Chapter Text
Armie releases Timmy—reluctantly. His best friend fusses, probably at the loss of Armie’s body heat, but he doesn’t wake up. He’s not a morning person. Once he nods off, he can usually sleep through anything.
In the morning dawn, the bedroom is quiet except for the steady whisper of Timmy’s inhale and exhale. The sound is hypnotic to Armie and he almost falls back into sleep. These past few days, it seems, he drifts easily when it comes to Timmy. He catches himself and shakes off the insistent urge and the remnants of sleep. As he awakens fully, realization hits him that, at some unknown moment during the night, he’d stealthily wrapped himself around his best friend. Again!
Guilt rises in his chest and begins to gnaw at him.
The night started off platonically—bodies, back-to-back. Regular bros having a sleepover. Armie supposes. He doesn’t really know; he’s never had any other friends over and doesn’t want to, ever. But regular bros don’t wake up, one spooning the other, while the other happens to be in a state of unconsciousness.
How did his feelings for Timmy change so suddenly? They’ve been friends throughout high school; now with just days to go before graduation, he’s having all sorts of inappropriate thoughts about his best friend. And what’s with this clinginess, this need to reach out, and touch him? The knot beneath his sternum tightens.
Armie settles heavily against the down pillow. He lifts the blanket and tucks it under Timmy so that he stays toasty. He eases out of bed. As he tippy toes about, his foot scuffs against something, soft and crumbly. He bends and picks it up. Despite the dark, he can tell that it’s Timmy’s gym shorts, the old worn ones he usually throws on hastily over his boxers when he runs from his house, two doors down, to Armie’s, to spend the night. Armie brings the shorts to his nose and inhales. It’s been recently laundered and smells like bottled, breezy sunshine; it doesn’t have Timmy’s distinct musk on it, yet. Mild disappointment moves through Armie, and he tosses the shorts on the bed, somewhere next to Timmy.
Swiftly, he changes out of his sleepwear and into his running gear. Since he runs most mornings, he has this routine down to a science and is done under a minute. He eases out of the bedroom and closes the door. In the hall bathroom, he splashes cold water on his face and brushes his teeth hastily. He places the toothbrush back in the holder and looks at his reflection in the vanity mirror. Baby blue eyes—his dad’s eyes—overlooking day old scruff stare back at him. You have to tell him—everything, he thinks to himself. But you’re afraid, aren’t you, afraid that everything will change.
Armie races down the stairs. In the kitchen, he grabs a banana and chomps it down in a few mindless bites as he makes his way through the house. His mother, Anne, greets him as he moves through the side door and enters the garage. “Good morning honey,” she says, as she wraps up her morning stretch with a few deep knee bends.
“Morning Mom,” Armie says and pecks her on the temple, her long bouncy blond hair swept up into a tight ponytail. He quickly stretches; he knows he should probably be more thorough but he rationalizes that he has youth on his side and doesn’t bother.
“Let’s go,” Anne says, opening the garage door. Her mornings have to run like clockwork if she wants to make it to the law firm in town where she’s a partner in time for the first of what is typically a workday filled with client meetings.
As the sun rises over the serene suburban town of Glennwood, New York, they exit the garage and ease down the driveway and into a slow and steady trot. ”Quiet this morning,” Anne observes, matter-of-fact. She usually uses these morning runs to catch up with what’s going on in her son’s life.
No response from her son.
They continue down the road, their running shoes pounding against the asphalt in unison as they pick up speed, and make their way into Childress Park on the east side of town and on to the bucolic path that loops around the calm reservoir at its center.
Still nothing from her son.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Anne asks. Her son is uncharacteristically quiet. He’s usually rambling on about something, college being a hot topic in his life at the moment.
Armie slows down and comes to a halt. When Anne realizes that her son is no longer beside her, she stops running and spins around. Armie strolls towards her, arms on his hips akimbo.
The leaves on the cherry trees along the path rustle in the moist morning air; nearby, a flock of sparrows chips away noisily.
“I want to officially come out to you,” he says, as if delivering the day’s breaking news. There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes and voice, as if he hadn’t quite planned on announcing his news to his mother at that particular moment.
“Okay…” Anne says, waiting for her son to say more. This isn’t necessarily news to her. On one of their previous morning runs, Armie had stopped mid-run similar to today and revealed that he was figuring things out. At the time, she’d hugged him tightly to assure him. “I’m here for you and I support and love you whether you’re gay, or not, or somewhere in between.”
“Just going on the record,” he continues. But he doesn’t seem relieved to set the record straight.
There’s more going on, Anne suspects.
“Well, I’m going on the record to say that I love you,” she says and hugs him warmly.
“Thanks Mom, that means a lot to me,” he whispers.
In her outstretched, slender arms, he feels stiff. Before he pulls away, she squeezes him in an attempt to loosen his rigid shoulders. They resume their run, Armie deep in his own thoughts, Anne’s maternal instincts on high alert, ready to give her son any support he needs or wants.
As they round the reservoir, Anne asks, nonchalantly, “So, what made you want to make things official today, of all days?”
Anne is a few feet ahead when she realizes that Armie has stopped abruptly again. She sees that it’s going to take them a while to get through this morning run. She turns around and walks back to him, the gravelly path crunching under the thick soles of her sneakers.
“I had a moment with someone. It wasn’t a big deal, but it became pretty clear…you know,” Armie reveals.
“Oh,” Anne says. The lawyer in her pauses; her son continues, compelled to fill the silence in this situation like most people do.
“It was just a moment, no biggie.”
“It is a big deal,” Anne stresses. “Self-discovery, coming to terms with who you are, Armie, it’s a very big deal when something like this happens.”
Armie nods, agreeing with his mother. Almost two weeks earlier, when he’d finally realized and admitted to himself that he’s gay, it was a big deal. Now, he just has to figure out what's going on with these urges, surfacing for Timmy.
“So, do we need to have the talk again? We did before, but that was different, that was...” She pokes him and smiles. “Before you made things official.”
“No,” Armie says quickly, his cheeks reddening slightly. His mom is cool and all, but he doesn't want to have the sex talk with her again. “I’m not seeing anyone, I’m not doing anything. It was just a moment but it was enough, you know.”
“Okay…” Anne says and taps her son’s upper arm gently. She glances at the fitness tracker wrapped around her delicate wrist and takes note of the time to make sure she’s still on schedule. “Let’s go!” she says.
They finish their loop around the reservoir and make their way back through the neighborhood and up the street to the Hammer home, a cozy white modern colonial. At the garage, Anne does a quick cool down. Armie doesn’t bother; he’s more concerned about making sure Timmy is awake so that he can run home and get ready for school and the final exam he has to take first period.
Before he makes his way into the house, Anne stops him with what she thinks is a casual question. “So, have you told Timmy yet?”
Armie spins to face his mother. And whoa! Anne doesn’t even know how to begin to describe the complicated look that surfaces on her son’s face as his brows descend into a heavy worrisome knit. She’s never seen this before. Then, something clicks, and she wonders to herself, how did I not anticipate this?
“No, not yet,” he confesses.
“Timmy is pretty open,” she assures him. “I’m sure everything’ll be just fine,” she continues, more confidently than she feels.
“Yeah, I’m just not sure how he’s going to react, you know, you just never know.”
And Anne hopes for the best, hopes that everything will be fine, when Timmy finds out that not only is her son, his best friend, gay, but also that he has feelings for him.