Tuesday Night…

Jerry was reading at the kitchen table, wine in hand, when he heard Katie's key in the lock. I'm not bringing it up tonight, but after the wedding, we're going to need to consolidate our separate households into one. "Hello," he greeted her as she walked into the kitchen.

Katie had dropped her coat in the living room and followed the light to find her fiancée. "My love," she cooed and kissed his cheek. "What are you reading?"

"I'm trying to get through Atlas Shrugged. Again. I don't know what all the fuss is about this book." He slammed the book shut. "I'm done for tonight. How was your dinner with Shirley?"

"Brilliant! We were thinking that with everything I want to have happen on our day, we'll need at least three months to plan. Are you sure you don't want to be involved in the planning? After all, it's your wedding day, too."

"The only thing I want to do is have two best men, Alan and Clarence. They've both agreed."

"All right. That means I'll need two maids of honor. Shirley will be my matron of honor, I hope, and maybe I'll ask Whitney if she would like to be my maid of honor. I don't really consider a lot of the women I know close enough to be in the wedding party. Well, I'm not going to worry about it now; are you going to tell me about this surprise you're planning?"

"No, but I will tell you that you have to wait until Friday. I think you'll like it."

"I'm sure I will." She poured two glasses of wine and said, "How about you and I have a nightcap in the bedroom?" She grinned at his enthusiastic nod and walked out of the kitchen, knowing he would follow. He's planning a weekend getaway!

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Alan had been downstairs in the study for the past few hours. When they had returned from the doctor's office, he had insisted that Denny eat before going back to bed. The older man had basically spent the day in bed though Alan made sure he took all his meds when he was supposed to and that he ate something for dinner. He checked the time and seeing that is was going on ten – thirty, decided it was time to join him.

He entered the bedroom to the TV on and Denny lying down watching it with one eye open. "Hey," he croaked. Clearing his throat, he spoke again. "What'd you do all day?"

Alan started stripping out of his clothes. "Nothing much, ran a few errands and did some reading." He poured himself a scotch from the cabinet where they kept the single malt and climbed into bed. He sipped his drink and focused his attention on the television screen.

"Alan?"

"Hmmm?"

"I really didn't think there was anything to be concerned about; I didn't want you worrying about nothing."

Alan finished his drink and slid under the covers. He clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Finally he said, "I don't worry about 'nothing,' Denny. I worry about you." He continued gazing at the ceiling, his face an emotionless mask.

Denny sat up, grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. "I'm sorry, Alan."

"For what?"

"I mocked you for being concerned for my health and then I scared you. I didn't mean to do that, it's just…hard. Sometimes."

Alan looked at his spouse as he brought his hands down to his sides. Turning to face him he asked, "What's hard?"

Denny began to twiddle his thumbs. He glanced at Alan and smiled briefly before going back to contemplating his circling thumbs. "Alan, I know that growing up, you weren't interested in sports. I was. I played tennis and golf, I used to ride horses and run cross – country. I wasn't Olympic caliber, but I was pretty good. I was proud of my body."

"Anyway, fast forward to about ten years ago. I'm divorced, again, and I remember thinking: Well, I better get in shape so I'll look good for my next relationship. I got myself a trainer and began playing tennis again. Or I should say, I tried. My body just wasn't doing what I wanted it to do, what I used to be able to do."

"But, Denny…"

The older man waved his hand to stop Alan from continuing. "I know, I know; I can't expect to still be able to move and look like I did in my youth and I don't. I got over it. What's hard for me is that I can't move like I did in my sixties. Every new ache and pain underscores that. Besides, I had a new thing to be depressed about; my Mad Cow."

"But, Denny, the medication is working! I see it! Your memory is improving every day."

"Which is why I didn't want to admit how tired I was feeling. I was afraid I would have to stop taking it and I would just…fade away."

Alan reached over and covered Denny's hands with his left. "You will never fade away, Denny. I won't allow it. I'll shoot you, remember?" Denny chuckled at that and moved his hand so he could ruffle Alan's hair. "Denny, you have to promise me, you have to, that you will tell me whenever you don't feel right. I don't care how trivial you think it is, I want you to tell me. This iron deficiency could have been nipped in the bud if you had only told me about it. So…"

"So what?"

"Denny!" Alan huffed in exasperation.

"Okay! I promise I'll let you know anytime I don't feel right, even if it's a hangnail." He looked into the eyes of his best friend and the best spouse he had never wished for. "Seriously, Alan, I promise."

Alan relaxed visibly and said, "Good, I'll hold you to that. I'm tired, can we turn out the light and sleep now?"

Denny's response was to turn off his lamp and slide down under the covers. Alan immediately moved to cuddle against his side. "Goodnight, worrywart."

"Goodnight, Denny." Alan smiled to himself as he felt Denny's arm encircle him.