Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, not mine.


Chapter 6: June 1987

A boy. June 13th. A boy.

Amber and I sat in the waiting room, waiting for Laura's sister to arrive. I had wanted to be there for the birth, but Laura gave me a look when I said that. I didn't know if my request was abnormal, or whether she personally wasn't comfortable with it, but I resigned myself to sitting in the waiting room with… with my daughter. Those words made me smile, and we waited, coloring in her My Little Pony coloring book.

It was a short labor, or so the nurses told us, as they led us back to see her. She looked tired, and flushed, but was beaming, a tiny body wrapped in a blanket and cradled in her arms.

"A boy!" She croaked out, as soon as she saw me, and my face lit up. A boy. A boy.

I swung Amber up in my arms and moved to sit on the side of her bed, gently, letting Amber peer over and see the little being that had now entered our family. She smiles, and seems at a loss for words, and I understand—I'm blown away too. I set her into a chair at the bedside and Laura passes me my son. I tremble at this truth, and look into his eyes. My eyes. Laura told me that it didn't mean anything… that his eyes could change color up to a year, but somehow I just know that they're mine… that they won't change. He already has a soft blonde feathering of hair on his head, and she tells me and Amber that he looks just like she did, when she was born. Amber's eyes are wide, and mine are blinking back tears. Somehow, without really even trying, I had stumbled upon a life and a family and more fulfillment than I had ever dreamed of.

We named him Joshua David, Joshua after her father, David after mine. My mother was flying up in a week to meet her grandchild, and I worried deeply what her reaction would be to my lifestyle this time. But at least I was confident that this woman would not have said yes if I'd done the honorable thing… and that helped free me of some of my guilt. We weren't living in my mother's time anymore, and I wasn't ashamed of my family… I was happy, proud, contented. Surely she would see that, and be happy for me too?

Well, even if she wasn't, I was more than an adult now… and she would just have to live with it, I supposed. I spent a lot of the time when Laura and Joshua were sleeping teaching Amber some basic signs so she could talk to my mother, whom she was already calling 'Gramma Grissom.' I grinned. She ought to like that… I'd let Amber soften her up, before we got into the marriage argument.

And when Joshua was awake, Laura and I were practically fighting over who would get to hold him. I wasn't as good at it as she was… he quieted more quickly when she rocked him, but I learned quickly, and he liked me. I could see it in his eyes, when we looked at each other—recognition mixed with affection. My son loved me. My son liked me. My son. I was a father…

Laura's nervousness over my mother coming reminded me of Becky's nervousness, which was bitter sweet. I still missed Becky, on the rare occasions I thought of her, but it was hard to spare too much thought to her… I had so much going for me now. The only improvement I could have imagined was being madly in love with Laura, but I would take what I could get… life isn't perfect, but Amber and Joshua were, and Laura and I were practical people. When my mother arrived, Laura slid gingerly out of bed, still in pajamas and a robe, but of course my mother understood. They embraced, and my mother held Joshua every moment she could, singing to him and bouncing him and feeding him and rocking him. Amber was nervous too, but my mother practically cried she was so happy to see the little girl singing 'Gramma' when she referred to her. This week went better than the last time she had visited, and she didn't ask me about marriage or religion, she just asked if I was happy, and if this was what I wanted.

It was.


Summertime in California

I was happy. Really happy. I didn't really understand at what point I had stopped torturing myself over my past—I wasn't over it, but I didn't relive it constantly—or over my present—Jim and Marlene were like heaven compared to some of the people I'd stayed with—or my future—I got a 5 on every AP test I had taken… five was the highest score you could get. But somehow, that summer was a dream out of a life I'd never known I could have. I was beyond happy. I was blissful.

I worked every day, saving up money for school, and then Ty would come pick me up when I'd finished with work and take me home. I'd shower and change while he talked to Marlene—she'd asked to meet him once I'd started spending so much time with him, and they'd seemed to hit it off. All I cared about was that they let me keep seeing him. Then we would leave, telling Marlene that we were going to a movie or his house or someone else's… and sometimes we went where we said we were going, but sometimes we would drive into the country and find some place to park.

We hadn't had sex yet. He still wouldn't touch underneath my underwear, and would get mad at me if I tried to cross the line with him. He wanted everything to be slow, so that it meant more… so that we had individual milestones in our relationship, not just one night where everything happened. He wanted each new discovery distinct and beautiful in his mind. Well, who could argue with logic like that? With words like that, whispered softly while he holds you like you've never been held in your life? When you feel safe in a world that used to be scary, what real argument can be made?

Still, it was a summer of warmth… of long walks on the beach, of days off spent in the surf, scantily clad in our bathing suits, of soft touches and hard kisses and the constant deepening feeling too much love to contain between the two of us. We felt as though it spilt forth from us in waves, so great was the volume of our emotion. We would lie on the beach, at night, curled up in a blanket, and marvel at the sheer size of what we felt.

I liked to talk about our first time… when it would be or where… whether it would be spontaneous or planned, and the rightness of it, when it finally happened. Tyler indulged me, enjoying my longing for him even if he wouldn't yet partake of it. He would run his fingers under my shirt, under the blanket, talking about how perfect he would make it for me… it would be when we were both ready… with candles and rose petals and no parents to be listening for… His hands would cup me, his fingers pinching softly, and I would moan softly at first, wanting to listen. Before long, however, I would push him into the sand and kiss him, and our bodies would move in perfect time together, despite the clothes that kept us apart, our memories fresh with the images his words had conjured up.

I started bringing books with me, to read aloud to him after we finished. I would lie on top of him, my hair messy from our interaction, the book resting open on his chest as I recited the words softly beneath a star-strewn sky. When he would get too sleepy to process my words, he would stop me, and we could just hold each other until it was time for me to be dropped at home.

I could not have imagined, younger than sixteen though I was, ever loving another man the way I loved him. I knew, knew, without a doubt, that even if he died tomorrow, I would spend the rest of my life loving him. I just didn't know how I was going to leave him in a year.