Sickness.
Addiction ran in Eric's family. His father's demon had been booze – beer as soon as he got off work and scotch when he really didn't want to feel anything. Eric had learned to make a scotch neat by the time he was six and didn't know what it was like to have a family dinner not littered with Budweiser bottles. His sense of normalcy was seriously askew in comparison to other people, like Turtle's devoutly Jewish father who made it to temple every week and made the family follow old traditions on holy days. The only person that ever really seemed to understand what it was like to grow up with a sick father was Vince, and there were times that Eric wasn't even sure that he could understand.
Eric's mom decided that the family finally needed to get help after his father had his heart attack. Eric was in sixth grade, and Mrs. Chase had come to pick him up one afternoon during art class. Vince's eyes had been wide with fear when Eric was called out of class by his mother. E returned a moment later to retrieve his backpack and his best friend so that they could go to the hospital. After that awful night, E's dad has promised that he was going to try better. The guy at Al-Anon told Eric and his mother that his father's addiction was a disease, and years later, that's the only way to explain Eric's obsession with Vince.
His father had officially been sober for twenty years now, and Eric and Vince had flown back to Queens for the party his ma was throwing to commemorate the anniversary. There was a collection of poker chips in the top drawer of his father's desk. They used to fascinate E when he was younger, each color representing a different period of time and a different duration of sobriety. His favorite had been the white one his dad had gotten after being sober for twenty-four hours. It was Eric's now, tucked in an old wooden cigar box in his bottom drawer.
Vince had gone with Eric to pick out a gift back in Los Angeles before they'd made the trip home. His mom had made a few suggestions but nothing seemed right. Finally, Eric had settled on a silver poker chip engraved with his father's sobriety date and the family's initials. There was another replica for himself and a smaller one on a pendant chain for his mother. His father's alcoholism had been a family disease, and his recovery had been a family healing process. Eric always knew that he was one of the lucky kids, one whose father loved him enough to want to get better. Vince hadn't been so lucky. That's why he wanted him there now. Vince was an honorary Murphy and had gone to Al-Anon more than a few times with Eric and his mom. He had been part of the recovery in his own way. He belonged there.
Eric had been afraid that his father was going to drink again when he came out to his parents last year. He had never been so scared of anything in his life. It had been hard enough admitting to himself that he was in love with Vince, let alone telling the rest of the world that this innate thing that he had tried to deny was never going to go away. It wasn't normal for an Irish Catholic kid from Queens to love his best friend, but that's the hand life had dealt him.
He hadn't really been ready to deal with it the first time he realized that he might possibly love Vince. He had been working his way through junior college at Sbarro's, studying on his breaks and falling asleep on his feet most nights. His only escape had been frequent phone calls from Vince, who always had some new tale to tell him about someone he had met or a place they'd been or something he tried. Eric looked forward to those phone calls because they were the only time he didn't miss his best friend. It was the only time he wasn't so overwhelmingly sad. He felt connected and whole.
He still felt like that a decade later, with Vince at his side in the formal dining room at his Aunt Claire's house. Everyone was a little enamored by the movie star, at least those who weren't used to his presence at every Murphy holiday for the past two decades. Eric's mom had told his cousins to quit gossiping more than a few times, and E had told his uncles to quit asking Vince about which starlets he had hooked up with before he'd gotten tied down to their nephew. Most people in his family weren't exactly supportive of Eric being out and proud, but his ma had threatened everyone thoroughly enough that they would keep their mouth shut.
"Does anyone else have anything they would like to say?"
Eric was about to push his chair back when he heard the seat next to him slide across the wood floor. Vince stood up and held his goblet in the air as he looked at the Murphys fondly. "For those of you who do not know me, I'm Vince, Eric's partner. I first met him when I was six years old, and over the years, I'm pretty sure I spent more nights at his house than my own," he told the hushed crowd. Vince smiled as he looked down at Eric for a moment before returning his attention to his parents. "Twenty years ago, I was a scared twelve-year-old following my mom down a hallway at a hospital in Queens. I was so afraid of hospitals, but not Eric. He was brave and confident, marching ahead of us as we made our way to visit his dad after he had that heart attack. Eric's faith in his father was contagious, and I'd like to think that's a big reason his dad got sober."
Mr. Murphy smiled at his biological son and then his adoptive one. He was proud of both his boys, just like his wife was. They were good sons. "I've been fortunate to grow up as part of that family, and I know how amazing it has been to be part of all this. I've never seen two people love each other as much as E's ma and pops. In a weird way, I owe everything to Pops' sobriety. Without it, I probably wouldn't have this family and more importantly, I wouldn't have his son." Vince's eyes connected with E's father. "From the bottom of my heart, thank you for giving me these past 20 years with your family and with your son. Congratulations."
Tears were falling from E's mom's eyes as she leaned over and kissed her husband's cheek. Eric had tears in his own eyes as he stood up and kissed Vince squarely in front of his entire family. Vince chuckled against E's mouth as he slipped his arms around him and returned the kiss.
Addiction might run in E's family and Vince might just be his drug of choice, but Vince was more than willing to indulge his habit. Call it enabling, call it co-dependency, call it whatever you want – the whole thing went both ways. It was a sickness, one that they both knew would never be healed. Their addiction to each other was terminal, and Eric finally understood what The Smiths meant when they said, "To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die."
