Sweet Spot Ch. 06

"You can't cast him out, Dad!" George argued.

"Yes, I can. As he said, he's thirty-two. He makes his own choices, as we all do."

"It's not something I can give up on, Dad," Paul said, though he was looking at Kate, hoping she'd understand. "It's who I am. If you expect me to change before you let me into your house again, it'll never happen. Never."

"Then that's the way it will be," Milt said firmly.

"You'd do that to Mom?" Mary asked harshly, and at first Paul thought the question was directed at Milt. "You can't even fucking pretend for Mom's sake? Honest little Paul, always telling the truth, no matter how much it hurts others. You selfish asshole!"

"Why does the fact that I'm gay hurt anybody? Why does it make any difference to you?"

"It doesn't! Which is why there was no point to your grand announcement. You just wanted to get a rise out of Dad."

"I met Paul's Andy," George suddenly said, and Paul's eyes teared up at the description, and he blinked, trying not to let it show. "Not for very long, but he seems like a nice guy. He's tall, like Dennis, and really blond, and he obviously loves Paul."

"Who cares?" Mary asked again.

"You should. The same way that we all cared that Dennis is a good man and somebody, who would stand by you."

"But it's different."

"No, it's not. I thought it was, too, but Paul made me realize it's not. When I wanted to marry Xenia, I wanted this family to accept her. It was important to me that my family love her as much as I do, but I was prepared to turn my back on every one of you if you didn't." George shrugged. "We share every good piece of news in this family. Mary, you called both Xenia and Claudia at 3:30 in the morning, because that's when you decided to take a pregnancy test and found out you were pregnant with Katie, and couldn't even wait until a decent hour to call. Yet you expect Paul to keep everything in his life, every happiness,, a deep, dark secret?"

"Just from Dad," Mary said defiantly.

"That's bullshit," Milt burst out. "I cannot condone it. I won't."

"Milt," Kate whispered, but Milt shook his head vehemently.

"No, Kate. You know I support and help all my children, but this is wrong. If Paul realizes his mistake, and wants to get well but can't do it alone, I'll do everything in my power to help him. I'll find him the best counsel, the wisest priest. But I can do nothing while he obstinately refuses to even consider that what he is doing is sick."

"I can't change what I am, Dad," Paul made one more effort. "I can't."

"Perhaps not. But we are men, not animals, Paul. That means we don't succumb to all our instincts. We have the mind and willpower to choose how we act. By your actions shall ye be known."

"Well, then." Paul stood up, feeling a little at a loss, now that the moment he'd dreaded for so long was finally upon him. "I guess that's it."

"I guess that's it," Milt agreed heavily.

"Come on, Paul. You're coming home with me." George slung his arm protectively around Paul's shoulders, then turned back to Milt. "You're wrong. You're wrong and you're cruel."

"I don't mean to be cruel," Milt said, but he didn't apologize.

"Uh, bye, Mom." Paul wasn't sure if he should say something about seeing her later. "I'm sorry," he said finally.

Kate came over and hugged him, but neither said nor did anything to keep him there. Not that Paul had expected it. His mother might not have always agreed with his father, she might have sometimes done things behind Milt's back, but she had never, as far as Paul knew, openly defied him. In the Pappas home, Milt's word was law.

He waited numbly by George's car as George transferred his daughter's booster seat back from Milt's car, and Xenia took the other children back inside, then got in next to Kathy and laid his head back on the headrest, so that he was looking up at the gray sky through the back window. He knew Xenia was probably dying to know the details of what had transpired while she was outside with the kids, but she didn't ask and he was too exhausted to volunteer even the bare bones. She'd probably hear it all soon enough from George, anyway.

When they reached George's house, Paul dropped his suitcase in the guest room and then went out to the back porch and sat on the steps. The air had a chilly nip that he'd almost forgotten existed after the spring and summer months in Greece, and he could smell smoke from a grill or fireplace somewhere nearby.

"You okay, Paulie?" he heard George's voice behind him.

"Yeah. I was thinking I'd call Andy, tell him we got here safely, but it's two in the morning there. I should probably wait until tomorrow."

George came to sit next to him. "You really think he's asleep?"

"I don't know," Paul said listlessly. "Even if he's not, I don't know if I want to go over what happened with Dad and Mom."

George gave him a brief, one-armed hug, then stood up again. "Call him, Paul. Whatever the reason you're hesitating for, it's bullshit. Take it from me, your long-married brother. He won't mind, even you wake him. He'll mind a lot more if you don't."

Paul waited until he heard the door click closed behind him, then dialed Andy's number on his phone. His first two attempts didn't go through. He'd dial one more time, and if he failed again, it was some sort of sign, he thought, wrapping one arm tightly around his raised knees and leaning his forehead on them.

"Hey, you!" Andy's voice sounded wide awake and happy.

"Hey, you," Paul choked out around a sudden lump in his throat, and then, just like that, he was crying. He tried to stop, but he couldn't. "I'll . . . I'll call you back," he said tightly.

"No! Just stay on. It's okay, honey eyes. I love you. It's okay."

Andy went on murmuring nonsense in Paul's ear, and finally Paul cried himself out.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break down on you," he said.

"That's okay. It was your dime, anyway," Andy said, and Paul could picture his quick smile. "Things didn't go well, huh?"

"About how I expected them to. Except that apparently my Dad already had a pretty poor opinion of me, even before." His voice was starting to thicken again, and he had to stop and breathe. "He basically said I quit at everything I ever did. I mean, I always tried so hard, Andy, and I thought he at least respected me for that, but he just laid into me and . . ." He stopped again, because that's what hurt the most, that unexpected attack.

"Ah, Paul. Parents will stay stupid things they don't even believe, if they think it'll help get a point across. We all do. It doesn't mean he meant it."

Paul pressed his forehead harder onto his knees and squeezed the phone to his ear, as if that would somehow bring Andy closer.

"Where are you now?" Andy asked.

"George's house. George was really great. He stood up for me. I'd expected John to be more understanding, because he's less conservative, and he was, I think, but George fought for me. He told my Dad he was cruel." He paused for a minute, then continued. "He called you 'Paul's Andy'."

Andy made a soft, surprised sound. "Did he? He's smarter than I thought, then."

"Yeah."

"Honey eyes, come on home. Unless you think there's any chance of anybody changing their mind, in which case stay as long as you need to, I want you to come back here."

"Nobody's gonna change their mind. I guess I knew what would happen all along. It's just that as long as I stalled, it wouldn't be real."

"Then come home tonight. Tomorrow. On the first flight that'll get you here."

"I'm not sure I can change the ticket around again."

"Forget the damn ticket. Buy a new one if you have to. I'll cover it. Consider it a loan or an early birthday gift or whatever the hell your pride can live with, but let me do this for you."

Paul took a deep breath and surrendered. "Okay. I'll e-mail you the details, the moment I have them."

"Good. That's good, honey eyes. I'll be waiting for them," Andy said gruffly.

---o-O-o---

Andy crushed Paul to him and he didn't care who was watching or what they'd think of it. Paul clung back, his uneven breath loud in Andy's ear.

"Hey, you!" Paul eventually whispered, and Andy squeezed harder for a few seconds, before finally stepping back.

"Hey, you. What took you so long? And where's your suitcase?"

"That's what took me so long. Nobody knows. I had to wait in line and declare the loss. They'll send it on home, if they find it."

"Anything important in it?"

"Well. A few pairs of that underwear you like so much," Paul replied and Andy laughed.

Paul didn't say much in the car. He let Andy hold his hand whenever he wasn't changing gears, and he smiled at Andy's jokes, but he seemed sad, which Andy supposed was natural enough. They'd work through it.

Once they reached home, Paul went to take a shower and change, while Andy fixed him an omelet and opened a couple of beers.

"Oooh, fancy!" Paul teased, when he came to sit down at the kitchen table. "I should go away more often. Usually you just slap some scrambled eggs in front of me."

"Well, they start out life as omelets, too, so shut up. But yesterday I saw Ramsay do this thing, where he actually folded the omelet, rather than flip it, which really works a lot better for me, as you can tell. And you say I learn nothing from watching cooking shows."

Paul stared at him. "You didn't know you could fold an omelet?"

"How would I? It's not like I stand around, watching people cook. I'm a busy businessman, you know."

"You wanna hear something?" Paul asked after he'd finished his food and pushed the plate aside.

Andy nodded.

"My mom had prepared this feast for me. All my favorite foods, meatless moussaka, kolokythokeftedes, tyropittakia. And I sat down with my family to eat and I thought that even if things went well, I wouldn't be around to see them very often anymore. It was my home, you know, just like this is yours, and it was hard to think of leaving."

Andy waited on tenterhooks, while Paul took a sip of his beer. "I want this to be your home," he finally burst out, because Paul was taking his own sweet time. "Here, with me."

Paul smiled. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. It was hard, but leaving you would be a lot harder. Even if my Dad had accepted me, I'd have come back. I know you don't think so, but I would have."

Andy stared raptly into Paul's eyes and wondered how he'd ever doubted him. "I know," he said finally. "I believe you."

Paul stood up and came over to sit astride Andy's lap. "On the plane, I kept on thinking that I'd tell you the moment I saw you. Then in the car I thought I'd tell you when we got in the house, then when I came out of the shower, but it's scary, you know? And I wanted to wait for the perfect moment, but now I just need to tell you, even if it's not so perfect."

Andy cradled Paul's lean hips in his hands. "Tell me what?"

Paul leaned down and kissed him. "I love you, Andy," he said, and even though Andy already knew it, he felt a burst of happiness, as if he were finding it out for the first time. He assumed he'd most probably always feel the same way, every time Paul told him, no matter how many times he did so.

"I love you, too, honey eyes," he said, and from the smile in those eyes, he thought maybe Paul felt exactly the same way about hearing the words, and he swore he'd say them as frequently as he could for the rest of his life.