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I turn back to my laptop screen, taking another sip of my coffee, pondering the words I’ve just written on my epilogue to the Candy Boys story.
Yep. Still hammering at that, despite my unfounded, ridiculous fears. Sure, I haven’t posted any of that online. As if keeping the words to myself will protect them. Protect the story.
Protect my reality from any evil eye, any malevolent power watching.
Jesus, Candy. Talk about the Middle Ages.
Though, what’s the use of posting it online, apart from giving pleasure to the fans of the story that I took down so suddenly and never finished?
Right, there’s that. A community that was my family of sorts for a long time. After Connie’s betrayal and Joel’s shock at the photo posted and his discovery of the story about us on my blog, I took everything down and severed all ties with readers and bloggers who’d been my company for two years.
It had to be done. My boys, our relationship, real life was more important than any story.
Then why do I keep wanting to go back to that? I could post other stories that have been percolating in my mind. Not about me and my boys, but about other, imaginary characters. Would my readers take me back? Would they forgive me for vanishing without an explanation?
Why should I care?
… maybe because this has been important to me. Writing stories. Interacting with readers. Creating worlds, even if this last one was too close to reality. Writing stories defined me. Helped me define myself in a community. It made me feel good, powerful, useful, needed.
Made me feel irreplaceable.
Sure, my boys make me feel that way, too, even more so. But that’s through them. Through their love for me. Whereas the story writing was through myself.
I’m not even sure I’m making sense. I need more coffee. Early mornings, that’s not me. I’m not yet quite awake.
But the story, this epilogue, insists to be written. I can see the scenes unfold, hear the dialogue in my ears. I can practically taste this happy ending.
Why am I so afraid to put it down in words?
Putting down my mug on the table, I contemplate the story. It doesn’t matter. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I add another line to the dialogue between J-One and J-Two. They’re discussing whether they should dress in matching suits for the wedding, or in mirror suits—one of them in pale gray with a black shirt and white bowtie, the other one in a black suit and bowtie and a white shirt.
In the story, Candy is already off the pill, since they have decided to start trying for a baby. She is so happy.
I pause, a lump in my throat. I am so happy, too, so what’s wrong with me? It’s too soon to be discussing babies and weddings with my boys.
Heck, Joel hasn’t even told his parents yet…
And there it is. The elephant in the room. The fear I’ve been hiding from, the fear Jet passed to me and it’s now sitting on top of my more general insecurity.
Joel won’t leave us. He won’t listen to his parents. I know it in my heart.
But if he does? If Jet is right and Joel leaves him, then he will leave me, too, right? And in any case, I wouldn’t be able to choose between them—and wouldn’t want to. Couldn’t love Joel anymore if he left Jet to be with me, anyway.
Joel won’t walk away.
I have to believe it. Believe in him.
I thought Jet believed in him. He has known Joel much longer than I have.
Then again, Jet is mistrustful by nature, and his dad’s attack has shaken him badly.
Is it that Jet needs our support until he gets over the attack and the nightmares and finds his faith in Joel and me?
Or is it that Joel relies so much on his parents’ opinion of him that he may not come back?
Shit.
I sigh and pull the laptop shut. Wrapping my hands around the warmth of my mug, I take a sip and check the time on my cell phone.
