Nally was silent. Everything Timothy had said felt like the answers he’d been looking for. But that didn’t help the continued, gnawing feeling that he was two seconds away from messing everything up.
“I don’t want to lose him by doing something wrong,” he murmured at last.
“Nally, it’s Jude,” Timothy said, like he was a grandpa and not the same age as Nally. “You can’t mess things up. You two have been together, and I mean together-together, whether you’ve known it or not, for years. Granted, I still think you need therapy to get over the fact that you’re strung tighter than any of the violins people play your music on, but whatever other mental problems you have, Jude isn’t one of them.”
He was teasing. Most of what he said was complete teasing. But there was a lot of truth in it, too.
“What do you think I should do?” he asked, desperate for anything that would help him overcome the feeling like his chest had been torn open to expose all of the most painful vulnerabilities he had.
“Nothing,” Timothy said. “You don’t have to do anything. Other than just keep on being who you are and who Jude is. Why do you think you have to do anything different or be someone other than who you are? Nally Hawthorne, brilliant composer, excellent friend, and ridiculous neurotic is who you’ve always been. That’s who Jude fell in love with, and that’s who I always adored. And, frankly, who I miss.”
Tears immediately stung at Nally’s eyes. “I’m sorry I let our friendship go,” he said, embarrassed about the way his throat closed up. “We should get together for a drink sometime.”
“I’d like that,” Timothy said, obviously smiling. “I’d like to get together with youandJude. That way, the two of you can meet my fiancé, Ivan.”
That did it. Of all the things that could tip Nally over the edge into tears, hearing that Timothy had moved on and found love was the last drop in the bucket of emotion that tipped the whole thing over.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” he said, trying not to let on that he was crying.
“So am I,” Timothy laughed. “And you and Jude will be, too. You just need a smack to get out of your own way.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Nally said, starting to feel better.
“Well, I know,” Timothy said. “You’re going to be fine. And, I mean, I know you don’t think you will be now, because you never believe you’re fine. God, for someone who has the kind of supportive and loving, and weird, family that most gay men would die to have, you sure have always been filled with doubt.”
“Maybe it’s because everyone in my family is so good at being themselves and doing what they do,” Nally said.
“Maybe. But you’re just as good as any of them.” Tim shifted tone and went on with, “Now go find Jude and tell him I said the two of you are being idiots and that you need to fuck like rabbits for a week to get all the neuroses out of your system.”
Nally laughed. “I wouldn’t say no to a weekend where I ended up with a sore hole.”
“Good, and I hope that sore hole comes from pulling your head out of your arse and claiming your man.”
Nally laughed harder. He should have called Timothy so much sooner. But like everything else in his life, he’d let the fear of potential disaster override something that actually ended up making everything better. Tim was right. He needed therapy. Or maybe he just needed to talk to his mum about things. It was all the same.
Nally and Tim said their goodbyes, and Nally ended the call. He took a deep breath before putting his phone aside and squaring up to face the piano again. With a deep breath, he placed his fingers on the keys, closed his eyes, and played whatever came to him. And this time it worked.
“That sounds lovely.”
Nally didn’t know how long he’d been playing before his mum’s voice snapped him out of the musical zone he’d fallen into. He caught his breath, stilled his hands, and turned to face his mum as she approached the piano.
“It’s just a little something that’s been stuck inside me for a while,” he said, still a little fuzzy from being so absorbed in his music.
“Hmm,” his mum hummed as she came to lean against the piano, arms crossed. “Thinking about a certain friend, perhaps?”
She was teasing him. She had that Mum teasing look in her eyes. Everyone seemed to think it was open season on teasing him about Jude lately. And maybe it was. Like Timothy implied, maybe it was time for him to get his head out of his arse and just exist in what had always been.
“Mum, how long do you think Jude and I have been a couple?” he asked, genuinely interested in what she thought, since she knew him better than anyone. Except Jude.
Janice grinned. “Which answer would you like?” she asked. “A few days, since you were in Scotland? Since the two of you met at school and became thick as thieves? Or that first night when Jude stayed over when you were about fifteen and the two of you were all red-faced and stammery the next morning when I asked what film you’d been watching. And by the way, I knew it was porn.”
“Mum!” Nally gasped, wishing lightning would strike him right there.
“You know that we’re all a bunch of heathens in this house, dear,” she told him in her ridiculously frank way. “If I’d thought you were doing anything wrong or that you weren’t ready for, I would have stepped in. But I felt completely safe with you exploring your budding sexuality with Jude back then, and I feel beyond confident in you committing your heart and the rest of your life to Jude in romantic partnership now.”
“Goddess, Mum.” Nally covered his face with his hands. “Why do you have to be like this?”
“Because I’m your free-spirited, pansexual, bohemian hippy, poet, artist mum,” Janice said, leaning forward so she could kiss Nally’s cheek when he lowered his hands. “There is nothing you could possibly do with your life or your body that would come anywhere near to half the things I’ve done in my life. Compared to me and your father, you are the family prude.”
