Avery and His Final Act of Desperation

Distant happy memories of our past would do me no good. This conversation, our first in the hours since Jack told we were through, was both painful and humiliating. Not yet ready to accept this new reality, I pushed him.

“Why is this the end? Why are you doing this? Do you really not love me?”

Jack took another sip of his whiskey. He didn’t say a word. How could he be so cruel? I thought to myself. Quickly running out of options, I desperately reminded him of the pact we’d made when I’d returned from New York.

“How was your flight?” he asked as I pulled the seatbelt across my chest.

“Good,” I replied. We didn’t say another word until we were back at the condo.

A funny thing happened when we got home. Nobody turned on the television. We sat in the living room and simply talked. It was the first time in a long time that we actually listened to one another. And we both spoke from the heart.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“No, I’m sorry,” he countered. “I’m sorry that I let things get this far out of hand. I’m sorry that I didn’t communicate my frustrations with you earlier. I’m sorry that—”

I interrupted him. Everything was going to be okay. The time away at Jasper’s had allowed me to reassess not only our relationship, but my outlook as a whole. Perhaps I had been acting selfishly. Perhaps I had been negligent with Jack’s feeling.

I presented the Promise Box. He opened the small sterling silver case and began reading each of the 19 vows I’d written. I read aloud with him, meaning every word.

“I promise to put you first… I promise to protect you… I promise to love you…”

Tears streamed down his face. Our entire future seemed perfectly clear in that moment. Everything was going to be okay. I knew it and so did he.

“So the question remains,” I said to Jack, who sat silently listening to this tale of just a few weeks prior, “how did we get to this awful place?”

Jack did not reply

I couldn’t take it anymore. I broke down. Here I was, a grown man reduced to a lump on his living room rug. I shut my eyes as tightly as I could to stop the tears from flowing.

“Please,” I begged, “don’t leave me. I love you. I can’t imagine this without”

Nothing.

I shut my eyes even tighter. I couldn’t bear to look at him. That’s it, I thought, it’s really over.

Suddenly, I felt Jack’s hand on my shoulder. I slowly looked up, and our eyes locked. In his, I saw our past, our present and the future I could only hope would be. I prayed that he saw the same.

Having said my piece, it was Jacks turn to speak. In the next few moments I would know exactly where we stood.

Avery and the Junk Drawer

After dessert, Jack, Rodney, Stan and I retreated to the back porch for drinks. Over the next few hours, I learned a lot about their family, particularly the acrimonious breakup of Jack’s parents. Seemingly out of the blue, Rodney came home one day and told his wife that he was gay. With few other words, he packed his bags and left her for a flight attendant named Stanley.

I suddenly realized that the chilly reception I received from Jack’s mom had nothing to do with me. There was not a doubt in my mind that Jack’s announcement of, “Hi, mom, I’m gay and this is my boyfriend—See you later!” brought back many unhealed memories of her failed marriage. Poor woman. Poor, poorly dressed woman.

Having long aged out of his twinky-stewardess phase, Stan had moved on to a new career. He gushed when he learned that I was a nurse, because he too now worked in medicine.

“You’re a nurse?” he asked with a wild bewilderment usually reserved for those about 25 years younger than he.

“Yes,” I said proudly, “a pediatric nurse.” (Jasper swears that I think I was Julia in a former life)

“How exciting,” he squealed, “I’m a medical professional as well. I’m a phlebotomist.” His diction was so perfect you’d think he’d just announced his role as Surgeon General of the United States.

“What’s that?” Jack asked. Why are the cute ones never bright? After explaining that his job is to draw blood, Stan and I discovered that we both worked at the same hospital.

“Maybe I’ll see you on the battlefield, soldier,” he enthusiastically said to me. I doubt it. But it’s a nice sentiment all the same.

By the end of the evening, I’d had too many drinks to consider driving. Rodney invited Jack and I should spend the night. As Jack and I crawled into the living room sofa bed. Rodney and Stan stood in the doorway like too proud parents.

“Good night,” one of them said. “Lubeand condoms are in the kitchen junk draw. Just don’t make too much noise. The neighbors’ll complain.” Huh? And with that, Jack’s fathers turned out the foyer light and retreated to their bedroom.

“Do you like my parents?” Jack asked earnestly. I didn’t know what to think.

“I love them,” I fibbed

“Good,” Jack said, taking me in his arms. “Can’t wait for you to meet my sister. Maybe tomorrow?”

Jack quickly fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. I, however, spent the next hour staring at the ceiling, asking myself over and over again, “What have I gotten myself into?”

Avery Would Like a Manwich, Please

Not to be a snob—shut up, Jasper—but I may have overshot when it came to my contribution to the evening’s pot luck. I’d purchased a smorgasbord of gourmet desserts from Whole Foods Market—tarts, cookies, and other delectable bite-sized delights. In an effort to give a more formal presentation, I plated the treats on a sterling silver service “borrowed” during a visit to my parents’ home in Oak Brook.

Rodney politely smiled and led Jack and me to the dining table. Stanley headed for the kitchen, sterling service in hand. He returned with two platters-full of the evening’s entrée: Sloppy Joes. That’s right. You heard me correctly. And in what I can only assume was an effort to ensure a well-balanced meal, French fries were served on the side. Not a vegetable in sight.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I hadn’t had a Manwich since I was about 10 years old. Even in that instance, it was only because my mother left me with a teenaged sitter who was more occupied with telephoning her boyfriend than my nutritional health. But who am I to judge.
Rodney politely smiled and led Jack and me to the dining table. Stanley headed for the kitchen, sterling service in hand. He returned with two platters-full of the evening’s entrée: Sloppy Joes. That’s right. You heard me correctly. And in what I can only assume was an effort to ensure a well-balanced meal, French fries were served on the side. Not a vegetable in sight.

“Dig in,” proclaimed Rodney.

I looked at my Sloppy Joe which was presented on Chinet atop an orange polyester table cloth. Oh well, I said to myself, When in Rome… or in this case, Milwaukee, circa 1972. I took a bite. OMG. Who knew that loose meat could taste so heavenly? A smile crept across my face. Jack smiled at me in turn.

As I continued to enjoy my Joe, I pondered the idea that these people could potentially become my in-laws. Sure the fashion was awful, the décor hideous and the artery-clogging gastronomical selection lethal, but—save for the awkward introduction between the mother and me—everyone seemed pretty nice. Furthermore Rodney and Stanley—who, it turns out is a retired flight attended (hold all jokes please, more about this tidbit of information later), were both extremely welcoming.

Just as I began to think I could really be at home there, the dinner conversation started. ¿Como se dice, WTF?

Avery Sees That Life is a Frolic and Laughter is Calling

The sun was still shining as I parallel parked in front of the brick three flat. The ride to Jack’s dad’s in Irving Park had been the longest I’d ever taken. Still shaken by my awkward introduction meeting of his mother, I didn’t have anything to say. Jack and I barely uttered two words to one another.

Avery and His Series of Desperate Acts

All thoughts of the New York trip and my subsequent conversation with Jack vanished as I prepared to face him for the first time since he told me our relationship was over. I placed the silver Promise Box back on side table and sheepishly entered the bedroom, where Jack laid watching a bad science fiction series. He glanced upon my entrance.

“Hey,” he said and then turned back to his program. Hey? Hey? That’s the best you can do? I’ve been unable to function all day after you drop a bomb over breakfast, and all you can say is, “Hey?” I took a deep breath and asked him to turn off the television. A serious talk was in order.