Bring It On Home To Me

There were no words to describe just now elated I was when the captain made the announcement that we were landing in the Dane County Regional Airport at exactly 11:57pm on Friday, July 15th. I was finally home. Home to be with my family, my friends, my dog, my house, my car. I was practically bursting at the seams by the time they unlatched the door to let us all out.

“MOMMY!” I shouted across the airport minutes later, when I’d finally managed to spot my family, waiting with Deveraux’s mother and brother, and Jocelyn’s oldest sister. I charged across the floor, throwing myself into my mother’s open arms and hugging her tightly while my dad and brother piled on in a group hug. Seconds later, my mother broke away to loop Kal into the massive show of love and kissed her cheek.

“Oh,” she breathed, a single tear tracing down her cheek, “It’s so good to have my girls home! I missed you both.” My parents had basically adopted Kal after graduation, when her parents pointed a finger of blame at me for their daughter not going to college, and besides Pete, I think they were the closest she had to real parents now.

I couldn’t help myself; I was practically sobbing against her shoulder, so overwhelmed with the joy of being home that I couldn’t contain myself. My only saving grace was the fact that Kal, Deveraux, and even tough Jocelyn were all the same blubbering messes. I’d never realized how hard it had been on them as well, being so far from home for so long, though I should have expected it. Between Deveraux’s responsibility to his mother and brother, Jocelyn’s closeness with her entire extended family, and Kal’s acceptance among the Vaders, they all had as much to miss as I did.

“Shh, shh, baby,” Mom murmured to me as Tomas and Dad gathered the bags and the five of us started for the minivan outside. She slid into the backseat with me, letting me lean my head against her shoulder, while Kal and Tomas took the middle row, my best friend in basically the same condition as me. “Andrew,” Mom called to Dad over the seats, and he glanced at her in the rearview mirror to show he was listening, “I think we should take these kids for some ice cream?”

After a moment, he nodded and flipped on his blinker, “I think you’re right, sweetheart.” He made a couple of turns and before we knew it, Kal and I were both tearless and humming, licking chocolate soft-serve out of cake cones. “Kalila,” my mother told my best friend with a kind smile, “We made up the guest room for you.”

“Mrs. Vader, you didn’t have to do that,” Kal looked out the window as we turned onto my parents’ street. “I can just stay at our house.”

Mom waved her hand like this was a ridiculous notion. “I’m not sending you to an empty house after being gone for two months. Annette is staying with us tonight, and so are you; that’s final.” She gave a firm nod before dragging her finger through the ice cream in my cone and then sticking the finger in her mouth with a childlike smile. God, I had missed my family so much.

Tomas turned around on the middle bench, staring at me with wide eyes, “So what are your plans for tomorrow, big sis?”

“Um,” I thought, “Sleep? And then going to the last night of your musical.”

He smiled, ecstatic, “Oh, you’re going to love it! We are all so on together, you know? We play off of each other so well; it’s like the nervous system; we all have to work perfectly in sync. If one synapse doesn’t fire right, we all go to shit.”

“Tomas,” Dad barked from the driver’s seat.

My brother blushed, “Sorry, Dad. Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “Nettie, do you think you could cut your sleep short and go for breakfast with me and a friend of mine tomorrow morning? I have so much to catch up on with you.”

Beside me, I thought I felt my mother stiffen ever so slightly, but as soon as I opened my mouth to comment on it, she relaxed and I disregarded it. “Sure,” I told my brother, taking another long lick of the ice cream, “Breakfast is doable. But can we do it at ten or something? I don’t want to get up at the ass-crack of dawn.”

Tomas was silent for a beat, then spun around in his seat to look at our father. “Dad, how come Annette doesn’t get nailed for her language?”

“Son,” he said patiently, keeping his eyes on the road, “Your sister is almost twenty-one, and she just got home from being on tour with almost forty young men; she has a grace period on language.”

“Double standards!” Tomas threw his hands in the air and tossed his head back dramatically, “I will not stand for this injustice!”

Dad pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, sighing. “Tomas, when you go off to college in September, you can be as foul-mouthed and misbehaving as you want, as long as it doesn’t get you in trouble. But while you live in our house,” he popped open his door and smirked over his shoulder, “Well, if I wanted to put up with that shit, I’d watch MTV.” Tomas laughed at this, following Kal out of the van. We grabbed our duffel bags, which constantly carried our toiletries and comfy clothes, and headed for the house with our frozen treats still tight in our grasps.

Half an hour later, with Tomas and Dad both asleep (Dad had to meet a public defender the next morning and Tomas was worn out from the musical), and Kal in the guest room, talking to Jack and letting him know she’d landed safely, Mom and I sat propped up side by side in my old bed, both in pajamas, with mugs of hot cocoa. “Mommy,” I mumbled, “I know I’m having breakfast with Tomas, but will you make me a big chocolate chip waffle tomorrow morning, like you used to? With whipped cream and sprinkles and banana slices?”

She raised an eyebrow and smiled, “I haven’t made that for you since your first day of high school; you said you were too old for it.”

“I was young and stupid,” I yawned, then took a long gulp of cocoa. “I underestimated the power of chocolate-chip-whipped-cream-sprinkles-and-banana-slices waffles.” My eyes were heavy, my brain shutting down, but I was desperate to stay awake and soak up as much time with my mother as possible.

“You’re talking in circles, sweetie,” she laughed, smoothing a hand over my hair, which made my eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Why don’t you go to sleep; we’ll talk over waffles in the morning.”

I frowned, inching closer to her. “I don’t want you to go away, Mommy,” I whined, aware of how young and pathetic I sounded, but I didn’t care. Adopted or not, I had always been and would always be a mama’s girl to Murphy Callum-Vader.

She put down her mug and draped an arm around my shoulders, holding me close and sinking us both down a little. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep, Belly,” she assured me, using the pet name she’d had for me when I was a chubby toddler. And with that, I leaned my head onto her shoulder and fell asleep almost immediately, listening to the sound of her gentle humming.

It was really, really good to be home.

-- -- --

“You’re eating?!” Tomas demanded incredulously the next morning from the kitchen archway.

I stopped mid-chew and widened my eyes innocently, using my arms to shield the half-eaten waffle from view. “No?” But the truth was, I’d been up for an hour--since eight-thirty--talking to my mother and filling her in on the basic overview of tour and my new (dare I say it?) boyfriend. She was excited to meet him, and all of my “wonderful friends” who I’d mentioned might be flying in for my birthday next month.

Tomas glared, “You’re such a liar! Go get dressed; we’re meeting my friend in half an hour.” Mom cleared her throat abruptly, but smiled easily when we both looked at her, and she gave my brother a patient, loving look.

“Uh,” I scratched my head, “Something I should know?”

Mom shook her head, still smiling as genuinely as ever. “All in good time, sweetie. Go get ready for breakfast with your brother, okay? I’ll stick your waffle in the refrigerator so you can heat it up later; are we still going shopping today?” I nodded, standing from the table. We’d made plans for a little welcome-home retail therapy later, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

I scurried upstairs, pulling a pair of jeans and my least wrinkled t-shirt from my duffel and throwing my hair into a ponytail before popping into the guest room, where Kal was still fast asleep, to borrow a pair of tan and blue flats. I was back downstairs in ten minutes and Tomas ushered me out the door in a hurry, borrowing Mom's van to drive us to Nina’s.

“Tom-Tom, what’s the hurry?” I questioned when he took me by the arm and dragged me inside. He seemed so anxious.

He continued to drag me to a corner booth where a sandy-haired young man was waiting with a big, nervous smile on his face. “Nettie,” Tomas said when the young man stood to shake my hand, “This is Oliver Castle.” That name sounded familiar. Tomas coughed and straightened his back, “My boyfriend.”

I was so busy trying to remember how I knew that name that I didn’t react to the last statement. “Oh! You’re in the show with Tomas; you play Ro--wait, he’s your who?”

“My, um,” Tomas bit his lip and moved to stand beside this new stranger, Oliver, reaching down to take his hand in his. It looked so smooth, not awkward, not kidding. “My boyfriend. Nettie,” he took in a deep breath and tried his best to smile, “I’m gay.”

I glanced between him and Oliver, then down at their joined hands, then back at their faces. After a few moments of silence and me wondering what the appropriate reaction was, I finally sighed and threw up my hands in defeat. “Jesus, man, I haven’t even ordered my fucking orange juice yet.”

To this, Oliver snorted and ducked his head, biting his lip to keep from laughing. When both my brother and I shot our gazes toward him, he held up a hand and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he laughed, covering his mouth with his hand, “It’s just…” he glanced at my brother, “She’s exactly like you said, babe.” Babe? It was weird to hear anyone--let alone a guy--call my brother babe.

Tomas frowned and rolled his eyes, then looked back at me, his expression practically begging, pleading for my acceptance. Of course I was accepting, but the words wouldn’t form themselves over the shock that was still running through me. I was going over every memory, searching for clues in time, wondering how such a huge detail could have been missing from my brother’s life for eighteen whole years. He’d been on dates. Many dates, in fact; Tomas was highly sought after in high school. He’d never maintained an actual relationship with any of the girls because, as he told us, he didn’t want to get distracted from his commitment to the theatre. Sammie had made an observation about his sexuality once, when I was taking my year off, but it had been brushed off and never spoken of again.

Until now.

Oliver glanced back and forth between us and, sensing the awkward tension that hung in the air, gestured to the booth. “Why don’t we sit? We’ll order something and just…talk.” I nodded numbly, still processing, and slid into one side of the booth while my brother and his…boyfriend…slid into the other, still holding hands tightly. “So,” Oliver smiled, and I took note of how kind and sincere it was, and how his hazel eyes twinkled happily, “Tomas has been so excited for you to come home; how was touring like a real life rock star?”

I cracked a tiny smile; I wasn’t going to be rude to the guy just because I was in unfamiliar territory. “Well, I wouldn’t say it was really rock star-esque,” I shrugged, “But it was pretty amazing. I met a lot of great fans, made a bunch of friends, and got to live the dream every day for two months. I loved it, but it’s also really good to be home.” He nodded, his blonde fringe flopping against his tan skin; he looked like a surfer boy.

“That’s so cool,” he laughed after we all placed our orders, “I mean, I’ve always talked about touring with some traveling theatre group, but that’s just talk. You actually do it; most people will never get that far.”

“Mm,” I nodded and took a sip of the juice Alyssa--the waitress and my past coworker--brought to me. “Well, tell me about you, Oliver,” I tried to give him a warm and genuine smile, but I’m sure it shook at the corners, “What’s your story?” Yes, what was the story of this complete stranger I’d only heard mentioned in regards to the Beloit rendition of Rent. This stranger who’d somehow, in two short months, managed to capture my baby brother’s attention so completely that he was now openly gay and having casual brunches with his boyfriend.

God, even in my head, it sounded homophobic. But in all fairness, I would have had the same general reaction if he’d introduced me to a sudden girlfriend.

Oliver tipped his head back and forth, as if thinking of ways to word his thrilling life story. “Let‘s see,” he started slowly, a slight lisp to his voice that I figured probably came from the years of braces it took to get those perfect piano-key teeth. “I was born and raised in Chicago--seriously just three streets away from where Joe Trohman used to live, if you can believe it--and it was really busy and smoggy and loud. Finally, my parents got tired of it and relocated us to Beloit when I was sixteen.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Four years.” He smiled, like he knew exactly what I was thinking; he was two years older than my brother. But he said nothing about this, instead continuing his story. “I graduated from the Roy Chapman Andrews Academy in 2009, and enrolled at Beloit College to major in theatre. In mid-May, I auditioned for Rent, got the part, and met Tomas the very first day.” He smiled at my brother, “We started hanging out as friends, then after about three weeks, something clicked and everything just fell into place.”

I studied the smile on my brother’s face at this recap, and then I finally found my voice. “So you two have been together for almost a month, and you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

Tomas’s smile fell away almost instantly as he looked back at me, “It’s not exactly something you tell over the phone, Nettie.”

“You could have at least told me you were seeing someone.”

“You would have just nagged me for details until it eventually slipped anyway.”

I prickled, “I would not!”

He rolled his eyes, “Of course you would. That’s what you do. You nag-nag-nag until you get everything you want.” He ran a hand through his hair, “Jesus, I can’t believe you’re being so judgmental about this.”

“J-judgmental?” I breathed incredulously, “Seriously? You think that I care you’re dating a dude?”

“Of course you do!” He was practically shouting now, and I could tell he’d been steeling himself up for this for a while; it really made me wonder how the conversation with our parents had gone. “You’ve been talking about the same things for my entire life: How you couldn’t wait until I got married to some model-gorgeous woman and gave you little nieces and nephews and how you wanted to girl-talk with my wife. You’ve always counted on me being straight! It fit right into your idealistic future plans.”

“That doesn’t mean I have a problem with you being gay,” I snapped back, desperately trying to get my meaning across. “Plans can change, Tomas. Wife or husband. Blood kids, adopted kids, or no kids at all. Girl-talk or boy-girl-talk. I could really give a shit less, as long as you’re happy. I’m just--” I groaned, burying my hands in my hair and wishing I was still at home with my mom, eating waffles and planning a shopping trip.

Oliver glanced up, biting his lip as my brother and I glared at each other across the table, breathing heavily, collecting our second winds. “You just,” the young man filled in quietly, testing his boundaries, “Wish he would have said something. It’s not about orientation; it’s about trust.”

I stared at him for a moment before nodding, “Yeah. Yeah, it is about trust.” I turned back to my brother, “You didn’t tell me because you were afraid I wouldn’t be accepting; it had nothing to do with timing.”

“Gee, how dumb of me,” he shot back sardonically, “Because you’re obviously so accepting of it; I had nothing to worry about.”

“I am accepting!” I shouted, then quieted myself when eyes began to turn our way. “Sweetheart, you could marry a goat and you’d still be my best friend in the world; the person I love the most, out of anyone. Nothing could ever change that.” Tomas’s face softened suddenly, and I cleared my throat and looked down at the table. “I just wish you would have confided in me when you first realized you were gay,“ I mumbled, playing with my drink straw, “It’s like you kept part of yourself from me.”

He inhaled deeply and looked away, rubbing a hand across his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and patient. “I realized it last February, when I was sixteen.” He coughed and looked to Oliver for support, and the young man gave him an encouraging smile and nodded wordlessly. Tomas continued, “I was watching some stupid movie--I can’t even remember which one--and I noticed that I was paying more attention to the guys than the half-naked women, and boom, I knew I was gay.

“But I didn’t say anything,” he shrugged, “Because that was your time. You’d met Kal and Jocelyn and Deveraux and you were really into the band and trying to make that happen. I didn’t want to distract you, so I decided to just keep it to myself until the time was right.” He smiled then, eyes on his boyfriend, “But when I met Oliver, plans changed. I couldn’t lie about him, and I couldn’t not be with him, so…” He shrugged again, “I came out.”

My throat was dry, somehow; rough and wordless. I took a long gulp of orange juice and licked the remnants from my lips. “And you’re happy?” Was all I could ask.

“I’m happy,” he confirmed firmly, and Oliver nodded like an over-enthusiastic child.

“Well,” I said slowly, trying to find something witty and light to say to break the tension. Finally, I settled on, “So does this mean someone in our family finally understands Lady Gaga?”

-- -- --

The rest of breakfast was still slightly awkward, though it ended on a note that said things would be okay between Tomas and I. Besides that, I actually really liked Oliver. He was very intelligent, and very up-to-date on pop culture. He was also absolutely hilarious, and had me in stitches despite my resolve to paint the intimidating-big-sister-with-a-shotgun image. And somehow, amidst all of the talking and laughing and getting acquainted, I’d agreed to the cast and crew of Rent having an after party at my house that night. Damn.

After we left Nina’s, the boys loaded themselves into Oliver’s Wrangler to head out to Beloit for pre-show rehearsal, leaving me to drive Mom’s van back. She and Kal met me in the driveway, ready for the shopping trip. We spent three solid hours at the Grey Valley mall, spending a chunk of the payment we’d received for the tour (I won’t tell how much, but let’s just say that Deveraux almost fainted when he opened his check) on new clothes, shoes, and accessories. Mom clucked and fretted over my healing back wound--so much so that I skipped over the details of it’s happening--and made a note to “give Jocelyn a talking-to” when she squinted and discovered what was left of the yellowing slit on my jaw.

Then, after reuniting with Dad, Jocelyn, and Deveraux at the house, we got dressed in our best clothes and piled into the van to catch the last night--what was called the Formal Night--of the Beloit theatre production of Rent. On the ride up, I told my bandmates what had been revealed during breakfast, and discussed it with my parents, curious about their own reactions. Apparently, Dad had locked himself in his study with a grand larceny case for three days while Mom overcompensated with acceptance by asking Tomas a million questions about PFLAG marches and GLBT groups. By the end of the week, however, the three of them had sat down for a heart to heart and everything was right within our family once more.

Which didn’t stop my father from pulling over and throwing the van ashtray with remarkable precision at Deveraux’s head when he started chanting, “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it” in a sing-song voice.

“We get VIP seats?” I murmured twenty minutes later, when a particularly excited usher showed us to a balcony box that hung over the side of the stage. “Wow, knowing the star of the show comes in handy.”

Dad scoffed and my friends laughed as I looked around, confused. “Sweetheart,” Kal laid a hand on my arm, “You’re the lead singer of a best-selling break-out band; you’re a star.”

I wrinkled my nose and waved my hand, “Oh, please, I just jump around on a stage and sing. Tomas had to memorize songs, dances, marks and lines. And he has to put on costumes and makeup and perform to a completely quiet room with all of the weight resting on his shoulders.” I looked down at the stage, “He’s my hero.”

Kal snorted, “You’re such a sap.” Then she dropped down into her seat, followed soon by Jocelyn and Deveraux, who seemed to echo her sentiment about my “sappiness.” I crossed my arms and pouted at them, because I hadn’t been kidding.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Mom said, hugging me from behind and resting her chin on my shoulder, looking down at the dimming lights, “He’s my hero too. Both of my children are.” I smiled and turned to hug her back, then sat down between her and my father, staring out as the lights went out completely and the curtain began to part. The stage lit up, depicting a street on one side, and an apartment complex on the other--meant to be four stories high--with a wide platform, arranged with furniture.

One character stood onstage. His hair was sticking up and he wore a ratty scarf and boots. Thick black glasses framed his eyes as he peered through a mounted camera, messing with it’s knobs. I had to stop myself from jumping up and cheering right then and there. Then, a second character appeared, walking across the platform with slicked back hair and a leather jacket, guitar in hand. He plugged the guitar in and dropped down into one of the cracked leather chairs, plucking a few chords.

The first character opened his mouth, addressing the audience.

“We begin on Christmas Eve with me, Mark, and my roommate, Roger. We live in an industrial loft on the corner of 11th street and Avenue B, the top floor of what was once a music publishing factory. Old rock ‘n’ roll posters hang on the walls. They have Roger’s picture advertising gigs at CBGB’s and the Pyramid Club. We have an illegal wood-burning stove; it’s exhaust pipe crawls up to a skylight. All of our electrical appliances are plugged into one thick extension cord which snakes its way out a window. Outside, a small tent city has sprung up in the lot next to our building. Inside, we are freezing because we have no heat.”

He took a step back from the audience and gave a small, sad smirk before grabbing the camera from the tripod and turning it on the other character. “Smile!” The other character appeared not to have heard him. “December 24th, 9PM, Eastern Standard Time. From here on in, I shoot without a script.” His word began to take on a rhyme, “See if anything comes of it, instead of my old shit. First shot: Roger, tuning the Fender guitar he hasn’t played in a year.”

“This won’t tune,” the second character finally said, through gritted teeth.

“So we hear,” continued the first character, Mark. “He’s just come back from half a year of withdrawal.”

The second character, Roger, finally looked up, “Are you talking to me?”

“Not at all! Are you ready? Hold that focus; steady! Tell the folks at home what you’re doing, Roger…”

“I’m writing one great song--” There was a sudden shrill sound.

“The phone rings!”

Roger threw his hands up, relieved, “Saved!”

“We screen. Zoom in on the answering machine!”

There was a little more dialogue tossed back and forth before the Mark character--my baby brother, in all his glory--jumped up onto a table and proclaimed:

“How do you document real life
When real life’s getting more like fiction each day?
Headlines, bread-lines, blow my mind
And now this deadline: ‘Eviction or pay…’
RENT!”

The Roger character--Oliver--joined in:

“How do you write a song
When the chords sound wrong
Though they once sounded right and rare?
When the notes are sour
Where is the power?
You once had to ignite the air!”

And so it went, for the better part of three hours. My brother was in almost every single scene, talking, singing, dancing. Watching him strut around during La Vie Boheme had me practically howling in laughter, and hearing him harmonize with Oliver and a group of other people I didn’t know to the I’ll Cover You reprise had me crying softly on my father’s shoulder, relieved to see that my tough lawyer daddy was crying as well.

“And, well,” the Mark character told the audience after the final song, turning off the projector as Roger, Collins, Joanne, and Maureen all hugged Mimi in the background, “You saw it.” He ran a hand through his hair solemnly, “That’s what happened. And you may not give a shit about us, or our lives--I mean, look at us--who would? But,” he licked his lips and looked down at the stage, shaking his head sadly. Then he looked up with a fierceness in his eyes that sent chills through me, “We’re not the only ones. Actual reality…”

“Act up,” the five cast members behind him said.

“Fight AIDs,” came the voice of four hundred audience members speaking in unison all around me. The curtains closed, and there was a moment of silence before I jumped to my feet and started screaming and clapping and swiping tears from under my eyes.

That was my baby brother. A star in the making.

-- -- --

I didn’t realize until half an hour after the caravan arrived at my house in Grey Valley, that maybe having a party the night after my return wasn’t a best idea. The place was packed with fifty-or-so cast and crew members, not to mention an old and slightly creepy theatre director.

“Kal!” I called, squeezing through a couple of drunk stage crew members, “Joce?”

“Kal’s up in her room,” a voice said, and I turned to see Deveraux sitting on the island in the kitchen, surrounded by the characters Joanne, Collins, and Benny. “And Jocelyn is holding Caleb’s hair back while he pukes.”

“Caleb?”

“Angel Dumant Schulard,” he amended in a dramatic voice.

I rolled my eyes and smoothed one finger over an eyebrow. My head was pounding from lack of sleep, food, and quiet. “Okay, um,” I sighed, drawing closer so he could hear me better. “I’m going to go ahead up to bed, actually; can you make sure stuff doesn’t get out of hand?”

He put down his beer and leaned in close, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I waved it off, “Just tired.”

“Hm,” he studied me a moment longer before pulling back. “Well, I can definitely hold down the fort. I’ll try to kick everyone out by one at the latest.” I thanked him, grabbed the first non-expired thing I could find in the kitchen (a tub of ice cream), as well as a beer, and escaped up the stairs.

With my bedroom door shut and locked securely behind me, I collapsed onto my bed for the first time in two months and just lay there for a moment, soaking it all up. I sat back up a few minutes later, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket and dialing a number. It only rang once before someone picked up. “Took you long enough to call me,” he accused with a pout to his voice.

“I talked to you yesterday, Alex,” I chuckled, crossing my legs Indian-style and popped the top on my beer.

He grumbled, “Yeah, but you didn’t call me when you landed. I thought your plane had crashed or something.”

“Your concern is adorable.”

“Damn. I was going for clingy and unattractive.”

“You failed.” I smiled, taking a swig of the beer. I’d wondered if it would be awkward, with Alex and I finally a couple; would we have anything to talk about when we weren’t fighting? But it was easy, like talking to Deveraux or Jack. The words just tripped off the tongue. I guessed it was because we’d already had so much practice in banter. He laughed and I heard a rustling of sheets. “Did I wake you up?”

“I wasn’t actually asleep yet,” he assured me, “Just hanging out in bed with the pups, spending some quality time with my boys. Speaking of which, how’s Nietzsche?”

I sighed, “He’s good, but I left him at my parents’ house tonight because there’s a post-Rent rager going on downstairs and I didn’t want him to freak out. I miss him.”

“Poor baby,” he said with sweetness to his voice, and I smiled at the sound of him calling me baby. Then I rolled my eyes at myself for being such a cheese ball before digging a spoon into the ice cream I’d brought up from the kitchen and taking a big bite. “Hey,” Alex said suddenly, “Are you eating while you’re on the phone?”

I swallowed and tapped the spoon against the tub. “Does ice cream count as eating? I mean, you don’t really chew it. And how the hell did you even know?”

“My fatty senses were tingling,” he joked. “What kind of ice cream?”

“Mint chocolate chip.”

“Mm,” he hummed, then his voice got sad, “I really wish I was there to enjoy it with you.”

I felt a fluttering in my chest, “I wish you were, too.”

He sighed, “It’s so shitty that the night we finally get together, was the last night of tour. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” I told him quietly.

“It’s not healthy for the relationship.”

“I know that, too.”

“I mean, how are we supposed to be a couple without…being a couple?”

“Also something I know.”

“We’re half a country apart.”

Okay, he was really starting to piss me off; was he trying to break things off already? Was he realizing what a mistake he’d made? “Alex, I--”

“I think I should come up there,” he said in a rush, catching me off-guard.

I opened and closed my mouth several times before saying, “…Huh?”

He was quiet, and I could just picture him tugging at his hair in that nervous way he did. “Well, um…you know, we were all going to come up for your birthday anyway. We don’t have many commitments between now and then. So I figured, you know,” he cleared his throat, “Maybe Baz and Peyton and I could come up a little early, and hang for a while.”

I said nothing, not trusting my voice, thinking the emotion rising into my throat might make me either scream or cry or throw up. Alex must have mistook this, however, because he backpedaled quickly, “Maybe it’s too soon. Sorry, I just--”

“Alex,” I cut him off, smiling as my eyes welled, “I’d love that.”

He laughed loudly in my ear, his voice becoming excited, “Great! When?”

“Tomorrow?”

He snorted, then coughed, “I was thinking more like next week.”

“Oh, fine,” I feigned a sigh, “I guess next week works, too.”

“I’ll bring Jack.”

“I’ll run out of rooms.”

“We’ll work it out.” There was a slight suggestion to his voice that turned my face dark red, as ludicrous as that seems. I wasn’t a virgin, by any means, but something about the idea of Alex in bed with me set my skin on fire.

In a quiet, choked voice, I answered, “I guess we will.”

He chuckled again, then changed the subject rather abruptly, “So, Jack is convinced he could be a kicker for the Ravens…”