Inseparable (5 page)

page is open at a group photo of the whole animated Massone family grinning for the camera. My eyes

are drawn just below, to a candid shot of one of Joe’s nieces tearing into her present with Joe and me

seated on a couch in the background. I’m watching the action and laughing and Joe… well, Joe is

watching me. There is such naked longing in his face that it sucks whatever breath is left in my lungs

away.

“Hungry?”

“What?” I slam the album shut guiltily.

“Are you hungry?” Joe asks with an indulgent smile. “I can heat up some of Mom’s soup.”

“Sure. Yeah, that would be great.”

“We should probably ice you up again too,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads into the

kitchen. As soon as he’s out of sight, I flip the album back open, my heart beating wildly. It’s still

there. Even
I
can’t miss it. He loves me. Not as a best friend or a brother—Joe is
in
love with me.

And the thought isn’t as frightening or uncomfortable as it should be. In fact it makes me… happy.

My lack of memory has never been so frustrating. I need to know. I need to know who I am.

AFTER two bowls of Mrs. Massone’s minestrone and a couple of heavenly cannoli, I feel strong

enough to start digging into my past. Sitting on the edge of my bed where I can survey the entire room,

I try to think of myself as a puzzle. Who is Adam Beck? So far all I know is that I’m a twenty-nine-

year-old, girlfriend-less project manager with a closet full of khakis and button-down shirts. When

my eyes fall on a beat-up laptop on the desk, I realize it’s exactly what I need to help me learn more

about myself.

The machine boots up slowly, whirring and chugging to life. While I wait, I prop myself up

against the headboard, cushioned by a buffer of pillows with the computer on my lap. Fortunately the

laptop is not password enabled and automatically connects me to the network. I don’t even have to

think; my hands seem to still know their way around a computer as I navigate through the system. The

hard drive gives me nothing, consisting mostly of downloaded music and movies, so I open up a

browser window and hit my bookmarked list. The standard assortment of e-mail tools, file-sharing

sites—nothing remarkable here. Hang on, what’s this? Buried two levels deep in the bookmarks is a

folder called “XXX.” The normalness of it makes me smile. So Adam likes his porn. Nothing wrong

with that as long as I’m not into anything real kinky or—

Gay? Oh my God, it’s all gay porn judging by the names of the sites—and there are more than a

few. My stomach flutters with excitement as if I’m on the verge of some important discovery. I hover

over the mouse pad, torn between wanting to look and wanting to pretend I never saw this. In the end

my fingers make the decision for me and click on one of the links.

The video, when it comes up, doesn’t entirely surprise me; two hot young guys are kissing on a

couch, getting really into it if the huge boners both are sporting are any indication. Within no time

clothes are thrown off, dicks are being sucked, and the moaning is loud enough that I have to turn the

sound off so Joe won’t hear. After another five minutes, I’m half hard and confused as hell.

“There you are.” Joe pokes his head into the room and I slam the lid shut. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, just trying to find out who I am.”

“You’re… you’re Adam,” he says as if that explains everything.

“Gee, thanks, dude. That really helps.”

“I don’t know, Adam. How can I describe you?” Joe drops onto the mattress beside me,

stretches out his legs next to mine and sighs. “You’re like a part of me or something.”

“Like a tumor?”

I’ve made Joe grin. “No. A good part.” His right foot shoots out and taps mine. A streak of

electricity runs up my leg and I swallow hard. “Okay. You want to know who you are? You suck at

video games. And you’ve got really bad taste in girlfriends. But I guess you know that.” Joe thinks

some more. “But you’ve always got my back—even when I mess up. You’ve never let me down, not

once. You laugh at my lame jokes.” His face softens and his lips curl up at the corners as he talks. “I

swear sometimes you even read my mind.”

Joe’s head is next to mine and, from this angle, it would be so easy to just lean over and kiss

him. The thought pops into my head from nowhere, and this time I can’t blame it on the drugs, since I

haven’t taken anything but Tylenol this evening. With those full pouty lips, I bet he’d be really good at

it too. Would his beard be soft or scratchy? I wonder how many times I’ve had these thoughts before

and why we’re still apart. Am I doomed to never know?

“What is it?” he asks softly. “You just got all sad.”

“What if it doesn’t come back?” I don’t have to clarify for Joe.

“
If
that happens, we’ll deal with it then.”

Oh, I could get used to being a “we;” it’s so much better than a solitary “I.” “I think that goes

way beyond the blood brother oath, Joe.”

“Oh, Adam,” he sighs, curling into me—close enough that I can feel his body heat against my

side and his breath on my neck—but not actually touching. I don’t know how long we stay like that,

just quietly listening to the faint sounds of someone else’s television filtering through the apartment’s

antiquated heating system.

“You should get some sleep,” Joe finally murmurs.

“Yeah.” My jaw cracks as I yawn.

“Do you want me to stay?”

More than anything
, I want to say, but my thoughts are still so chaotic. “I think I’m good.”

Disappointment clouds his beautiful eyes. “Oh, okay. If you need anything….” He rolls off the

bed almost reluctantly and backs slowly toward the door. For a brief minute, I have the strange idea

that he’s afraid to let me out of his sight.

“Hey, um, Joe?” I call before he’s gone. “You ever use my computer?”

“No, dude, I’ve got my own.” Joe grins. “If you found porn on it, it definitely belongs to you. We

don’t exactly have the same tastes.”

From the way my dick stirred earlier two things are increasingly clear: the first, I’m obviously

feeling better; the second, I’m pretty sure Joe and I share exactly the same tastes in porn.

I WAKE in the middle of the night knowing immediately, without even opening my eyes, that it’s all

coming back to me. It’s not a big rush or anything like that—nothing so dramatic. More like slowly

turning on the faucet and letting the sink fill up. Memories trickle out, filling up the empty spaces—

summer camp, sleepovers, my mom’s funeral. There is hardly a moment of my life over the past

eighteen years that Joe hasn’t been a part of. The
best
part of in fact. It’s a crazy thing, memory; the

things that come back to us and those that don’t. Why do I so easily recall the first Christmas I spent

with the Massones the year after my mom died, when I can barely remember my first girlfriend’s

name? I can’t quote you a single word my father said to me when he disowned me, but I know the

exact moment when I first thought of Joe as more than my best friend.

I didn’t even put a name to it until Joe admitted he was gay in our first year of college, to no

one’s great surprise, apparently, except my own. Up until then, all I knew was that he was the single

most important person in my life. I needed him more than I had ever needed anyone before. How

terrified and bewildered I had been, not by his confession, but to recognize similar feelings in myself.

I almost got up the courage to tell him then, but something held me back. If he had given any indication

that he saw me as more than a friend, maybe I would have handled things differently. But he didn’t.

Instead, he tearfully promised me nothing would change between us. So Joe got to come out and I

stayed quiet, because giving voice to my own confusion risked losing the one person I couldn’t live

without. I got used to it after a while; I put away those messy feelings and got on with my life. Maybe

I wasn’t exactly happy, but at least I had Joe. We were good.

Until four days ago when Joe told me he was moving out. The news blindsided me. The thought

of Joe not being there was simply impossible, and, for a terrifying moment, I imagined he must have

somehow found out about my breakup with Hannah, about the feelings I could no longer ignore and

was trying to let me down easy. Even now just thinking about it, I can still feel that crippling pain,

like some vital organ being ripped from my chest, when he said we needed our space. Face flaming in

embarrassment, needing to get away, I remember grabbing my coat and rushing out of the apartment.

The details after that are still a bit hazy, but I can imagine the rest. The ache of my ribs is a physical

reminder of what happened next.

It’s not until the wetness of the pillow beneath my cheek draws my attention that I realize I’m

crying. I wipe away the tears with a corner of the blanket. But what about that photo? Why would he

leave if he loved me? Unless I’m too late and he’s moved on. Then I think of the way Joe has cared

for me, the way his eyes well up whenever I bring up the accident. I think of Maria acting oddly and

her not so subtle innuendos. After throwing back the covers, I shuffle out to the living room, ignoring

the chill of the parquet floors on my bare feet, and switch on the lamp next to the couch. The photo

album is on top of the stack, right where we left it, and I flip to the page that had caught my attention

earlier.

He loves me. I am sure of it. It’s there on his face, captured forever. Joe’s secret.

The question is, what do I do about it?

JOE finds me asleep on the couch the next morning, tangled in the ugly crocheted blanket one of his

older sisters gave us one Christmas. My eyes fly open, catching him crouched next to me, hand raised

over my head as if he had just been about to stroke my cheek. He blinks in surprise and pulls back,

breathing heavily.

“What are you doing out here? I thought you—Jesus, I thought you were gone, Adam!” Fully

awake now, I notice his pale face is etched with worry—no, not worry, full out panic. There’s a

tightness in my chest that has nothing to do with my cracked ribs. Joe collapses to the floor with his

back against the side of the couch away from me. His hair hangs down so I can’t see his face, but I

can practically feel the tension radiating off him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Joe.” I punctuate my words with a squeeze to his broad shoulder,

letting my hand rest there a minute before sliding it up under those thick, soft waves to rub the back of

his neck. He shudders under my touch. “I promise.”
Can you say the same?
The minutes pass in

silence. We stay like that a long time before I feel him begin to relax. Even then, I’m reluctant to stop

touching him.

Finally Joe heaves a big sigh. “Breakfast?”

It’s over. Whatever momentary anxiety gripped him has passed and we’re back to normal. It

takes me a moment to catch up. “Can I have pancakes again?”

“Whatever you want.”

I raise a brow and decide to see how far I can push this. “With bacon—extra crispy?”

Joe starts to smile. “Anything else you’d like while I’m at it? Maybe some fresh squeezed

organic orange juice?”

“Sounds perfect.”

AFTER breakfast I doze again, having been awake most of the night. Later, I prop myself up on the

couch in the living room and watch Joe haul up boxes of Christmas decorations from our storage unit

in the basement. “Christmas is tomorrow,” I observe. “Isn’t it kind of late to be decorating?”

Joe drops the cardboard box he’s carrying and tucks his wayward curls behind his ears. “I didn’t

feel like celebrating before.”

“But now you do?”

He shrugs, pulling out a straggly artificial Christmas tree in three pieces and snapping them

together. It’s small—only four feet or so—and the saddest tree I’ve ever seen. I tell him so.

“It looks better once it’s all decorated. Really,” he adds at my skeptical expression.

A twisted bundle of multicolored lights is tossed in my lap. “Hey, I’m injured. You can’t expect

an injured man to put up a Christmas tree.”

“No, but I can expect him to untangle lights. Especially when he’s the one who put them away

like this last year.”

“I liked you better when you were offering to wash my back.”

Joe throws back his head and laughs. I wish it could always be like this with us.

I’M WIRED the entire day. If it didn’t hurt so much, I’d be pacing the floor, but just the thought of

moving has me cringing, so I stay on the couch napping and watching Joe decorate. He sings along

off-key to the Christmas carols playing softly on the stereo, and it’s oddly comforting. Every time I

look at him, my heart speeds up.
Say something, now. Tell him
. The words are on the tip of my

tongue, but at the last moment I chicken out and swallow them.

When the sky outside starts to darken, Joe heats up leftover pasta and we eat in the living room