Dads: A gay couple's surrogacy journey in India (37 page)

Of course, he couldn’t let Jonathan freeze to death out there. Of course, he had to welcome him to his home, help him. Of course...
It’s what Sean would’ve done!

Sean, I miss you so...

Dan could hear the shower being turned on, water splashing.

Jonathan seemed to be showering forever, or so it seemed to Dan as his curiosity was getting the better of him. When the young man emerged from the bedroom, wrapped in nothing but a large towel, Dan almost lost it. His jaw dropped.
He’s gorgeous.

Jonathan’s blond hair, thoroughly washed and combed, was hanging almost to his shoulders, his tall, thin frame pale, the faintest hints of muscles discernible underneath his skin, tiny dark nipples and not a hair on his chest.
Oh my god, he’s only a child...

“I borrowed your brush. I hope that’s okay, but my hair was a mess...” Jonathan smiled, shaking his head, causing his hair to partially cover his face, his green eyes. But he smiled, for the first time. “Thanks for allowing me to use your shower. I really needed it. Is it okay if I sit like this for a while before I put my clothes back on? It feels so nice to be clean, even if it’s only for a little while...” His voice trailed, not daring to ask Dan for any additional favors.

“I’m so sorry, I’m such a miserable host!” Dan practically jumped from his chair, dashing into the bedroom, rummaging his closet for something Jonathan might be able to wear. He was obviously way too thin for Dan’s clothes, but maybe some of Sean’s old stuff might do the trick.

He found a pair of shorts, some socks, a sweater and a pair of sweats that might fit the young man, boy. He quickly returned to the living room with the clothes under his arm. Jonathan was sitting down on the couch again, legs pulled up, the cup back in his hands, clutching it as if to extract extra warmth from it. The picture was heartwarming, stirring emotions in Dan he’d thought he’d long lost.

Goose bumps were forming on Jonathan’s arms, and Dan got worried that the boy was freezing. “Here, put these on. They might fit you. They are my...” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Jonathan glanced up at him, his eyes gleaming with thankfulness. Setting the cup back on the table, he took the clothes and trotted back to the bedroom. Reemerging a few instants later, dressed in Sean’s old clothes, he almost broke Dan’s heart all over again.

“Thank you, you are so kind,” Jonathan said, as he sat back down on the couch.

They sat quietly, watching the fire for a long time. Dan added more logs to it, while Jonathan sat curled up on the couch, cup still between his hands, as if it provided him some sense of security and comfort. They both looked into the fire, Dan not knowing what to say next, Jonathan not daring to say anything, afraid of being thrown back out into the cold. Yet there were so many things in the air.
What about his old clothes? Should I offer to wash them? They really need to be thrown away. Who is he? How old is he? Why is he here?

Dan’s mind was racing, his emotions in an uproar, Sean forgotten for the time being. His heart conflicted with the attraction to Jonathan yet unable to give in, given his young age.
I’m not into kids, after all. How old is he anyway?

How am I going to get out of this mess
, he wondered, but continued to stare into the fire.

“Go ahead, ask...” Jonathan whispered, his voice weak. Dan could hear the fear in his voice. He glanced over at his uninvited guest, and ended up looking straight into Jonathan’s green eyes. He noticed the desperation, the fear.
Fear of what? Me?

“Uh, I don’t know,” Dan started. “I don’t know what to ask really. I don’t want to pry...” His voice trailed once again, feeling ashamed for being so easy to read. It had always been Sean’s forte, to read his lover. He could sense Dan’s needs, questions, objections long before Dan was aware of them himself. It made their relationship so easy, so casual, like an old sweater, comfortable. Dan never had to pretend, couldn’t, as Sean would see right through it all...

“Is there anything you want me to know?” Dan asked, trying desperately to turn the tables, not wanting to appear insensitive. Obviously Jonathan was in distress. Why else would he have turned up at his door, looking, smelling, the way he did? But it wasn’t his place to ask, to pry.

Jonathan finally put the empty cup back on the coffee table and turned to Dan. “It’s a long story. I don’t even know where to start. I’m 17 years old, I used to live in the city with my parents. I was going to high school. Two weeks ago, we were out here in the forest. My parents have a cabin just off the main road. There was a fight, and they left me in the forest, alone. I started walking, trying to leave, but I got lost. I know it sounds stupid, but I just didn’t know what else to do, so I kept walking. When I started to get cold a couple days ago, I had already been lost for ten days, sleeping on the ground, trying to find shelter, eating moss and nuts from the larger pine trees. At least water wasn’t a problem. It was a pure coincidence that I noticed your house today, and when I saw the lights on, I...” Jonathan was fighting tears, clearly exhausted, desperate. Dan could see how irresistible the lights from a cabin might be in the current weather.

So young
, Dan thought. At the age of thirty-one, Dan had already seen his share of tragedy in life, but it still seemed to pale against what Jonathan had endured. He felt no need to press for more information, although it was pretty clear Jonathan hadn’t shared everything. He was keeping some things to himself. 
His secrets.
“Do you want another hot chocolate? You must be hungry.” Dan felt like an idiot when he realized the subtext of what Jonathan had just told him.

A weak smile from the boy confirmed what he’d thought. “I’ll make you a sandwich. Do you eat meat?” Dan wondered.

“I’ll eat anything, thank you,” Jonathan responded weakly.

Dan got up and walked over to the kitchen to prepare the sandwich he’d just promised. He heard a thump from behind him and just caught Rascal jumping up into the sofa to lie down next to Jonathan. He was about to protest because he didn’t like the dog on the couch, but when he saw the dog’s head buried in the boy’s lap and Jonathan petting it, he couldn’t bring himself to utter a syllable. Instead, he got to work on the sandwich, knowing Jonathan must be starving. He made four of them, knowing that the boy would probably want more later. He poured another cup of hot chocolate, turned around and was about to invite Jonathan to the table when he noticed that the boy had fallen asleep, right there on the couch, with Rascal’s head still in his lap.

The picture of the boy sleeping so peacefully in his living room, in front of his fireplace brought tears to his eyes. He looked so beautiful, the whole scene so serene with Rascal on his best protective behavior.

Feeling his own fatigue tugging at him, Dan put the sandwiches on the coffee table, and turned off the kitchen lights.
Thank god for electricity,
he thought, remembering the oil lamps of their early days out there.

He crossed the few steps back into the living room, trying to avoid making the wooden planks of his floor screech, and picked up a blanket that was casually tossed over his rocking chair. He unfolded it and spread it over Jonathan, whispering to Rascal to make some space. The dog jumped from the sofa and lay down just in front of it instead. The instant Rascal left Jonathan’s lap, the boy stretched out on the sofa, fully asleep, enabling Dan to cover him more easily.

“Sleep well, Jonathan. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, and walked to his own bedroom, turning off the lights as he left the living area. Dan never closed the door to his room because Rascal usually wound up on the bed and he didn’t want to be woken by the dog scratching on the door in the middle of the night. He got undressed, keeping his shorts on for once,
you’re not alone
, and slid under the warm covers of his bed,
mine and Sean’s.

His head had barely touched his pillow when his consciousness retreated to make room for a deep sleep, pushing all thoughts of Jonathan out of his mind. Along with the memories of Sean, and the painful first anniversary of his death.

cont...

Jonathan's Hope

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RAPHAEL PARKED HIS car in the first available spot and ran over to the hospital's main entrance. He had only left Jason's bedside this morning to take care of a few obligations at the office. Even the most successful architects needed to be present every now and then. Raphael knew that, and since his son seemed to be feeling fine after breakfast, he made the drive over to his firm.

The call had caught him by surprise just minutes after he’d started up his computer to answer e-mails from clients and contractors. His real aim that day was the meeting with his senior staff about the competition for the city’s new opera house, a competition he was certain his firm would win.

He never made it to that meeting. Jason had suddenly and unexpectedly taken a turn for the worse, and the attending physician had called him back, urgently. Raphael was shaking, and his mind raced as he walked down familiar corridors, taking the elevator to the cancer unit where Jason was treated for leukemia. He had already undergone a bone marrow transplant, and his prognosis had looked promising, which was one of the reasons Raphael had even contemplated leaving him for more than a shower and a change of clothes.

As he walked into Jason’s hospital room, he saw the doctor and a couple of nurses standing around the bed and the machines that were monitoring the boy’s life signs. One nurse carefully patted Jason’s forehead with a wet cloth.
I should have called Warren
, he thought. When they noticed Raphael walking in, their activity ceased for a moment, and they looked at him with sympathetic eyes. The doctor approached Raphael.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Raphael didn’t like the ominous sound of that, but he had no choice but to follow the doctor out into the hallway.

“Jason’s system is experiencing a complete failure,” he said in a low voice. “We don’t know why that is, but his liver and kidneys have already shut down, and it’s only a matter of time before his heart stops. I’m sorry, Raphael, but your son is dying. You need to go in there and say goodbye.”

“But he was fine this morning. How could that be?” Raphael’s mind raced, his heart beating like an engine in overdrive. He felt beads of sweat on his forehead. “I don’t understand.”

The doctor only shrugged, and his gaze dropped to the floor. Raphael felt his world spin out of control. Dizzy and barely able to breathe, he walked back into Jason’s hospital room. The boy was still hooked up to machines, but one by one, they were turned off, and the nurses carefully removed one electrode after the other from his pale body. Silence overtook the room.

Jason breathed heavily, his eyes closed. Raphael walked up to his bed, barely able to contain the tears that were threatening to break through. As the nurses finished their job and carefully tucked Jason in, pulling the blanket up over his thin and frail frame, Raphael sat down next to his son and took his hand.

“Dad, I’m sorry,” Jason whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m so tired, so tired.”

“Hush, Jason. This isn’t your fault. No need to be sorry. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. Just relax, son. Close your eyes and breathe. Are you in any pain?”

“No.” Jason smiled faintly. “The doctor hooked me up to the good stuff again. I’m fine.” He squeezed Raphael’s hand. “Dad, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, son, anything.”

“Does it hurt to die?”

Jason
’s question broke Raphael’s heart, and the first tears broke the dam and rolled down his cheeks.

“Honestly, Jason, I don’t know, but given the amount of morphine you’ve been given, I don’t think so. But we can ask the doctor, if you like.”

“No, that’s fine. I’m just scared that’s all. Is it really all over when I die?”

That question frightened him even more. Even though he was a staunch atheist, he wished he had the faith to give Jason hope of an afterlife, hope of eternal salvation, but he knew better, and he didn’t know how to answer his son’s question.
This must be the origin of religion, this very question
, Raphael thought.
After all, how would a medicine man or woman have responded to this question thousands and thousands of years ago, without all the scientific knowledge we possess today?