Second Chances (27 page)
He looked at me and reached up to hold my face between his big, strong hands. “It’s because of you. It’s half yours. You were half owner all the time. Well, I always considered you to be.”
I didn’t let it make me any different. None of us did. I kept working with Hope House, and thought about what kind of charitable foundation I wanted to establish with part of the money. I remembered back to my best friend from high school who killed himself. My first boyfriend who died from complications from HIV/AIDS. Bullying of gay kids in schools was destroying a lot of young lives. All worthy causes. And we could fund them.
But there were two that we settled on. I picked one and Antonio picked one. Mine was liver disease, which stole my mom from me years too soon. Antonio picked brain tumor-and seizure-related studies. In honor of Brian.
Did I mention I loved this man?
And now he bought this beautiful place for us to bring back into the family. He was such a gift to me. I took him by the hand and led him to the backyard. I wanted to know how long those two brats had known about this, and how in the hell they managed to keep it a secret from me. But mostly I wanted to be with my family and share a picnic.
December 2011
T
HE
church was full to the rafters, and it was truly beautiful this Christmas Eve. There were garlands and wreaths everywhere, and the entire sanctuary was lit with long, white tapers. The soft glow from the candlelight and the twinkling of fairy lights on the Christmas trees gave the space a gentle, home-like feel.
When I looked out, I saw all of our friends and family here to share the special evening.
I glanced at my watch and nodded to my friend Janet to start. She stood and moved to stand with the guitar player. All sound stopped and everyone rose.
I reached over to straighten Robbie’s tie. “This is it, buddy. I’ve got the keys to the Porsche if you wanna run for it now,” I teased.
“Shut up. I’ve been waiting five years for this day. You got the ring?” He worried and picked at imaginary lint on the sleeve of his tux. John Denver’s song for his wife Annie was the perfect accompaniment to what we were here for.
“Of course I have the ring. Now turn around, here he comes. I’m so proud of you two.” I squeezed his shoulder and turned him to face his husband-to-be.
“Robbie, he’s so handsome,” I whispered. Just like his dad.
He turned around and looked at Jason and Antonio coming down the aisle, and his eyes lit up with love and tears. “Yeah,” he breathed as his breath caught.
“Fuck yeah,” I agreed. Because I saw my man too.
Jason hugged his dad and took Robbie’s hand and they moved to the left. Both of my boys were stunning in ivory tuxedoes. They only had eyes for each other though, and when my groom faced me in his black tux, the rest of the room disappeared for me too. I reached out for his hand, taking it and squeezing as we turned to face the minister and felt the solidness and warmth as he squeezed mine back.
Our families were here to celebrate with us. My dad, Antonio’s mom. Jeanine and Gary. Patty. Robbie’s sister, Angela. Even his aunt came. Everyone we loved.
We’d left three empty seats in the front pew. It was draped in Christmas lights, just like we did that chair at the dinner table on Christmas Day. A single white rose lay in each place for the loved ones missing in body, but there in all of our hearts.
Antonio’s dad.
My mom.
And Brian.
About the Author
T. A. W
EBB
is the writing name for the Mean Old Bear That Could. By day, he's the director of finance for a nonprofit agency. He's worked with people living with HIV/AIDS and with children in the foster care system for over twenty years, and takes the smaller pay for the chance to make a difference for those who can't help themselves. After hours, he's the proud single papa of four rescue dogs, was born and raised in Atlanta, where he still lives, and is a pretty darned good country cook.
His sister taught him to read when he was four, and he tore his way through the local library over the next few years. Always wanting more, he snuck a copy of The Exorcist under his parents' house to read when he was eleven and scared the bejesus out of himself. Thus began a love affair with books that skirt the edge, and when he discovered gay literature, he was hooked for life.
T. A. can be found at Facebook under AuthorTAWebb, tweeted at #TomBearAtl, or if you really want to, you can email him at [email protected].
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