Cris took the steaming mug of tea, holding his palm underneath to keep it steady as he brought it to his lips.
The taste of Earl Grey instantly soothed him.
“Thanks for letting me in,” he said, blowing on the hot tea before taking another sip.
“What was I going to do, leave you standing on my door? This is ridiculous.” Fernando settled into the EZ-chair across from him, folding his hands over his swollen belly.
Cris laughed. “Fair point. But you’ve been very welcoming to me, even when I showed up here with no notice.”
Fernando’s place was cute, but cramped. A half-assembled crib lay in the middle of the room, while unopened boxes sat in the corner, stacked halfway to the ceiling.
Fernando noticed him looking.
“Some friends are a little… how do you say, “gun-happy” with the gifts. I told them I didn’t want to do a baby shower, but they send things anyway.”
Cris smiled. “Sound like good friends.”
Fernando studied him for a moment. “Why are you here, Cris?”
He raised a hand. “I don’t mean that you are not welcome. Only that it is a long drive from Albany; I should know that.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call–”
“That is not my concern. My concern is the look on your face. Has something happened?”
Cris stared at his tea for a moment. “I had a fight with Frank.”
He waited for Fernando to say something, but clearly he was content to just listen, so he sighed and continued.
“It’s my fault, really. It always is. I keep doing this to people. Pushing them away, shutting them out. Getting angry when they call me out on it. It’s childish.”
“Why do you do this, then?” asked Fernando. “Why shut people out?”
“It’s complicated.”
Fernando laughed.
“What?”
“You drive three hours to see me in Boston, to tell me you are angry with yourself for shutting people out, only to do the same to me when I ask why.”
Cris smirked. “Okay, point taken.” He looked around for a second. “Is, um… Is Trynell–”
“He is at his mother’s,” said Fernando. “I stayed home because my back is aching me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Cris. “Do you–”
“I took an aspirin,” he said quickly. “Now please. You were saying?”
Cris took a deep breath and, with no other option, began talking.
“It’s my ex,” he began. “His name was Paul. We met at NYU about seven or eight years ago. I was going to Tisch, he was at Stern studying business. He had this fiery red hair, long and wild. And he was so charismatic. I got talking to him at this party, just chatting about Sam Shepard or something, then before I know it we’re hooking up in one of the bedrooms.”
Cris shook his head, chuckling softly. “I’d never done anything like that. Paul… he just brought out this wild side in me, I guess.”
Fernando just nodded, listening as Cris opened up about the early days of their relationship, the whirlwind courtship and passionate sex that left him feeling breathless. He spoke way too much, sharing facts that weren’t even relevant, that he hadn’t known he’d remembered.
It had been a long time since he’d last talked about Paul.
“When we graduated, I wanted to audition for Broadway, and his father had an apartment on the Upper East Side where he was staying. He offered to let me move in with him, and I said yes.”
“Hold on a second,” Fernando said for the first time, raising a hand. “You were on Broadway?”
Cris nodded. “Mostly ensemble stuff in the beginning. I had a small part on a couple of off-Broadway shows, but then I got cast in the revival of Mamma Mia.”
“Crisanto! This is incredible.”
Cris smiled sadly. “It was. I mean, it would have been. I didn’t end up performing. Things with Paul…”
He looked down at his cup of tea, cooling on the table. Fernando didn’t rush him.
This was the part Cris dreaded reliving. How stupid he’d been for so long. Ignoring things, obvious warning signs that would have sent any sane adult running for their lives. His therapist had told him there was no shame in it, that many people in abusive relationships stayed well past when they should have left, but he couldn’t help but feel naive.
“There were signs from the beginning,” he said slowly. “He didn’t always have a temper, but there was always this cruel side to him. Like, his sense of humor was really harsh. He would say things or post stuff on social media that just made my skin crawl. And I’d talk to him about it, and he’d apologize, but I could just tell there was this side of him that was very dark. He would be vindictive about the littlest of things. Everything was a sleight, real or imagined, and he would always need to get back at people. At me.”
Fernando’s hands rested on his belly, gently rubbing it, probably without even realizing it.
“What did that look like?”
Cris shrugged. “I dunno. Inconsequential stuff, mostly. Like, one time, we were supposed to go grocery shopping together. He wanted to nap, so I asked if I could just take his card, grab a few things for the both of us, and split it. Then when I got to the store, his card was declined. I thought there had been some mistake, but when I got home, I found out he’d called and canceled it.”
Fernando’s eyes narrowed. “What? Why?”
“He wanted to punish me. For going without him.”
Fernando shook his head. “That is… not okay, Cris.”
Cris laughed. “I know that now. At the time, it was just one of a bunch of little things. Things that unsettled me, but weren’t enough on their own to pull the plug.”
“Why did you stay? If you found him vindictive and cruel?”
“He wasn’t always that way,” said Cris, almost defensively. “Sometimes he was really sweet. Also, about a year or so after we graduated, his mother died. He was going through so much grief and I told myself that people in that situation tend to lash out, to deal with their trauma in unexpected ways.”
“Grief is not an excuse for abuse,” said Fernando.
“I know I made excuses for him. I knew I didn’t want to stay in the relationship. When I tried to get out… That was the first time he ever hit me. And not just a slap. He put me in the hospital.”
“Jesu Cristo.” Fernando grabbed Cris’s hand.
The touch made Cris’s throat grow tight. He cleared his throat and continued.
“Anyway, after I got out, I moved to Albany to stay with my parents. He tried contacting me, but I changed my number and blocked him on everything. Deleted all my social media. I haven’t seen him since.”
Cris shrugged. “That’s everything.”
“I am so sorry. That’s horrible.”
Fernando let go of his hand, leaning back in his chair and staring at him with the exact look Cris had been hoping to avoid.
“Have you talked to anyone else about this? Professional people?”
“I’ve been seeing a therapist. Not consistently enough,” he admitted. “But it’s helped.”
“Can I ask you something?” Fernando looked at him gently. “Why do you not tell Frank? He is the father of your child.”
“I’m going to tell him,” said Cris. “I know I can’t keep this from him forever. It’s just… I’m so tired of being the victim. That’s how my parents see me. How my cousin sees me. I can’t have Frank see me that way too. If I tell him about Paul, about how he treated me, how he hit me, he’ll want to fix it. Want to fix me. I just want to forget about it.”
“Maybe you can’t. Maybe you need to remember.” Fernando leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “Perhaps Frank will not react the way you think.”
Cris snorted. “Trust me. I know Frank. He was a cop. He’ll want to find a way to solve things, if he doesn’t rush right out and shoot the guy.”
“Does he not deserve a chance to react differently? Or to have a reaction at all, whatever it may be?” said Fernando. “You’re building a life together. He is not Paul. It’s not fair to force him to carry the weight of your past.”
Cris frowned. “Won’t telling him do just that?”
Fernando gave him a small smile. “Not telling him is doing it more.”
He winced, then grabbed his lower back.
Cris leaned forward. “Are you okay?”
Fernando nodded. “Is nothing. Back pain from being a thousand pounds.”
Cris chuckled. “I know how you feel. It takes twice as much effort to get up from a chair, and I’m not even as big as you yet.”
“You are skinny minny. If you did not tell me you were boypregnant, I just think you ate extra big lunch.”
Cris laughed. He put a hand to his belly.
“Crazy how I forget sometimes. Sitting here, talking to you, it completely slips my mind that there’s a life growing inside me.”
“It is God’s design,” Fernando said simply. “All of it. The baby, Frank. Even Paul. We may not understand, but we must trust. We must. Otherwise, we are lost.”
He looked away, his gaze lost somewhere in between the crib and the unopened boxes.
“Who knows what the future holds? Babies change things in ways we cannot imagine. Perhaps Frank will surprise you. Or my parents will surprise me. It is not for me to say. Only to have faith.”
“Sure,” Cris said half-heartedly. “I mean, if Jesus could part the Red Sea, I suppose he can handle my shit.”
Fernando frowned at him. “Jesus did not do this.”
“Right. Sorry. Abraham.”
Fernando shook his head. “Just drink your tea,” he said, sighing.
The drive back to Albany was quiet.
Cris didn’t turn on the radio, too absorbed in his own thoughts to listen to music.
He was going to tell Frank. He knew he had to. It wasn’t fair to keep it from him, not any longer.
He thought back to the restaurant, how he’d cursed at Frank and stormed off.
And he wondered why Frank treated him like a child.
Even before that, in the car, snapping at Frank the way he did. The way he’d been treating the father of his child was inexcusable.
The man was obviously trying. He’d been patient with Cris, weathering his freakouts and not prying too hard when Cris shut down at the slightest bit of discomfort. He actually wanted to try, crazy as it may seem. Even though Frank could have washed his hands of the whole thing (he wasn’t the one carrying the baby, after all), he’d chosen to go all in. That talk about a nursery, supporting him and the baby, being a family…
It felt too good to be true. Which, Cris supposed, was why he was so determined to destroy it before it even had a chance to blossom.
Leave it to him to fuck up a perfectly good thing.
By the time he got back to Frank’s, it was after midnight. He’d debated going back to Angelica’s, but the thought of running into Paul lurking outside was the only thing scarier than facing Frank.
The light was on in the window. Frank must have been waiting up for him.
Cris felt another pang of guilt. The worry he’d put this poor man through.
Frank opened the door before he had a chance to reach for his key. The old man stood there, his weathered face lined with worry.
Cris swallowed. “I’m sor–”
Frank pulled him in for a hug.
Cris froze for a moment, then relaxed into it. Before he knew it, he was crying.
“Come inside,” said Frank.
He shut the door behind them and walked Cris through to the living room.
Cris wiped his eyes, trying to get his shit together.
Without saying anything, Frank walked over to the kitchen, filled a glass of water, and brought it to him.
“Drink,” he said.
Cris did. He sat on the couch, still sipping the water, until he’d finished it in one long gulp.
Frank sat down next to him, a foot away. He studied him for a moment, as one would an abused puppy they’d just rescued.
Cris hated the way that made him feel. He pushed it down.
He set the glass on the coffee table, keeping his eyes on his hands.
“I owe you an explanation.”