The Man Who Can't Be Moved

My head is spinning.

I’d long ago lost track of how much alcohol I’d actually consumed; it seemed as if before a case of beer or a bottle of Jack Daniels were even finished that Flower was already setting more unopened booze in front of me and I hadn’t argued any time someone poured me a drink and I hadn’t thought twice about cracking open another cold one. I’m drunk; there’s no fucking doubt about it. I’ve got one hell of a buzz going on; the tip of my nose, fingers and toes are completely numb, there’s a faint, burning sensation in my right kidney -something that always pops up when I’ve had a few too many- and my brain feels as if it’s not only swimming through a pool of alcohol, but on the edge of exploding clear out of my head. I haven’t been this tanked in a long time; I normally cut myself off before things start to feel as if they’re spiralling out of control and I’m still capable of functioning normally and I can still remember my own name and address in order to find my way home. There’s no chance of that tonight; there’s no way that I’m going to be leaving Flower’s house until I’ve completely sobered up.

“C’est putain de congelation ici!” Flower exclaims as he returns from walking Tanger and Peyton to their car, his hands clasped tightly together as he blows steady streams of warm air onto his skin and the untied laces of his boots flap against the snow covered steps. He obviously hasn’t had near enough to drink if he’s still feeling the cold despite the winter jacket he tossed on before we’d left the house; I can’t feel a goddamn thing and all I have on is a pair of jeans with a handful of tatters and tears in the legs and ass, a pair of Flower’s Crocs over my socks and a thin cotton t-shirt. “Je vais geler mon couilles,” he frets, as he sidles up to where I’m standing at the a section of the wrought iron railing that lines the porch, my forearms on the metal and my chin tucked into my chest as a stiff, frigid breeze bathes my flushed face.

“You’ve already put your balls to good use,” I chide. “You’ve already knocked Vero up, non? What more do you need your balls for?”

“I ‘appen to like them just where they are,” Flower frowns. “And you ‘aven’t managed to knock up your girl. So why stand out here and risk ruining your swimmers before you get a chance to use them?”

“I won’t be needing my swimmers for a while,” I say, and close my eyes briefly when the ground below blurs and a wave of dizziness threatens to consume me. “I figure when I do need them ten or fifteen years down the road, I can just thaw my balls out.”

“It’s not going to be that long,” Flower assures me. “It’s only going to be a couple of years, right? You guys aren’t going to hold out for any longer than that. Just until things get settled. There’s nothing wrong with being a completely selfish bastard and wanting her all to yourself for a while. ‘Cause let’s face it, babies come along and sex completely disappears. You can’t have both. And besides…” he vigorously rubs his hands together and blows on them once more. “…I thought this was what you guys wanted? I thought you wanted to wait for a bit? I thought there was like this two or three year wait you both decided on and…”

“We didn’t decide on anything,” I interject. “I decided it. I decided it and told her what we were going to do. She just went along without to avoid causing problems. She wants one right now. As in yesterday. I think she feels like she’s missing out on something. Vero’s pregnant, Peyton thinks she’s pregnant, her mom’s…”

“Peyton’s mother is pregnant?” Flower’s eyes widen. “Etes-vous moquez de moi? She’s having her own baby and she might be having a grandchild, too? That is just totally messed up. Il ya quelque chose ne vas pas a ce sujet.”

“Not Peyton’s mother, vous ane stupide. Em’s mother. Her mom is pregnant.”

“Serieusement? When did you find this out? How old is she? She’s got to be close to fifty, right? Isn’t that a little old to having a baby?”

“She’s forty eight,” I tell him. “She was seventeen when she had her first kid. You know, the brother that Em and TK don’t talk about? The one that no one ever acknowledges or acts like even existed? She had him really young and then TK came about a few years later and Em came a few years after that. She was an ‘oopsie’ baby.”

Flower arches a quizzical eyebrow.

“She was an accident. Totally unplanned, totally unexpected. And trust me, her parents remind her about that every chance they get. TK told me yesterday that his mom had called to tell him about the baby and that her and their dad are just ‘tickled fucking pink’ about it. They didn’t want the last baby they had? Why would they want this one?”

“’Cause people are fucked up,” Flower reasons with a shrug. “And from everything you’ve told me about that family…”

“I haven’t told Em about it,” I admit. “I haven’t had the heart to tell her about it and TK said he’d keep his mouth shut. So if you don’t mind…”

“Mes levres sont scellees,” he promises, and then pinches his thumb and forefinger together, places them against his mouth and mimics sealing his mouth shut. “Why the secret, though? Why not tell her? She’s going to find out sooner or later. Don’t you think it’s better that…?”

“I’ll tell her when I get up the balls to do it. ‘Cause right now there’s Vero and most likely Peyton and if she finds out about her mother while she’s so hell bent on having her own baby and I’ve been busting my ass to get the idea out of her head…”

“Yeah…” Flower nods in understanding. “I can see how that might cause a big old thing. Girls always want everything other girls have. Clothes, shoes, jewellery, boyfriends. I guess babies are part of that, too. I don’t see why you’re holding out though.”

“I just got married,” I reason. “I just got to the point where I can be with one woman. I don’t see why I have to be in some big fucking hurry to have kids. It’s not like I’m ancient or something; it’s not like Em’s getting too old to have babies. Why can’t I just enjoy being alone with my wife for a bit? What is so wrong with not wanting to have kids right now?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he says. “What’s wrong is that it’s a complete crock of shit. It’s only about seventy five percent true. I know there’s more to it than you’re letting on; I know when you’re trying to hide something.”

“Em just lost a baby,” I remind him.

“She didn’t just lose a baby,” Flower argues. “She lost it almost eight months ago now. That’s three quarters of a year nearly. It’s not like it just happened. And it’s not like she was farther along and something could have been done to save it. It was a first trimester miscarriage and those are common. Especially with first pregnancies. So it’s not like…”

“A baby is a baby,” I interrupt. “She was still pregnant and she’d still wanted the baby and death is death. Let’s not get into this, okay? Let’s not get into some huge fucking discussion about when a baby becomes an actual human being and all that shit. You were lucky; Vero managed to get past all of the danger spots. Em wasn’t that lucky and it fucking destroyed her. So either stop while you’re fucking ahead or…”

“D’accord…d’accord…” Flower holds his hands up in surrender. “I was just trying to say that it’s a common thing and that it could have been a lot worse. I wasn’t trying to play it down or…”

“Em couldn’t take it if it happened again. She wouldn’t be able to handle something like that. I know everyone thinks that she’s magically all better and that she’s perfectly normal. I know it seems like she’s fine now; I know she puts up a really good front. But we’re walking on thin ice, Flower. Extremely thin ice. And it’s like I’m always waiting for it to crack; like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And if she was to get pregnant and lose it…”

“Just because she lost one doesn’t mean that…”

“You just don’t understand, okay? You just don’t know what’s going on in our lives and behind closed doors. There is more to it. A lot more. But I can’t go into right now. I can’t tell you about it because that would be betraying her and I can’t do that to her. When the time is right and we’re ready to talk about it, we will. But right now…”

“Je comprends,” Flower says. “Things are okay though, right? Between the two of you? There’s no trouble in paradise or anything like that already, is there? Vous et sa va bien?”

“We’re fine,” I assure him. “Les choses sont etonnantes. C’est juste…” I sigh heavily and drag my hands along my weary face. “Les choses sont tout complique. Et personalle. Very personal. And I can’t talk about it. I just can’t.”

“i]Pas de soucis,” Flower pats me on the shoulder and then slaps me lightly upside the head. “As long as things between you and Em are alright…”

“Em and I are fine,” I insist. “Ca ne pouvait pas faire mieux. Surtout maintenant qu’elle est la maison ou elle appartient. She’s here with me and we don’t have to hide things anymore. We never should have had to in the first place.”

“All water under the bridge,” he says. “None of that matters anymore. All that matters is you and Em. Au diable tout le monde. Fuck ‘em.”

“I just have this really bad feeling that…”

********

Before I can finish my sentence, the front door swings open and Sid and Carlisle step out hand in hand; decked out in their boots and winter jackets. I’d been worried that they’d be forced to spend the night as well; that I’d have to worry about my wife and her ex whatever the hell he is, under the same roof. I wish I could say that I trust him; I wish I was confident that he was genuine about moving on with his life.

“Quand on parle du diable,” Flower mutters under his breath, and then plasters a smile on his face and accepts a hug and a kiss on the cheek in farewell from Carlisle and a fist pound from Sid. “Are you sure that you guys are going to be okay getting home?” he inquires, as the four of us linger on the front porch. “’Cause I don’t mind calling a cab or letting you use one of my spare rooms or…”

“It’s better we just leave,” Sid says. “We wouldn’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable.”

“Too late for that,” I give a derisive snort. “You already put your foot in your fucking mouth about five times tonight.”

“No better than you putting your mouth and your dick somewhere where it didn’t belong six months ago,” Sid retorts. “That’s what started all this shit off. You not being able to keep your hands to yourself or your junk in your pants.”

“Sidney…” Carlisle gives an exasperated sigh and tightens her hold on his hand. It’s obviously a bone of contention for her; an ongoing battle to compete with Em. “Don’t start, okay? Everyone’s had too much to drink and when people are drunk they say stupid things. Don’t ‘cause problems. Just let Max do his thing and you do yours. I don’t understand why…”

“Must make you feel real good, huh?” I address Sid’s girlfriend directly. “Must make you feel really good inside to know that he’s constantly thinking about another woman. That no matter what you say or what you do, you’ll never measure up. It’s a losing battle, you know. You’ll never get the empty hand. ‘Cause he’ll always find something wrong with you. No matter how hard you try to be perfect or what you do to make him happy, it’ll never be enough.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Sid orders. “You’re fucking tanked and you’re talking out of your ass and you…”

“And you’re still in love with Emma-Leigh,” I interject. “You’re still in love with her. You still want her. Be a fucking man and admit it to my face. Admit it to your girlfriend. Don’t make the poor girl bust her ass to make something work when you’ve got absolutely no intention on seeing it through.”

“Assez,” Flower implores, and grabs me by the scruff of the neck and yanks me towards the door. “You’re plastered and you’re saying stupid ass shit. Enfoncer l’arreter des maintenant. Grow up. Both of you.”

“The sooner she realizes the truth the better off she’ll be,” I fight Flower off and shove him away from me. “The sooner she realizes that you’re never going to want her in the same way she wants you…”

“You’re a fucking asshole Max,” Sid snarls, holding his ground as I plant myself toe to toe with him, our chest solidly connecting. “A drunk fucking asshole. Or should I say, a drunk home wrecking fucking asshole.”

“What home?” I laugh in his face. “What fucking home? You couldn’t give Em a home! Mario’s fucking guest house? That’s a home?! You fucking abandoned her, Sid! When she needed you the most, you fucking shipped her back here so someone else could fix her! You sent her back to Pitt ‘cause you didn’t want to have to bust your ass to make her better! You wanted someone else to do your dirty work! You wanted this picture fucking perfect girl that would just keep her mouth shut all the time and smile for the cameras. Someone that didn’t bring you down. And you put her up on a fucking pedestal and made someone else catch her when you fucking pushed her off of it!”

“I did everything for her!” he argues. “I busted my ass to try and help her! I put up with a lot of fucking shit too, Max! You’re not the only one that had to deal with her! I was the one she relied on to make things better! Not you! You were a fucking stand in! You fucking took advantage of her! You just waited for me to screw up and then you jumped on the chance to be with her! ‘Cause you knew she never would have fallen for your shit if she hadn’t been so fucked up in the head! If she hadn’t had been so crazy…”

“She wasn’t fucked up!” I lay my hands on his shoulders and push him backwards. “She was sick you stupid little sonofabitch! She was legitimately fucking sick and she needed help! And you call her crazy one more fucking time and I will put you through a fucking wall! And then you can go and bitch and moan and whine about me to Mario. You can go and cry to him and play the victim; have me traded to Edmonton or sent to fucking Siberia. I don’t give a shit anymore! ‘Cause knocking you out would be fucking worth it!”

“Arretez maintenant!” Flower wraps an arm around my neck and yanks me away from our team captain. “Both of you just fucking stop! You’ve both had too much to drink and you both need to just go and sober up. Go home, Sid. Just go home and sleep it off. Go home and…”

“Go home and fuck your girlfriend,” I sneer. “Go home and fuck her and then try and lie to her afterwards about how you weren’t thinking about my wife the entire time.”

His right fist connects with the left side of my face; immediately bringing me to one knee and causing my nose to bloody and a searing pain to shoot across the orbital bone and down my jaw. A stunned silence falls on all of those gathered on the front porch as I slowly push myself back up onto my feet. Sid and I stare each down as Carlisle struggles to hold back horrified and frightened tears and Flower paces like an expectant father wearing out the carpet in his wife’s hospital room, his hand shoved in his hair as he shakes his head repeatedly and mumbles incoherently in French.

“I bet that makes you feel like a big man,” I snarl, and wipe my bloody nose on the front of my t-shirt. “I bet it makes you feel like less of a pussy, huh? Can’t handle the truth so you pull some stupid ass shit like that.”

Sid gives a disgusted snort and turns his back on me. “Let’s go,” he orders Carlisle, and nearly yanks her clear off her feet and down the steps. “He’s just a drunk, pathetic piece of shit. Ignore him and let him be happy with his psycho wife and his…”

“Max…” Flower warns, and attempts to grab a hold of my arm in order to prevent me from going after our team captain. He’s too late; I feel the tips of his fingers graze against my bare skin as I take the steps two at a time and cross the distance between Sid and I in three strides and snagging the back of his jacket, throw him down face first into the snow.

“You don’t ever fucking talk about her like that!” I bellow, and flipping him over onto his back, place a knee on either side of his torso and grab a hold of the front of his coat. “You don’t talk like that about my wife! I will fucking bury you! Understand me! You talk about her like that and I will bury you!”

“Stop it!” Carlisle shrieks. “Just stop it! Both of you! Why are you…”

“Max!” Em’s voice snaps me out of the blind, pure rage that had consumed me and she grabs a hold of my the back of my shirt and catching me completely off guard, manages to yank me clear off of Sid and lets me drop onto my ass in the middle of the snow covered front yard. “What in the hell is wrong with you?” she fumes. “With both of you? This isn’t fucking high school! This isn’t some goddamn parking lot or cafeteria or football field brawl! What is wrong with you guys?!”

“Blame your fucking husband!” Sid snarls, as he scampers to his feet and dusts snow off of his clothes. “Blame him and his big, fat, drunk fucking mouth!”

“You’re both insane!” she retorts. “You’re both drunk and you’re both acting stupid! Go home, Sidney! Just go home! Why do you do this? Why do you make things worse? Why can’t you just keep your mouth shut and…?”

“He’s still in love with you,” I interrupt, as I struggle to my feet and use my forearm to clear the remaining blood off of my face. “He’s still in love with you and he can’t handle the fact that I’m with you and he’s not. He can’t…”

“Just stop!” Em pleads. “Would you please just stop? Enough with the jealously, enough with the conspiracy theories, enough with who has the bigger dick. Just…”

“He already knows who won that one,” I smirk.

“Enough!” Em snaps, and curling her arm around my waist, pulls me in the direction of the house. “Just shut the fuck up! You’re drunk and you’re being obnoxious and you need to just be quiet and come inside and…”

“You’re defending him?” I attempt to wriggle out of her grasp. “You’re actually defending him?”

“You’re both being stupid!” my wife says. “This is ridiculous! Don’t you realize how stupid this all looks? How you both sound? No one is still in love with anyone! No one still wants to be with me! You need to just stop! You need to just stop with this insane jealously! ‘Cause even if it is true, even if he is still in love with me, I’m with you! I chose you! You’re my husband and I love you! I want to spend the rest of my life with you! Not with him! So please…” she grabs a hold of the front of my t-shirt. “…please just stop. If you love me and you respect me, you’ll let this go. You’ll keep quiet and you’ll come inside. Let it go, Maxime. Please. You need to let it go.”

I sigh heavily and nod in both understanding and agreement and then allow myself to be pulled in the direction of the house.

“This has to stop,” Em order. “This whole thing between you and Sid. It has to end. Because if it doesn’t…” she sighs and shakes her head in dismay. “…it just has to stop. If you don’t want to lose me…lose us…you’ll find a way to end this.”

“I don’t want to lose you Em,” I say. “Especially to him. ‘Cause if I lost you to him…”

“Max…listen to me…” she pauses on the top step and then turns to face me and cradles my face in her hands. “I love you. I thought I proved that to you five months ago. I made the decision to be with you. I chose to be with you and marry you. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that enough to make you realize that I don’t want anyone else but you?”

“Sometimes,” I admit. “Sometimes it’s enough. Other times I just need you to…”

She silences me with a kiss and then presses her lips to my forehead. “You and only you,” she promises, and then takes my hand, turns her back on me and leads the way inside.