Thursday, August 23
(Franco)
The tour ended last night. Followed by a celebratory late dinner and drinks to cap off the past five months. I couldn't be more proud to be a part of this band if I tried.
They kept the restaurant open an extra hour for us. And kept the pints flowing. We're all dragging ass to get to the airport this morning. Even thick, gray cloud cover is too bright for any of us. We're all wearing our sunglasses and I notice that none of us makes an effort to remove them when we walk into the terminal. It's one gigantic hangover shared by four, apparently.
I stand in line behind Gus, yawning so wide I fear my jaw may unhinge. Jamie and Robbie are in front of him, both fiddling with their phones. Too much concentration is required to tap buttons on my phone, my head thumps just thinking about it.
The only thought that keeps returning is Gemma. Flying home feels like running away from her. Abandoning her.
Decision made.
I pat Gus on the arm and then gesture with my thumb over my shoulder. "I need to go to Manchester and tell someone I love her before I go home." Three sets of ears are listening now. "Have a good flight, ladies."
Gus is grinning. "When are you coming home?"
"When I have nothing to regret."
"Good answer, shithead."
"Thanks, dick muffin."
I knuckle pound with all of them, and then remove myself from the line and go in search of the KLM customer service counter to change my flight.
Exchanging the ticket is surprisingly easy.
Waiting six hours for the flight unsurprisingly isn't. Though, by the time I board, my hangover has subsided and I feel human again.
It's edging on six o'clock when the taxi drops me off at Gemma's address. She rents a room in a small two-bedroom row house from a friend. It's right in the center of town. Brick road out front and flowers in the flower box under the front window. It's quaint and picture perfect like it's been plucked out of a movie.
I contemplate asking the taxi driver to wait for me in case she isn't home, but then I decide, Fuck it, pay him, and set off for the front door determined to sit on the stoop all night if need be.
Ringing the doorbell dials up everything, my nerves are blistering beneath my skin. The doorknob rustling nearly puts me over the top. But when the door opens, it's a fifty-year-old brunette. I met her roommate, Adelaine, once this spring when I visited. She wasn't the friendliest woman. She's the first person I've met in twenty-six years who earned the title curmudgeon. I doubt she'll remember me.
Until she cuts me off before I can make an introduction and surprises me. "Gemma's not home from work yet." Guess she remembered me.
"Do you mind if I sit here on your front step and wait for her?" I ask politely. This woman scares me a little. Gem told me Adelaine's all bark and all bite with most people, except her. And since I'm not Gem, I'm leery.
She nods unapologetically. "Yeah, I mind." She tips her head to the side to indicate I move on. "There's a park at the end of the road. Haul your arse there and park it on a bench."
Subtlety and tact isn't Adelaine's specialty. "Will do," I answer and head back down the stairs with my bag. It feels heavier on my shoulder now that I've been spurned by the curmudgeon.
An hour passes.
Then two.
The sun is setting when I see headlights at the far end of Cross Road headed this way. When they stop in front of Gem's house, I stand and start walking.
When a figure emerges from the right side of the car, I break out into a jog.
And when I'm close enough to see her strawberry blond hair illuminated by her porch light, I'm running like Usain Bolt.
Because I sound like a fucking Clydesdale running up the sidewalk, she turns at the commotion before she opens the door.
It's dark enough now that I don't think she can see it's me running at her but she stands her ground. And when I turn and start up her steps the light hits me.
And our eyes meet.
I'm pretty sure everything around us just stops...or ceases to exist.
I've come all this way on a mission. Determined. This is the part where I should have something to say. Something heartfelt. Or even something funny to open with. Just something. But seeing her has shocked my system and robbed me of words. I want to stand here for the rest of my life and look at her.
I stop one step down from her so we're almost eye to eye. "Gem," is the only thing my brilliant mind can come up with.
"Franco." She's in shock too.
"I was just passing through," I say, an attempt at casual until my brain catches up.
"Is that so?" She doesn't believe me, I can hear it in her voice.
"No, that's a lie. The tour's over and I cancelled my flight home and bought a new ticket to come here instead...because I needed to see you."
Her eyes drop from mine as if my gaze is too heavy to hold. She shakes her head and the look that settles into her features is undeniable truth. "We can't keep doing this, Franco. My heart honestly can't take it. It's in bits."
So is mine. "Gem—"
She cuts me off. "Please just let me say this before I start crying." It's too late, the tears have already hit her cheeks. "I've scheduled the hysterectomy. Maybe I had wildly unrealistic expectations, but the monthly disappointment was a foe I gravely underestimated. It's a beast that tore me to shreds and left me weaker in spirit each time. I have a new respect for women who battle infertility—they're warriors Franco, with fortitude forged out of steel. Wanting a child so badly and not being able to conceive feels like punishment. Like the universe is denying my worthiness to mother a child. It's fucking hell. Couple that with the fear that my lady parts are a grenade set to go off soon and it's too much. I can't take disappointment when it comes with fear as a conspirator."
Growing up, my mom always told us kids we could be anything we wanted to be. Do anything we wanted to do. Looking at her shattered in front of me, I know now, that's not true. I tried. She tried. We tried. I couldn't do what I wanted to do. We couldn't do what she wanted to do. "Gem—"
Steady trails of tears are carving black paths of mascara down her cheeks. "I need to finish while I can still speak," she says as she stutters in a breath. "I couldn't go through with the donor procedure a few months back. I know you've probably wondered about that."
"Why not?" I ask.
"Because it wasn't you," she whispers. "Thank you for everything you tried to do for me, Franco. I've never met someone so selfless. You're the best man I've ever known. I know I said I'd regret it if I didn't try getting pregnant, but now my biggest regret is having the best friend I've ever had and losing him."
"You didn't lose him. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." And that's where the conversation ends. My hand instinctively nestles in under her hair and wraps the back of her neck gently. Her eyes flutter at the contact as I pull her into me. This is where we belong. Us. Two humans fit together. Giving. Taking. Being.
For several minutes, we breathe each other in. Her chin is resting on my shoulder, mine on hers. Chests rising and falling in unison. I don't ever want to let her go. I can't. I won't. Everything building inside me is so fucking intense it's a vibration and I don't know how to release it. This is my moment to lay it all out. "I love you, Gem." I pull back and take her face in my hands. "I fucking love you."
She looks stunned. Not deer in the headlights stunned, but stunned like she's just been blindsided with something she thought impossible.
"Please say something, Gem. The longer my declaration goes unrequited, the more I feel like I may need to throw up in your flower box."
"You love me?" she whispers.
"So damn much," I whisper back.
She's trying to hold back a sob but the corners of her mouth are fighting to tip upward. Emotions plainly warring it out within her. She gives up on attempting a smile and drags in a ragged breath to calm herself first. Her cheeks are still cupped in my hands and I can feel her facial muscles relaxing. "I love you, too, naughty American boy. But—"
Relief floods through me. "No but's. I know we have a lot of shit to figure out, I know that. We'll take it one day at a time. I'm a patient man, honey."
"God, that you are. How can we possibly make this work?"
I only have one answer to that. "How can we not?"
She's smiling when our lips finally touch. Her smile pressed against mine? I don't think I've ever felt anything so perfect in all my entire life. The impression of her happiness on my lips is everything.
Eventually, after what feels like hours of needed and wanted and soul affirming kisses, we head inside. We walk past Adelaine sitting on the couch, who tips her head at us in a nod of approval. She's still wearing her sour expression so it's diluted slightly.
"I think she hates me," I whisper in Gemma's ear on the way up the stairs to her bedroom.
"She hates you less than most. Consider yourself flattered." Only tonight would that sentiment be comforting.
"Did you meet this one on Craigslist too?" I ask.
She tries not to laugh. "No, she's my co-workers auntie. She went through a bitter divorce and needed a roommate. She doesn't much like men."
I grimace. "I noticed."
Inside her room, she changes into her Bieber jammies. I strip down to my boxer briefs, but dig a pair of basketball shorts out of my bag and put them on over the top of them. And we turn out the light and get in her bed. It's unspoken that we're starting over from the beginning, sex is out of the question. I'll wait forever if that's what it takes.
I'm hers. To confide in. To vent to. To celebrate with. To grow with. To show her strengths. To bear her vulnerabilities. To laugh with. To cry with. To love.
And to be loved by.
I'm hers.
She snuggles into me and she feels different than past times I've held her like this. She's my other half. Like for the first time in my life, I know what being unquestionably whole feels like.
And I realize that the notion that my heart beats for me alone is a lie.
It beats for us.