“I haven’t given you…” Aaron’s voice trailed off.
“We have time,” Oscar replied, pausing to smile as heclambered off the bed. He took him in, this gorgeous temple of a human being, and it was enough to get him to walk all the way around the bed to kiss him again. “All the time in the world.”
Aaron’s mother had dementia, and Oscar watched him crumble as he said it, as he described her disease and how it had taken so much of his only champion, the first person who had ever loved him as he was, no questions asked.
Luigi lay sprawled on Aaron’s lap, purring softly as Aaron rubbed his soft velvety head and sipped coffee in the warm sweats he’d borrowed from Oscar, because autumn was approaching, and with it the cold chilly nights that warranted blankets.
“It’s rare, too,” Aaron said, his breaths chattering as he inhaled. “And she was so young when it began. I was seventeen. Mom was forty-seven. She fell over in the kitchen. I was doing homework, and Robert was there, my brother. He was having a sandwich. I remember it was chicken and mayo, and the mayo was spilling out the sides, and it bothered me how sloppy it was. It was all I could think about, even after Mom fell.” Aaron sniffed. “We didn’t think much of it at the time. Assumed it was low blood pressure or something like that. Mom wasn’t forgetful or anything and Alzheimer’s was the only dementia we’d ever heard of.”
“We focus on strange things when important stuff happens,” Oscar said. “Christina told me that. Because every time I talked about my father, I always focused on how I couldn’t stop remembering that he had a grain of pepper stuck in his teeth from the night before and that the suit he’d bought me had a tag coming out of the bag.”
“I felt like a piece of shit,” Aaron—the furthest thing from a piece of shit—replied. “But, yeah. I clung on to that memory of the mayo. And then the next time something was clearly off, she couldn’t say ‘spoon.’ She kept saying weird shit. Like ‘clock.’ She wanted a clock to stir the coffee. It was…”
“Shit, yeah. That sounds awful.” Oscar couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to be confused like that, to have a brain that wouldn’t comply. He couldn’t imagine going through something like that and not breaking every damn thing in the house.
“She’d get strange moods. Mom was always the brightest person in every room. Sunflowers. She was a sunflower. Always will be, to me.”
Oscar remembered Aaron telling him they were his favorite. He listened to him now, talking about this woman who had loved him so well, who had sat with him when he’d wanted to come out. Oscar wanted to cry as Aaron told him about bursting into tears and how his mother had hugged him and said she loved him and that if he wanted to know, she would have named him Aaron if he’d been born in the body that matched his heart and mind. So after that, he had been Aaron, and when his brothers and his father had kicked up a fuss, his mother had shut them right up and said they could be respectful or sleep in the garden without dinner.
“You know, that’s actually the reason I reacted like such an idiot when you got me that book,” Aaron said, nibbling on his lip.
“I wouldn’t call you an idiot.” Oscar tapped Aaron’s nose, leaning in to kiss him on the forehead. “Maybe a little stubborn.”
“Very stubborn. But it’s because I’ve…” Aaron mulled over the words, sighing as he leaned back into the pillows. “My mother fussed over me like nothing else. I was the youngest, and I was always a little quieter than my brothers and a little more closed off. I was always different.” Aaron paused, sniffling. “Well…when I came out as trans, my father said that he wasn’t going to pay for any of my ‘gay bullshit.’ And Mom did her best to make up for that.”
“I’m glad you had her support,” Oscar said. He thought about Lina stepping in front oftheirmother every time she had something to say, wondered what it might have been like without her.
“Yeah. And she did help. She drove me to the meetings with Tobe and Marta, made sure I had a circle of queer friends my age I could talk to. Mom even helped me choose the haircut I got when Marta finally took me to that queer place I told you about. She paid for that haircut. And she’d sneak me so many clothes after every trip to the mall. I came home to my first real binder the day after I told her. She drove me to school a little early and waited outside for Tobe, asked them where to get me one.” Aaron’s breaths staggered into a sob. “After she got sick, I stopped telling her about the things I needed, because sometimes her frustration would be so bad she’d say stuff she didn’t mean, like that I was a nag or that I was always asking for something. And then she’d feel so guilty, Spike. She’d beat herself up over it. And I didn’t want that.”
“Yeah, of course.” Oscar shook his head.
He tried to push away the image of his papa’s face that night he realized Oscar was hurting himself, how guilty he’d looked for not having noticed before. As though Oscar hadn’t done absolutely everything in his power to make sure his family never knew, as though he hadn’t stuffed his sleeves with tissues and cotton to keep his crimson secret contained.
“After I moved out, I had to make my own way, and I’ve never had anyone pay for anything,” Aaron explained. “I guess it turned into something else. My independence was the only thing I could say I’d built on my own, something that kept mefrom ever having to talk to my family again. I don’t like feeling like I depend on others. I know you were doing something nice, and I do love the book. I shouldn’t have projected on you like that.”
Aaron’s teeth turned the pink flesh of his lip white. Oscar wanted to feel their soft press, wanted to drown in his kiss again, wanted to feel that mouth on him, that tongue tracing devotion as it stroked his wetness.
“I don’t think you aren’t independent, Aaron. I just wanted to treat you.” Oscar rolled onto his knees, taking Aaron’s hand in his and lifting it to his lips. “I want to give you everything I can, but that doesn’t mean you can’t pay your own way or give yourself things, too.”
“I know that. I know you’re not my stupid family.” Aaron shook his head, eyes ablaze, then leaned in, kissing Oscar on the lips. “Thank you for the gift. And for this talk.”
“Always, boo.” Oscar had never called anyone by a pet name before, but this one seemed right for Aaron, whose face lit up at the sound of it, making Oscar want to repeat the word so many times he forgot the rest of language. “Thank you for telling me about her. She sounds absolutely wonderful.”
“I haven’t been to see her in a while,” Aaron said, looking down into his lap, smiling at Luigi’s sleeping form, loaf-like and puffy, purring.
“I didn’t mean to hog all your time, Aaron. You can?—”
“It isn’t your fault.” Aaron reached for Oscar’s hand and pressed it, tilting his head back to finish his coffee. “I did see her just after we started…talking…you know, after that breakfast. But when it was clear it was getting serious…” Aaron closed his eyes, throat rising as he swallowed.
Oscar wanted to wrap him up like a burrito, to squeeze him so hard the sauce and oil dripped out and stained their world in orange.
“I don’t want this to be something else I have to tell herover and over again,” Aaron said. Blue was a broken color now, shards of glass, and Aaron’s hurt was spilling like blood from a fist that had punched through a window. “Her memory’s not too bad, but her confusion’s grown worse, and it’s hard with new people sometimes. It’s been worse since she went to the care home.”
“How long has she been there?” Oscar asked.
“Couple of years. I was nineteen. My dad wasn’t very good at caring for her. He got frustrated, and it wasn’t a good environment for her. My brothers were in college. Robbie had no idea what to do, and I was just…terrified. That day, I went to see her with my bags in my father’s trunk. And then I took them, boarded a bus, and moved into my old apartment.” Aaron closed his eyes. “I don’t want her to not know that I love you after I’ve said it. So I haven’t told her yet.”
“Nothing wrong with a little reminder every now and then,” Oscar said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “And I’d really love to tell her that I love you, too. As many times as it takes.”
