Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

was no way I would survive a night of bowling.
    Andrew must have sensed my bewilderment because he leaned over and spoke into my ear, "Trust me, Shawn." I looked at him, eyes sparkling in the light of the parking lot, mischievous smile tugging at his lips, and warmth in his expression. Lord knows, I did trust him. In that moment, standing in a dirty parking lot, surrounded by cars, loud music, and neon lights, I think I started falling in love with him all over again.
    I felt a jolt of heat go up my arm when he grabbed my hand. He had touched me many times over the past week, but only in comfort or aid. This was the first time he had touched me for no reason. The butterflies in my stomach started dancing the mambo as he threaded his fingers through mine and squeezed my hand before leading me inside.
    That moment would have been worth suffering through a night of agonizing pain and bowling pins. But luckily, off the side of the bowling alley was a small theater. The marquee read, "Live TV Tuesday: Firefly reenactment."
    My geek brain did a little jump and danced around. This was going to be awesome. I whirled towards him, grabbed his face, and gave him a brief, hard kiss. "Thanks." I said through the grin on my face. He liked Firefly, but only because I had made him watch it. I was the true Browncoat (as we fans like to call ourselves).
    I worried for a moment that my ill-timed kiss might make things awkward, but he just kept that happy look on his face and reached for my hand again. We sat through a dramatic rendition of one of the funnier episodes of Firefly, Our Mrs. Reynolds , interspersed with some crazy fun original songs that had everyone in the audience laughing and cheering by the end. It was the perfect evening.
    I was exhausted, but still laughing, by the time we got back to my apartment. I heard the phone ringing inside as I struggled with the keys. Inevitably, the only time you ever struggle with your keys is when you need to get inside quickly. By the time I got the door open, I heard the answering machine pick up. Yes, I am the only person on the planet who still uses an answering machine. I work from home and I like to keep a separate line for business and keep my cell for personal calls.
    I briefly wondered who would be calling my business line so late at night, before I recognized the cold drawl of the voice on the machine.
    "Shawn, darling, I tried your cell and it went straight to voicemail. Please stop ignoring my calls. When are you going to give up this farce and come back home?" The machine beeped again as my mother hung up.
    I stared silently at the answering machine, praying that if I just stared hard enough, it would disappear in a puff of smoke. Unfortunately, my magical abilities did not choose that moment to manifest.
    I felt, more than heard, Andrew walk up behind me. "I think you need to tell me what happened with your family Shawn."
    "That's what I was afraid of," I sighed.
    I turned around and motioned for him to sit on the couch with me.
    ****
    Four and a Half Months ago
    There was a hollow ache in the pit of my stomach as I knocked on my parents' door. No mere knuckles against wood action for them. Nope, it was a full foot in diameter, brass door knocker that took most of my strength to lift, much less knock.
    I was terrified.
    I had been holding the news the doctor had told me at arm's length all afternoon. I knew I needed to get to my family before I broke down. There was a niggling part of me telling me that this wasn't the family I needed. That the family I needed was back in Austin, in an apartment I hadn't been to in over a month. But this was the family I still had, so I held in my fear and panic and waited for my mother to answer the door.
    The heavy oak door opened inward on silent, well oiled hinges, and my mother came into view. She was standing in a brilliantly lit foyer, looking impeccable in heels and pearls despite it being after 9 pm. Years of practice at masking my emotions was all that kept me from collapsing in my mother's arms and bawling like a baby. If I did that, I might wrinkle her immaculately ironed blouse and then she would kill me; I wouldn't even need to wait for the cancer eating away at my brain.
    She reached out and set her fingertips lightly on each of my shoulders as she leaned forward to buss each of my cheeks with an almost there kiss as she said, "Hello darling. What brings you out here so late?" As if it was a regular occurrence for me to be