Start at the very beginning.
"I'm leaving."
It was the first thing that Mark told Roger that morning (six months, three weeks, and two days ago—not that he was counting). The words threw Roger off a little. Mark knew that Roger could never comprehend things until he had coffee in his system. (Now, in retrospect, Roger could see that this was exactly why Mark had chosen that time to tell him).
Mark had stood and watched as Roger shuffled over to the coffee maker and poured himself a mug of the hot liquid. "I just thought you would want to know."
Roger had raised the mug of steaming coffee to his lips, barely listening as Mark continued talking. What day of the week was it? Monday? No, it was Tuesday. Did he have anything planned? He took another sip of coffee before daring to search his mind for anything he might have scheduled.
"It won't be for very long. I'll tell you more about it later, but I thought that I would let you know. You know, just…because."
Yes, there was something on Tuesday…a band practice, that was it. And it was in the morning, because someone…was it Ryan?...couldn't do it in the afternoon. Yes, that was why he was awake so early.
"It won't be for very long, probably just a couple of months. Uh, Maureen's coming too."
The coffee was good, and in his early-morning-haze Roger couldn't help but wonder how people like Mark functioned without coffee in the morning. Tea was not the same, and in fact, now that he thought about it, was a pretty pathetic substitute.
"Okay," Mark was saying. "Well, bye."
It wasn't until Mark had left the loft, and Roger had taken a shower, and the coffee had been sitting inside of him for a good fifteen minutes, that Roger began to finally understand what Mark had been saying. Of course, by that time Mark was already out of the loft, safely out of reach of any initial anger or questioning or confusion. Just like he had planned it.
Roger had not been surprised when Mark came home late that night. Mark hated confrontation and hated having other people mad at him, and he most certainly must have realized that Roger would confront him and might possibly be mad at him.
Mark had entered the loft quietly, most likely hoping that Roger would be asleep or would have forgotten their earlier "conversation."
Yeah, right, Roger had thought from his position on the couch. He had given Mark a few moments to look around the dark loft (he had turned the lights off, figuring that it added more to the scene) and to sigh in relief before he made his presence known by clearing his throat.
The sudden sound had made Mark jump, and at that Roger couldn't help but laugh.
"I thought you were asleep!" Mark had said accusingly.
Roger simply shrugged in return, ignoring the fact that it was too dark for Mark to see him.
"Why are all the lights off?" Mark asked, sounding confused.
"Why are you leaving?" Roger countered.
Mark flicked the light switch and sighed. "I had a feeling that was what this was about."
"Yeah, well, what did you expect? You can't just say something like that and walk away!"
Mark unwound his scarf from his neck and pulled his coat off before collapsing onto the couch next to Roger. "It's not for a long time. We'll probably only be gone for a few weeks, maybe a month."
A month had seemed like a pretty long time to Roger (in fact, it still did seem like a pretty long time, even now), but he hadn't had time to express that thought before Mark sighed again. "I'm guessing you want to know why, right?"
"As long as that's not too much trouble for you."
Mark ignored Roger's sarcasm. "Remember that film contest I entered a few weeks ago?"
The large contest featuring thousands of films, the same one that Mark had worried about for the past month? The one that Roger had had to force Mark to enter by threats of bodily harm? The one that Mark had anxiously ranted over just about every day since he sent in his film? The one that Mark kept insisting his film wouldn't do well in, even though both he and Roger knew that he desperately wanted the opposite? "Yeah, I think I remember it."
"Well, I got the results. I, uh, my film placed second in one of the categories."
Of course, Roger had expected Mark's film to do well – he had no doubts concerning Mark's talent with his camera. But still, hearing the news itself was different than just expecting the film to do as well as it appeared to have done. "That's great, Mark! Seriously, man, good job. I knew you could do it."
Mark grinned, a little sheepishly, before continuing. "Thanks. That's why I'm leaving, though. I get to fly out to Los Angeles and meet Nick Sa—well, you wouldn't know him, but he's a really good filmmaker, like really good. And I get to fly out to meet with him for free, I get to listen to what he has to say about my film, and I get to go to a month-long workshop. It's a really great opportunity, and I don't have to pay a dime." Mark finished speaking and looked at Roger, waiting anxiously for his response.
"Oh," Roger said.
"Yeah." Some of the excitement drained out of Mark upon seeing his roommate's subdued reaction. "So that's why. And Maureen's coming too."
"Why?"
Mark rolled his eyes. "You know Maureen. She decided that it would be a great chance for her to meet some unsuspecting filmmaker who would cast her as the lead in his movie, or something like that. And then she said that I would need her company." Mark rolled his eyes again, and then quickly added, "She was here when I opened the letter."
Well, that answers the question of why Maureen knew about this before I did, Roger had mused. The problem, of course, was that it still didn't answer the millions of other questions.
There was a silence in the loft in which Roger realized that Mark was waiting for him to say something again.Well, what did Mark expect him to do? Yell?
The thing was, though, Roger had been pretty sure that Mark did expect him to erupt in some manner. Roger wasn't exactly known for being gentle, meek, and mild. He was, admittedly, easily riled up, though much less so now than he had been in former years. Even so, Mark probably wasn't expecting a pleasant reaction.
Roger found himself caught between the roles of supportive best friend and angry roommate. On the one hand, he wanted to feel betrayed. He wanted to think that he had the right to shout at Mark for even thinking about leaving him. Wasn't Mark supposed to need him (or something like that) in the same way that he needed Mark? Didn't Mark care that after a lifetime of people leaving him, Mark was supposed to be the one person who never left, not even temporarily?
But on the other, much more reasonable and much more annoying, hand, Roger had to remember all that Mark had done for him in the past. He had to realize that this was Mark's film, something incredibly important to him. And he had to see that if Mark was willing to leave New York and travel to California with Maureen of all people…well, then, it had to be important. Besides, how selfish would he have to be to really get mad at Mark for pursuing his dream?
So Roger bit down his tongue and forced himself to grin weakly at his best friend. "That's great, Mark," he said.
Mark's eyebrows shot up, and for a moment it had looked like he was having trouble working his jaw. "Serious?"
Roger grinned again, and this time it seemed more natural. "Yeah. About time you got what you deserve." He hugged Mark and it was only slightly awkward. "Besides, I hear that L.A. has the best clubs. Have some fun for me." He raised his eyebrows mock-enticingly, and when Mark laughed he almost felt better.
It was raining lightly the day that Mark and Maureen left (five months, one week, and two days ago—again, not that he was counting). The rest of the remaining gang had gathered outside to see them off. Due to Benny's on-again, off-again relationship with everyone ("He's a pompous bastard," Maureen had explained matter-of-factly), and Collins' teaching job back at M.I.T ("I don't know how he manages to get whatever job he wants," Roger had complained, almost enviously), the "remaining gang" was made up, quite pitifully, of Roger and Joanne.
"Well," Maureen had declared after all their luggage had been loaded into the taxi ("all" referring to Mark's one bag and Maureen's four suitcases), "this is it."
It was exactly the sort of melodramatic statement that Roger had expected Maureen to make, so he was surprised when his stomach clenched upon hearing the words. He stared at the ground, fists jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket.
He was surprised when he felt arms encircle him, so much so that it took him a moment to hug Maureen back. "Don't go all reclusive while we're not here," she warned him. "Mark, and-" she paused briefly before plowing on, "and Mimi both wouldn't want that." The fact that Maureen, despite all her brusqueness, meant well and was probably right, as well as the fact that he wasn't going to see her for awhile, was what convinced Roger wisely not to retort back. "Yeah," he muttered, returning the hug. "Take care of him, make sure he goes out."
Maureen pulled away, looked him in the eyes, and grinned. "You know I will." She pecked him on the cheek, a usual Maureen-ish display of affection that Roger made a face at as she laughed. She turned away from him and faced Joanne. "Pookie," she cooed, and practically attacked Joanne in a tight embrace that Joanne didn't seem to mind too much.
The sight of Mark in front of him, shuffling his feet and playing with his scarf, drew Roger's attention away from the girls. "Well," Mark said uncomfortably.
"Yeah," Roger agreed, just as awkwardly.
They hugged each other tightly, neither ashamed at the display of affection. They were practically brothers, and the longest they had been separated from each other since becoming roommates had been when Roger ran to Santa Fe, and even that hadn't been really long.
"Mark, I…" Roger mumbled into Mark's shoulder, unable to find a way to say I know that you have to do this and I'm glad that you're going to but I'm going to miss you more than I ever thought possible without sounding like a thirteen-year-old girl.
"Me, too," Mark whispered, and Roger smiled as he remembered that with Mark the words weren't necessary.
When they broke apart, Roger discretely swiped an arm across his eyes and noticed Mark do the same. "The rain," they both explained simultaneously.
Maureen and Joanne had finished their good-byes and must have overheard, because Maureen snorted derisively and Joanne tried to hide a smile. Roger glared at both of them, but Mark just cleared his throat. "We should go," he announced. The smiles slid off of Maureen and Joanne's faces. They kissed each other quickly before Maureen climbed into the taxi. Mark followed her, tossing out, "We'll call!" Roger tried not to think about the familiarity of the words.
Before any other words could be uttered, the taxi had pulled away. Their last sight was of Maureen as she hung halfway out the window, shouting, "Bye, Pookie!" and blowing kisses in Joanne's direction.
Joanne…Roger hadn't considered how Joanne felt, watching as her girlfriend and her girlfriend's ex-boyfriend went off to Los Angeles together. "You okay?" he asked tentatively, chancing a look in her direction.
Joanne stood still, arms crossed, lips in a thin, grim, line. "I'm fine," she said unconvincingly. Roger nodded, not knowing what else to say, and shifted his weight, first onto his toes and then back onto his heels.
"You got anything planned?" Joanne asked impulsively, surprising Roger. He shook his head.
"Come on," she said, and began to walk off briskly. Startled, Roger caught up to her and gave her a confused glance. "I'm hungry," she explained, staring straight ahead determinedly. "And I am sure as hell not walking all the way to The Life alone. Muggings happen in daylight, too." Roger grinned at the proclamation and the two walked on to The Life in comfortable silence.
Something strange happened while Mark and Maureen were gone. With the two most important people in their lives basically out of the picture, Roger and Joanne began to spend more time together. It started that first day, the day that Mark and Maureen left. They had sat at The Life together, suffering through strained conversation until Roger finally burst out with, "Why'd you let her go, anyway? I mean, no offense, but it's Maureen, and it's Mark."
Joanne had sighed a little and glanced down at the chipped table. "Tell you the truth, I'm not sure. I think I must have been out of my mind when I said it was okay. But…I think that it's time for me to start…trusting her." She sighed again, then caught Roger's gaze. "Besides, I'm surprised that you let Mark go."
Roger laughed, and it was only the slightest bit bitter. "Let? Mark was going whether I said anything or not."
Joanne shook her head. "No, Roger. He wouldn't have gone if he thought that you weren't okay with it." She had chuckled a little then. "I swear, you and Mark are like an old married couple sometimes, always having to get each other's permission to do anything."
"Shut up," Roger had told her good-naturedly. It wasn't the first time that someone had said something like that to him or to Mark. "Anyway," he added, "What are we so worried about? It's just a couple of weeks. Not a big deal."
"Not a big deal," Joanne echoed, and that time they both had sighed.
After that the metaphorical ice was broken. The rest of the night had passed easily, filled with jokes and laughter. And when it was over, as he walked back to the loft, he had been surprised to realize that he had actually had a good time.
Roger spent too much time thinking about his new unexpected friendship with Joanne until he got sick of all the thinking he was doing. The problem, he reasoned, was that the loft was simply too empty. With only Roger there, the place felt bigger and quieter, a silent reminder to Roger of his dislike of being alone, and his consequent fear of loneliness. There was too much room to think about anything, about everything, about… Mimi.
Roger had been fine by busying his mind with things other than his dead girlfriend (those words, my dead girlfriend, accompanied by the mocking necessary question that followed—which one?—seemed almost too cold for him to even think). After her untimely death, after he had spent a week in his room, ignoring the outside world in favor of his bed, after he had remembered her last words to him, ("Live, Roger, please live."), after he had realized that it was too painful to hide and dwell on her big brown eyes and knowing smile…well, after all that he had decided that the best way to go on was to just not think about it. In other words, to go on playing with the band, talking with Mark, arguing with Maureen, doing all things he did, just without thinking about Mimi. And no matter what people like Mark and Collins said ("Roger, you've got to acknowledge it sometime. You're only hurting yourself"), his own way of dealing had been working for him. Until Mark left, and gave him all the room in the world to think.
But what helped, he had noticed, were those increasingly-frequent phone messages from Joanne that usually said something like
"Roger, it's Joanne. Lunch today at The Life, usual time. Yes, I'm paying."
and the follow-up to those messages, which involved a meeting with Joanne at the pre-determined location.
Slowly their relationship evolved from that of friends-because-they-had-to-be to actual friends, and from actual friends to close friends. The weird thing, too, (which probably had a direct correlation, Roger thought) was that the subject matter of their conversations was having less and less to do with the two main people they had in common. Earlier, their talks would center around Does Mark really always wear that scarf?(yes)and Is Maureen always so…Maureen? (not always). At times, questions would venture into zones like How long have you two been friends? (forever)Or Where exactly did you two meet each other? (official or real version?). But in those early days, very little conversation had strayed from the Mark and Maureen zone.
As time moved on, though, the topic of conversations changed and began to cover…well, everything. Roger had been thinking such thoughts, about the nature of his and Joanne's conversations, at one of their "lunch meetings," the one that took place exactly one month from the day that Mark and Maureen had left (was what he would have noticed if he had been counting).
"Roger, stop it," Joanne had ordered. Her voice was mock-serious, a far cry from her usual clipped, business-like tone.
"Stop what?"
"Zoning out. Going into your own world. You know, all that angsty, brooding, lost-in-your-thoughts thing that you do so well."
Roger snorted and took a bite of his tofu burger before replying, "Please. As if you don't occasionally get caught up in all your legal documents and high-paying cases."
"Key word: occasionally. With you, it happens all the time." Joanne sipped her coffee and spoke matter-of-factly. Then she smiled behind her coffee cup. "What are you thinking about, anyway? Or should I say who?" She didn't bother to elaborate, knowing full well that Roger knew what she was talking about.
Roger groaned over the recurring joke. "No, I am not day-dreaming about Mark." Before Joanne could open her mouth, he continued. "Yes, I miss him just as much as you miss Maureen. But no, I am not secretly lusting over him. Jesus, why does everyone think Mark and I are in love with each other?"
"Are you serious?"
"Joanne."
She sighed and put her cup down. "Fine. It's just the way you two act with each other. You know, how you guys know so much about each other and the way you talk just by making eye contact. Mark takes care of you, you watch after him, stuff like that. It's obvious that you care about each other a lot. And then, after Mi-" She stopped abruptly and lowered her eyes to the table.
"Go on," Roger said quietly.
"No, Roger, I-"
"Go on," He insisted.
She relented reluctantly. "After Mimi, that whole week…the way that he took care of you, and the way that you would only talk to him. Stuff like that."
"Oh," was all Roger could say. Everything she said was true, but he hadn't ever looked at it that way.
Joanne watched him carefully, checking to see if he was okay. When it appeared that he was, she teased gently, "Very eloquent. Considering the way you make a living, you're not too good with words, Mr. Davis."
He smiled. "And you, Ms. Jefferson, aren't usually so easy to share your thoughts. Which is why I'm a little surprised by this entire conversation."
She smiled back at him warmly. "Well, no day but today to make a change, right?"
"No day but today," he echoed Angel and Mimi's mantra, and they both smiled at each other and raised their coffee cups in silent acknowledgement of all the missing bohemians.
Roger actually blamed Mark and Maureen for his increasing reliance on Joanne. After all, Mark knew that Roger was the type who started to need people. Leaving him alone like that had been just asking for trouble. Plus, if they hadn't left, then Roger might not have received that phone call in the middle of the night from Joanne, the one that had come on that night when he couldn't sleep and wished so bad that he could talk to Mark, so much that he actually got out of bed to answer the phone in hopes that it was Mark somehow reading his mind from across the country. And then it had been Joanne, sniffling into the phone and whispering, I miss her, which had caused Roger to only be able to say, I know and they had wallowed in misery together for awhile before both hung up with small byes. If not for that conversation which could be traced back to Mark and Maureen's leaving, they might not have trusted each other so much.
And it might not have been so bad if Mark hadn't kept leaving messages on their answering machine (Mark seemed to have an uncanny ability to call when Roger was either not at the loft or sleeping—which granted, was pretty often) like
"Hey Roger, it's Mark. I guess you're not home again, or else you're ignoring me, you jerk. Anyway, just calling to let you know that things are going well here. They really liked my film, and they actually want to show it at another festival as inspiration, or something like that. Um, we're probably going to be here for another week or two, ironing out those details. Oh, guess what? I met someone who really likes the Well Hungarians…so you've got at least one fan in L.A. Oh, and Maureen actually got a role in a movie. She's got about six lines but she's been driving me crazy about it. You know Maureen. That's about it. I'll call you some other time. Hope you're doing well."
Messages that, though appreciated, were also loathed, because Mark always seemed to be saying how they would be there for another "week or two." Occasionally, Roger would get the odd message from Maureen, proclaiming
"Rooooogerrr! It's me, your favorite actress! That's right, I'm in a movie and they LOVE me. Mark told me to leave this message – now that he's become a famous filmmaker he's too good to do commoner things like CALL HIS BEST FRIEND (shouted loud enough for Mark to hear, presumably). We'll be here for a few more weeks. We miss you soooooo much! Ta-ta!"
Apparently Joanne was getting messages that said the same, because she and Roger vented about it to Collins on one of the rare weekends that he came home from M.I.T. (Four months after Mark and Maureen had left).
"I don't think she's ever called me without telling me how she loves me and she misses me but they just 'need one more week'! I'm sick of it!" Joanne ranted.
"Well-" Collins started.
"Mark does the same! Every single fucking message says something about how he's staying there longer!" Roger interrupted.
"But-" Collins began to speak in a sensible tone.
"I'm starting to think that she doesn't even care about home anymore! Or maybe L.A. is home for her!" Joanne threw her hands up in frustration.
This time Collins couldn't even get a word in before Roger picked up. "He probably doesn't even remember what New York looks like. He probably doesn't even remember what we look like!"
"If she loves it there so much, then she can move there permanently for all I care." Joanne must not have been aware of how loud she was speaking.
"She can live with Mark for the rest of their lives, since he doesn't even want to come back." Roger finished.
Collins glanced at both of them before standing up and shouting, "Yeah! Damn them both to Hell!"
Joanne and Roger stared at him, along with the rest of The Life. He sat down calmly, but couldn't stop the twinkle in his eyes. "What? It was the only way that both of you would shut up."
Slowly the café resumed its customary buzz of chatter, and Collins stated, "If I remember correctly, both of you encouraged them to go to Los Angeles."
"Well, yeah, but-"
"Then stop complaining," Collins said simply. Then he added, "They miss you, too."
Collins, Roger had realized, had an extraordinary way of putting things in perspective.
At the end of their dinner, as Roger and Collins were saying good-bye to Joanne, Collins threw an arm around both of them and said, "Stop worrying so much. Besides, you have each other, right?" His smile held a trace of sadness.
"And we have you," Roger told him fiercely, while Joanne added, "And you have us."
They had stood in a strange triangle for a moment, all three of them missing their other halves. And then they hugged each other and left, all slightly drunker than they had been earlier in the evening but each feeling a little better, just the same.
It was after Mark and Maureen had been gone for five months and two days (yes, he was counting) that Roger got the fateful message, the one that he had longed to hear for so long.
"Hey Roger? It's Mark. It's done! We're coming home in a week!"
Almost immediately Roger had scheduled a celebratory dinner with Joanne at The Life.
"It's about time they came home!" Joanne had growled as they waited for their food to arrive.
"Aww," Roger teased. "Did Joanne miss her pookie?"
"Actually, yes. A lot." Her smile became less nostalgic and more mischievous. "And I'll ignore the obvious Mark-and-Roger joke since it's the last night and all."
"Honestly, can you believe that they're coming back? It feels like they've been gone for a lifetime." Roger shook his head in disbelief.
"It does, doesn't it? And to think that in reality, it's only been five months…"
"And three days," finished Roger automatically, before he realized just how pathetic it sounded. Joanne didn't even have to say anything, just had to smirk at him. "Shut up."
"I didn't say a word."
"You were thinking it."
She shrugged and took a sip of her beer. "I have something I need to say," She said suddenly. Roger waited for her to continue, his interest piqued. She took a deep breath, another gulp of beer, and then her eyes met his. "Thank you. I honestly don't know how I would have gotten through these months without you, Roger. It's been amazing getting to know you, and I feel like I owe a lot of my sanity throughout these past few months to you. So, thank you."
Such a heartfelt confession out of Joanne was rare. Roger blushed but was not-so-secretly pleased. "The same to you, honestly. If not for you I'd probably be locked up in the loft right now," he admitted. "And, I would have continued thinking that you were an uptight, obsessive-compulsive lawyer," He made sure that she knew he was teasing by his light tone.
"And I would've thought you were a depressed, pessimistic musician," Joanne responded lightly.
"I like to think that we were both mistaken."
"Actually," Joanne grinned, "I think we were both right."
They laughed companionably, both enjoying the warm glow that surrounded them (which probably had as much to do with the alcohol as with one another's company).
"You know," Roger said regretfully, "I'm sorry that this is our last night of this. It's been nice, listening to you rant about Maureen and her 'tendency to stray'…"
"And hearing you complain about your band," Joanne interjected.
"And just having someone to talk to in general," Roger had continued as if Joanne hadn't spoken. "This has been nice."
"It doesn't have to end here," Joanne pointed out thoughtfully. "We can still keep meeting after they come back. We might not be able to do it as often, but we could still keep it up. I mean," here she glanced back down at the table. "I've really enjoyed it."
"Me too," Roger said. Then without a word, he started laughing. "Listen to us! It sounds like we're talking about a secret affair or something."
Joanne laughed in agreement. "Yeah, maybe if I wasn't a lesbian and in love with Maureen and you weren't obsessed with Mark."
"Hey, you said no Roger-and-Mark cheap shots!"
"So sue me. But we'll continue our lunch and dinner meetings?"
"Christ, you make it sound like a business deal. But yeah, we'll continue with them."
"Good," Joanne smiled and raised her glass. "And I propose a toast. To friendship."
Roger lifted his glass, following suit. "To friendship. And to many more lunch and dinner meetings."
Joanne grinned. "To many, many, more lunch and dinner meetings."
The clinked their chipped glasses together and took a gulp of beer to seal their toast.
One week after the night they had declared their toast, Roger and Joanne found themselves standing outside the loft, at the same spot that they had met the taxi when Mark and Maureen had left.
"At least it's not raining," Joanne had grumbled.
The truth was that both of them were so excited that they wouldn't have cared if it was raining. Roger hadn't even needed coffee that morning, and Joanne kept shifting her weight from foot to foot, something Roger had come to learn was a nervous habit.
When the taxi pulled up, Maureen didn't even wait for it to stop to open the door. She flew out of the car, a whirlwind of hair and perfume and tears and shrieks.
"POOKIE!" And in a split second Joanne had been enveloped in a hug and her lips had been captured in a kiss.
Roger barely had time to laugh at Maureen's Maureen-ness before he remembered Mark. Mark, his best friend and roommate. Mark, who he had missed like hell. Mark, who was standing right in front of him, carrying his camera and looking distinctively Mark-like.
"Hey Roger," He said sheepishly. Roger didn't even bother to reply, just pulled him shamelessly into a hug and muttered something that probably sounded to Mark like, "ImissedyousomuchyouareneverleavingNewYorkagain."
"I missed you too," Mark mumbled, returning the embrace with just as much vigor. "God, I missed you."
By the time Mark had pulled his bag out of the taxi (Maureen's five suitcases would go with her and Joanne back to their apartment), Maureen had calmed down enough to talk a mile a minute, with Mark interjecting a few words in between.
"And you wouldn't believe the weather there, Pookie, it was absolutely gorgeous-"
"It really was."
"And half the people there were stuck-up sleazeballs but the other half were so nice and so pretty and they completely loved me, I wasn't kidding when I told you that Roger! And Marky actually made some filmmaker friends who begged me to be in their films-"
"I wouldn't say begged."
"But by then both Marky and I were so homesick that we knew that we had to come home! Seriously, Pookie, I was practically crying every night and it didn't help listening to Mark snore all the time and then complain about missing Roger, as if I didn't have someone that I missed too-" Maureen had climbed into the taxi, still talking excitedly to a smiling Joanne. The taxi sped away, no doubt moving slower than Maureen's mouth.
Mark rolled his eyes and turned towards Roger. "I'm so sick of her. How did I ever manage to date her?"
Roger had picked up Mark's bag for him and laughed, although if he was honest with himself he would have admitted that he would have laughed at anything Mark said right then. "Ready to go home?" He asked, because it sounded better than Ready to walk up a million flights of steps to our industrial loft?
Mark sighed contently. "You have no idea."
The first thing Mark had done when he stepped inside was flop down onto the couch, declaring how much he had missed it. The second thing he had done was to step into his room, just to "get used to it again." The third thing he had done was head over to the answering machine, which Roger, in his haste that morning, had forgotten to check.
The first message on the machine was from Collins.
"Heeey Mark. Welcome back! Roger was pining over you while you were gone, don't believe him when he denies it. Really man, we're all glad you're back in New York, where you belong. Now go celebrate and get drunk."
Roger shook his head and just as Collins had predicted, vehemently denied what Collins had said while Mark elbowed him knowingly.
The second message was from Joanne.
"Keeping up with our tradition. Lunch tomorrow, usual time, usual place."
At this, Mark's eyebrows had raised considerably and his lips and curved into an impish grin. "So what were you two up to while we were gone?"
Roger had brushed it off. "Tell me about Los Angeles. And your film. And that famous filmmaker guy."
Mark's face had positively lit up and he had burst into what would become an hour-long explanation of every single thing that had had happened concerning his film, including the deal he had made with a company in California that didn't require him to go there again (he was quick to point this out) but that guaranteed some type of audience for his next film. The two of them had talked for the rest of the afternoon, and it wasn't until evening, after they had eaten some of the impromptu Ramen that Roger had made in celebration, that Mark remembered Joanne's message.
"You never told me about you and Joanne," he said. He stretched out on the couch, but kept his eyes on his roommate.
Roger shrugged. "There's not much to tell. We just eat together sometimes. And talk. We started it while you guys were gone."
"What do you talk about?" Mark sounded curious, but wasn't Mark curious about everything? It was a trait that Roger usually didn't mind so much. Usually.
"Nothing, really. Just stuff. You. Maureen. Life. We're friends. Like you and me, but not." Mark grinned, and Roger was glad that he understood. "We learned a lot about each other that we never took the time to care about before."
"Like…"
"Like…like, I don't know." Roger thought about it, and ran a hand through his hair. "Joanne is…she's funny. She's smart, and I never really realized how much so. She looks at things differently, and she…"
"…And she says things that need to be said sometimes. Said. She said things that needed to be said. She…" Roger looks down at his hands, because he doesn't exactly know how to put into words what he wants to say. "I just…"
It's six months, three weeks, and two days since the day that Mark first told him that he was leaving. Five months, three weeks, and two days since the day that Mark and Maureen left, since the first day that he ever had lunch meeting with Joanne. Two weeks since Mark and Maureen came home, two weeks and a day since they had made their last toast. And one week and five days since the day that Joanne had been mugged and shot in broad daylight.
Everything is all wrong, and Roger's not sure if he'll ever be all right again. And now he's at Joanne's funeral, standing in front of a joyless Collins consoling a silently sobbing Maureen, a stoic Mark sitting beside a respectful Benny, and all those other people who know…who knew Joanne, trying to say something about how much she meant to him.
He's not good with words…Joanne had told him that.
Oh, God…what was the family without Joanne? No one had ever thought to think about it. She wasn't supposed to die. That was for people like Collins and Roger, people who were HIV Positive and had spent years knowing that death was looking for them. Death wasn't supposed to hit people like Joanne Jefferson, people who were smart and funny and knew what to say, people who were sensible and successful and in love and had their whole fucking lives ahead of them.
"I just…"
Roger can't think of anything else to say, and his stomach is clenching as he stares out at the people. It's raining, drizzling, actually, and it's almost too appropriate for words. He stumbles away from the podium, leaving someone else to talk about Joanne Jefferson. He doesn't want to talk about her, he wants to talk to her. He wants to complain to her about this stupid funeral, and how it's taking away from her time with Maureen and his time with Mark, and how it's probably all just a ploy to not let them have time with the people they love.
He'll never again spend time with one of the people he loves…he'll never see Joanne again.
He collapses into the seat next to Mark, distantly feels Mark's hand grab his as the tears fall down both of their faces. Neither of them even bothers to pretend that it's the rain, this time.
The five of them meet at the loft, all five of them because no one has the energy to tell Benny to go away and because four is just too small of a number for their family.
Maureen falls onto the couch. She hasn't stopped crying since the funeral started, but her tears are quieter now. They trail down her face, never ending. Benny sits in the chair across from her. He didn't know Joanne too well, just well enough to feel a twinge of sorrow upon hearing the news of her unexpected death. Roger sits beside Mark, still tightly clutching his hand, because he's finally realized that all the "Mark-and-Roger" jokes that Joanne and everyone else always used to make have some truth in them, and life is too short to miss out on any chance at love.
Collins had disappeared into the kitchen, but he returns with a bottle of Stoli and some paper cups. He sets a cup in front of each person and pours some Stoli in each cup. After he's distributed it equally, he pours the remainder of the bottle into Maureen's cup. He hands it to her and gently says, "Talk."
Maureen looks at him. She sits up, and she wipes her eyes. And then Maureen does talk, about how beautiful and kind and loving Pookie was, and how she didn't deserve this at all, and how when she was feeling low Joanne would take her out to the ice-skating rink, even though she hated ice-skating, just because she knew Maureen would like it. And how she and Joanne always came back to each other, despite all the fights, because they loved each other too much to stay away. And how Joanne had the worst habits, and couldn't sleep if she remembered something that needed to be done, and Maureen thought it was adorable but had never told her but she wished so much that she had now. And how Joanne would tell her everything, and it made her feel so special because Joanne doesn't tell just anyone anything, and how she can't really believe that this was happening, and how she keeps hoping that maybe, if she wishes hard enough, that Joanne will jump out and fool everyone because she has been kidding the whole time. And if that is the case, it would be the worst joke ever, but in the end Maureen will still love her, because what else is there to do?
And after Maureen falls silent, Mark talks. He squeezes Roger's hand as if he needs reassurance that he's there, and Roger can understand that. Mark talks about Joanne, and about how before he knew her he hated her. And then he got to know her, and they became friends, because they both had something in common. And Joanne taught him a lot about himself. Mark admits that at times he wished that he had Joanne's life, because she was just so fucking sensible sometimes. But in the end his only regret is that he didn't spend more time with her, because Joanne had a sense of truth about her that was unavoidable that he wished he could have spent more time in.
Collins speaks, and he tells them all that he and Joanne used to talk on the phone while he was at M.I.T, and they would talk about books. The books they talked about specifically were the ones that he planned on using to talk to his books. That girl, he says, that girl knew everything. About every book. I would get so sick and tired of all the people in Boston, and I would start to miss you all so much, and I would call Jo. She was the mother of the group. She took care of all of us, whether we realized it or not. And now she's gone…he takes another swig of the Stoli, and everyone can see that he's done.
Benny timidly pipes up, and all he can say is that he wishes that he had known Joanne more, but what he saw he admired. He says that he wishes that he could have had one foot in Bohemia and one foot in the corporate world like Joanne did, and he wishes that he had talked with her more. Everyone nods to Benny, quietly respecting what he said.
It's silent, and Roger finally realizes that he's supposed to say something. The only words he's said since her death were those that he tried to say today at the funeral, and he had failed miserably. Roger grips Mark's hand tightly and shakes his head, hoping that Mark understands that he doesn't know what to say.
Mark pulls a hand to Roger's face and gently turns him so that they're looking each other in the eyes. Roger, he says quietly, brokenly, I think Joanne would've really liked it if you told us about her, the way she was with you.
Roger wants to say that he and Joanne don't have a story, but they do. And he wants to say that Mark's not right, but he is.
Roger finally opens his mouth to talk to his friends, and it's at that moment that he realizes how right Collins was so long ago when he told him that he would have to acknowledge it sometime. Roger opens his mouth and as he does he realizes that he's finally about to accept Mimi, and simultaneously accept Joanne. They both would like that.
"It's a long story," he says hoarsely.
Maureen smiles crookedly. "We've got all the time in the world." It's not true and everyone knows it, but somehow hearing Maureen say it makes everyone feel better.
Roger takes a deep breath. "I don't know where to start."
"Start at the beginning," Collins says. "Start at the very beginning."
Roger nods, and begins.
A/N: Reviews needed and appreciated.