Date: Wed, 26 Jul 2000 19:14:53 EDT From: Gabriella Morrison Subject: My Surprise Romance 36 Hi y'all :) Well, let me just say that I have never received so much mail on one chapter. Never. And thank you to everyone who sent me mail (e-mail is sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com) Thank you, thank you , thank you. I've received some of the nicest e-mails ever from some of you who really love this story. It's really encouraging to know that y'all care about it so much. I really, really appreciate it. :) Really. But to reassure some of you out there, MSR is definitely not over (eventually it will be, but for now? Nope.)... I wasn't planning to put this out today. I was planning to put it out on Friday--but due to the overwhelming amount of mail that I have received, I'm putting it out because a.)People are asking me to put out this chapter asap and b.) I've stuck an advanced copy of this chapter on my website (which I usually do) and I've received a huge amount of positive e-mails from that. BTW, here's the addy for my site(being a hussy again, I know =)): http://sweetheart.homepage.com Okay, I'll shut up now--more notes are on the bottom. I'll just let you get to the story :) DISCLAIMER: m/m relationship, 18 or 21 to read it, don't like it? Leave. Not implying Lance's sexuality. Plus, a good amount of death is in this chapter... *brief note: I am not an unsympathetic person, I want you to know this. My description of the wake is not to disrespect the dead or anything. My cynical opinion on wakes is due to the ones I've experienced. And now... My Surprise Romance The Better to Dream of You-- "Sweetness Follows" Chapter 36-- "I'm going crazy/A little at a time/And everything I wanted/Is now driving me away/ I woke this morning/To the sound of beating hearts/Mine is full of questions/And it's tearing yours apart..." - "Home"- Sheryl Crow The plane had touched down in New York a couple of hours after I had left Lance, and I let out a sigh of relief when I heard the wheels hit the runway. I hated flying..I hated it. And automatically my mind thought of the first plane trip I had taken with Lance...where Cynthia had nearly overdosed me with those stupid airsickness pills of hers and Lance had wanted to hold on to my hand so badly... Those were better times, I thought as I looked out the window. Who would have thought things would have gone into such a downward spiral ... I had somehow managed to control my frazzled nerves with two vodka tonics during the trip, but as everyone got up from their seats and began to unboard the plane, I felt my stomach start to jump. Everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion, when all I wanted to do was get off the plane and go home. Home. Did I really want to go home to the place where my mother had ended her own life? The place where Lance and I started our relationship? It seemed like only yesterday that Lance and I were sitting in my kitchen, drinking coffee and my mother..rushing into it, fawning over Lance like a giddy teenager. Now that I thought of it, what she had done that night had been pretty funny. I stifled a laugh, drawing strange looks from the other passengers as I thought of my mother's odd behavior. Where had it come from? Why had she done that? Well, I thought grimly as I exited the plane, I would never know, would I? Once I was off the plane and back in the airport, I searched the crowd of welcoming people and my eyes immediately landed on Cynthia. She was sitting in a chair, her chin rested in the palm of her hand, her eyes lifeless as she stared ahead into nothingness. She must have sensed that I had come off the plane though, because she looked up just then and saw me. Wordlessly, my cousin walked over to me and for a few seconds, we just stood there, staring at each other until I couldn't take it anymore. I reached out for Cynthia and hugged her, relieved to feel the embrace of someone who cared about me. Her touch was warm...loving...real. She was there for me. "Oh Stephen," she sighed when we parted. "You don't know how glad I am to see you." She looked at me and gave me a melancholy smile. "Come on, let's get your luggage and we'll go to your house. I drove your car here." It was odd..the last time Cynthia and I had been at this airport, she had greeted me by jumping on top of me. We had laughed and had a good time. Now, I could barely open my mouth to say a word. Everything was different. Thankfully, Cynthia realized that I didn't want to talk. We just redeemed my luggage and made the trip to the parking lot, silently lost in our own thoughts. Finally I spoke. The silence was getting on my nerves. "How is Natalie?" I asked softly, as Cynthia opened the door to the car. I got into the passenger side and I realized that the last person to sit in this seat was Lance. The thought creeped me out a little bit, as Cynthia started up the car and pulled the car into drive. "She's sleeping..at least she was when I left her," Cynthia said quietly, as she began to maneuver her way out of the busy parking lot. "She's gonna be so happy to see you Stephen. She can't understand why her mother would kill herself..." Cynthia trailed off, as she came to a red light. My cousin turned to me, looking at me solemnly when she noticed the tears slipping down my cheeks. "Was your flight okay?" She asked gently, taking my hand in hers and giving it a squeeze. I nodded wordlessly, unsure what to say. What *could* I say? Instead, I flicked on the radio, needing to hear something besides the monotony of my mind and the silence of the road. I nearly let out a groan as I realized the last person to play around with the radio was Lance. He had left it on the country station... "Well I'm good-one of a kind...But I would rather be two...And I still speak my mind...But I miss talking with you.." came the voice from the radio. I closed my eyes at hearing the lyrics. Jesus, maybe I should have just driven a nail through my chest. "How are your mom and dad?" I asked Cynthia, trying to ignore the song on the radio. I know I could have turned it off, but I needed the background noise. "Dad is a wreck...it was his sister for God's sake...he's been acting weird. I don't think it's set into his mind yet..." Cynthia continued to talk, but my ears were magnetically drawn the the radio once more. "Weren't we something back then...Thick as thieves...Who would have ever thought that...You and me...Would let forever come to...Used to be..." When I heard that, my mind had drifted back to my ex-boyfriend. Lance and I had been so close; he had become my confidant, my partner-in-crime, I thought with a sad smile as I recalled how deeply we had fallen in love with each other. Lance had become an extension of me, my soul...`why hadn't I told him about my mother,' I silently browbeated myself. With that, I leaned forward and snapped off the radio, creeped out at why that song had come on just then. What was God trying to tell me? Was he mocking me? Or was he just trying to tell me that I wasn't alone, even though at that moment, I felt pretty lonely. Even though Cynthia was right there with me, I still felt lonely...empty... Cynthia noticed that I was staring off into space and promptly shut up then. The remainder of the ride was spent silently, except for when some car cut her off. "Asshole!" she screamed at the driver, even though he couldn't hear her. She popped him the finger as he passed her by. And then she shut up. A few minutes later, Cynthia pulled into the driveway and for the first time in weeks, I saw my house. It looked the same from the outside. Beige siding, crimson shutters. You would have never guessed that there was so much sadness coming from inside that house. I certainly wouldn't have. As I got out of the car, I walked up the sidewalk and up the stairs. My Aunt opened the door and stared at me for the first time in a couple of months. She hadn't changed much from when I last saw her. Dyed blonde hair (like mother like daughter), a bit on the stocky side. Her blue-violet eyes were red with tears that had been shed over the last few hours. We stared at each other for a few seconds before Aunt Florence finally opened up the screen door and let me into the house. Once I was inside, my aunt wrapped me in a hug. "Stephen..so good to see you again," she choked out, and I felt her tears hit my shoulder. "I don't know what to say," she said as we parted. "I just can't believe your mother would do something like this...I always knew Patty was a little unstable, but..." Aunt Florence stopped herself suddenly. "Come on let me get you a cup of tea. Sit down, you had a long flight." "Aunt Florence, where's Natalie?" I asked, my heart racing. I had to see my sister. I had to. "Stephen, she's in her bedroom...she's sleeping, we finally put her down--" Pushing past my Aunt, I climbed the stairs that led to my sister's room two at a time, the blood racing through my veins as I realized that my sister was only a few feet away from me. Her bedroom door was opened a crack and I gently pushed it open. There was my sister, sleeping in her bed. She looked the same, I thought with a smile as I watched her sleeping form. I watched her rhythmic breathing--up and down, up and down. She looked so innocent, fragile...judging from her puffy eyelids I could tell that she had been crying, but she looked okay, I thought with relief. I was about to walk out of her room, when I suddenly heard her thin voice float through the air. "Stephen? Is that you?" I stopped in my tracks, and turned back around. Natalie was sitting up in bed, her blonde hair tousled around her shoulders as she looked at me with hopeful eyes. "Natalie," I managed to breathe out as I rushed over to the bed and sat down on it. "Natalie, I missed you so much," I sighed as I held my sister in my arms for the first time in ages. Once I placed my arms around her, I felt her body suddenly start to shake with tears. "Stephen, I missed you so much..." she cried into my chest. "I missed you. I was hoping you could come home tonight....mom....mom is dead." She let out a wail that broke my heart right there and then as she clamped her hands tighter around my body. "I know, sweetie," I whispered as I rocked my sister's small frame in my arms. "I know. She's gone..." I closed my eyes at the harsh reality that God had decided to placed over us. My eyes looked at the wall in front of me and it took me a few seconds to register what I was looking at. A huge oversized poster of `N Sync. My eyes fell on Lance, where he was posed, smiling for the camera. For a second, I wondered if I was in some sort of nightmare. And then Natalie let out another wail, bringing me back to reality once more. I closed my eyes so that I wouldn't look at that poster and when I did this, tears spilled down my cheeks. Natalie and I held onto each other for dear life, not saying anything else. We only had each other... "Well, the funeral home said that Patricia could be laid out in two to three days," Uncle George sighed as we sat around the kitchen table. "That would give us enough time to make all of the other arrangements." We were seated in a circle. Aunt Patricia. Uncle George. Cynthia. Me. I had a cup of coffee in front of me, but I had barely touched it. Everything was sinking into my mind. My mother was dead. She had to be buried. And I had lost the only man that I had loved. Give us a pregnancy, I thought cynically, and this would be a goddamn soap opera. I stared off into space, not caring what my aunt and uncle were discussing. An hour passed and they decided to go to bed. It was three in the morning, and I wondered what Lance was doing. Was that selfish?, I asked myself. Thinking of Lance and not my mother? He was only my ex-boyfriend and not family. But, another part of me spoke up, he was like family Sure I had only known him for a few weeks, but he had shown me more caring than I had ever received in my entire life. And that in itself was a scary thought. I picked up the coffee cup and downed the entire beverage in one gulp. Cynthia remained at the table with me, as she carefully watched my every move like a hawk. "More coffee, Stephen?" she asked gently, noticing my empty coffee cup. I shook my head. "No, God no. Anymore and I'll float away," I said, trying to make a joke. I looked up at my cousin. She looked tired. Very tired. "Cynthia, go to bed," I told her. "I'll be fine by myself." "Stephen, I'm not tired. I'm just exhausted..a little jet lagged even though it is only an hour difference. It's just strange, all the events of today. I mean, I got up--never expected to get this frantic phone call from the hospital saying that a Mrs. Patricia Peterson was dead...from self-inflicted wounds." Cynthia shook her head at the surrealness of the whole situation. "Last thing I would have expected." "How do you think I feel?" I asked Cynthia, my voice almost choking on the words. "My mother..Natalie's mother is dead. I'll never have a chance to talk to her again. I'll never get to hear her voice...I regret so much now," I leaned back in my chair as I pondered this. I wanted to tell my mother that I loved her, even if she despised me, I still loved her. She was my mother. And I felt guilty. "Stephen...can I ask you something?" Cynthia spoke up quietly. I looked at my cousin, a bit taken aback by the serious look on her face. "Sure, shoot," I said. I was a little worried. I wasn't ready to get involved in philosophical life and death arguments. Not now. Not ever. Cynthia paused, running her finger around the rim of the empty glass in front of her, before she met my eyes. "Do you think she killed herself because she couldn't deal with you being..." Cynthia's voice trailed off, not wanting to say the final word. "Gay?" I asked her gently, a slight smile appearing on my face, despite the fact that I was miserable on the inside. Cynthia's face turned red at my on-the-target response. "Well, yeah..I mean, you and her were okay until you told her that...and then everything seemed to go downhill from there," Cynthia said awkwardly. I could tell that she didn't want to offend me. And even though she was trying not to, but in a perverse way, she had. How could she just come out and say that? Not even twenty-four hours after my mother's death...but she had a point. In between thoughts of Natalie and Lance, I had been thinking that myself. I felt incredibly guilty because of it. Had I unintentionally caused my mother's death? "Cynthia...I'd love to give you an answer, but to tell you the truth, I don't know..." I sighed, determined not to cry for the hundredth time that night. "I just have this feeling that I'm eleven years old again and I'm telling my father not to go to work. It's that strange feeling, you know? Once again, I feel responsible for the death of one of my parents." I buried my face in my arms and just lay there for a second. "Well, what did Lance say?" Cynthia asked suddenly. And hearing that felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I looked up at my cousin and just stared at her. Staring seemed a very de rigor thing to do today. "Lance...Lance and I broke up...." I finally said after a few minutes of my old friend, silence, passed between us. "I never told him about mom." Cynthia's eyes grew as round as saucers. "What?!" She exclaimed, slapping me in the head. I winced at her touch. It was bad enough my head hurt from crying so much, but did she have to go and do that too? "You broke up with Lance? Why?" I helplessly shrugged my shoulders. "I...I don't know...it seemed like such a good idea at the time. I just didn't want to pull him into my problems, you know drag him down and make him unhappy." I looked back at Cynthia. "Do you know what I mean?" Cynthia shook her head at me. "Honey...I don't know what's going on in that head of yours....why wouldn't you tell Lance that your mother died? It's not like he wouldn't understand...you two were so in love." I winced at the truth of her words. The truth hurt. "Yeah, I know. I can't believe I did that." I gave a short, bitter laugh. "Anyways, it's all over between us. I don't think that Lance will ever want to see me again...he gave me back the bracelet that I gave him." A puzzled look passed over her face, until she realized what bracelet I was talking about. "*You* gave him your dad's ID bracelet?" Cynthia said in shock, reaching out for my hand. "That was like one of your prized possessions, Stephen." I nodded. "Well, I have it back again. He told me that he never wanted to wear it in the first place," I said, blinking back tears at remembering Lance's harsh last words. "So maybe it was supposed to end this way." I paused. "But you know who *does* know about mom?" "Who?" "Justin." "Justin? Justin Timberlake? You told him and not Lance." Another slap in the head. I winced at the pain that reverbeted through my skull. "Cynthia I had to...we ran into each other in the hallway and it just came out. I had to tell someone." I shook my head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted to protect Lance, I guess." I managed a small smile, despite the sadness I felt. "My mind was all fucked up I guess." "I'll say that," Cynthia said, shaking her head as she got up from the table. "Look, Stephen, I have to get to bed sometime." I stood up too, feeling myself falling under the heavy curtain of sleep as well. We walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs together, before parting. Cynthia was sleeping in Natalie's room. "Good night, Stephen," Cynthia said quietly before turning into the dark room. She stopped to give me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek and then she was gone. I held back a sigh as I turned to my bedroom. This was the first time I had set foot in it, since I left. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and flipped on the light. Everything was the same. My mother hadn't touched at thing, or at least to my tired eyes, it seemed that she didn't. The only difference, was that there was a layer of dust covering almost all the objects in the room. I walked over to my bed and stared at it for a couple of seconds. This was where everything had really changed, I thought. The sheets were rumpled. This is where my mom caught Lance and I together after the first time we had slept together (although I'm not sure `slept' was the right word for it). And then I had found out about the church and the therapy and oh, God, what a mess my life had become. I ran a hand over the pillow that lay near the headboard and I noticed a light blonde hair on it. It certainly wasn't mine and it was too short and pale to be Natalie's. It was Lance's. I stared at it for a couple of seconds before lying myself down on the bed, placing my cheek on the pillow. I could have sworn that I could still smell a trace of Lance's scent on the soft cotton material. With that, I kicked off my shoes and then closed my eyes, my heart hurting like it had never hurt before. My mother was gone. Lance was gone. Oh well, I thought with a forlorn sigh, the better to dream of them both. The next few days seemed to whirl past me in a blur. When I had woke up the next morning, voices floated from downstairs. I heard one, particularly deep in tone and my heart leapt straight into my shoes. Oh my God, I thought. It was Lance. I ran out of bed and downstairs, only to see one of my other, more distant cousins standing there. He and a few other not-so-close relatives had shown up to console me and my sister. It had been him I heard talking. Had I suddenly gone delusional and was hearing Lance's voice in my mind? Jesus, I thought, as I gave everyone standing around a wave and headed back up the stairs. I was starting to crack up. Badly. A little while later, I had showered and dressed and joined the rest of my extended family in the living room. They had offered me their condolences and I took them all, with a nod and a polite `thank you', but to be honest, I just wanted to be alone. I didn't need to see relatives who had just appeared of the woodwork, out of nowhere because my mother had gone and killed herself. Where the hell had they been through the years between my father's funeral and the present? I stood still in place as I suddenly pondered what I had just thought of. I had seen both of my parents pass away before I was twenty-two. That was weird. Very weird. The wake was stranger to me, mainly because I spent the entire day cooped up inside the funeral home. It was also the first time in weeks that I would lay eyes on my mother... Cynthia and I walked into the funeral home together. It was a strange, creepy place. A little dark, and as I sniffed the air, I noticed that it smelled even stranger than I had imagined. I felt horribly uncomfortable as I walked up to a man who was standing there. He had a nametag on, so I assumed that he worked there. I was right. "Excuse me," I said, "I was wondering where I'd go...my mother..." I managed to say, despite the huge lump in my throat. The man looked at me with interested eyes. "Are you Stephen Peterson? Here for Patricia?" he asked, taking my hand in his. I nodded wordlessly and I felt Cynthia grab my hand for support. "Come with me," the man said, leading me towards the back of the building. "By the way, I'm Victor. I was put in charge of your mom's wake." "Oh. Thank you," I said, as he opened a heavy, maple door up and pulled out a sign. It read, "Patricia Leanna Peterson 11:00 A.M-3: P.M./ 5:00 P.M.-9:00 P.M" It was cold, made with stick on letters and it was just weird seeing that. Victor led Cynthia and I to a casket and then opened the top up. I sucked in my breath, not expecting to see what I did. My mother. Lifeless. Cold. Her face was expressionless and her lips were sewn shut. My mother. I felt sick all of a sudden and without warning, I ran out of there and, as though I knew already, I found the bathroom, went into a stall and threw up. I couldn't handle it anymore. Everything was out of control. Seeing my mother like that...how could I have just turned my back on her the way I had? Love was important, but my family...how did I manage to put that one on the back burner? I heard the door open and then a pair of arms wrap around me. I looked up to see Cynthia standing there, a worried look on her face, as she slowly began to rub my back. "Stephen, are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with panic. "You're so pale..." I opened my mouth to say something to her, and then without warning, another wave of nausea overswept me. I turned my head back to the toilet bowl and I threw up once more, not able to control my jumpy stomach. After a round of dry heaving, I suddenly felt okay again. I stood up, flushed the toilet and turned back to my cousin, who looked absolutely petrified as I walked out of the cramped stall. "Hey, you're not supposed to be in here," I said, attempting to make a lame joke. Cynthia stared at me as I walked over to the line of sinks and turned on the water. I washed my hands and splashed my face, trying to calm myself down. I was shaking terribly as I did this. Cupping my hands, I filled them with cold water and drank. After this, I turned off the water and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked terrible. I had lost weight over the past few days, and my cheekbones seemed to stick out prominently. Dark circles underneath my eyes were the result of lack of sleep that I hadn't received. Knowing that I had to go out and face the hurdle sometime, I adjusted the tie that I was wearing and turned back towards my cousin. "Ready?" I asked her. She gave me a nod of uncertainty as we walked out of the men's room, hand in hand, ready for the long day ahead of us. The wake had to be one of the most horrible experiences of my life. I don't remember much of my father's wake mainly because I was too young at the time, but this one? God...by the end of the night it had turned into some kind of sick party, with my relatives grouping together to catch up on past events. Bursts of laughter had popped up from the little groups that had formed. I was ready for bottles of champagne to be brought out and opened. Maybe while we were at it, we could go hire some waiters to pass out hors d'oeuvre's too. And in the middle of it all, was my mother, lying in her casket. It was sick, absolutely sick...thank God my aunt and uncle (who were now laughing up a storm with some out-of town relatives of mine) had taken Natalie home earlier in the day, during the all too brief lull in visiting hours. As I sat there in my uncomfortable vinyl seat, I looked around for any shred of sadness left, but it had all seemed to disappear. I felt helpless...I just wanted to go home, but I couldn't since I had to stay until everyone left, just so I could thank these heartless bastards for coming to "honor" my mother. I felt like a prisoner, wanting to escape. I looked around for my cousin, who had disappeared. Fearing that she had left, I got up from my seat and tapped one of my other cousins on the shoulder. "Hey, Maggie," I said to my tall, pretty third cousin whom I hadn't seen in years, "Did you see where Cynthia went?" "Cynthia...Cynthia...blonde? Kind of slutty, right?" Maggie said carelessly off the top of her head. I felt my hands form tight fists at my side as she said that. How dare she call Cynthia that, when she was standing there, her huge horse-like teeth showing as she and some woman exchanged tasteless jokes about death. Nice, huh? And she called Cynthia a slut...I couldn't deal anymore. I went nuts. "That is my cousin you're talking about, bitch," I managed to say through clenched teeth. "As well as one of my best friends. So you better take that back, or you're not the only one who'll be lying in a casket around here." Maggie stared at me with a shocked expression. "Um, she went outside for a smoke," Maggie said, her face turning bright red. "Yeesh, I was just teasing you. God, you're uptight." How heartless can you be? "Uptight? *Uptight*! My mother just died you selfish prig!" I began screaming this at her, despite the fact that I was in the middle of my mother's wake. "What the fuck is your problem?" I shut up as I realized that everyone in the room was staring at me, with a horrified expression on their face. I had just lost it..I fucking lost it, I thought as I pushed through the crowd of relatives and co-workers that had come for a social gathering. I walked out of the room, down the hall and outside into the sticky night air, where I saw Cynthia sitting on the hood of my car. A cigarette dangled from her hand as she waved me over towards her. "Hey," she said as I took a seat next to her. "Hey, yourself...I just went nuts inside there...you missed it," I said, as I picked up the pack of cigarettes and took one. "You mind?" She shook her head. "Nah, I bought a whole carton. I'll probably give the rest to Great Aunt Hedda in there, unless I smoke them all first." We laughed at the thought of Cynthia going through 200 cigarettes in one night, as I lit one up. I hadn't smoked in ages, but I slipped back into it like I had quit yesterday. "Jesus," Cynthia said as she exhaled a thin stream of smoke into the air. "What the hell, I never knew that this was going to turn into some kind of shindig." She threw the butt of her cigarette on the ground and reached for another one. "I know. I thought wakes were supposed to be sad...not fun get-togethers," I said dryly, as I drummed my fingers against the hood of my car. "Maybe Lance *would* have enjoyed it." Sick joke. I didn't care. I needed to say something vulgar like that. It was brewing inside of me. Cynthia looked at me just then. "Stephen, why don't you call him up. Tell him what happened...I can tell you miss him so much, it's making me sick," she added with a smile. "I know I do. And I want to tell him. But I've managed to live for, what...three days without Lance?" I counted on my fingers. "Yes, three days." Three long, miserable days, I thought as I took another drag on my smoke. "And look at how terrible you look. You miss him, Stephen. Jesus Christ, you miss him and--" Cynthia suddenly stopped her self and stuck her cigarette between her lips once again, as though it was a cork. "And what?" I asked sharply, as I turned to look at her. She rolled her eyes, tapped the ash off her smoke and then sighed. "Aw, Jesus, I suck at keeping secrets. Stephen, he misses you," Cynthia said looking into my eyes. "I talked to Josh today and he told me that Lance has been drunk off his ass for like...the whole time since you've broken up. Obviously Lance is one of those guys who soothes his problems with a drink or two. Or ten." "You're shitting with me, Cynthia. I know you are...did you tell Josh about my mom?" She shook her head. "No, I'll tell him eventually. Probably when he's gonna come out to visit me later this summer," Cynthia said wearily as she began to massage her temples. "I knew he would tell Lance what happened to you. All the guys are worried about him." "Make me feel worse why don't you," I sighed. "Cynth, I miss him so much, you wouldn't believe it. But do I really want him to have to go through all of this stuff? Make him sit through wakes, funerals...the will reading? No, I don't. It's not right. He's a pop star--do you think he wants to spend his whole break depressed because of me? It's not right, Cynthia. What I did was for him...it was for the best--I think," I said uncertainly. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. "Stephen, you're not thinking straight!" Cynthia screamed at me, her voice echoing throughout the parking lot. "Goddamn it! If someone's in love with you, they'll stay with you no matter what. Happiness, death...all the shit that life brings upon you." She took a breath. "You've never been in a relationship before Stephen! You don't know what it's like at all. You...you just don't lie to people like that. Not someone that you love." I sat there, the cigarette lazily burning in my hand. I really didn't know what to say or do, since I knew that my cousin was right. I hadn't been in a relationship before. Maybe I didn't know what I was doing. Hell, with what had happened, I was lucky I still knew how to get up in the morning. All I knew was that I missed my mother. And I missed Lance. Terribly. "You think he misses me?" I asked Cynthia wistfully as I took a drag off my cigarette. "Stephen, I know he does. Josh wouldn't lie to me, sweetie. He's not like that. He said that not only is Lance drunk most of the time, he's just quiet. A quiet drunk is the worst, you know. He won't talk to anyone...he's staying at Josh's now for the time being," Cynthia said. "So if you want to call him...." I took a deep breath. "Not now, Cynthia...I will, one day...but not now," I said quietly, flicking the remains of my cigarette out of my fingers. My cousin just looked at me, with a sad expression on her face. "Okay, Stephen...I understand." And we remained out there for the rest of the wake. Everyone had left. Cynthia was still outside, waiting to take me home. But there was one more thing I had to do. I walked to the casket where my mother lay. I looked down at her, knowing that this would be the last time that I would ever see her. Natalie looked a lot like her...the same heart shaped face, sandy blonde hair...it was weird to see my mother. All I could remember of her was the last time we had spoken..she disowned me. And now...this... "Mom," I said quietly, even though she couldn't respond. Maybe she could hear me--I like to think that she did. "Mom...I know that we haven't talked much...I know that you were mad at me when I left. I disappointed you terribly and I want you to know that I'm sorry, I really am." I felt my eyes fill up with tears as I continued on. "There was so much I wanted to say to you, mom. I was so proud of you working all the time to keep us afloat. You were always there for me in high school." I swallowed back my tears. "In fact, I can remember at graduation, you yelling out my name when I walked across the stage, and I was so embarrassed. But really, I wasn't. I was so proud that you were there for me." I felt tears run down my face as I kept rambling on. "What happened to us mom? For awhile all we had was each other. It was me, you and Natalie. Remember when we all went on that silly picnic that you dragged us out on? I told you that I was too old to be going on a picnic, but to be honest with you that was one of the best afternoons of my life. So what happened to us mom? I know what it was, I told you I was gay and that was it. You shut me out." The tears were falling down now, unstoppable as I began to pour my heart out to my dead mother. I needed to do this. *I needed to*. "Why did you do that mom? Especially after all we went through? I really thought you'd be there for me. We were always there for each other--after dad died, when I got into college--*everything* and then it was over. Why, mom? I just wanted to be happy with myself and if I went on living a lie, I wouldn't be happy with myself. I'd be miserable." I wiped the tears away from my face. "Mom, you would have liked Lance. I know you would have. You were so happy when you saw him in the kitchen--and I know that you saw him again, not under the best conditions, I know...but you would have liked him as my boyfriend. I know you would have..." I trailed off the words and let out a sigh. "I love you mom...I always will, no matter what you said to me. You just can't stop loving someone...I'm going to miss you so much, mom. You don't know...." And with that I broke down completely, sobbing like my heart had broken in two. And in a way, I think it had. I felt shattered. Run down and emotionally drained. I felt like I had been pulled through the wringer, my sanity tested...and maybe I had passed that test. Maybe this was a way to get my thoughts together for good... Eventually I stopped crying, but just barely. I felt terrible, but somehow refreshed. Like I could face anything now. I had to get some stuff off my chest, and I had just done it... With that as my last thought, I placed my fingertips to my lips, and then gently placed them on my mom's cheek. And then with one last look at her, I left the funeral home for good. "Readying to bury your father and your mother, What did you think when you lost another? I used to wonder why did you bother, Distanced from one, blind to the other?" -- "Sweetness Follows"--R.E.M. Funerals...what could you say about them, besides the fact that they're depressing as hell. As if you're not depressed enough over the person that just died, now you have to place them six feet in the ground and throw mud over them. Now that's depressing, I thought as Natalie and I were ushered into the limousine that waited for us outside of the church. It's funny that they think you should travel in style to the death of a loved one, isn't it? I never caught on to that aspect of the whole funeral thing, but it happens and you just accept it like you accept everything else... The actual burying of my mother happened rather quickly. It was all a blur. There we were at the grave and before I knew it, she was lowered into the ground, the priest said a prayer over her casket and it was over. That was it. Bang. It was over. As the crowd began to disperse, only my aunt, uncle, Cynthia, Natalie and I remained at my mother's grave. Uncle George kneeled one last time next to his sister's grave and stared at it for awhile, before standing back up and walking towards the car. Aunt Florence followed suit and then Cynthia, leaving Natalie and I alone together. "You alright, honey?" I asked my sister quietly, as I knelt next to her. She nodded at me and then wrapped her frail arms around my neck. "Yeah..I guess," she said when we parted. "Stephen, I miss mom. I miss her a lot," Natalie said so quietly, I could barely hear her as she tried to hold back her tears. "I just can't believe that she's gone." "Neither can I, Natalie," I said, sadly as my sister knelt next to the dirt covered grave. She gently ran her hand over the soil and then turned back to me. "Well, at least she's in a better place now, right?" Natalie asked me softly as she wiped her hand in my shirt. I smiled at her shifty little move. I couldn't help it. "Yup," I said, as I gave my sister a quick hug. What else was I going to say? We parted and then looked at my mother's grave once more. And since there was nothing left to say, we walked away from it, hand in hand. "Stephen, I think you should know some things about your mother," Uncle George said as we waited for our drinks to arrive. The five of us had gone to a local steakhouse for dinner so that we could just relax after the events of the day. I had felt wound up tighter than a spring at the funeral, and since it was only the five of us, I felt okay. That is, until Uncle George brought up my mother. "What?" I asked nervously as I began to play with the silverware in front of me. I looked at Uncle George who looked at his wife a bit uncertainly before continuing. "Stephen...your mother sent Natalie here because she had entered the hospital..." My uncle shook his head and then went on. "She told us not to tell you in case you called." "What was she in the hospital for?" I asked him, my mind spinning at the new news. Once again, George and Florence looked at each other before speaking. "Patty was in the hospital because she had taken an overdose of pills. The psychiatrist she was seeing had given her an influx of medications and one night, she took the wrong ones," Aunt Florence explained. I looked over at Cynthia who just shrugged at me. Natalie was staring at the menu in front of her, disinterested in our conversation. I looked back at my Aunt and Uncle and nodded at them to continue. "So she sent Natalie to us...Patty didn't feel that it was right for the poor girl to be around her," Aunt Florence said, lowering her voice so that my sister wouldn't hear the conversation. "And thank God--that poor child is going to have to go through therapy after this, like you did when your father died." I nodded, knowing how much I had hated seeing that therapist. Now Natalie would have to go through it as well. She was exactly the same age I had been when my father had died. Weird. Suddenly, Cynthia's cell phone began to ring. All of us at the table looked at her, as she scurried to answer it. "Hello?" she said, looking a little embarrassed. "Yes? Oh really? Really? Great...okay, I'll see you later...mmmm, yeah...ditto. Bye." She pressed another button and then looked at her mom and dad. "The fish we ordered is in," Cynthia said evenly, staring at her parents. A brief look of confusion passed across their face and then they smiled, as though they had finally got what she meant. "Oh, is it?" Aunt Florence said, looking relieved and happy. "Good." "Fish? What fish?" I said, confused by what they were talking about. I hate being left out of conversations. And this was definitely one of those conversations. "Nothing," Uncle George said, dismissing the subject with a wave of his hand. "You don't need to know." Our waitress came to the table then, and whatever I was confused about, quickly disappeared as she began to take our orders. We arrived back at my house later on that evening. I felt a little better, but not much. I mean, I knew I had family in my aunt and uncle, but in reality, I was an orphan. Natalie was an orphan. There were so many questions spinning around in my head. `What was going to happen to Natalie?' I thought as we got out of the car and entered the house. I couldn't take care of her. I didn't even have a job. And where was I going to live? I knew that the mortgage on our house still hadn't been paid off. I couldn't afford it by a long shot. And as though this wasn't bad enough, Aunt Florence and Uncle George announced that they, as well as Cynthia and Natalie, would be staying at a hotel tonight. "Why?" I asked them, as they came down the stairs with their suitcases. "Aunt Florence, Uncle George--there's plenty of room for you to stay here. Why are you leaving?" `Please don't leave me alone,' I begged them silently. God, I didn't want to be alone. Why were they leaving me? "Honey, we think that maybe you need to be by yourself for awhile. You know, gather your thoughts..." Aunt Florence said hurriedly as she grabbed onto Natalie's hand and led her out the door. "Take a nice long sleep--you don't need me and George to breathe down your neck. We're stopping by tomorrow though, Stephen, so don't worry about it, okay?" And they were gone, Cynthia passed by me, a small travel bag, slung over her shoulder. "Stephen, get some sleep," she quipped before walking out of the house. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and then gave me one of her trademark smiles. "Just go to bed, okay?" And then she was gone. I watched their rental car pull out of the driveway and down the street. Why had they left? Even they didn't want to be around me. I stood there in the doorway, feeling truly and utterly alone. And suddenly, I wanted Lance. I missed him tremendously . My heart ached at not having him with me. I regretted not telling him about my mother. I regretted telling him that I wanted time apart from him. And I regretted telling him that I didn't care about him anymore. Because I did. Oh God, I did. I made my way upstairs then, taking Cynthia's advice to go to bed. I desperately needed sleep. The upstairs was dark as I felt my way to my bedroom and pushed open the door. Walking over to my bed, I flicked on the light that sat on my nightstand. The room lit up then and as my eyes adjusted to the change in light, I looked down at my bed. There was a package on it. A flat manila envelope, that had something inside of it. On the outside of the envelope, someone had written my name on it in neat script. I picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside was a cassette tape, whose label read, "Play me" in the same neat script. I furrowed my eyebrows as I sat on my bed. I examined the tape for a few seconds, before leaning over and slipping it into the cassette player that sat on the nightstand. I pressed play. There was a few seconds of silence, before I heard the faint hum of blank tape. And then a deep, familiar voice... "Stephen?" My heart dropped to the floor. "It's me..." He laughed gently at this, and then began speaking again. "Lance...but you probably knew that already, right?" He cleared his throat gently and then began to speak again. "Stephen...I *know*. Why didn't you tell me about your mother? Why? I thought we could be honest with each other...why did I have to hear it from Justin and not from you?"He paused. Justin. I was going to kill him when and if I ever saw him again. "Stephen, please don't be mad at Justin. I'm glad that he told me...I don't know what else to say, Stephen....except this..." he trailed off and suddenly a familiar song began to fill the air. It was the slow, sound of a twangy guitar...and then a girl's voice... "Times Are Hard And Rents Are High What Can A Working Girl Do But Struggle Through Another Day Then I'll Take Care Of You" I blinked when I heard this. It was the song. It was the song that Lance had sang to me at the karoke bar. It meant so much to me...to us...I just sat there and listened... "Nights Are Long And Dreams Are Cold If They're All You Wake Up To But Should You Rise With Crying Eyes I'll Take Care Of You So Let Them Talk About Us Let Them Call Us Funny Things People Sometimes Do I Don't Care As Long As You Know I Love You Oh, And You Know I Do I'll Be There, But You Might Not See Me It's Never Easy To Get Through But When The Laughter Dies Away I'll Take Care Of You" Those words had never meant so much. And then the full force of what they meant hit me just then. Sure, they had meant something to me when I had first heard him sing them to me, but now...after what I had been through. And now that Lance knew...God, they meant so much more ...I couldn't believe that he had made this tape for me. He still cared, I thought with a sad smile as I continued to listen to the song... "So Let Them Talk About Us Let Them Call Us Funny Things People Sometimes Do I Don't Care As Long As You Know I Love You Oh, And You Know I Do I'll Be There, But You Might Not See Me It's Never Easy To Get Through But When The Laughter Dies Away I'll Take Care Of You Darling, I'll Take Care Of You" I sat there as the song ended, blinking away tears as the tape faded off into silence. I was alone again. I sat there, looking at my hands, watching them shake as I realized that Lance still cared for me. Despite the rotten thing I had done to him, that I had hurt him terribly, he still cared. Lance still cared. "Stephen." The voice came out of nowhere and I immediately looked at the tape recorder, thinking that Lance had taped something after the song. But only silence was coming through the speakers. And then I looked up. There he was standing in front of me. I blinked, thinking that I had finally gone insane. I was seeing him, like a mirage in a desert, right? But I was wrong. Lance stood there in front of me, a faint smile on his lips as he locked his gaze with mine. "Lance?" I asked nervously, not believing that he was here. In the flesh. Right in front of me. He nodded gently and then walked over to me, wrapping his arms around my body. "God, I missed you," he whispered in my ear. "Stephen...I love you so much." I looked up at him, still not believing that he was here in my arms. Instinctively, I felt my mouth find a way to his and our lips met. It was a soft, beautiful kiss that I wished would last forever. But I knew it couldn't... We parted and Lance stared at me with those green eyes of his. There were so many emotions swimming around in them. My heart felt whole again...I couldn't speak. "Lance, I love you too. I'm so sorry about what I said...Lance, I--" I began before he cut me off, placing his fingers to my lips to quiet me. "Stephen, shhhh," he shushed as he pulled me down onto the bed. Lance wrapped his strong arms arms around me and once again, I felt safe. Protected. "I just want to hold you again," he whispered, as he placed a kiss on my cheek. And since Lance wanted it that way, who was I to argue with him? I eventually fell asleep, bittersweet feelings coursing though my body as Lance held on to me for the rest of the night. Did you really think I'd break them up like that? God, it tore my heart apart to even write what I did! Thank you for reading and goodnight. E-mail me at sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com and let me know what you think of this chapter. Okay, I skipped this at the beginning because I thought some of you'd like to just get to the story. Well, I need to thank people...a lot of them...since they've been so great in encouraging me: Damon , Clarke, Cele (check out her wonderful Justin/Lance story called `Love Letters' at http://www.angelfire.com/journal/LoveLetters/frames.htm--you'll be glad you did), Khiem, John, Val (here's the advertisement and the e-mail address--hee hee, j/k :) ) and Justin, who as you already know, is a wonderful person, and I'll leave it at that. Songs used in this chapter as follows: "Home" Written by Sheryl Crow; 1996 /"Where Are You Now" written by Kim Richey and Mary Chapin Carpenter; sung by Trisha Yearwood; 2000 /"Sweetness Follows"; Copyright R.E.M./Athens Ltd.; 1992