25. Two Years, Three Months

A week after the ice storm passed, once Thad and I had nestled back into our secluded den of blankets and hot tea and reruns of Real Housewives of New York , he made an startling announcement one night:

“I’m thinking about moving in with Bettina.” He said it confidently, as if he was thrilled with himself, but I could tell there was fear there behind his left eye; it twitched just ever so.

“What?” I almost dropped my coco.

“I mean we had such a great time together during the blizzard; she asked me if I would like to share a little rent house with her. It’s just on the other side of campus, and she’s already talked to the landlord about it and she can’t afford it on her own. So I would really just be helping her out for about a year, maybe less. And I still would be here most of the time, but this way we could have some space, you know?”

I could not speak, looking for the biggest thing within reach to gore him with.

“Now don’t freak out,” Thad continued, more fear in his voice. “I didn’t say that I would. I just thought, I mean we always just seem to be in each other’s way around here. And you just go hide in your Study at night, and I’m left in here watching TV. And, again, it would probably only be for a year, maybe less, and then she would be able to afford it on her own, so it’s not even permanent. And I think it would be really fun, and good to give us some space, don’t you think?”

I was still unable to speak, overwhelmed and possibly having a very small stroke.

“Michael, are you okay?” Thad said, touching my arm.

I bared my teeth at him and he gasped and pulled away.  

Let me state this once and for all: Thaddeus James Clayton was spoilt rotten cap to core, like a honey baked Virginia ham left in the August sun for three days. Being raised as the only child of an only child in a house of utter affluence, Thad had been brought up with the notion that he and only he existed in this world or Thadworld as he so cutely called it. It was not that the Sun revolved around Thadworld, it’s that he, Thad, got to dictated whether there was a Sun at all.

And in this world, if there was one cookie left, it was Thad’s. And if there was one life preserver left, Thad would push elderly pregnant nuns overboard to get to it. In this world, his first and foremost thought was him, him, and him, and then maybe me, but actually probably him.   

I knew this about Thad going in, and I had always found it bizarrely endearing. This made him dangerous, which I found entrancing, like having a snake for a pet, a very, very selfish snake. And as I hefted my own Versailles-sized ego around too, at least we matched in our conjoined cries of “But what about me!” And all of this was well and good until he turned on me, as he often would, in a fit of complete obvious selfishness. And in these instances, I could not fathom him at all, and then was lost.       

When I could speak all I could sputter was, “So you want to break up?” I was not sure what I was feeling, but knew it involved internal bleeding somewhere deep inside.  

“No! No,” he said, rising from the couch. “Lord no! I love you! And I’ve loved living with you! I just thought it would be a fun change for a bit.”

“A fun change? A separation?”

“It’s not a separation. I would just be living somewhere else.”

“You know that’s the dictionary definition of a separation.” I frowned at him.

“Oh, hush. You know what I mean.” 

“And a year is not ‘a bit.’” I continued.

“Okay, a while. Whatever.” He corrected, with a dismissive wave. “I mean you’re always saying I’m in your hair over here.”

“I have never said that. Never. Bald men do not use that euphuism.”

“Oh, you have too!” He sat down at the desk. “On Saturday you told me to leave you alone when you were in your study.”

“Yes, I was working on my book and you were dancing around like an idiot, poking me with a wooden spoon! Of course I told you to leave me alone!”

“See, if I had my own place like I used to, then that wouldn’t be a problem.”

“When I said I wanted you to leave me while I worked on my book I didn’t mean that I wanted you to move out.” I was forcing myself not to cry; if I cried I lost all respect.

But his pitiful look to me told me he knew I was about to lose it.

“That’s not why,” he continued. “It’s just Bettina wants to move into this cute little place-she drove me by it-it’s a little two bedroom Tudor place with a turret! And it just came open and she can’t do it on her own, and I could help her out. Plus then you and I could have some space. Two birds one stone.” He smiled.

I stared at him and willed him to disintegrate, but he did not.  

He took a harried breath and continued, “We would still spend all sorts of time together, I just would have some of my stuff somewhere else for a while.” He caught himself. “I mean for about a year.”

“You mean your home would be somewhere else? This would no longer be your home.” Still sitting, almost perfectly still, I motioned to the room.  

“No, that’s not what I said. This would still be my home. That would just be where I stayed sometimes.”

“But that’s what would happen. This would no longer be your home.” I looked away.

Thad sighed and rubbed his head.

This was our second time to live together since the mid-1990’s, but the first where it was rather official. When we got back together over three years ago, he continued to live in his apartment for the first year, but when his lease was up, I just let him move in as he was over all the time anyway. Thank God he didn’t have much stuff, as I already had my housed decorated to the rafters (quite literally). For the last two years we had cohabitated, sometimes for the best and sometimes not. But I loved the fact that we were living together, and that is was solid, official, living and sleeping together day in and day out like a normal couple should.   

And everything had been great for the first year: we made lots of big meals and cooked cakes and had small dinner parties. But over the last year as our forced sobriety kicked in, I had noticed him getting antsy. He seemed to have become more solitary, more distant. We still had fun, but it was quieter fun on his part. And he had been staying over at Bettina’s more and more. At first I thought it was so he could go sneak a night of drinking, but then I realized he just wanted to get away. And the fact that she still drank but he did not, made me realize that he was really working at his  sobriety. And for that I was so proud of him.

But he clearly craved something I was not providing. And because of this, I had been waiting and dreading this exact pronouncement from him for the last six months. The reality of the announcement felt much worse than I had anticipated.    

“You’re over reacting.” He said standing, throwing up his hands. “I knew you would. When I talked to Mom about this, I said you would…”

“So you’ve already discussed this with your Mother?”

 “Well, yes,” He looked scared, as he should.

“You didn’t think you should discuss this with me first?”

“Michael, I am discussing it with you now. I just mentioned it to her because she’d be the one paying for the move and the rent and all. And she said she was fine with it, so I could have my own place again.”

“Yeah, of course she is, to get you away from me,” I spat, standing. “Does she think you and Bettina are dating? Did she agree to pay just in the hopes that you’ll go straight?”

“Stop it!” He said sternly.

 I was not allowed to make fun of his family, which was a very short road for me as they were easy, awful, fodder. And I was certainly not allowed to poke at his semi-closeted status among them.   

He turned away, “Look, just forget it.”

 Part of Thad’s make-up was that he had never worked. And coming from someone who had always worked, this was a difficult concept for me to grasp initially. His parents had always supported him, paying his rent, bills, car, spending, everything. But when he announced to them that he was going to move in with me, they cut off this massive line of credit. He knew they were punishing him for being gay, for daring to live with another man, but he never spoke of it. I was proud of him for walking away from their gold coins.

What this did mean was that once we he moved in, I got to pay for him, which I was okay with as I had the desire and the money. Luckily his mother could never truly deny him and provided him a monthly allowance check to cover his basic necessities. And for Thad this included jean short shorts, fashionable fur-lined snow boots, a pile of Madonna CDs, and weekly trips to the day spa to get a pedicure and strawberry blonde highlights. I know; the idles of the rich.

Let me say this again for those in the back row: Thad, at 39, still got an allowance from his parents. I know. Now the monthly check wasn’t grand, but it was enough money to keep him bound to them like a pretty little doggie on a tony golden leash. And oddly enough, he was okay with that, as at least he didn’t have to work.

But I knew the siren song of his parent’s free money would lure him back eventually. And as we had reached this recent ‘plateau’ in our relationship where Home Depot was the highlight of our weekend, I had wondered how long it would be before he caved back to their coinage.  

I got up and started to walk out of the room.

“Don’t you want to talk about this?” Thad asked, franticness in his voice.

“No. You’ve made up your mind; I can hear it in your voice.” I turned to him but could not look him in the eyes. “You didn’t want to talk to me about this; you wanted to tell me your decision. That you’re moving out.”

“No, not really…” he trailed off.

He stared at me and I stared at the ground.  

“I’ve just liked having you here.” I continued. “I’ve liked living with you. It’s felt real, more real than it ever has over the last twenty years. If you move out, then what? It’s like we’re going backwards. And I don’t want to break up again.”  

He came at me, arms out, “We are not breaking up, okay! Stop that! This is not moving backwards, this is just doing things a little different for a while.” 

Thad reached for my hands and I flinched.

“I will still be here,” he said. “We will still be together and hang out, and I will still make you dinner and I’ll spend the night, and it will be just like it is now, but I’ll just have somewhere else to go every once in a while. It’ll be fine, you’ll see. Look at me.”

I couldn’t. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to be alone. I was bad alone. Bad like crazy attic big box-little box-plastic bag alone. I wanted him here. But if this is what he wanted, I could not stop him. And this was a regression to me; the start of the end.

“Look at me!” he said, weaving and bobbing to catch my eyes. “It will be fine, I swear!”

I finally looked at him with deep cold in my eyes and he withdrew.

We had made it living together for just over 2 years, our longest record yet.