They hadn't packed much, since it was cheaper to just have a carry-on than to have to check some big suitcase. It didn't matter anyhow, since Peter's mother would more than happily wash their clothes or provide them with anything they might happen to need. And they were only staying until Tuesday, the 13th. The plane ride had been fine, Peter had slept the whole time, and once they had made it outside of the airport, he felt happy. There was snow. It felt as if Peter hadn't seen snow in years. Decades, even, despite the fact that it wasn't true at all. He saw snow every year, when he came to visit his family. Waiting outside for them was Jack, Peter's older brother of four years. Two inches taller than Peter, one would never guess they were related, only because out of his three siblings, Peter was the only one who had inherited his mother's blonde hair. Jack and his sister, Alison, both had the darker brown hair of their father, Jimmy. Upon spying his brother, Peter felt a burst of joy explode inside of him.
"Jack!" he exclaimed as he bounded over to the car that his brother was leaning against.
"Peter! I'll be damned," Jack returned the sentiment and wasted no time in embracing Peter.
Jack smelled of their parents home, a smell that Peter couldn't describe in words, lest he not give it the justice that it deserved. Nonetheless, it was a comforting smell. Jack pulled back from the embrace, hands planted firmly on Peter's shoulders.
"You look skinnier then I've ever seen ya, Pete. What's California doin' to you? Starving you?" Jack teased, then his eyes wandered beyond Peter's shoulder, "And this must be your band friend, Mike."
Peter turned to look at Mike, who seemed far too unnaturally stiff.
"Mike, this is my older brother, Jack," Peter said to him.
"How ya doin'?" Mike greeted, sticking his hand out towards Jack, who promptly it shook it with zeal.
"You from the South?" Jack asked.
"Yup, Texas, born and raised," Mike replied.
"Whoa, so you a cowboy or something?" Jack arched an eyebrow, a little smirk lurking within his eyes.
"Nah, I don't like horses much," Mike answered.
"Me neither, man," Jack chuckled, then clapped his hands together, "Well, we better get heading home. Mom told me to get you two home before she has dinner all set and ready, or else no dessert for me."
Mike gave Peter a quizzical look but Peter just shook his head in response before clambering into the backseat of the car. The drive home was one so familiar, Peter could walk it in his sleep. It reminded him of his younger years, the days when things were simpler and he had his whole life ahead of him. Twenty minutes or so later, Jack was pulling into the driveway of Peter's childhood home.
"Bobby and Cindy are excited to see you, all they've been talking about is playing with you, ya know," Jack commented as they walked up to the garage, "Alison may say they like me just fine, but I know you're their favorite uncle."
"That's because I actually play what they want to play," Peter pointed out.
"Who's Bobby and Cindy?" Mike leaned over and asked Peter in a hushed voice as Jack opened the garage.
"They're my sister's kids," Peter explained, realizing that Mike hardly knew his family.
In fact, none of his friends really knew his family. It gave Peter an odd sensation in his arms and legs, a sort of spreading numbness that wasn't quite numbness but there was no other word for it.
"Oh," Mike nodded.
He didn't entirely seemed phased and for the first time since the plane ride, Peter felt as if this were somehow unreal. As if this were all some sort of dream. But the bitterness of the cold wind and the tangy scent of snow was too lifelike for it to be a dream.
"And he's their favorite uncle," Jack enjoined, seeming to have overheard at least Peter's reply, breaking Peter's thoughts in the process.
Mike offered Jack a small smile before they entered the home and Peter was struck instantly with how much it hadn't changed. The garage lead into the kitchen, where his mother was stooped in front of the oven, checking a chicken from the smell of the place. Upon their arrival, she closed the oven and turned to the trio. Jack slipped between Mike and Peter, disappearing into the living room, leaving them alone in the kitchen with Peter's mom.
"My goodness, sweetheart, you're finally here!"his mother exclaimed, quickly coming over to him and embracing him.
"And you must be Mike!" she pulled away from Peter to embrace Mike.
Peter watched with a bemused look as Mike stiffened at his mother's touch. Then Peter's mother released Mike and stood back a little, eying them both.
"My goodness, Peter, you've lost weight," his mother observed, "You both are skinnier than malnourished chickens. Don't you eat in that hippie commune you live in now, Peter?"
"Mom, I don't like in a commune," Peter couldn't help but smile, despite the fact that on any other given visit, those words would have cut deep, "I just live in a house, with my three friends."
His mother looked at him skeptically.
"Are you one of those new age believers my son has so hopelessly fallen prey to?" his mother asked Mike.
Mike glanced towards Peter, almost begging for help but Peter was powerless to do anything. He simply gave Mike a smile, knowing that as soon as his mother asked her questions, she'd be finished.
"No, ma'am, I ain't," Mike replied.
"Do you partake in drugs?" his mother asked.
"No, ma'am, I do not," Mike replied, though Peter knew he was lying.
"Do you believe in Christ and the good Lord almighty?" his mother asked.
"Yes, ma'am, I do," Mike replied.
His mother's eyes took one more moment to look over Mike before a smile blossomed on her face.
"Good, Peter, I'm glad you have this young man as your friend," his mother declared.
"Gee, thanks, mom," Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Alright, go say hi to your sister and the kids. Your father will be home from the store any minute now, so when he gets home, we'll start dinner," his mother instructed.
"Sorry about that," Peter whispered to Mike as they made their way into the living room.
"Your mom seems real nice," Mike whispered back.
"Make sure to tell her," Peter chuckled.
In the living room, Jack was sitting with Alison's husband, Harry, on the couch. He was a very short man, possibly shorter than Davy, and Peter's sister always seemed to tower above him. Peter found it very strange and ultimately amusing. Alison was perched on an armchair adjacent to the couch, and two children were sat on the floor. One was a girl with wildly curly hair that reminded Peter of Micky's hair. The other was a boy, much larger than the girl, who had neatly trimmed brown hair.
"Hi, guys," Peter greeted and swept a hand towards Mike, "This is my friend, Mike."
"Hello," Mike waved sheepishly.
Harry gave a little wave back and Alison returned the hello.
"Uncle Peter!" the two children exclaimed.
They both scrambled to their feet and raced to Peter, each one grabbing onto one of Peter's two legs.
"Oof," Peter said and then made himself fall flat on his butt.
He noticed that Mike tensed up, presumably thinking that the children had actually caused Peter to fall. But he must have noticed the smile on Peter's face because he eventually sat down next to Harry and Jack, both of whom began to engage in conversation with Mike.
"Uncle Peter, guess what?" Bobby, the oldest of the two children, had turned eight last month.
Peter had mailed him a toy train. Alison had told him that Bobby had loved it.
"What?" Peter asked.
"Mom got me a guitar for my birthday! Can you teach me how to play it?" Bobby asked.
"Your mom got you a guitar?" Peter gave his sister a quizzical look.
All she did was roll her eyes at him.
"It's big," Cindy, age five, commented.
Peter picked Cindy off of his foot and held her in his arms.
"I'm sure it is. Guitars are hefty instruments," Peter agreed.
"Will you teach me how to play it?" Bobby repeated.
"Sure I will," Peter told him.
"Let's play princesses," Cindy demanded then, seeming almost jealous of the attention Peter was giving her brother.
"Aw, I don't wanna play that, it's gross. Let's play pirates!" Bobby countered.
"You be a pirate, Bobby, and Cindy will be the princess. And I'll be the monster, trying to eat you!" Peter suggested, putting Cindy down on the ground before letting out a roar.
The two children squealed in delight and then darted from the room.
"Oh, no, Peter, don't play that came, Cindy will have nightmares," Alison protested as Peter got to his feet.
Somewhere from another room, Cindy shouted, "No I won't!" Peter grinned broadly at his sister, who looked at him pleadingly.
"Here comes the monster!" Peter exclaimed as he lumbered after his niece and nephew.
When Peter's father arrived home, his mother introduced Mike to him. His father said hello but did not acknowledge Peter. It was expected and typical of Peter's father, but nonetheless Mike gave Peter a questioning look which Peter ignored. Dinner was delicious and Peter ate as if he were a starved man. After dinner, Peter helped his mother clean up. Mike seemed to be enjoying the company of Peter's brother and Peter was overjoyed by this. Once the dishes were cleaned up, Peter played airplane with the kids, in which he lifted one of them above the ground and spun them around, before letting the other one have a turn afterwards. This game was cut short though, due to the fact that Peter started to feel far too dizzy and a little nauseous. Around nine, Peter helped Alison put the kids to bed. Peter read both of them a story and kissed them goodnight, with Alison singing them both a song and kissing them goodnight as well. Shutting the door to the kids room, Peter suddenly felt exhausted. It came on so suddenly that Peter had to sit down or else he felt his legs would just give out on him. Alison joined him on the floor of the hallway, sitting down across from him.
"I've missed you," she said after a moment, gaze fixed on her hands.
"Me too," Peter agreed.
"Mom's right about you having lost weight, you know," Alison said.
Peter glanced down at the carpeted floor, fingers brushing absently at the fibers. He remembered sitting up here with Alison, just like this, on Christmas morning, waiting for their parents to wake up so they could run downstairs and see what Santa had brought them.
"Yeah, I know," Peter sighed.
"And you came late this year," Alison continued, "You never come late."
"So?" Peter frowned.
He kept his gaze trained on the carpet, running the tips of his fingers back and forth across the carpet.
"So, I think something's up," Alison concluded, "Are you on drugs or something?"
"Just pot," Peter shrugged, smiling a little, "And you already know that."
He knew that Alison disapproved of his drug use, but why would she bring it up now? Of all times?
"You got some sort of girlfriend who won't feed you?" Alison arched an eyebrow.
Peter glanced down the hallway, wondering if anyone else was in earshot. Wondering if he should confess to his sister now. All along, Peter had been worried about this. His father was too dense to figure anything out. His mother would conclude that his skinny figure was related to his roommates influence rather than anything else. The kids were too young and his brother would be too engrossed in sports to notice much. But his sister Alison had always had an uncanny way of knowing things about Peter. There was no possible way that he could hide from her. But he had hoped that maybe this time would be different and had just pushed the thought of her figuring it out far from his mind. He then saw the face his sister was making. It was one brimming with humor in a way that seemed tinged with pity.
"I'm just kidding you, Peter," she said, her voice growing softer.
What did that mean? Peter's brows creased together and he looked at her expectantly. It was her turn to glance down the hallway now, as if she were trying to figure out if anyone could hear them as well. Then she leaned forward so that she and Peter were closer together.
"Look, Peter, did you honestly think I wouldn't have figured it out? About you? I mean, I've known since junior high," his sister informed him.
"Known what?" Peter frowned, palms becoming incredibly clammy.
"That you're…," she waved her hand to absently indicate something, "A homosexual."
She pronounced the word with a weird space in between homo and sexual, making it seem funnier then it should have been to Peter. It seemed to ease the tension that was beginning to try and take a hold of his body. His sister knew. Of course she knew.
"I haven't told anyone else," Alison added, as if his silence were some sort of protest.
"How'd you know?" Peter asked.
"Come on. You always enthused about boy bands with me and liked hanging out with me more than Jack. Plus you knew nothing about sports, liked to cook despite the fact that you're terrible at it, and you live with three other men. In a house, not an apartment," Alison replied at length.
"You aren't…. Upset?" Peter couldn't understand how his sister hadn't confronted him about this information yet.
"No, I mean, you're my brother. I love you. Plus, I have like two gay friends and Harry's sister is even a girl homosexual," Alison revealed this information as if it were the greatest coincidence in the world that her husband had a gay sibling just like her.
"A lesbian, his sister's a lesbian," Peter said.
"Oh, right, yeah," Alison nodded, "That."
Peter figured she must have been uncomfortable to think about a woman loving another woman. In fact he doubted that Alison thought much about men loving men, just accepted it on a surface level simply because Peter himself was gay.
"Wow, why didn't you ever… you know, tell me?" Peter wanted to know.
"I figured if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me, and I'd give you your space," Alison shrugged.
"For all of these years?" Peter arched an eyebrow.
"Of course," Alison nodded.
Peter felt something he hadn't felt from his family in years. Honest, true, and unconditional love.
"You're a good sister, Alison," Peter said, at a loss for anything else to say.
He felt grateful that Alison hadn't told anyone else in his family. In fact, it was a miracle she hadn't. And Peter felt more loved than he ever had.
"Well, you're a good brother," Alison shifted herself into what Peter guessed was probably a more comfortable position, "But I do gotta ask you something."
Peter's throat constricted and he wiped the sweat on his palms onto the carpet.
"Yeah?" he prompted.
"I'm not oblivious, plus my gay friends have been talking about it all the time it seems, but it's about that gay cancer that's been going around," Alison seemed to be trying to avoid what she wanted to ask, despite the fact that she still was asking, "You don't… you're being safe, right, Peter?"
There was true concern and worry in Alison's eyes. Blood pounded in Peter's ears and he felt cold. As if the temperature in the room had dropped. He couldn't lie to her. Not to his sister. Not now that he knew that she had kept his dirty secret for so long. For a brief moment, he wondered where Mike was. He needed Mike. He wondered what Micky was doing right now, all the way back in California. Maybe he could lie to Alison. Tell her he was being very careful, then fake a yawn and go to bed. But if he did that, eventually Alison would figure out that he was lying. Whether she found out when Peter finally caved in and told his whole family, or when he died of it, she would find out. Peter couldn't lie to his sister. He just couldn't.
"Alison," Peter began, trying to keep the shake out of his voice, "It isn't gay cancer anymore. It's AIDS. And, well, I have it."
Tears stung Peter's eyes and he looked intensely at the carpet, so he didn't have to look Alison in the eyes. Would she hate him now? Would she tell him to stay away from her children, to keep them safe from him? Would she tell their parents?
"Shit, Peter, I- I'm sorry," Alison sounded stunned.
Risking a look at her, Peter realized that Alison was crying. Seeing his older sister cry made Peter feel horrible.
"Hey, it's okay," Peter said quickly, trying to stop her from crying, "I'm alright. I'm on some medicine that's helping me."
"W-when did you find out you had it?" Alison asked, the tears still trickling down her cheeks.
"About four weeks ago," Peter informed her, "It was a real roller coaster once I found out. Everything went by really quick."
"Four weeks!?" the tears were streaming again, "You… have you been in the hospital?"
"Yes, for thrush," Peter decided that at this point it was honesty or bust.
Alison was looking at him like he had told her he was dying. And in some way, that's exactly what he had done. Peter had figured Alison wouldn't understand the true ramifications of an AIDS diagnosis but perhaps she actually did.
"You haven't told mom and dad yet?" Alison asked.
"I'd have to tell them I'm gay too," Peter shook his head.
"Who's helping you?" Alison demanded.
"My friends," Peter answered.
"That Mike guy?"
"Yeah, Mike. And my friends Micky and Davy," Peter nodded.
"I… shit, Peter, why didn't you tell me?" Alison wanted to know.
She sounded as if Peter had somehow betrayed her and it irritated Peter just a little. Until today, Peter hadn't known his sister knew about his sexuality and he had already explained why he hadn't told the rest of his family. So why was she upset about this now?
"I didn't know you knew about me, Alison. I couldn't tell you for the same reason I won't tell the rest of the family," Peter tried to sound level headed.
He didn't want to sound angry. But he thought that he did.
"Oh, Peter," Alison crawled over so that she was right next to Peter, instead of across from him.
She buried her head into his shoulder, arms clinging to him in a half hug. Peter stroked her hair, wanting to take all he had said back. Maybe it would have been better to lie to her instead of telling her the truth. After a while, Alison sat up so that she could look at Peter.
"I want to be here for you," Alison stated, "I want you to be able to rely on me. After the holidays, can I come up to your place, just to help out? Harry will understand and if you're feeling well enough I'll even bring the kids. I don't want you to think that you have to be alone in this, at least in terms of your family."
Seeing his sister sitting next to him, telling him that she willingly wanted to stand by his side during this trying time, made tears well up in his eyes. He reached out his hand and took a hold of Alison's, squeezing tightly.
"Thanks, sis, that… that really means a lot to me," Peter told her, his eyes fixed on their entwined hands, "We can talk about it after the holidays, just to be safe, but I'd love to have you over."
"Okay," Alison gently squeezed Peter's hand in return, "But if you ever need to, you can call me. No matter what time it is or anything. Keep me in the loop of what's happening."
"I will," Peter nodded his head.
"I love you so much, Peter. You're going to get through this," Alison leaned in to half-hug Peter again.
"I love you, too, Alison," Peter returned the half-hug.
They sat there in the hallway for a few more minutes, just in silence. It wasn't awkward or anything, it was just quiet. He hadn't sat like this with his sister in ages and it reminded him of late nights when he had comforted Alison and her broken heart. Now it was a slightly turned table, with Alison comforting Peter. Although, if Peter were honest with himself, it was more like they were both comforting each.
The rest of the time spent at his family's home seemed to fly by. Peter's mother insisted that Mike and Peter eat thirds or fourths at every meal in order to get some meat on their bones. Peter's father ignored the fact that Peter was even in the house, although Peter one night did see him and Mike having some sort of conversation. Upon pressing Mike on what the conversation had been about, Mike had simply shrugged. Mike did confess however that he really liked Jack and Peter was determined to tease Mike about having a crush on him until they left. Obviously, Mike didn't exactly appreciate that but Peter noticed that since he found humor in it, Mike seemed to not mind as much as he probably would have. On the second to last day of their trip, Peter and his family exchanged gifts. Peter gave Jack a special issue Superman comic book as a joke gift because last year Jack had given Peter a similar, almost pointless present. Then he had given Alison some loose leaf tea that she had liked the last time she had visited Peter in California, years ago at this point. His mother was given a Frankie Valli record that Peter had shelled out quite a bit of money for and his father got a bottle of scotch. The kids were given both a box each. Inside were miscellaneous items that Peter had collected for them over the year and both of the kids found the boxes exciting. Peter himself got a few trinkets and a sweater. After the gifts had all been exchanged, they all ate a mock Christmas dinner.
The week was coming to an end and Peter was getting ready for bed. Tomorrow he and Mike would be going home. Peter felt almost sad to be leaving. All week, he hadn't really felt any symptoms of the AZT and had almost forgotten he was sick. Playing with the kids kept him very busy and his mother's cooking was remarkably better than Micky's, though Davy's cooking did come pretty close to the caliber of Peter's mom. Mike even agreed with this, to Peter's own surprise. As he pulled on his pajama shirt, he felt a sudden surge of dizziness. Staggering a little, Peter's arm shot out and grabbed onto the dresser in front of him in order to balance himself. He had nearly toppled it over. Mike, who was sharing the room with Peter since it was the only other room that had two beds in it, must have noticed.
"Peter, are you alright?" he asked.
"Yeah," Peter shut his eyes and took a deep breath, "I'm fine, I just got a little dizzy there."
"You don't feel nauseous or anything else, do you?" Mike asked.
Peter opened his eyes and removed his hand from the dresser. The dizzy spell seemed to have passed. He felt fine now.
"No, it's passed already, anyways," Peter replied, before sitting down on his bed.
"You haven't had any symptoms this whole week," Mike observed as he finished getting himself ready for bed.
"It's been nice," Peter laid down, pulling the covers up to his chest.
"I'm surprised that you haven't exhausted yourself by playing with those kids," there was a smile in Mike's voice.
"And I'm surprised that you haven't ran out of conversation topics with your new boyfriend," Peter teased.
"Shut your trap," a pillow shortly fell on top of Peter.
"Come over here and make me," Peter said as he sat up.
Mike rolled off of his bed and sat down in front of Peter, picking up the pillow he had thrown earlier and hitting Peter gently with it. He had a dopey smile on his face. Peter reflected that he looked… good. A wholesome sort of beauty that Peter could look at for days. He wanted to lean forward and kiss Mike. Caress his face. But Peter did no such thing. Instead, he spoke.
"Thanks for coming with me, Mike."
"It's no trouble. I'm happy I came," Mike said, although he seemed a little confused.
"I know it sounds ridiculous, but this week has been such a nice break from everything. I miss Micky and Davy, though," Peter admitted.
"Yeah, I miss those fellas, too," Mike agreed, glancing down at the pillow he held in his hands.
"Do you… miss John?" Peter wasn't sure if he should even try to talk about John with Mike, but Mike had seemed so accepting of himself recently that Peter thought he might as well try.
Although Peter did like John, he was a very nice man, he did not really approve of Mike constantly chasing after him. Peter and Mike had been the first two of the gang to meet and before they had moved into the pad together, Mike had been living with John in another house with a few other guys. Peter had walked in on them kissing once and that was how Peter had found out that Mike was a homosexual, albeit a very closeted one. Mike and John never talked about themselves and they were very close friends, but Peter wished one of them would establish their relationship because it just wasn't good for either of them to stay in the ambiguous void they had always been in. At the mention of John, Mike let out a sigh and Peter wondered what that meant. He waited for Mike to say something.
"John's my best friend, ya know, but since Micky and I, and I guess you too, have been doin' what we've been doin', it ain't been the same with John. I used to want to be with him all the time, as more than a friend, ya know, but now. I realize that he might not think that me and him really count. Not in a bad way, John's too sweet of a man to think something like that, but in the way that it don't count if he and me fool around while he's dating a chick," Mike said at length.
"Maybe you gotta just stop fooling around with him, then. Just be friends," Peter suggested.
"I dunno. I… I'm not sure I'm ready to let him go like that," Mike ran a hand through his hair for a moment, pausing to pluck out a bit of string that had somehow got entangled in the brown mess.
"You'll figure it out, Mike. And whatever you decide, you know me and Micky and Davy will be there to support you," Peter reached over to grab onto Mike's hand.
"I ain't lookin' forward to the plane ride tomorrow," Mike chuckled, changing the topic suddenly.
"Oh, I am. I'll probably sleep like a baby," Peter rubbed his thumb over Mike's palm.
"Maybe I'll keep you awake," Mike joked.
"You're starting to sound like Micky," Peter joked in return.
"How so?" Mike asked, clearly not understanding the joke.
"Doesn't Micky threaten to keep you up all night, with like… I dunno, howling or something? He uses it as a tactic to get what he wants?" Peter explained.
"Nah, he ain't never done nothin' like that," Mike replied, a frown creasing his brow.
"That son of a bitch," Peter nearly burst out laughing, somehow finding this revelation humorous.
Mike smiled broadly at Peter's reaction. Then Mike did something that still surprised Peter. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Peter's. Peter couldn't help but smile. This trip had been so wonderful.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you so much for reading! Sorry for the later chapter post, this week has been such a busy one for me, I didn't get time to edit this chapter until just now. Apologies for any mistakes found in this chapter, I'm pretty sure I caught everything, but I might not have. Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this latest update, and look forward to another update later this week! Once again, I encourage anyone who finds this fic neat to check out some real life stories about the 1980s AIDS epidemic, as this fic is very much a fictional dramatized version of events, despite the realism I tried to bring to the story. This week's recommendation is And the Band Played On by Randy Shilts. One last disclaimer is that I am not a doctor nor a historian, so I apologize for any inaccuracies that may be found within this fic. Thank you so much for reading & please feel to leave a review and/or a like (both are very much appreciated).