Oscar had never been very good at introductions. Especially not around people who were important to him, and this was Aaron’smother. But her words reminded him of Grandma, and when Grandma had said that, Oscar had made her laugh. So instead of trying to come up with something clever, he eased into what he knew best: making an utter fool of himself.
“It’s like Cinderella,” he replied, realizing his grave error only when the words were already spilling out of him. “Except I dropped a couple boobs instead of a shoe.”
His skin crawled with embarrassment. Aaron paused munching beside him, cookie hovering in mid-air. And Gemma looked at both of them. Oscar waited for her to makesome polite throwaway comment and pretend like this was going to be swept under the rug and forgotten.
But Gemmalaughed. And it was music. Her eyes crinkled, tears running down her cheeks, mouth spread so wide she could have been his papa. She laughed with her heart, and Aaron melted beside him, leaning in and resting his head on his shoulder, munching away happily.
“Hold on to him, Ronnie,” she said as she calmed down.
“I will, Mom. I have every intention,” Aaron said. He slipped his hand into Oscar’s over his thigh, linking their fingers and pressing. “Oscar’s sense of humor is what won me over in the first place.”
“Actually, you were the funny one before the surgery,” Oscar replied. “I thought you were attracted to my dashing looks and broody handsomeness.” He tilted his head back, flicking his hair, knowing full well he’d paint his face in white and blue and don a red ball on his nose if he could see the light sparking in Aaron’s eyes like this, if he could give him a happy moment with his mother.
“Broody, my ass,” Aaron replied. He lifted his head off Oscar’s shoulder, arching his eyebrows at him. “He’s a Golden Retriever puppy,” he said, turning to his mother.
“Oh, like Bessie. Do you remember Bessie?” Gemma replied. “Is home good?” She turned to Aaron again.
Oscar thought perhaps she had forgotten that Aaron didn’t live with his family anymore, but Aaron didn’t even miss a beat. He told her about the place he now shared with Anna and Joe, taking breaks between each sentence, waiting for her to nod, and he seemed alright as he did it, finger sliding up and down Oscar’s palm, elbow brushing against his.
Oscar sat in on their conversation, feeling very much like he should walk out to the gardens and give them some time alone, but Aaron was holding on like he was drifting on the ocean and Oscar was a float. So he would stay.
And Oscar tried not to flinch or wince or shift around awkwardly every time Gemma lost a word or two, every time her face blanked for a moment, every time she struggled. Aaron stiffened every time this happened, rushing to help her find whatever she was looking for, and Oscar wished he could erase the struggle that brewed inside him, clear as day.
“You can go now,” Gemma said suddenly, cutting into Aaron’s sentence midway.
“Mom…” Aaron’s hand twitched over Oscar’s thigh.
“Go now,” she said again.
Oscar couldn’t find the light in her eyes anymore, the tears of laughter running down her face. Her countenance had changed, and maybe he should have noticed her frustration, that her hands were fidgety. Gemma rattled a string of curses that was still mild compared to the words Oscar said, but Aaron was frozen beside him, and Gemma kept telling them to go now.
When she stood, Oscar didn’t think about anybody else’s feelings. His arm flew out in front of Aaron, blocking him, pushing him down on the bed beside him, the cookie he was eating dropping from his grip and falling to the carpeted floor of Gemma’s room, where someone else would have to vacuum it.
Aaron reached behind Oscar and pressed a button hanging from a lead on the bed.
A moment later, a flock of nurses came rushing in, cooing and holding on to Gemma, easing her into her chair, while she looked up at them with tears crowding her eyes, afraid. Aaron sat up, eyes glazed, lips wobbling, cheeks dark.
Oscar didn’t like that he was here to watch a team of people control his boyfriend’s mother, but he liked that he was here to be with Aaron while he did. He liked that he had an arm to wrap around his shoulder, to pull him in.
I love you. I’m sorry.
A nurse ushered them out to the hall, her kind young face the embodiment of pity. She looked at each of them before settling on Aaron.
“Mom is a little overwhelmed and needs her rest,” she said. “If she stays agitated, we’ll have to give her a mild sedative, but we’re going to try some routine things first.”
“A sedative?” Aaron asked, frowning.
“It’s not invasive. It’s only a pill,” the nurse explained, shaking her head and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Your mom will be just fine. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut your visit short.”
“I didn’t hug her goodbye,” Aaron murmured, and Oscar wanted to raze the building for denying him that.
“It’s alright,” the nurse replied. “She won’t be upset that you didn’t.”
She won’t want you to hug her. It was clear on the nurse’s face. But she didn’t say it, and Aaron stood there unmoving for a moment longer, then gave her a nod and tugged on Oscar’s hand, turning.
Something shattered from within the room. When Oscar turned to see, he spied one of the nurses picking up the crumpled sunflowers and asking someone to get a broom. Aaron tugged on his hand a little harder and led him away.
There were no words on the bus stop and no music on their journey. It was a quiet ride with a different driver who didn’t know them, so Aaron had to show his card up front, and then they sat together in the back and watched the care home roll away in silence, the press of Aaron’s cheek on Oscar’s shoulder. A consistency.
