mom gestures him over to the couch and asks him if he wants anything to drink.
mom: we have coke, diet coke, lemonade, orange juice -
tiny: ooh, i love lemonade.
me: it’s not real lemonade. it’s just lemon-flavored crystal light.
both mom and tiny look at me like i’m the f**king grinch.
me: i didn’t want you to get all excited for real lemonade!
I can’t help it - i’m seeing our apartment through his eyes - our whole lives through his eyes - and it all looks so . . . shabby. the water stains on the ceiling and the dull-colored rug and the decades-old tv. the whole house smells like debt.
mom: why don’t you go sit next to tiny, and i’ll get you a coke?
I took my pills this morning, i swear. but it’s like they ended up in my leg instead of my brain, because i just can’t get happy. i sit down on the couch, and as soon as mom is out of the room, tiny’s hand is on my hand, fingers rubbing over my fingers.
tiny: it’s okay, will. i love being here.
I know he’s been having a bad week. i know things haven’t been going his way, and that he’s worried his show is going to bomb. he’s rewriting it daily. (‘who knew it would be so complicated to fit love into fourteen songs?’) i know he’s been looking forward to this - and i know that i’ve been looking forward to this. but now i have to stop looking forward and start looking at where i am. it’s hard.
I lean into tiny’s meaty shoulder.
I can’t believe i’m turned on by anything i’d call ‘meaty.’
me: this is the rough part, okay? so just stay tuned for the good part. i promise it’ll come soon.
when mom comes back in, i’m still leaning there. she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stop, doesn’t seem to mind. she puts our drinks down, then runs to the kitchen again. i hear the oven open and close, then the scrape of a spatula against a cookie sheet. a minute later, she’s back with a plate of mini hot dogs and mini egg rolls. there are even two little bowls, one with ketchup and one with mustard.
tiny: yum!
we dig in, and tiny starts telling mom about the week he’s had, and so many details about hold me closer that i can see she’s thoroughly confused. as he’s talking, she remains hovering above us, until finally i tell her she should join us, sit down. so she pulls over a chair and listens, even having an egg roll or two herself.
It starts to feel more normal. tiny being here. mom seeing the two of us. me sitting so that at least one part of my body is always touching his. it’s almost like i’m back in millennium park with him, that we’re continuing that first time-bending conversation, and this is where the story is supposed to go. as always, the only question is whether i’ll f**k it all up.
when there are no finger foods left to finger, mom clears the dishes and says dinner will be ready in a few minutes. as soon as she’s out of the room, tiny turns to me.
tiny: i love her.
yes, i think, he’s the type of person who can love someone that easily.
me: she’s not bad.
when she comes in to tell us dinner’s ready, tiny flies up from the couch.
tiny: ooh! i almost forgot.
he reaches for the shopping bag he brought and hands it to my mother.
tiny: a host gift!
mom looks really surprised. she takes a box out of the bag - it has a ribbon on it and everything. tiny sits back down so she won’t feel awkward sitting down to open it. very carefully, she undoes the ribbon. then she gently lifts open the top of the box. there’s a black foam cushion, then something surrounded by bubble wrap. With even more care, she undoes the wrapping, and takes out this plain glass bowl.
at first, i don’t get it. i mean, it’s a glass bowl. but my mother’s breath catches. she’s blinking back tears. because it’s not just a plain glass bowl. it’s perfect. i mean, it’s so smooth and perfect, we all sit there and stare at it for a moment, as my mother turns it slowly in her hand. even in our shabby living room, it catches the light.
nobody’s given her anything like this in ages. maybe ever. nobody ever gives her anything this beautiful.
tiny: i picked it out myself!
he has no idea. he has no clue what he’s just done.
mom: oh, tiny . . .
she’s lost the words. but i can tell. it’s the way she holds that bowl in her hand. it’s the way she’s looking at it.
I know what her mind is telling her to do - to say it’s too much, that she couldn’t possibly have such a thing. even if she wants it so badly. even if she loves it that much.
so it’s me who says
me: it’s beautiful. thank you so much, tiny.
I hug him, really send him my thank you that way, too. then mom is putting the bowl on the coffee table she cleaned to a shine. she’s standing up, and she’s opening her arms, and then he’s hugging her, too.
this is what i never allow myself to need.
and of course i’ve been needing it all along.
to tell the truth, tiny eats most of the chicken parm at dinner, and takes up most of the conversation as well. mostly, we talk about stupid things - why mini hot dogs taste better than regular-size hot dogs, why dogs are better than cats, why cats was so successful in the eighties when sondheim was writing rings around lloyd webber (neither mom or i really contribute much to that one). at one point, tiny sees the da vinci postcard mom has on the refrigerator, and he asks her if she’s ever been to italy. so she tells him about the trip she took with three college friends their junior year, and it’s an interesting story for once. he tells her he likes naples even more than rome, because the people in naples are so intensely from the place they’re from. he says he wrote a song about traveling for his musical, but ultimately it didn’t make the cut. he sings us a few lines:
Once you’ve been to Naples
It’s hard to shop at Staples,
And once you’ve been to Milan
It’s hard to eat at Au Bon Pain.
Once you’ve been to Venice
you turn from iceberg lettuce.
And you learn that baloney’s baloney
When Bologna feeds you rigatoni.
Being a transatlantic g*y
Is a dangerous game to play.
Because once you’ve been to Rome
It’s hard to call a suburb home
for the first time i can recall, mom looks completely tickled. she even hums along a little. when tiny is done, her applause is genuine. i figure it’s time to end the lovefest, before tiny and mom run off together and start a band.