Title: Tomorrow Find Me At Last
By: BflyW
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Summary: Nick have a meeting with his past.
Betaed by Jayceepat.
Note: Written in the same universe as Premature and Bare skyer beveger stjernene...

She walks in as I drink my second coffee for the day. I have ordered a large Colombia Nariño Supremo and I drink it missing Greg’s blue Hawaii. The coffee has a nutty taste and it is mild and quite different from the strong and spicy sensation of my now daily mid-shift beverage.

I’ve been addicted to it since I first stole a cup from Greg.

I admit it, I stole it, right in the middle of the headquarter’s for some quite clever crime scene investigators. I snuck in to pour myself a cup from the newly brewed pot just as I saw Greg was heading towards the break room to check up on his coffee. I greeted him at the door on my way out pretending like nothing had happened. It left enough for him, but just one cup.

I never heard a word of it, and neither about the next cup and the next after that.

The fourth day I noticed he had brewed extra, and on the third week he handed me the cup himself when I was late in from a scene.

I have drunk more cups than I can keep track of in the past six years since that first cup.

Greg’s coffee has become our coffee, but he is still making it for me, just like he did the first time. Even if it’s a daily routine it makes me feel special and I cherish those moments when he hands me the cup. I think I enjoy that even more than the coffee itself. The moment when our fingers slightly touch and our eyes meet for just one second. It is a tiny little moment of peace in a day that is more often hectic than calm.

It is harder to manage that one cup of coffee now that Greg is also out in the field.

If we work the same case, it is no problem; then we keep track of each other and usually manage to check in at the lab at the same time at least once during the shift. But if we’re on different cases, it’s something else completely. We could go days without the coffee-moment before Greg starts to text me to set up the meeting. In the beginning I know Warrick was a bit annoyed if it happened when I was working with him. Now he realizes I am much more at ease as soon as I’ve had my coffee. He usually hands me the evidence needed to be delivered to the lab if he knows Greg is back there.

Greg has started to hand me a thermos filled at the start of shift if he knows I’ll be working a scene all day. It works just as well. The batman figure on the thermos does not work however, but I guess I have to take the bad with the good. I can live with batman as long as I know that’s what it takes to get the coffee.

Whenever he hands me the coffee, I know he has used exactly two tablespoons of ground coffee for six ounces of water. He has showed me the specifics many times, but he still doesn’t trust me with the outcome.

He measures it as thoroughly as he would measure the liquid detergent when extracting DNA. It is chemistry. Coffee is 98% water and 2% freshly grounded beans. He stores the beans in an airtight container so that it won’t be exposed to oxygen, light, heat, or moisture; any of which would lessen the quality of the beans. Greg used to grind his own beans in the DNA lab before walking to the break room. It would leave a nice smell of coffee in his lab, making it his, and it would last for the next half an hour. Sometime, I think that smell was a constant ingredient in what is Greg’s aroma.

Greg would be careful only to use fresh water. He even measured the temperature at the break room’s coffee machine; so that he was sure it held about 200 degrees. No less that 195 is acceptable, and no more than 205. He measured it to be 199.

The first thing he ever did in my home was to throw out my old machine, it only held 187 degrees. I have had it since forever and I can honestly say I didn’t notice the difference. Greg claims he did and I have to take him at his word.

I can’t hear which brew of coffee she orders but I am sure it is a sweet one. I can see she’s getting the almond croissant as well; her favourite.

She always chooses either an apple or almond croissant when she wants to treat herself. It is usually when she has a hard week at work or something special has happened.

She can quite often find some excuse to treat herself with something extra, and it is showing on her hips. They are round and not as bony as her younger sisters. It suits her though. She is carrying her weight with elegance, and she is quite beautiful. The curves shows her femininity and her smoothness make her look younger than her age.

I know she doesn’t think so though. Every six months she dives into another needless diet to loose the extra weight and for every new diet, another piece of her esteem is the only thing that she looses. The weight comes back, but her self esteem does not.

I wonder what her excuse is this time.

She hasn’t seen me yet and I sit completely still not to draw her attention. The coffee shop is only half full so it isn’t enough for me to hide in the masses, but there are enough people to conceal me if she turns the other way. She is currently paying for her order, and I can feel the sweat in my palms. I usually don’t feel this nervous, but the sight of her makes me anxious.

She stands tall despite her lack of height. She’s a petite woman, but she radiates strength and authority.

It is funny how a woman that feels so unsure of herself can appear so self confident.

If I hadn’t known her, I would have thought nothing could get to her, but I know better. I have seen her falling to pieces, but I have also seen her build herself back up. She has an inner strength that she has no idea is there. She has character, strength and courage. She also has fears that made her fail me when I needed her the most, and that is why I can’t face her now.

I am putting down my cup when she turns around and sees me. She comes to a sudden stop and her coffee spills without her noticing. She stares straight at me, and I feel the need to look away. I know I can’t and that is has no purpose. She has seen me, and there is no doubt she knows she hasn’t seen a ghost.

I stop as well, not able to do the first move. I wonder how long we can stand like this, and the staring is starting to be a bit awkward. People are noticing and they are looking at us; back and forth, wondering what is going on. She must have noticed too, because she is plastering on her fake smile.

“Nick,” she says, sheer surprise in her voice. I am pretty sure I can’t hear any pleasure in it. There is a tremor though; I don’t know if it is fear or just shock.

“Betty,” I answer just as cold. I am still not willing to help her out, this is on her.

“What are you…? How..? This is a surprise.” She’s stuttering, quite unlike what she usually does. She is usually more eloquent in her speech.

“Having a coffee,” I state the obvious but not offering the information she was seeking.

“In Dallas I meant,” she’s not smiling and I’m not trying to be funny.

“Conference,” I say.

“Staying long?”

“Three days.” I merely answer her questions, not willing to help her out in carrying the conversation.

“Did you come today?”

“Yes.” I have had enough of this and collect my items. “I have to get back,” I say, well aware that I have almost two hours until I have to be back.

“Please, sit down,” she says, it even seems like she means it.

“I don’t know” I say, not sure if I’m able to. She hurt me too much.

“Please,” she says again, “you’re my brother.”

“I didn’t think I was.” My answer is curt; I want to hurt her.

“Come on,” she urges and I don’t think she has the right to. I know this is an important moment, a now-or-never moment, and I’m leaning towards never.

“Yes, please,” I hear from behind my back; a familiar voice, a voice that instantly draws tears to my eyes. I swallow them down before I turn around.

“Mom,” I choke. I feel ambushed. I am surrounded and I can’t move even if I wanted to.

“Nick,” she barely whispers my name. Her eyes are reaching out to me, but her hands are held still.

Four years without my family, and now they are right before me.
I have no idea how to react.

I felt so hurt back then.

I could not grasp the feeling four years ago and I still can’t today. Even though I have learned to live with it, it still burns a hole in my soul if I stop to think about it.

I have had to rebuild my image from the ground up. I thought I knew who I was, but the thing is; I was a product of my parents and my upbringing, and suddenly, they were not who I thought they were. Funny, isn’t it? They accused me of not being who they thought I was. Most people would accuse me of that actually. But I too feel that they are different. The mom and dad I knew would never have reacted like this.

I was raised up by loving, caring parents. Mom used to make sure she had at least one hour every week alone with each of us kids. With seven kids and a full time job, that takes a lot. Of course, after a little time more and more kids moved away from home, and soon it was only the three youngest of us left at home. Sue, Betty and I became one clique. Adam and Mary-Lou have always been close and so have Jenny and Linda. Not that there has been that much distance between any of us, but some are closer than others. It’s doomed to happen with seven children and where there are 12 years in between the eldest and the youngest.

Dad has worked a lot. Nothing wrong in that. He worked to provide for his large family, and because he liked it. He had ambitions, and he followed up on them. He taught us kids to do the same.

He followed up on his goals and today he is Chief Justice of the Texas Supreme Court. It’s a rather high position, and one that makes you lead a life with the public eye on you. It is a fine balance of politics and private life, and we always had to make sure we didn’t do anything to harm the Stokes name.

I don’t think they ever were worried about me. I was a good kid. I stayed out of trouble, and frankly, I was guarded by 5 elder sisters, and mildly disciplined by an elder brother. When I say mildly it is because he never paid that much attention to me. His job was more to protect his sisters. God forbid if anyone looked at them in a way he didn’t like. Poor Betty, had her boyfriend chased from the ranch for not speaking to her in the right tone. I think it was harder and harder for the girls to bring boys home, because Adam got more and more training in keeping the boys away. And of course, by the time Sue and Betty started bringing boys home, I was old enough to join Adam in his protection squad. He sure taught me to stand up for the girls. That is also something I cannot erase, one part of my upbringing that is so deeply burned into my soul that I cannot help myself when I see a woman in need.

I was scared of telling them, because I didn’t want to hurt them. I loved them, still do. I would go to great lengths to avoid hurting them, but this time I had to.

They are different persons than I thought they were.

I am sad for being the catalyst for such a change. But I no longer feel guilty for it. I know Greg felt it as well. He was the one who asked me to do it, but he too is innocent.

I had expected disappointment. I had expected lecturing and a hard time, but I had never in my wildest dream thought they would shut me out.

They pretended I did not exist.

“You are not my son,” he said; my father that is. I was not his son. He would not have a gay man for a son.

I was tempted to use the word faggot to emphasise what he really thought of me, but I didn’t. Even in the heat of the fight, I felt the need to speak to him with respect. Not because I felt he deserved it, then and there I felt no respect, but out of habit. I had never in my life crossed my father, and I could never talk to him in that language, not even then.

I was not his son.

Over the years I have grown used to that idea, except, I am his son. Whatever he says, he can’t change that fact.

I will always be his son.

I have grown used to the idea that I am not my father. I am not like him. I am not doomed to do his mistakes.

I struggled with that for a while; what was I worth when I came from people willing to deny their son just because he didn’t love like they wanted him to love?

My parents have always been my safety net. My haven. My everything. They made the world safe for me.

When I was nine my eyes opened to how cruel the world could be.

She touched me. She touched me in places she should not have. I could wash my body, but I could never wash her off me, because she touched my soul and she left indelible marks.

Something that affected me just as much was that even though I waited for my mom, I never really told her. She came home. She asked why I was sitting in the darkness. I said I didn’t know and she didn’t ask anymore. She accepted my answer.

I was glad she did, and I resented her for it. Shouldn’t she have known? Shouldn’t she have asked more? I needed her to see though my lies, but I lied too well.

I didn’t want babysitters after that. I was too big to be having babysitters I said. Of course they didn’t think so, so they kept making me have babysitters whenever they needed it. I never had to see her again though, and after a while I could sleep again.

But I didn’t trust anymore. I didn’t trust the girls who were meant to protect me.

And I didn’t trust my mom with my secret.

I don’t know what she would have done.

Would she have been angry at me? I don’t think so.

A mother wouldn’t be angry at her child for something like that. I know that now. I don’t think I knew it then though. I think back then I was afraid it might have been my fault. That I did something to deserve it?

But I don’t think that was the real reason.

I think the real reason I didn’t tell her was that I didn’t trust her to believe me.

I thought maybe she would think I was making it up. Why would I make that up I have no idea. To get attention maybe?

Sometimes you needed to do extreme things to get attention in a family with seven kids. This was not my way of getting attention though. On the contrary, I had no wish to get attention this time, I just wanted to hide.

And I did hide. For years I hid in my own shell that no one could see through. I never let anyone know my deepest secret, and I learned how to keep my personal life private.

When I grew older I learned how to share some secrets with my friends and keep theirs safe. I learned that some secrets are secrets only for parents, and some secrets are kept away from everyone.

While my friends would look at the girls, talk about them, lust after them, another dark secret grew deeper in me; the secret that when my best friend was in love with one blond girl after another, I was in love with him.

If he had known he would have hit me.

It didn’t last. By the time we started college I was over him, and I fell in love with other men. I even started a relationship with one, but the burden of keeping everything silent tore us apart. We weren’t strong enough, and our love couldn’t endure that kind of stress.

He was my first lover though, and he still holds a special place in my heart. He even sent me a letter a year after the incident. He had run into Linda, and he had casually asked about me. Something about how she avoided talking about me made him realize I had told my family and it hadn’t gone down well.

I called him up again and we talked. He still hasn’t told any of his.

I came close to telling my sister, Sue, once.

My sister who always took care of me growing up. She was so proud of having a baby brother, and she would carry me around when I was a toddler.

By the time I was 12 and she 16 she wasn’t that happy about having me around anymore, but she was still the one I could confide in.
She was the only one that had come close to the truth about the babysitter, and the only one I considered telling about how I liked boys better than girls.

That was, until she learned that her friend was gay and she turned her back on him.

I was fourteen at the time when her friend came out.

He came out to them all, publicly at a picnic, and it didn’t go down well. They didn’t say much to him directly, but one after another stopped inviting him and including him.

I even heard her friend telling her she had seen him in the store and changed aisle’s to avoid meeting him. I had no expectations about my sister’s friend, but when my sister agreed with her, I was deeply disappointed. That’s when I realized I could not confide in her. My secret stayed my own.

That is, it stayed my own until that day I decided to tell them.

Four years ago I flew out to Dallas to come out to my family.

It was long over due and I needed to do it for me and for Greg.

Greg would later panic over thinking he had made me do it, but that was not the case. He was the one to address the issue and to make it clear to me that it needed to be done, but I had to do it for myself.

I had lived my life hiding who I was to please my parents and protect our family name. It was time I stopped living for them and started living for myself. I was used to adjusting my life to what was expected of me.

It was such a natural part of me ‘living up to my fathers expectations’ that it even took a long time for me to learn how to trust myself in my job. Grissom reminded me I needed to work for my own approval, I guess I had just switched father figure’s when I moved to Las Vegas, I really didn’t make the entire ‘be my own man’ shift as I meant to. I honestly didn’t know what it meant at the time. I thought it only had to do with not getting any help from the family name.

As I said, I am not my father, I am an individual and it was about time I started acting as one.

I had moved so far away from Dallas to become my own person away from my family, and yet I hadn’t dared being open about who I really was.

I didn’t realize the walls I started building around myself when I was nine, and maintained and guarded so well were keeping me in rather than keeping others out.

It took someone like Greg to show me. Someone I loved so much that I needed to get out of the tiny space I had created for myself, because there wasn’t room for two in there.

I saw Greg becoming more and more upset over it. He was sad every time we had to separate for the holidays, never being able to spend those days together. He was sad every time my parents called and I pretended there was no one in my life. He had told his parents about us, and they were supportive of us. They knew about him for years, and had known about his earlier boyfriends as well. They just wanted him to be happy.

My parents wanted me to be happy as well, but they thought a woman would do the trick. I never had the heart to tell them differently.

It wasn’t until Greg asked me to tell them that I had the reason to do so.

I didn’t do it for him. I did it because I needed to live the life I wanted, and I needed to do it in the open. Greg was simply a good enough reason to take the risk.

I had expected my father to be angry. I had expected him to not talk to me for a while, but to be disowned was much more than I had expected. He washed his hands of me and refused to say my name. I was more than dead to him; I did not, and had never existed.

Still, it isn’t my father’s reaction I am most disappointed in. He acted along the lines of what I had expected; he only took it further than I had foreseen.

No, it is my sister that hurt me the most. The sister that now stands before me and tells me to stay.

The sister that told me she would always love me no matter what. The sister that would do anything to protect me. The sister that I knew disagreed with my father, and yet she kept her mouth shut. She never spoke a word to defend me.

She called me once; Betty. She called me to tell me she disagreed with dad’s actions, but that she could not keep in touch with me in case dad found out. He was dead serious, she said. He meant it when he would no longer hear a word about me.

I wondered if it would have been better if I died that day that Walter Gordon put me in a casket and buried me. My parents would have never known. I would have died as their proud son, and they would never have known.

They would never have known who I am.

But I could never leave Greg.

I would never prefer death over being with Greg, even though the wounds will never heal. I love him and I want to live with him.

He was in the background that day, hovering over me when no one else saw. When my parents went back home, he was caring for me like no one else.

He cried. He cried so much and he would never let me know. But I could hear him at nights when he thought I was sleeping. He was afraid to fall asleep, because as long as he was awake he could look at me and know that I was still with him.

He has never told me what his dreams were about.

I knew what mine were. Mine were concrete. They were hard plastic against my back, stale air that stuck to my skin and ants eating me alive.

I assume Greg’s were all the options that could have gone wrong. All the thoughts he had when he did not know where I was. I guess his would be the gun held beneath my chin.

My dreams weren’t restricted to nights (or days, as that’s when I sleep), no mine could surface when I least expected it. Like one day at a crime scene. It was one of those cases that will stay with us forever. One of those where we hardly could keep our lunch down when we arrived.

Five young girls were killed and one had not come home, well so we thought. It turned out she was hiding under her bed, and still barely alive. Sara was just about to process her room when she grabbed her arm. The last minute of her life, Sara was with her, holding her.

I think maybe we all sensed this would be one of the days that would haunt us. Greg arrived at the crime scene a while after me, and he asked me on his way up the stairs if I had been up there. Apparently he’d heard from the uniforms outside that it was a gruesome scene. He knows how they affect me, and he tried to ask as gently as he could if I could deal. I only had to look at him to tell him that there was a reason why I had volunteered working the stairs. I couldn’t deal with upstairs that day.

He nodded that he understood and I knew that whatever I would run into that day, he would be by my side. Except, he couldn’t know what would go through my head.

You see, later, when processing the kitchen, Sara was behind me. She was collecting evidence from the floor trying to find out what had happened to this poor girl and her friends.

She picked up a bottle of wine and said something about poor wine. She looked so sad. She looked so lost. She had just held a live girl in her arms, and she had seen the life bleed out of her. She was so sad, Sara, she cared so much.

“It’s good that you were there for her, Sara,” I told her. “She didn’t have to die alone.”

”We usually show up too late to meet the victim,” she answered me. I could only nod in return. The words were choking in my throat and I couldn’t tell her anyway. Not the words I really wanted to say. Those I have never said to a single soul.

I wanted to tell her that I did; I died alone.

I was saved they say. Even Sara said that. It was not my day to die.

I was saved. I was given a second chance, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t die. My body survived, but my soul did not.

I didn’t fear the bullet I was planning on putting in my brain.

I didn’t fear the impact; I expected that to be fast and I wouldn’t have time to feel the pain.

No I feared the moment I had to decide. The moment I would have to say enough. The moment I decided to leave my family; my Greg. That was when I died.

That was the real moment of death, and they didn’t save me from that. I just didn’t have time to finish my death.

That is another secret I carry and I have never had the heart to tell Greg.

He saw the gun. He knows how close I was, but I don’t think he knows what that decision did to me.

How can I ever forgive myself for not fighting a little bit longer?

I don’t want him to carry that weight as well. Honestly, I can’t say the words out loud, so they choke every time I get close. I am scared they one day will spill.

And here I stand, watching two of the people that were my reason to live, and yet they shut me out the moment they found out I was gay.

So she called me. So she doesn’t agree with dad. I am still hurt. I am hurt and I can’t get over it.

They hurt me more than Walter Gordon did. He put me in a casket and killed my soul.

They gave me a wound that will never heal. They told me, with their lack of support, that I am not worth saving. I am not worth having in their family. And sometimes I wonder if mom also thinks it would be better if I had died that day.

“Please, sit down, Nick,” my mother says again. I am still reluctant to obey. I know that if I walk out of here I will never see them again. It was an accident I ran into them today. There’s a conference that Grissom needed me to attend, and it’s in Dallas. He knew I wasn’t happy about going here, not Dallas, but it was important, and I also know that’s why I didn’t protest.

The hotel is in downtown Dallas. Close to the shopping areas, but rather far away from where I grew up. It is close to ‘Truluk’s Seafood, Steak and Crab house’ where mother used to take me for my birthdays when I was a kid. I could have a steak and she could have Seafood, and for dessert we both ate the Mocha Mud Pie. Every birthday she would treat me like this. She did that with all her children, had a date with each of them by themselves on their birthday. It always made us feel special. I made a special effort not to walk passed the restaurant when I left this morning; it would have brought back too many memories. Good memories, but too painful to remember.

I wasn’t scared about running into family, Dallas is large enough, but I was scared of the feelings the place awoke in me. I haven’t been back here since that day.

I did fine with the feelings, it was running into family I should have been scared of.

“Why?” I ask my mother. Deciding to not leave until I know more about what I’m walking away from.

“I cannot let you leave again,” she says. I can see tears in her eyes, and I can see she is scared. I don’t know what she fears. Fear of being seen with me? Fear of me being angry with her? Fear of me walking out of here? I actually hope it is the latter and that’s what makes me sit down. For the first time, I have a glimmer of hope.

“Okay” I say, “but if you say anything I don’t like, I’m out of here. I don’t need any more crap from you.”

She agrees to that and we sit down across from each other. People still stare at us and I don’t know what I find more awkward; the eyes of a dozen strangers or the eyes of my own mother.

The strangers are looking at me, searching for a clue. They probably wonder who I am and what I’ve done.

Mother however knows what she’s looking for.

“Are you having a good life?”

The most important question first. She doesn’t know how much time she’ll have with me.

“Yeah. Yes I have.”

I have no trouble answering that. I am having a good life. I am living my life with the one person I love the most, in a small house we bought together, and we both work jobs we love. We enjoy working nights and we enjoy spending time together.

He relaxes with music and video games, while I relax with hiking and paragliding. Sometimes he comes with me, sometimes I do it alone. It is a perfect balance.

Of course we have our fights. At times we have plenty of them, but in the big picture, they are just minor things. We lead a good life.

We have no children, but neither of us really wants them. Yes, if the card I were handed were different, I probably would have wanted children, but not with the kind of life we have. It was not a hard choice for us, and it was our choice, and we live with it.

We do have a cat though.

She is lazy and fat and we love her to death.

She jumps in our lap’s the minute we sit down, and she start’s purring the second she feels our hands in her fur. She’s a lady. She demands respect.

2 years ago we got married.

It isn’t a legal marriage, as that is not recognized in Nevada, but we had a ceremony. We invited all our family and friends.

Of course, by all our family I mean Greg’s family.
My family missing was the huge elephant in the room. No one mentioned it, but everyone was thinking about it.

I have to admit it was a mixed blessing.

For the most part though, I did manage to focus only on Greg.

Greg, who always dreamed about a big wedding, did suggest we do it small. Just the two of us, so that it wouldn’t be noticeable that my family was missing. I did consider it for a while. It would have been easy, pleasant, but it would also have been wrong.

I could not let my family take away our right to a large celebration.

So we went with the extra large wedding. We even invited Greg’s relatives from Norway, and they came.

It was a fine day, a day to remember. And I do remember how handsome Greg was that day. He was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and he was mine.

So yes, I can definitely say I’m having a good life.

I’m looking back at my mother. She looks smaller than I could remember. Her hair has more grey. Did she stop dyeing it?

Her wrinkles are more apparent, she is finally looking her age.

I have built myself back up.

I have realized family is different from blood.

Family is the people you have around you, whether or not you are related by blood. I have realized Greg is my family and my friends too.

Warrick is my brother. We have always called each other bro, but the word started taking on a different meaning now. I love him like a brother.

And I trust him like one, unlike my blood brother whom will not be seen with me again.

I have always had such respect for Adam, but when he returned our Christmas gifts to his kids, I almost broke.

Linda and Betty accepted the gifts for the kids. I don’t know if they just threw them away, hid them or actually gave them to the kids, but they did not send them back.

Adam and Sue returned their’s, all in one big package and with the address scribbled in Adam’s bad handwriting.

Mary-Lou and Jenna sent a Christmas card with a “thank you, but please don’t send any more”. They would rather not be forced to interact when they also were forced to keep it quiet. What they really thought of this though, I had no idea.

Greg’s family has totally taken me under their wings. I get just as many gifts from them as Greg does during Christmas, and his mom insists on me calling her mom. I appreciate that, and I truly love what they are doing for me, but it doesn’t replace the family you have grown up with.

New traditions may fill a gap in your heart, it may give you a nice time and fond memories, but they can’t erase the feeling of how it should be, because that is how we always have done it.

It doesn’t take away the longing for home.

Dallas smells of home.

Dallas is home, even after all these years. It’s different, and it‘s busy and noisy, but it is home in a way no other place can be.

Vegas is home too. Vegas is my present and future home, but Dallas is my past.

I cannot remove Dallas from the mix that is me because it’s such a large ingredient. I cannot separate Dallas from mom and dad, and how much I try; they are also part of me.

Maybe it is easier for dad to separate from me, since he came before me? I am made from him, but he isn’t made from me?

I think maybe it is. I think it is. I am not so sure about mom though. She carried me for so many months. She gave birth to me and nursed me. I’m not so sure she can break the bond that easily.

“How about you mom?” I finally ask.

“I miss you, I’ve missed you so much.”

I want to tell her she didn’t have to. That she only had to pick up the phone.

“I know what you want to say,” she says before I even have the chance to respond. “I couldn’t. He’s my husband Nick. And then, I was ashamed.”

I feel the hope leaving me, and the frustration grows even higher. I really don’t need to have it all repeated. I do know what they think of me, they have made it all too clear.

“God, mom, I…” I am angry now and I’m starting to leave.

“No, Nick! No.” Mom is stretching out for me, “No that is not what I meant. I am not ashamed of you.”

She is crying now. She’s in public and she is crying. She’s not keeping her voice down and I am sure that if anyone in here knows who she is, this will be in the Dallas Morning News.

“Then what?” I am not sitting down again yet, still not sure what to think. I am on an emotional rollercoaster and I think I am about to throw up.

“I am ashamed of me.” She stares at me and I stare back. They all stare at us. “I am ashamed of me,” she repeats lower this time. “I am so sorry. Please give me a chance to beg for your forgiveness.”

“Can we..?” I point to a corner with a little less people. I want to take this to a place a little less public, but am not willing to take them back to my hotel. I want to keep that my escape route.

“Sure,” she says, “sure.”

Betty is collecting herself as well, and I finally take another look at her. I see the same sincerity in her eyes, and I think maybe they truly mean it. Maybe they really are sorry.

Maybe, just maybe, I should hear them out.

I order a new coffee. I need something to do with my hands.

Betty has finished her croissant and I know whatever reason she had to buy it in the first place must have been quadrupled by running into me. In a moment of pity I buy her another one when I order my coffee.

She hasn’t said much since I agreed to sit down.

She has let me and mom do the talking while she sat on the side line shaking like a leaf, something she does only when she’s extremely upset. She usually manages to pull it together.

Ever since she was a little girl she has been able to take a deep breath and get her body under control again.

I remember one time she was thrown off a horse. It happened fast and she was scared. I think it was the first time it ever happened, and she was not prepared. Her immediate reaction was to cry, but she didn’t allow herself to cry for long, and soon she dried her tears and climbed up on the horse again, ready to conquer her fears.

She kept up appearances all through supper and up until bed time. It wasn’t until the door was closed behind her that I could hear her cry through the thin walls separating our bed rooms.

I found Charlie; my black and white soft bear and padded over to her room. He was my comfort in everything, and even with his worn out fur and slightly wet ears (after I used him as my binky,) I could not think of anything better to cheer her up.

She let me in, and let me climb up in her bed. She didn’t take Charlie, but she held me close. I think I was her soft bear at that time. She used to pet my head and hold me really tight. I can still remember how I could never sit still enough for her. Two minutes and I would feel the urge to move. But some nights we could curl up together in bed, just being ‘us’; a sister and a brother, together against the world. Nothing could harm us as long as we stayed together.

We stuck together as long as we lived at home.

Up until my late teenage years, Sue was also part of our trio. She then gradually distanced herself, and I have never figured out why. She started hanging out more and more with her friends and less and less with her siblings. After a while we grew used to it, and by the time I went to collage, it was just Betty and I; the two youngest. The close ones.

The only time I’ve seen Betty completely fall to pieces was when she discovered her husband had a mistress.

She was hurt and devastated. The last thing she would add to that was to be humiliated, so she did not make a public scene. She kept the fight inside the walls of their home, and the façade was kept intact.

I don’t know how they saved their marriage, or if they ever managed to fix their problems. But when I last saw her, 3 years after she had cried all night on the phone to me, he was still by her side.

She kept to her husband’s side even though he treated her like shit, and I wanted to beat the crap out of him.

I had to promise Betty not to mention it to anyone though. She needed to know that I would not do anything she didn’t want me to, or she couldn’t trust me with her secrets. She needed someone to confide in, and that was me.

I was her closest, and she was mine, that’s why it was so painful when she didn’t stand by my side when I needed her to.

I think she has been unhappy most of her adult life.

She met Andrew when she was 18. I wish he had been one of the guys Adam and I had chased away, but we didn’t.

He seemed like a nice guy. A ‘southern gentleman’ who knew how to treat a woman. He was polite and correct; did all the right things. He addressed our parents as ‘ma’am and sir’ and always brought my mother flowers.

He was ambitious which was something my father thought highly of.

Unfortunately, his ambitions were higher than his morals. I have a feeling his ambitions were the reason he married Betty. She was a Stokes, and having judge Stokes as a father in law did help his career tremendously.

I don’t think my father ever found out. He would never accept adultery anymore than he would accept a gay son. That much I know.

Maybe it wasn’t so easy for her?

Maybe she had enough on her own?

Standing next to her sleazeball of a husband, being the daughter of a strong patriarch, and probably being exhausted after years of keeping the façade. Standing up for me would simply be too much, wouldn’t it?

I’m starting to question my own reactions and my own feelings when I hand her the croissant. She looks at me funny when I do so and I say: “I thought you like another one. This must stress you out.”

Seeing her in front of me makes it harder for me to stay mad at her.

As long as she was far away, I could stay angry at her. She was a constant figure in my mind, frozen in the state where she had let me down.

Now I can see her eyes and they are pleading me. They are…..hurt. Is she hurt too?

Did I hurt her? Did I let her down too?

I think back to the telephone call she made. She was crying. It was about a week after I had returned home to Vegas.

She could barely talk. “I don’t know what to do,” she said not able to sort her thoughts out. In my mind it was clear; either you accept me or you don’t, there is nothing in between.

“I love you Nick, but I love them too,” she said referring to the rest of the family.

I on the other hand didn’t know if I still did.

I used to love them, I used to think the world of them, and now they had all turned their backs on me.

I still loved them, I realize, that’s why it hurt so much. If I hadn’t I wouldn’t have cared.

“I’m not able to choose,” she said.

But she had. By not choosing, she had chosen them.

But I guess they had the advantage of numbers and proximity. If she chose me, she would have only me and no one else, and I was far away. If she chose them, she had a large pack of family that was close by. I would not have chosen me either.

“Linda called,” she said. “She said she misses you. She’s angry at dad, but you know, she’s working for him an all. She can’t just go against him. And then there’s the kids; she doesn’t want to put the kids in the middle of this. The kids needs their granddad so she needs to stay away from all of this. I hope you understand. I hope you see that you have our sympathy, but that we can’t go against dad?”

“I don’t need your sympathy,” I wanted to tell her, “I need your support.” But I told her I understood. I told her it was okay. I told her I would be fine.

Then I hung up and smashed the phone into a million pieces. I think it was my heart on the floor that day.

”I’m sorry,” Betty says and dries a tear. Her eyes are red rimmed and she doesn’t look any fresher than I feel. Her voice is so low I almost have to lean in to hear it. I watch her for a moment before I answer. I know I need to forgive her, but I need to know for what exactly.

“What for?” I finally say.

“I was so tired,” she says, she sighs and I can still hear the tiredness in her voice. “I was so confused. I didn’t know what to do. You had done so much for me, and I couldn’t do the same for you. I was hurt and confused, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. And when I finally did, my life was chaos and I just let it go. It was too much. It was just too much for me.”

Her speech doesn’t make sense to me. I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“What?”

“You didn’t tell me.” She’s finally meeting my eyes. She’s looking straight at me, and I finally see what hurt her so much.

”You didn’t trust me,” she continues. And she draws a shaky breath.

“I trusted you,” I say. Never in my life have I not trusted her.

“But you never said anything. It took me over a year, Nick, to understand that the reason you hadn’t told me wasn’t because you didn’t trust me, but that you didn’t trust Sue. You were scared I would tell Sue. I’m a talker and you thought I couldn’t keep your secret”

Now I’m even more confused, and apparently so is mom. She’s staring at Betty, and it is obvious this is the first she has heard of this.

“Sue told me how you reacted when Brian came out.”

I am shocked, I didn’t know she knew.

“You didn’t know she knew, did you?” Betty is repeating my thoughts.

“No,” I admit.

“She did. She could always read you Nick. She could always tell when there was something wrong with you. She knew you were hurt that day, and she noticed you changed after that. You pulled away. She told me later, about a year after you came out, that she already knew. She had run into Brian, just after you started college and he had told her that he had seen you at a gay party. It had been a private party, and you were discrete, but he had seen you and he knew.”

“I was only at a few of those,” I say in an after-thought.

“She always kept your secret Nick. That one and one you have had since you were just a kid. She has always known something happened when you were a kid. She asked you about it, and you wouldn’t tell her. She has always kept your secrets, even though you stopped trusting her.”

“Why would Brian tell her?”

“You picked up on that, huh?” Betty smiles for the first time since we started talking.

“I’m a CSI, I pick up on things.” I try to keep the light tone that has appeared for the first time.

“Sue and Brian made up, Nick. She didn’t turn her back on him. She was a kid when it happened. She didn’t have the courage to go against her friends, but when she had a second thought, she decided to stand up for him. She told him she was sorry. She asked him to forgive her and he did. You only noticed how she turned her back on him, how she agreed with Suzie, but you never noticed how Suzie stopped coming to our house after that.”

Betty takes a sip of her coffee before she continues.

“You were too busy looking for her mistakes after that, finding reasons to be mad at her. You fed your anger Nick, and she was only sixteen. She was mad at you. She was sick and tired of the kid brother who was angry at her all the time. She didn’t know why at the time, she only saw that you were pissed at her constantly. You wanted to drive her away, and you succeeded. But she kept your secret Nick. She still kept your secret, so maybe you can find it in your heart to stop hating her? She never let you down!”

I’m stunned after Betty’s speech. All these years I’ve had it completely wrong. I’ve interpreted it all as Sue acting homophobic, something she apparently hadn’t. I wonder how I ever managed to become a CSI.

“I’m sorry,” I gulp, knowing that it is Sue that should hear my apology.

“You were a kid Nick. You jumped to conclusions. We all did. I guess we weren’t as good at communicating as we thought we were.”

“You were,” I say thinking about how she always has told me everything.

“No, I wasn’t. I was good at talking, but I obviously wasn’t as good at listening. Communication is supposed to be a two-way-street.”

“Yes you were.”

“No, Nick. You might have kept your mouth shut, but I still should have picked up on things. Sue noticed even though you didn’t say a thing, but I didn’t. Sue was a good listener, but she’s a lousy talker, just like you. She noticed how you started carrying Charlie around again. You put him away when you were six, and then about 2 – 3 years later you picked him up again. You started to fall asleep with him in your arms in either of our beds, never your own. And I didn’t notice. I didn’t care. But Sue asked you if something had happened, why you had nightmares. You said there was nothing, but you couldn’t meet her eyes for weeks afterwards. There was something, wasn’t it?

I can’t go there now. It’s too much.

“It’s in the past, please,” I plead. I can feel my mom’s eyes on me and she is torn. It is dawning on her that there is more to this than she has ever known, if she has ever known.

“Okay,” Betty agrees, “but just know that I know I failed you. I was hurt when you came out. I was hurt that you hadn’t told me earlier. That you hadn’t trusted me. Later I was hurt when I realized you never had trusted me. That it was just me telling you my secrets, and not the other way around. I don’t know what I did to not earn your trust. I loved you, I always did. You could have come to me.”

“I know,” I had no idea the depth of her feelings.

I take her hands between mine.

“I know, Betty. I love you too.” I do. There is no doubt in my heart. “I have always loved you. I was disappointed when you didn’t stand by me, but I honestly had no idea you felt this way. You never did anything wrong, Betty. Never. You were always a fantastic sister and a great friend. It was not in you, it was me. I have never been able to tell anyone anything. It’s not because of you, please believe that. You have always blamed yourself for everyone else’s mistakes. It’s about time we start carry our own blame.”

She smiles at me, and squeeze my hands back.

“We’re quite a pair, huh? If people only knew what was hiding behind the walls of the Stokes family home. They would be surprised.”

I trace her fingers with my hand and notice there is no ring.

“You aren’t wearing any ring,” I state.

“No,” she shakes her head at me. “I finally found the courage to divorce him. I thought if you could come out then I could walk out.”

We both smile at the lame puns line.

“Good for you,” I say.

“Yeah, it took a lot out of me, but I did it. I am just about to get back on my feet, but the world didn’t fall apart.”

”Funny how the world doesn’t need us to keep on spinning, huh?”

“Yeah, who would have known?” I can see the same old spark in her eye that she used to have when she was a kid. I don’t think I’ve seen that in at least a decade. How I have missed it.

“We sure are a pair” I repeat her words.

Betty and I look at each other still holding hands. It’s hard to let go when we finally have found each other.

So many misunderstandings. So many actions interpreted the wrong way.

I still am no closer to knowing why dad wants nothing to do with me, I still don’t know how Adam feels, even though I have a strong suspicion he actually feels the same way as my dad.

At least I have one sister back. My closest sister, the most important. I can’t believe I was about to walk out of here without giving her a chance to explain. I can’t believe that a little over an hour ago, I had no idea I would gain part of my family again. I can’t believe, that the dream I’ve had about finding myself again, might actually come true. Tomorrow, I might fly home, to my husband, to Greg, and tell him that I found myself in Dallas.

It’s a cliché, but it is true.

I found myself in Dallas when I least expected it. Because I was willing to listen. Because I was willing to put my anger away for one second, because I had a little hope. I chose to hope, and I won.

Betty plays with my hand and stops at my wedding band. She looks at it, and turns it around on my finger.

”You’re married?” she says.

Mom’s head pops up at these words.

“You’re married?” Mom repeats after Betty.

“Yes,” I say, and I can’t help but smile at the beautiful memories it brings. “Yes, 2 years this summer.”

I tell them about the reception, about the food and the guests. The speech Catherine made and the toast Warrick made that made me cry. I tell them about how beautiful Greg looked and how he made me so proud to be his husband. He still makes me proud.

I tell them how it was the happiest day in my life.

Mom reaches out and takes my hand from Betty’s. She’s shaking, and she is crying. She really is crying, and it is not happy tears.

She is starting to scare me.

”Mom?” I say, hoping she will explain what’s wrong.

”You’re married,” She says, and I am no closer to understand what’s wrong.

“Yes,” I say, “What’s wrong with that?”

”I,” She choke on the words, and I find her a glass of water. She takes a couple of sips before she can find her voice.

“I missed my baby’s wedding,” she says. “I can never forgive myself for missing my baby’s wedding. I gave birth to you. I was there for your birthdays, your confirmation, your graduation, your everything. And then, because of something stupid we did, something we never should have done, I missed the happiest day in your life. A day we should have shared with you.”

She takes a deep breath before she says again, “because of something we never should have done. How can I ever forgive myself?”

“I would have loved to have you there,” I say. I don’t pretend it didn’t matter, it did. I missed them and I would have done everything to change it. “But I was not willing to wait to see if you would change your mind. You had made your choice, and I wasn’t about to put my life on hold.” I feel harsh when saying the words, but I feel it’s about time we start telling the truth. It’s been enough half-truths and mistakes in this family.

“I know,” she say.

”No, I don’t think you do,” I say. “It was hard for me to go through with the wedding without you. It was hard for me to see all of Greg’s family, and have none of mine there. Greg even wanted to call it off for me, and I almost let him. But I had to go on. I had to continue the life I had chosen, the life that caused me to lose my family. I couldn’t let this destroy even more dreams for me, so I had to go on. But don’t believe I did it with an easy heart.”

“I’m sorry,” mom kisses my hand and keeps stroking it. She won’t let me go. “I am so sorry. Please forgive me Nick, Please, please forgive me.”

I can’t help but let the tears fall. The mom I see before me is so small. She has shrunk to half size, and she looks twenty years older. I hardly recognize her; all I can see is pain.

“Of course,” I say. “Of course I forgive you mom. It’s not your fault. It was hard. It was too hard for all of you. I expected too much.”

“No you did not,” my mom shakes her head, “but it was too hard. I was too weak, but not anymore. Not anymore. I will not allow it to go on anymore. He cannot keep me from my son.”

“Mom” I say, “don’t do anything you will regret.” I’m worried she will do something rash. Worried she will alienate herself from the rest of the family; go to the other extreme to make up for what was done.

”No, Nicky, it’s enough. I will always regret what I have not done, not anymore. He has decided long enough. By God I love him, and I don’t know why, but he shall no longer stand in the way of me seeing my son. I can’t force him to change his mind about you, I hope you know that.”

I nod to that.

“But he can not decide what I shall think. I am not letting him decide for me anymore, or for any of my children. Both Betty and I, and I know Linda; Jenna and Sue as well, have no trouble with you and Greg. I’m not sure about Mary-Lou, but I think it’s that husband of hers and your brother that has her under their thumbs. With support from the rest of us, I think she will be there for you as well.”

“Mom…”

“No, Nicky. I mean it. You are my son, and it’s about time we act like it. He can say what he wants, but you are welcome in my home. Enough with the ‘he’s not welcome in my house’ speech of his. It is my house too. I have kept that house for him for 50 years, if I’m not allowed to have my son in my house, then I don’t know who’s allowed to be there. You are welcome as often you want.”

I smile at her, I like hearing the words.

“Come to my party Nicky. You and Greg, please come celebrate my 70th birthday.”

I look at the crumbs of Betty’s croissant and remember I haven’t asked her why she was here in the first place.

“Needed to find her a dress,” Betty confirms.

“Thank you, but I better not,” I finally say to my mom.

She looks disappointed.

“It’s too soon,” I say. “I am really happy that we are welcome, but it is too soon. You must celebrate with Dad and Adam and the rest of the family, and know that I would have loved to be there and that I am happy to be welcome. But it is too soon to come back. I am not ready yet. I can’t have another scene with dad just yet, can you understand that? For now, it is enough that you are willing to reach out to me. That you are willing to talk to me, and maybe you can even visit me? But I am not ready to come home just yet.”

”I see.” Mom nods and flashes of disappointment and understanding show on her face. “You’re right, it would have been too much too soon. But I can call you, right?”

“Any time,” I say.

She smiles at me and shows me her cell phone, “Justin has even taught me how to text.”

“How is that little son of yours?” I ask Betty at the mention of her youngest.

“Not so little anymore, he’s 16.”

I have missed so much, but I don’t want to go there. Not now. Now is a time to be happy; happy to have taken the first important step.

“I tell you what,” I say to my mother, “I have a few hours before I have to fly home tomorrow. Why don’t we meet at ‘Truluck's’ and have dinner. Just you and I. Let’s celebrate your birthday mom. Let me take you out for dinner and a birthday cake for a change.”


- THE END -