“One and a half more steps to go.”
“I. Can. Count. You. Cocksucker.”
“That’s right. I am a cocksucker. And I will suck your—” Gideon remembered there were other patients and therapists in this facility. Mac’s therapist shot him a quiet look. “Let’s keep going, baby.”
Mac’s left foot made contact with the ground. He was closer. Gideon smelled the musky sweat drenching his shirt, and he felt guilty for being turned on.
The right leg defied torturous pain and gravity and came off the ground. Mac and Gideon locked eyes, and the passion and love scorched between them.
“And the right leg is down! That’s three steps!”
Mac collapsed into Gideon’s embrace. He wiped Mac’s sweaty hair and brow with a towel. Despite his agony, Mac’s eyes shined with victory.
“Good job,” Gideon said, his arms tight around his boyfriend.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Mac kissed him deeply, breathily. Gideon grabbed his sopping hair and flicked his tongue around his mouth. Not too much. They were still in public, and Mac was still catching his breath.
Gideon pulled out Mac’s wheelchair and got it ready for him. The therapist came over and patted Mac on the back. “Great progress today! First week of physical therapy, and you are already walking.”
“I wouldn’t call that walking,” Mac said.
“We do.” The therapist chortled. “This is a process. Remember, you only came out of surgery two weeks ago. Since it was successful, there shouldn’t be any setbacks to your recovery schedule.”
“Twelve weeks?” Mac asked again. “I can’t believe I’m going to be walking like my normal self in three months. I can barely take three steps.”
“You won’t be 100 percent, but pretty close. Just keep practicing and doing your exercises.”
“You’re fortunate you have to recuperate now,” Gideon said. He pointed to the window where a gray sky and chunks of brown snow littered the sidewalk. “You don’t have to go outside. You’ll be better for spring.”
“You can do it,” the therapist said. “It may seem impossible now, but it will happen.”
“That’s basically the story of us,” Gideon said.
Φ
One week later, Mac was able to take seven steps. Gideon tried to push him to take an even ten. Mac grunted out where Gideon could shove his even ten steps.
Back at the Daly residence, Gideon heated up soup in Mac’s family kitchen. His mom came over to see if he needed any help.
“I got it, Mrs. D.”
She stared into the saucepan like a curious child.
“You just have a seat with Mac and Mr. D. Don’t ruin the surprise.” Gideon swirled the matzo ball soup and watched it heat up.
Mac couldn’t go back to school for winter quarter. His focused remained on his physical therapy and letting his body heal. He moved back in with his parents, who were not-so-secretly happy to have their son back, despite the circumstances. Mac’s mom reminded Gideon of his own. She loved taking care of her son. Though Mrs. Daly could learn a thing or two about Jewish mother guilt from Judy Saperstein.
“Are you guys pumped? You excited?” Gideon called from the kitchen. He poked his head out of the swinging door. Mac and his parents sat around the dining table.
The soup boiled on the stove. Gideon breathed in the salty, dill-tinged aroma. He couldn’t wait to send his mom pics of everyone enjoying her soup. Gideon had no idea soup could be shipped in the mail, but Mac’s recovery was in definite need of matzo ball soup. It was part of the healing process.
Gideon scooted into the dining room. “How many balls do you want?”
Mac’s father cleared his throat, and his mom’s eyes bulged. Mac blushed with stifled laughter.
“Matzo balls,” he clarified.
“Let’s stick with two,” Mac said.
