren’t any hard feelings behind the words, though he sounded apathetic. Sam’s father had died before he’d turned one so he didn’t remember him. With Max’s father there, he hadn’t lacked in a male figure in his life.

Their lives were entwined in so many ways sometimes Max was a little disconcerted when he stopped to think about it.

“I figure if we get really bored we can head over to my house and just talk, I guess. You don’t drink so I won’t suggest that,” Sam said.

“And you don’t get drunk,” Max stated. A flush stole across Sam’s cheeks. “Sam!” Max exclaimed in a hushed voice.

“Well, I’m not twelve anymore. I can get drunk if I feel like it!” Sam explained then ran his fingers through his hair agitatedly.

“I thought we were past this,” He said forlornly.

“Past what?”

“You still have the ability to make me feel like I’ve been caught stealing from the cookie jar,” Sam hissed at him.

“That’s not my problem. I don’t want you getting drunk and acting stupid,” Max replied heatedly. In fact, Max was adamant about it. His uncle had died while driving under the influence of alcohol. He’d been young at the time and it had probably scarred him forever. Then, as he’d grown up he hadn’t seen the use of swallowing mild amounts of poison—literally.

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Sam exclaimed.

Max’s eyes flashed but then he contained himself and turned away from Sam. “I’ll remember that,” He said in a cool voice.

Sam groaned. “Oh, lord.”

Max grabbed Sam’s bicep. “I’m not a child. I won’t ignore you or pay you back some way.” He glanced furtively at his mother who happened to look at them curiously just then. “However, just remember that the next time you try to tell me what to do!”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t dating Xander,” He said flat-out. Max wondered where that even came from! He resisted the urge to yell at him that he was acting like a jealous boyfriend! Then he paused. Was Sam clueless as he seemed to be? If so, what exactly did he think his irrational jealousy stemmed from—friendly love? Sheesh!

“See what I mean? You’re impossible!” Max took one last swallow of his juice and slammed the glass down before storming into the kitchen where Renee and her fiancé were. They stood together and were whispering in hushed tones, but they broke apart at the sound of footsteps.

“Max!” Renee said rather breathlessly as she stepped closer. She had light brown hair that was cut to about chin-length, wispy strands framing a nymph-like face. She always reminded Max of a pixie with her perpetually jovial expression and small stature. Her fiancée moved to stand beside her again but she rushed over and gave Max a hug. She was Renee so she was allowed.

“It’s lovely to see you Renee,” Max said with obvious warmth in his voice.

“You rarely call me! I get worried about you,” Renee admitted. “Thank god Sam is a little more communicative. He calls both Stella and me more often so we know how you’re doing.” Max made a mental note to thank Sam for that…when he wasn’t mad at him.

“You know me,” Max shrugged, “Not so great with keeping in touch.”

Renee laughed and introduced Max to her fiancé Gerald, who seemed the very opposite of her vivacious, zesty personality. They seemed very much in love though judging from the way they looked at each other.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Renee asked once again a few minutes later. “You haven’t had a fight with Sam have you?” Her eyes ran gently over his face, gauging his reaction.

Max couldn’t see the point of lying. She too had watched them grow up. “I’ll be okay. He can still be a little hardheaded.”

“I know,” Renee said softly. “He gets that from his father.”

“I can imagine,” Max said compassionately, knowing that Renee was easy to please and quick to change her mind, but fiercely loyal.

“Well, Gerald and I will head in now. We were just putting the cake in the refrigerator.”

Max nodded and watched them leave. When they’d gone, he took out his phone and saw he had two missed calls. He smiled, knowing they were from Xander. Nothing exciting was contained in the messages, just small nothings. The most recent said:

‘The Fam is being a lil annoying. How r u? xcited for turkey?’

‘Sure. Turkey’s always good, how bout u?’ Max typed it out quickly and then sent the text with a little smile on his face.

That was how Sam found him: smiling down at his phone stupidly. He paused for a second in the doorway, briefly taking in Max’s black jeans and crisp white shirt. He felt guilty for being so stupid now.

“What are you smiling at?” Sam asked, keeping his voice light.

Max didn’t jump like a normal person would have. He smoothly put his phone away and looked at him warily. “None of your business.”

“Your business is my business,” Sam said, not happy now because he had a suspicion about what Max had been looking at on his phone and he didn’t like it one bit.

Max shook his head. “I don’t know why I bother to get upset. You’ll never change, Sam.”

“Yeah, well too bad,” Sam said and leaned against the white marble-top counter.

“I don’t want you to change,” Max said softly. “I should just know better by now.”

“What do you mean?”

“For starters, that you’ll always poke your nose into my business and you’ll always think you’re right and readily able to do anything but I’m not.”

Sam looked hurt. “That’s not true. My business is your business as well.”

Max grinned, not angry anymore. “Sam you just told me I couldn’t tell you what to do, and then proceeded to tell me what to do.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because?” Sam held up his hands. “You can’t date Xander.”

“Unfortunately, if I wanted to I can and would,” Max replied, though he wanted to demand why Sam thought that. Then he realized he wasn’t ready for Sam to face his feelings. Would he ever be? For surely that would indicate the end of their long-lasting friendship. It wasn’t as if Sam was gay.

Max knew saying what he did would make Sam angry but he wasn’t about to lie about it. Sam needed to know that he couldn’t tell Max how to live his life. Sometimes he wondered if Sam ever thought about the fact that their friendship was different from any other male friendship he’d heard of. They talked about things and acted in a way most couples never did. Then he realized that Sam probably didn’t stop and think about things like that and that was how he continued to live in his little bubble.

“Do you want to?”

“You’ve asked me that before.” Max pointed out.

“And you’ve always said you didn’t know when we both know you do know.”

Max was silent for a few moments, and then he released a breath. “I won’t lie to you, I do want to.”

“Does he know that?”

Again Max sighed. “Yes. I tell him no but he’s not so easily set back.”

“Why do you bother saying no?” Sam asked curiously.

“Because I have to,” Max said sadly. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“And why do you care so much for him?” Sam asked. He was probably unaware of his accusing tone.

Max winced. “What is this, twenty questions?” He asked, evading the answer.

Sam dropped the subject, taking the hint. His mouth lifted mischievously. He was so easily distracted. “Come on, I’m hungry.” He said, but headed for the door to the backyard.

“There isn’t food out there. Snow isn’t food; I thought we went over that when you were ten.”

“Fuck you, Max.” Sam grinned. “I just want to kill time before dinner.”

I wish, Max thought, but followed him out without a jacket.

The next thing he knew, something cold and wet hit his face. He didn’t make any noise. Kneeling, he formed his own snowball with the white packing snow that graced the ground. Then, while Sam was foolishly busy forming another snowball, he released it and watched as it hit Sam directly on the side of the face with satisfaction.

“It’s on, Max!” Sam sputtered with glee.

It certainly was.

Sam grinned and jogged over to shed, behind which he disappeared for the next five minutes. Max diligently formed his own pile of snowballs and then waited quietly, staring in the direction of where Sam had disappeared minutes earlier.

“You aren’t hiding behind there are you?” Max called when Sam wasn’t making any move to come back out.

Max bent to the waist to pick up one of his snowballs. A mistake. He caught a flash of white and then sputtered as the snow hit him directly in the face again. “Wow, you’re actually being that backhanded? Get on out in the open, coward!” Max could hear Sam’s laughter.

Then Sam stepped out. “Here I am--.” Max released the snowball contained in his hand but Sam was too quick and ducked before it could hit him. It landed with a soft snow-crunch against the fence. “Missed me.”

“Not this time,” Max said, catching Sam unaware with his lightening fast moves.

Sam winced as the snow melted down the back of his shirt. “That’s mean.”

Max grinned. “That’s what I do best.”

“I remember,” Sam rolled his eyes. “You were what eleven when you totally destroyed me during that snow fight we had? I almost got frostbite.”

Max rolled his eyes, “No you didn’t. Besides, I said sorry and let you into my amazing snow-fort.” Then he threw another snowball. Sam wasn’t fast enough this time. “You should pay attention,” He advised. Sam only grinned wickedly and gestured for Max to ‘bring it on.’

They both ‘brought it’. By the time the sun set in the distance, they were wet, cold and their lips had gone blue. Max had to drag Sam inside and force him to change his sopping clothes. Luckily, Sam had spare clothing at Max’s house and so they both took turns taking hot showers to warm up.

When Max emerged from the shower, the steam following him, he wiped a hand across the mirror and took a look at his slightly flushed skin and unusually radiant eyes. He looked…happy, perhaps even satisfied. Shrugging at the blond haired, blue-eyed stranger staring back at him in the mirror, he left.

Sam was already in his room, seated on his bed, looking as if he was entirely at home. His hair hadn’t dried entirely and that made it look darker. His skin looked paler than normal and his head was bent over a book he appeared to have snagged from somewhere. Max made noise as he walked across to the window to pull back the curtains. When he turned around, Sam had looked up and was smiling at him earnestly.

Sam held up the book in his hands. It was old and dog-eared, with several unbecoming marks on the cover. It was something Sam had given to him, a book Max really liked and had read over and over again. He’d left it in his room at home though, along with most of the books that rarely got read by him anymore. “I found it on your bedside table. Were you reading it again?” Sam asked.

Max didn’t sit, just leaned back against the wall. “I picked it up this summer,” He said, shrugging lightly, as if it was no big deal he’d read it after so many years. He’d missed Sam and the book reminded him of his friend.

Sam nodded but didn’t comment. Instead, he put the book down beside him and said, “I see your Shakespeare isn’t getting much reading.” The corner of his mouth curled up. Sam was a Shakespeare lover, meanwhile Max was not. They both knew this was partly due to ignorance and not actually serious criticism of the plays.

“Nope, it isn’t. I don’t know why you felt the need to buy those particular ones for me.”

“Sit down, please? I hate when you stand up and talk to me,” Sam complained.

Max rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t want to. Get over it.” This was an age old fight between them. Max didn’t get uncomfortable over long periods of standing still and Sam found it highly annoying, had always found it so actually.

Sam sighed and said, “Fine. What was I saying?”

“Shakespeare.” Max prompted.

“Oh, yeah…I got them for you because you needed some good titles in your measly little book collection—most of which was supplied by me—and also because I wanted you to read them!”

“I readMacbeth,” Max said.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Only because you had to for school! I still remember I helped you outline your entire essay and you even looked up modern English versions online.”

“It helped me understand the story. I can’t help it if it’s too hard to try to make sense of the original version. I liked it, though,” Max said indulgently.

“What’d you like about it?” Sam asked, raising a brow.

“I don’t know…I can’t explain it,” Max said, flustered. Truth be told, what had resonated with him while reading it had been Macbeth’s hypocrisy. At the time, he’d perfecting a similar feat of putting on another face for those around him. Now, looking back, he didn’t quite like what he was seeing. Macbeth’s fate hadn’t been kind, but the similarity had to end there, right? It wasn’t like he was hurting others for the sake of greed or ambition. He was, however, hurting himself, Sam and now Xander for his own desire to have Sam in any way he could. That thought made him cold. Wasn’t that greed?

Hypocrite, his conscience nagged, Hypocrite! His face was frozen. Was he in fact so horrible, that to satisfy his need for Sam’s presence, he would do anything?

Yes, he acknowledged, he would.

Perhaps he should even write his story down, or even tell others. Maybe people would use his example in class as similarity to Macbeth. He could see it now: That selfish, greedy, Max, who would go to any lengths just to bear the presence of one person in his life. Or was it as they said, ‘All is fair in Love and War’? Was his plight different just because his motivation was love? Max didn’t think so.

“You were never good at analyzing literature,” Max heard Sam saying.“Someone there in your head, Max?”

“Oh, uh,” Max snapped to attention, “Yeah, sorry. Zoned out there.”

“Trying to formulate an answer?”

“To?” Max asked dumbly.

“What you like about Macbeth, duh,” Sam said pointedly.

“Yeah, I guess.” Max shrugged. “I just liked it, I dunno.”

“How eloquent you are, my friend,” Sam said, laughing. “Forget it. Macbeth was just a ‘fella who got what he deserved.”

Max shuddered but said easily, “Yep.”

“Damn, you’re just not in a talkative mood, are you?” Sam grinned. “Why don’t we go down and eat?”

“Right,” Max replied. “Eat.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re lost in your head again.”

They headed downstairs and enjoyed a nice dinner with the family. Everyone was loud and talkative and stories were exchanged from left to right. Max was at home. His worries were easily put to the side during those moments. He caught Sam’s eye more than once during the dinner but during one particular moment something passed between them that took his breath away, something concrete, warm and almost tangible. Sam smiled at him so beautifully, his eyes crinkling in a way that made it seem like he could smile with his eyes alone. Max smiled back widely, uninhibited. He was sure the love shone from him if anyone was watching.

He heard his mother’s laughter and then vaguely payed attention as she said, “Honey, tell that story about the time we went skiing with Renee in…was it 2004? Max and Sam wandered off on their own and--.” Max smiled but didn’t listen to the rest.

Their parents knew Max was gay and because of their lack of religious beliefs whatsoever, were alright with it to a certain degree. Of course, his mother wasn’t relieved her only son was gay and nor was his father, but they accepted it.

He sometimes suspected they were aware of his feelings for Sam and possibly Sam’s own feelings for him, but they hid it well. After all, they’d seen Max and Sam grow up and had surely noticed an unusually close friendship between them. He forced himself to look away from Sam. Ultimately because he knew that reflected in the love was a bleak unhappiness—if you looked deep enough.

Renee caught his eye afterwards and gave a tentative smile. He smiled back; sure she’d caught that exchange. She tilted her head, surveyed him and then knocked an imaginary block over her clueless son who sat on her left, letting him know she understood. He didn’t need more people praying for a miracle but the look on Renee’s face told him she’d be doing just that in her own way. Fabulous, he thought.

~*~