Gloria nods. Her mouth turns downward. “He does that sometimes.”
“Really?”
“We think Adam is a friend who died or lost touch. Your uncle’s memories don’t always go in order. The pain is very fresh.”
Imagine reliving your greatest heartache over and over again like it just happened yesterday. “Jesus, that’s awful,” I tell her. She nods. “I tried telling him it wasn’t him.”
Gloria rests her hand on my arm. “I don’t think arguing with him helps. It only confuses him more.”
“Okay. What do we do then?”
“Just hold his hand and wait for it to pass.”
When we get back to my uncle’s room, I’m shocked to see Uncle Theo cradled in Chris’s arms. He’s still sobbing, and Chris just holds him there gently. Uncle Theo’s cheek rests against Chris’s shoulder. Chris’s expression conveys the same warmth and compassion that made me trust him from day one. My heart blooms again for him now. Gloria smiles. Then her eyes alight on the contraband food, and she makes little clucking noises.
“This is far too much for you, Captain.” She swoops in on his plate and portions some of the food back into their containers. “You have to think about your figure.”
My uncle pulls himself away from Chris and blinks away his tears. He glances at the two of us, scowls at Gloria, and resumes his seat at the table. He pulls out the chair next to him a little and glances up at Chris, who takes the hint and sits down next to him. Gloria fusses over my uncle, making sure his utensils are lined up and the napkin is tucked into his collar. My uncle smoothes it down over his shirtfront, straightens up, and proceeds to eat his lunch as if nothing happened. Except, every now and again, he’ll glance over at Chris and smile warmly or reach over to pat his arm.
We invite Gloria to eat with us, and she comments on how good the food is, and how she didn’t know about Paula’s before I introduced her to it. She says she’s developed quite a taste for it, though her hips could probably do without. We chat easily about the goings on of Saint Ann’s—there’s a talent show coming up, and we tease Uncle Theo about his talent. He glowers at us. Not Chris, though. For Chris, he’s all smiles. I tell Gloria about yesterday’s skate competition. At one point she mentions Manuel in passing, and Uncle Theo points to the calendar on the wall, which has the seven days of a week with big red X’s over the boxes under Saturday and Sunday.
After a while, Uncle Theo announces that he’s tired and wants to take a nap. We condense the leftovers into one container for Gloria to hide in the staff fridge and throw the trash away. When we go to leave, Chris pulls Uncle Theo in for another hug.
“I missed you,” my uncle says to him.
“I missed you too, buddy,” Chris says and rubs his back. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”
Uncle Theo nods and turns away. I have to fight to keep my composure as we leave. The only conclusion I can draw is that Chris reminds him of someone from his past he was close with and maybe even loved. On the elevator down to the first floor, I turn to Chris, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, that was… crazy. Your uncle was so sad. Kind of broke my heart.”
“Yeah, mine too. Old people are the worst.” He chuckles, because he knows I’m just kidding. He grabs my hand, and I squeeze him back. “I have one more favor to ask you, Chris.”
“Anything.”
“I want to tell my dad. Today, if possible. And I want you to come with me.”
He pulls me in for a sweet, barbecue-flavored kiss. “Let’s do it.”
I’d Rather Be Selling Investment Portfolios
“THAT WASwild,” Chris says when we’re back in his car. We’re still processing our visit with Uncle Theo. Chris can’t get over the fact that Uncle Theo is gay. “So, no one in your family knows?”
“If they know, they’re not saying anything.”
“That’s incredible.” He shakes his head.
“And kind of sad that he had to hide it his whole life. Or he felt like he did. I mean, what if he had a chance to be happy with someone?”
“Maybe he’s happy now.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I wonder how happy a person can be in Uncle Theo’s situation. I see a lot of myself in my uncle—stubborn, prone to solitude, cranky on the outside but sensitive on the inside. I’d be so miserable if Chris got sick of me and we stopped being friends. The thought of not having him in my life kind of terrifies me.
“Are you sure you want me there?” Chris asks, bringing me back to my most immediate concern. Our plan is to drive straight to Todesta, call my dad when we’re close, and totally blow his Sunday all to hell.
“If it goes really well, I want you there,” I tell him, “and if it goes really bad… I still want you there.”
Chris nods and gives a little half smile. If this whole thing goes to shit, I’m going to need someone to lean on. Chris thinks I’m overreacting, but I think it’s just because his relationships with his parents are so solid. Even though he was worried about telling his dad, I don’t think he ever considered abandonment as a real possibility.
