22.
Where Tyson Makes a Phone Call
HE ANSWERS on the first ring, like he’s been waiting for my call, even though it’s only five in the morning on a Sunday. “Tyson?” His voice is clogged with sleep.
“Hi,” I say, keeping my voice low. I’m in the bathroom off the bedroom, the door shut. Dom was still asleep when I grabbed my phone. I’m on the floor against the door. I almost climbed into the bathtub, but I don’t need it. I don’t. I don’t.
“Everything okay?” He sounds more alert.
“Can we… can we just talk? For a minute?”
“Sure, Kid. About anything in particular?”
“I don’t know.”
But Bear understands. He always does. “I almost burned down the house last night,” he says. “I tried making popcorn and accidentally put it the microwave for thirty minutes. You would have hated it anyway. It was bacon flavored. And, actually, it tasted like ass. Like bacon-flavored ass corn. Oh, and Otter misses you. I caught him staring forlornly into your room.”
I laugh. It feels good. “It’s only been four days.”
“Yeah, but it’s the longest you’ve been away. He also wants to get a dog. I told him just as long as he picks up the shit, I have no problem. Why the hell not.”
“Big dog?”
“Of course! You’re not going to see me with a little wussy dog that barks like a squeak toy. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Dog and kids, huh? Domestic bliss.”
“Seriously,” he says. “We’ll just have to fuck with that bliss by staying in the Green Monstrosity. No house in the burbs for us, that’s for damn sure. How’s Tucson?”
“Hot,” I say. “No trees. It’s bigger than I thought too.”
I hear him cover the phone, and murmured voices go back and forth. He comes back on. “Otter says hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” I say back, knowing he’s listening in. I hear Otter chuckle. That’s enough, knowing they’re both there. I can do it now. I think. “Bear?”
“Yeah, Kid?”
“Things… have changed.” I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Oh?” I hear him say carefully. “How’s that?”
“Dom… he… I think….” I stop. “No. That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m not coming home. At least not right away. Maybe a few more days.”
“Staying down in Tucson?” He knows better, but he’s giving me the chance.
“No.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to bring Dom back. And then I’m going… I’m going to Idaho.”
“Idaho,” he says flatly. “I hear it’s nice this time of year.”
“I have to go.”
“Do you?”
“I think so.”
“But you don’t know for sure.”
“No. I know. I have to.”
“There’s nothing for you there.” I know he’s trying to keep calm, keep his voice in check, but I hear the strain behind it.
“Probably. But I have to find out.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t ever wonder in the future what could have been.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“It’s for me. But it’s also for him.”
“Him? Who? You mean….” He sighs. “Him, huh? I wondered. If. When.”
“Yeah. But not like you think. It’s… I don’t know.” Understatement, that. One thing at a time, though.
“Come home,” he pleads. “Drop him off and pick me up. I’ll go with you. This isn’t something you have to do alone. We’ll do it together, like we always do. I’m begging you.”
“No,” I say. “I’m going to do it by myself, and then I’ll come home and we can laugh and we can talk and we can decide what to do with the future. And it will be good because everything bad will be behind us. Finally.”
“Can’t talk you out of this?” he asks. His voice is thick.
“No, Papa Bear. Not this time.”
“You little shit.”
“Yeah.”
“I love you, you know,” my brother says. “With everything I have. With everything I am.”
I almost break. “You too,” I manage to say. With everything I have. With everything I am.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
The phone is shuffled. “Ty,” Otter says. “We’ll be here. When it’s done. You call us so we know when you get there. You call us so we know it’s over. You call us, and I swear to you, if you need us, we’ll come running and we’ll take you home and remind you what real family is. Do you understand me?”
“Yeah, Otter. I understand.”
“And I love you too,” he says. “And we’re so very, very proud of the man you’ve become.”
“Back at you, big guy.” This man. My almost-father.
I hang up the phone, and for the first time in a very long time, I allow myself to cry.
THERE’S STILL an hour until we’re supposed to leave. Maybe I can get a bit of sleep.
I slide into the bed, careful not to wake Dom. But as soon as I lay my head on the pillow, a big arm wraps around my waist and pulls me across the bed. My back rests against his warm body, and he holds me tight. His breath is on my hair, and I never knew it could be like this.
“Not alone,” he rumbles at me.
“I know,” I tell him. “You’re here.” For how long, I don’t know. But I’ll take it while it lasts. I raise his hand and kiss his palm. Just once. I set it back down against me.
“No,” he says. “You’re not going alone. To Idaho. I’m going with you, and that’s final.”
“How did you…?”
“Light sleeper. Thin walls.” He presses his face into my hair and breathes deep. He scrapes his lips against my neck. Just once. I shiver. “If you’re doing this for me, then I’m doing it for you. It’s time you realize that.”
“Dom. I….” I don’t know what I’m trying to say. So many things still need to be said, and I can’t decide which is the most important.
“Later,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out later. Now get some sleep. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
Friends until we’re old and gray. Beginning to end, day after day. It’s this thought I have as sleep chases me.
And for the very first time, I fall asleep in his arms. It feels like coming home.