A Broken Kind of Life (32 page)

“This isn’t about Spencer. Yes, he introduced me to Dr. Thomas because he’s his father, but that’s not why I want to see him. He helps me, Mom. More than anyone has in the last two years, except you. You got me to breathe again and move again, but he can get me to
live
again. After the attack, I used to wonder why God didn’t just let me die like Juliette. I used to wish for it just so that I wouldn’t have to be terrified all the time.”

His mother looked stricken. He had never told her the truth about how he felt, choosing instead to dilute it to a half-truth or simply remain silent. She needed to know.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered and wrapped her hands tightly around the coffee cup.

“I have to say it. We never discussed it before because I was never able to. They took everything from me that night, including my ability to talk about what they did to me. On that freezing concrete floor, they broke me, they shattered me. They—” He stopped abruptly and grabbed the edge of the table. The room grew smaller as his breathing accelerated into panicked little gasps. “They raped me, Mom,” he whispered, because he didn’t have the strength to say it any louder.

The tears that had welled in his mother’s eyes at the mention of his suicidal thoughts spilled down over her cheeks. She didn’t try to stop them or even wipe them away.

“I know, honey,” she said, and her voice shook with tears.

“I have to find some way to make peace with that, or I’ll never get my life back. Dr. Thomas is helping me find that peace.”

“How do you know it isn’t you finding that peace? Or having a friend? Or finding your attraction for Spencer? How do you know it’s Dr. Thomas? Let’s just try another therapist and see, okay?”

His mother’s face pleaded with him, shining, so full of hope he almost gave in. It wasn’t Spencer. It wasn’t having a friend. It was Dr. Thomas who had started to give him his life back—or at least lead him back to his life.

“Why did you file those papers with the court?” Aaron asked, trying to defuse the questions with a slight subject change to lessen their power. The debate skills came back to him easily, and he prepared to make his case. So much depended on his ability to convince his mother of the truth.

“Your father had a colleague file the injunction because we were scared that Dr. Thomas might cause more harm than good with you. Your uncle Mark is an alcoholic, Aaron. It’s destroyed his life, and the lives of just about everyone around him. I can’t take the chance that this therapist will hurt you—psychologically or even physically. Think about it, honey. His alcoholism isn’t even a secret. We found out about it when we talked to one of his former staff to get a reference. It has to be pretty bad in order for so many people to know about it. Please, Aaron, you’re better now. I see it every day. Just try a different therapist,” his mother pleaded with him.

“No. There is no reason for me to look for another therapist when I have one who’s helping me. In order for your injunction to work, you’ll need to have me declared incompetent, which you can’t do. I’ve seen a dozen shrinks over the past two years, and I know exactly how to play one. And by the way,
that’s
the difference. I never even thought about playing Dr. Thomas. He wanted to make me better.” Aaron stood up. Her eyes shuttered as he stood, and her posture tightened as he tossed the half-eaten muffin into the garbage can on the way to the stairs. He’d lived with her all his life and knew she wouldn’t relent. If he wanted to continue to see Dr. Thomas, he had to find another way to reach her.

“M
OM
,
I’d like to invite Spencer and his father for dinner tomorrow,” Aaron said that night at dinner as his mother stood making hamburgers at the stove. A covered baking dish with baked beans sat on the back of the stove to stay warm. The smell of bread and molasses and sunshine permeated the kitchen and Aaron considered how long it had been since he’d looked forward to food.

“Aaron, we just served him with legal papers. That’s not a good idea.” She didn’t turn from the counter but tensed as she pulled another finished burger from the griddle and put it on a plate for him. Allen and Anthony were already eating at the table as they watched the exchange. Aaron was glad for a moment that his father had a late meeting because it was easier to argue when they didn’t gang up on him.

“All I’m asking for is dinner and a conversation.” He took his plate to the table, where he sat across from his brothers, who were studiously eating their food and looking anywhere but at him. His mother sighed and turned off the stove before sitting down at the head of the table next to Aaron. She didn’t bring herself a plate.

“I know, honey, but it’s not going to make us change our minds about letting him treat you.” She started to reach for his hand and then stopped herself. He wanted to tell her it was okay, that she could touch his hand, but anger and pride stopped him. He didn’t want to comfort her when she wouldn’t even listen to something that
really
mattered to him. Nothing in his life had
really
mattered to him for so damn long.

“Then it won’t be a problem to invite them over, will it?” he asked.

He tried to keep an innocent look on his face, but she didn’t buy it.

“Yes, it will. It will be awkward.”

“My whole life has been nothing
but
awkward.” Aaron pushed his plate away, having finished the burger in several large bites. He drank his soda when he didn’t get a response from her. The room remained quiet. Both Allen and Anthony ate slower than Aaron had ever seen before as they continued to watch the exchange. Finally, after a long, almost debilitating silence, someone spoke, but it wasn’t his mother.

“Mom, Aaron found a therapist because we heard you and Dad talk about sending him away. I’m sorry, but it’s not fair. Aaron should have a say in this doctor he found,” Allen said quietly. After a moment, he looked up from his plate and into his mother’s face. Aaron’s mother turned to her youngest son.

“I guess you have an opinion too,” she prompted.

Anthony looked at Aaron, and then Allen, and finally at his mother. “I just want Aaron to be happy again, Mom.”

Aaron’s mother took the empty plates from her three sons and stacked them next to the sink. She returned for the platters and then for the glasses, never saying a word as she gathered the dinner dishes. Aaron waited, undeterred by her silence. His brothers waited too, and Aaron appreciated their support more than he could say. She ran water into the sink and started rinsing the dishes. After a minute, Aaron joined her and put them in the dishwasher. Platters on the bottom, plates on the left, glasses on the top, silverware in the basket—they continued on, rinsing and laying them out in the dishwasher in silence. She didn’t even look at him as she handed him each piece, but he would wait her out because he was far more stubborn than she.

He’d just forgotten it for a while.

When the dishes were loaded, he added soap, closed the door, and turned it on. He leaned against the counter and watched her wiping down the stove and the sink. His impatience got the better of him, and he nearly asked again about the invitation for Spencer and his father, but she answered before he could ask.

“Okay, invite them to dinner. It won’t change my mind, but maybe we can change yours.”

A
ARON
spent most of the afternoon in his room, trying to concentrate on a book Dr. Thomas had suggested he read. After the third time he read about gaining back his sexual identity, he dropped the book on the bed and checked the time on his phone. Spencer and his father would be there in about half an hour for dinner. He could smell something garlicky coming from downstairs. Since he’d decided to stay in his room and read after breakfast, he hadn’t thought about going down to get lunch, though he was surprised his mother hadn’t forced the issue.

Changing his shirt for a nicer long-sleeved polo, Aaron brushed his hair and teeth and decided to wait downstairs. Allen still hadn’t gotten the hang of talking to Spencer. He still yelled or talked really slow. Sometimes he even gesticulated wildly as he spoke, which usually embarrassed them all.

The doorbell rang as soon as Aaron reached the top of the stairs. They were early. He took the stairs two at a time and managed to get to the door before Allen, who detoured instead to the family room. With a silent prayer to whatever god happened to be listening at the time, he opened the door. Spencer stood just in front of his father, and Aaron could tell he’d made an effort. His hair, usually a wild mass of curls, had been tamed and loosely framed his face. Instead of his usual T-shirt, he wore a turquoise button-down that made the green in his eyes more prominent. Aaron stared for a long moment before he remembered himself and invited them in. As he stood back to let Dr. Thomas in the door, he noticed the doctor had also put in an effort to impress his parents.

Finally, after spending the day stressing out about dinner, Aaron could relax just a little.

“My brothers are playing a game in the family room, or we could stay in the living room until dinner is ready,” Aaron told Dr. Thomas, who looked at his son and shrugged. Glancing around the room, taking in the details, they looked uncomfortable, like plus ones at a wedding, asked to come but not exactly invited.

“Would you like something to drink?” Aaron asked and noticed the strained smile on Dr. Thomas’s face falter. So, quickly, he added “I think we have soda, juice, and water. Or, surprisingly, I can make coffee. I think we might have some tea….” Aaron counted off on his fingers as he rambled. Spencer grinned, and finally Dr. Thomas smiled again and asked for water while Spencer requested a soda. He left them on their own to retrieve their drinks.

“Did I hear the doorbell?” his mother asked as he pulled glasses down out of the cabinet.

“Yes, Spencer and his father are here.” Filling the glasses with ice, he got water from the tap for Dr. Thomas and grabbed a Coke and a Sprite from near the back door. He’d learned a few weeks ago that Spencer wasn’t a fan of diet or lemon-lime. It surprised Aaron just how much he knew about Spencer. He felt like a part of Spencer’s life, and not just because he knew what kind of soda Spencer liked without asking, but because of all the other little things he knew—like how Spencer put ketchup on one side of a hotdog and mustard on the other. He didn’t know anyone else who put ketchup on a hotdog, not in Chicago.

“Okay, everything is ready. I just need to put the chicken fettuccini into a bowl. Can you put the garlic bread on the table?”

“Sure, Mom,” he said, making an effort to show that he appreciated her inviting Dr. Thomas to dinner, even if she had no intention of listening to him. Together, he, Spencer, and Spencer’s father would find a way to get through to her. They had to.

He dropped the basket of garlic bread onto the table and took the drinks into the living room. It irked him a little that neither of his parents came in to greet their guests. If it had been friends of theirs, all three boys would have to line up and make an impromptu receiving line. Ice clinked against the side of the glass as he handed it to Spencer, and he realized his hands were shaking.

“My mom is just finishing up,” Aaron told Dr. Thomas by way of an explanation for their rude behavior. Just as he said it, however, his father came in from the kitchen.

“Dr. Thomas, this is my father, John Downing,” he said and let out a breath.
Finally
. His father didn’t hesitate to shake Dr. Thomas’s hand and then said hello again to Spencer. The temperature in the room came down marginally, and it was easier for Aaron to breathe.

So many things in his life rested on that dinner—his hope, his happiness, and in large part, his sanity.

“Well, why don’t we sit in here and chat while we wait for Michelle to finish up. She said it shouldn’t be more than a few minutes or so,” his father said and waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the living room furniture. Surprise showed on his father’s face as Aaron took a seat on the couch between Dr. Thomas and Spencer rather than taking the other vacant armchair near his own. No one seemed to want to open up the conversation. The only sounds in the room came from outside it: video game bleeps from the family room, clangs and bangs from the kitchen, and even shrieks of joy from the neighbor kids playing out front. But the four men sitting in the living room looked around at everything but each other.

“We should probably just open the door and let the elephant in the room amble out,” Dr. Thomas said as he set his glass of water on one of the coasters strewn about the coffee table. “I’m not angry about your injunction. I understand that you are trying to protect your son. As a father, I can appreciate that. However, as a therapist, I have to tell you that you aren’t helping him. Just as you and your wife have been doing for the past two years, you are enabling him, and that’s not what he needs.”

“With all due respect, Dr. Thomas, it’s for my wife and I to decide what he needs,” his father spat back.