His mind was still reeling with questions when Aaron sat down, passing him a mug of milky hot chocolate and settling with his coffee at the other end of the couch.
Over the years he’d spent in therapy, Oscar had learned a lot about restraint. Christina had nodded along as he’d finally worked his way through the maze of his past and come to the conclusion that he’d have fared much better if he’d only learned to keep some of his opinions to himself, if he’d only been alright with taking a step back from a situation before poking the bear. It did nothing to excuse his mother’s awfulness, but maybe he’d have suffered less if he’d stepped away from the fire.
When it came to Aaron, all the lessons flew right out the window. Restraint was no longer a working concept, and it had never served him. Oscar set his mug down on the coffee table and turned to look at him, said nothing for a moment as he studied the hard set of his jaw, the way his lower lip was just a little too stretched, taut like a bowstring, the glaze over his eyes betraying him regardless.
“Tell me,” Oscar said at last.
Aaron breathed. It was a shaky thing, stuttering like a diesel engine in the cold. Oscar told himself it was relief, that Aaron wanted to be asked.
“I’ve had a hard time,” he mumbled after a while. He paused, taking a sip of coffee and setting his cup down on the warmer that always sat on his side of the table. “I don’t know how to tell you.”
Oscar wished he could be a blanket for Aaron. On the chair that sat adjacent to their couch was the abandoned knitting project that was supposed to do this job, draped over the arm, untouched since Oscar had left.
“What’s happened?”
Oscar told himself not to imagine the worst. If Aaron had met somebody else, he would lose it. Not with Aaron—never with Aaron. Oscar would lock himself in the bathroom and scream at the mirror for letting it happen. But he couldn’t imagine doing that. Because he couldn’t imagine Aaron with somebody else. Not Aaron, not his Aaron.
“I haven’t been focusing.” Aaron gnawed on his upper lip, stretching his mouth as he curled his knees into his chest, resting his chin on top of them. “It’s been weeks since I enjoyed a show.”
“What are you talking about? We watchedLord of the Ringsjust last week. You loved it. You kept saying the quotes before they even spoke them! It’s only because you’ve watchedSchitt’s Creeka million times. Maybe you just need a break from it. It’s not funny for you anymore,” Oscar said, frowning.
“I’m not enjoying my video games,” Aaron said.
His throat moved as he swallowed. Oscar had never wanted more to kiss something so tenderly. He wished he knew how to soothe him. He wished he didn’t believe that wrapping his arms around him would send him into a fit of tears.
“Play something different,” he said, because he couldn’t understand why Aaron was so upset. He’d been spending so many hours at home. Why was it so unthinkable that he’deventually get bored? Aaron had been accustomed to working, changing jobs and roles and uniforms more often than any average person did. Of course doing the same thing day in and day out would get old.
“That’s coffee from an instant jar. I broke the machine,” Aaron murmured. His voice had gone so quiet now that Oscar became aware of how noisy his fridge was. Soft as this had been, it tore something into Oscar, the discordance of Aaron’s defeat with the act of breaking. “Last Thursday. On purpose,” Aaron added.
His eyes skittered to Oscar’s then, glacier-like as he waited for the verdict. But Oscar had grown up with a mother whose tongue was as cutting as the blades he’d used to punish himself after those ugly fights. So there would be no verdict. Not on this night.
“It’s okay,” he said, sliding his hand across the couch and turning his palm up in invitation. Aaron shook his head, eyes filling up more rapidly as his cheeks pinked. “Boo, it’s okay. Did something happen?”
“Whether something happened or didn’t happen makes no difference here. It’s not how I behave. I don’t break things on purpose. I don’t yell at Tobe. They called to ask for my advice about something, and I called them a self-centered asshole. I said they make everything about themself. They pretended not to be hurt, but I know Tobe. I feel like shit.” Aaron rubbed his face, held his hands in front of it a little longer than necessary, and Oscar knew he had started to cry when his back began to shake.
“Boo…can I hug you?” Oscar hadn’t needed to ask this in a while, but for the first time in months, he wasn’t sure. Suddenly, Aaron seemed like a street cat in a corner, frightened and skittish, and the last thing Oscar wanted was for him to flee. Not like this. Not with his shoulders shaking as they were.
But Aaron nodded. And Oscar wasted no time scootingover and wrapping his arms around him. He pulled him in, and Aaron fell into his shoulder, his crying turning audible, soft weeping shifting into sobbing, arms crossing over his knees.
Every sound that pushed out of him was a shard of glass that cut through Oscar, running jagged scars across his heart as it broke over and over again without a shred of comprehension.Please explain, he wanted to say, but couldn’t. Because how could he expect Aaron to talk when he was so distraught? Instead, Oscar pressed kisses to the top of Aaron’s head, his soft fluffy hair he’d come to think of as more red than brown now, for all his claims of catfishing. And Oscar labored not to cry as well, because seeing Aaron like this did things to him.
“That’s how it started,” Aaron mumbled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
He looked up, his face red and his eyes bloodshot and puffy. Aaron took off his glasses and set them down on the arm of the couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose where he’d pressed them a little too hard. When his gaze finally settled on Oscar’s, it was clear that nothing good was going to come out of his mouth.
“With my mom. Before she fell. It was isolated outbursts none of us noticed, abandoning all her hobbies, all of this.”
“But…”
“It’s called early-onset for a reason, Oscar.” Aaron’s mouth began to wobble again and then he buried his head between his knees and carried on with his crying.
Oscar’s breastbone was a caterpillar bursting through its chrysalis, a butterfly captured in darkness, flapping its wings bat-like in the vampiric cave where it was trapped. Fuck, he needed to throw up. But throwing up would solve nobody’s problems and certainly not this one that had suddenly fallen into his world like a boulder, a fruit tree splat in the middle of paradise.
“Get tested,” Oscar said. “We’ll get you tested. Is there a test? How do we find out?”
Aaron looked up, frowning. He rubbed his eyes and cheeks, sniffling, his voice thick with tears still, gaze bright with what looked like anger. “It’s complicated,” he said.
“It isn’t complicated. If they found out what she had, then there must be a way to know. Sitting here won’t give you answers.” Oscar brushed Aaron’s bangs out of his forehead. “Boo…we need to know, don’t we?”
