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At this point, Jack is fairly sure life has it out for him personally.
He doesn’t even mean the leg thing or the wife thing or the ‘have you ever considered that referring to deeply traumatic experiences as things is part of the problem’ speech his therapist gave him the other day.
Dating Robby has done wonders for his self-esteem in that regard. Really put things into perspective, because, yeah, he’s missing a leg and a wife and his therapist thinks he’s an idiot, but at least he didn’t go to work last year with a third-degree burn after trying to fix his motorbike on his own.
“I literally work at an ER,” he remembers Robby arguing after Jack was done yelling at him. “Going to work is the safest thing I can do. Anyway, I distinctly remember you going to work with a bullet wound.”
“Which I got treated within half an hour of walking in,” Jack had said. “I didn’t leave a mysterious bloody handprint in the breakroom that scared the shit out of everyone.”
Robby had snorted. “It’s a hospital. If blood scares them, they picked the wrong job.”
So, yeah – Jack’s doing okay, if only by comparison. He delights in this knowledge. It’s nice to be able to win at something.
Winning, however, feels slightly less good when he walks out of their bedroom at 4:30 pm, in time to still get in a nice 10k before his shift starts, and finds Robby on the phone, saying, “No, frankly, I don’t understand, because the ER- no, I said ER, not PR, that is my point- fine. Fine. Send the email, see who volunteers – me? Are you serious?”
Robby spots Jack then, rolls his eyes and mouths fundraiser, like Jack doesn’t know, like they don’t go through this song and dance every year.
“Don’t talk to me about what my job is,” Robby is saying now, “because last time I checked, it said chief attending physician, not performing monkey- hey, what are you-“
Without Robby noticing, Jack has stepped up behind him and taken the phone away from him. “Dr. Abbot is happy to attend,” he says, “on the condition that Dr. Robinavitch doesn’t have to show. Trust me, you don’t want him there, anyway. He’s owned the same suit since the nineties.” Then he hangs up and hands the phone back to Robby, who shakes his head at him.
“I can’t believe you just did that. People are gonna talk.”
“We’re married,” Jack reminds him. “People have already talked. Want to finish your first day off by joining me on my run?”
“So far, my day off has included five phone calls with various hospital administrators,” Robby says, “which I can only assume is some sort of weird power play.”
“Is that a no?”
“It’s a, I’ll make you breakfast when you’re back.” Robby smiles as Jack darts in to kiss his cheek, and later, Jack is going to remember this as the last good thing that happened that day.
He has to stop his run about 2k in because today is the day his body has decided to take issue with the running blade he’s been using for three years. He’s probably going to need to get the socket replaced, but he’s going to need to see his prosthetist for that, so he limps back home in the scorching August sun.
By the time he makes it back, Robby is gone. He’s left a note that says simply, helping neighbour with sth, sorry xx raincheck on breakfast xxx, and the fact that he hasn’t said which neighbour tells Jack it’s Mrs O’Malley from downstairs, that evil Irish witch who’s been openly flirting with Robby since Jack asked him to move in, even though Robby claims this is all in his head.
Jack eats breakfast alone, and while he drinks his coffee and scrolls through his phone, a notification pops up, telling him that the gift he ordered for Robby’s birthday next week got lost at sea or something, and there’s no way a replacement is going to arrive in time.
He sends them an annoyed email back, which doesn’t really make him feel better, and he’s still irritated when he walks into the ER, where he is promptly approached by Whitaker. This is never a good sign, especially considering that Shen’s leaning against the nursing station and chatting to Parker, because it means that Whitaker noticed both a senior resident and an attending standing there and decided to wait for Jack instead.
“Dr. Abbot?”
Jack briefly closes his eyes. He hasn’t even made it to his locker yet. “What’s up?”
Whitaker swallows, his eyes briefly darting to Shen and Parker, as if to check whether they’re listening. “There was someone in the waiting room – I just took her to Room 8. I don’t think anyone’s seen her yet.”
A beat, wherein Whitaker volunteers nothing else. “Alright,” Jack says slowly. “What are we dealing with? Pop star? Ex? Long-lost family member?” Why has Whitaker turned pale?
“Um.” Whitaker’s eyes dart to Shen and Parker again, then to the nurse who’s walking past, and then, reluctantly, back up to meet Jack’s unimpressed gaze. “Perhaps you should just check for yourself, sir.”
“Secrecy isn’t cute, kid,” Jack says, even as he starts heading to Room 8, because if someone’s bleeding out in there, he’d rather know sooner than later. “Especially not in an ED. This is a hospital, not-“ He doesn’t even notice he’s fallen silent until Whitaker clears his throat.
“Sir?”
Jack doesn’t reply. Through the glass doors of Room 8, he can see the patient sitting on the bed. He hasn’t reviewed her chart yet, doesn’t even know her name, but even so, he knows exactly why Whitaker put her in there before the rumour mill could start. Knows exactly why Whitaker came to get him.
Right. Whatever is going to happen in the next few minutes, he’s going to need to stay calm. He takes a deep breath, then, when his pulse just continues ticking up, takes another one. He can already imagine his therapist’s reaction to this story.
He can’t imagine Robby’s reaction. Doesn’t even want to try.
“Go on – finish your charting, then go home. I’ll handle this. You did the right thing in coming to me.”
“Are you sure? I can-“
“No need. I got it. And Whitaker?”
Whitaker freezes mid-step. “Yeah?”
“This stays between us.”
“Of course,” Whitaker says earnestly. “It’s none of my business, anyway. I just thought you should know.”
“Good. Go.” Jack waits until Whitaker has rounded the corner. He supposes it’s lucky that it was Whitaker who spotted this patient, possibly the only person working on this floor who’s not going to gossip about it. Even so, he hesitates to call anything about this lucky.
Then he opens the door and goes to face the elderly woman who came here to be treated and who just so happens to be the spitting image of Jack’s husband.
It’s uncanny. Even as he greets her and explains that he’s going to take a look at her chart now, Jack can’t get over it. The dark eyes, the nose, the cut of the cheekbones. According to the chart, she’s 75 – but even despite the grey hair, cut to shoulder-length, despite the wrinkles, and despite the fact that she’s got to be several inches shorter, she still looks exactly like Robby. The name is confirmation, but it hadn’t been hard to guess before, not for Jack, and clearly not for Whitaker, either.
Pull yourself together, Jack thinks, and gives her a bland smile. “Ms Robinavitch. What brings you in today?”
*
“Are you married, Dr. Abbot?”
“I am.”
“What does your wife think about you working nights?”
“When my wife was alive, I was still with the army. And my husband works the day shift, so we’ve both learned to compromise.”
*
Robby’s on the couch when Jack gets home, reading a book and looking fully showered and awake despite the fact that it’s barely eight. He’s got two days off, but Jack’s pretty sure Robby hasn’t slept in since med school.
“Bad day?” Robby asks as Jack sinks heavily into the cushions beside him.
Jack grunts. He keeps his gaze focused on his prosthetic leg as he takes it off, because the alternative would be to look Robby in the eye, and as soon as he does that, Robby is going to know something is wrong.
Robby waits until Jack is massaging the stump, then says, “Want to talk about it?”
It’s tempting to say no. Perk of them having the same job: they both understand, more than anyone, that sometimes the only way to deal with a tough shift is to push it away, focus on other things. Robby wouldn’t question it if Jack claimed he wanted to change the topic.
But he’s going to find out anyway – if not today, then tomorrow, or the day after. Whitaker did what he could, and so did Jack, but every patient still needs to be registered. At least two nurses have seen the chart, the name. Plenty more saw her face when Jack walked her out. And people talk.
So Robby is going to find out, and when he inevitably does, Jack doubts that he’s going to appreciate hearing it from someone other than Jack. Especially when he hears who the treating physician had been.
But the thing is – Jack has known Robby for fifteen years. In all that time, Robby has mentioned his mother exactly once.
I’m going to be real, brother. My mom’s not going to be pleased when she finds out that I got hitched without letting her know. Not going to be too pleased with you, either.
Yeah, well, when I find mine, I’ll let her know eloping in the middle of vacation was your idea.
Jack remembers freezing as the words sank in, remembers Robby awkwardly looking away and rubbing the back of his neck like he’d said something shameful, remembers the guy in the jewellery store clearing his throat and asking them if they’d made a decision yet.
Ever since they met, Robby has treated talking about himself, be it preferences, hobbies or horrific childhood stories, like committing some kind of social faux pas. Jack, in turn, has pressed him on the preferences and hobbies and has shied away from the rest. Now, he kind of wishes he hadn’t. Might’ve made this conversation they’re about to have a little easier.
“I’m going to ask you something and you’re not gonna like it,” he says gruffly.
Robby huffs a laugh. “Is it kinky?”
“Yeah,” Jack deadpans. “I’ve waited eight years to bring up the freaky shit.”
“Seven.”
“What?”
“It’s seven years.”
“It’s not,” Jack says, momentarily distracted. Happily distracted, because the longer they talk about something else, the longer he can postpone the Conversation. “I distinctly remember hooking up with you at the 2018 Christmas party.”
His cheeks red, Robby says, “Well, I remember you ghosting me and pretending that didn’t happen for almost a year after that, so. It doesn’t count.”
“Of course it counts, man. Once I’ve had my dick in you, it definitely counts.”
Robby laughs again. “Jesus. I forgot what a romantic I married.”
“Too late now,” Jack says. “No refunds.”
“Shame. I was hoping to trade you in for a younger model.” Robby’s dark eyes are sparkling, and Jack’s heart twists as the memory of a very similar pair of eyes flashes through his mind.
“Don’t joke about that,” he mutters, feeling like he can barely speak through the guilt that’s now choking him. “You haven’t heard yet what I have to say.”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me,” Robby says, even though his tone is still light. “Just come out with it, man.”
Jack breathes in, out. His palms are clammy. “Have you heard from your mother recently?”
He feels rather than sees Robby go still. There’s a long silence. Then Robby says, “I haven’t heard from my mother since I was eight years old.”
Christ. Jack knows Robby’s past in bits and pieces, has been able to piece together a semi-comprehensive picture from the small fragments that Robby has mentioned over the years. But it’s one thing knowing in theory that his husband grew up with his grandmother for the majority of his childhood, knowing in theory what that implies, and another hearing the brutal truth laid out so plainly now.
“Do I want to know why you’re asking?” Robby says after a long moment.
“Probably not,” Jack admits, and decides, fuck it. Tear off the Band-Aid. “She was in the ED today.”
“I’m sorry,” Robby says slowly, stiffly, “I think I must have misheard you, because I’m pretty sure I just heard you tell me that my mother, whom I haven’t seen in almost fifty years, came to my place of work today, the one time this week that I wasn’t there.”
“I’m sorry.” Jack doesn’t offer anything else. He knows that Robby will understand the apology for what it is: confirmation, if nothing else.
When Jack finally looks over, Robby has closed his eyes and is running a hand over the back of his head. “How do you know?” Robby asks eventually. “How can you be sure?”
“I’m sure,” Jack says. “Apart from the name, she- she looks like you, brother. It’s uncanny. Whitaker-“
“Whitaker knows?”
“He won’t say anything. Hey – Robby. Listen to me. I’ll tell you everything that happened, start to finish, but you have to stay calm, okay?”
For the first time since Jack sat down next to Robby on the couch, a hint of irritation flashes over Robby’s face. “It takes guts to tell me to stay calm after what you just told me, it really does.”
“I just want you to hear the whole story,” Jack says, keeping his voice even. “After that, you can yell at me as much as you want, if it makes you feel better.”
The irritation morphs into regret even before Jack finishes speaking. Robby rubs his hands over his face again. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, no harm done,” Jack says, and means it. Robby is many things, but he isn’t cruel. Not by nature, and never on purpose. That already puts him above approximately seventy per cent of the COs Jack’s had.
And then Jack leans back and, as promised, tells Robby all of it.
*
“Can I- there’s something I would like to ask, but I would like to keep it between us.”
“Well, luckily, Ms Robinavitch, the patient-doctor confidentiality pretty much guarantees-“
“Not about my injury. It’s about something else.”
“…Yeah. I know.”
*
When Jack first met Robby, more than fifteen years ago now, he’d had three thoughts in rapid succession, the first being a sort of distant whoa, handsome, the second a more specific big hands, and the third, finally, an unashamed wonder if he ever goes for dudes.
Look, he’s not proud of it.
His last therapist tried to gaslight him into thinking he’d been wildly grief-spiralling at this point, but Jack is familiar with grief in more intimidate ways than he’d ever expected, when he got married at 21. He’d done the whole grief-spiral thing, and he knew that this, meeting Robby, was not part of it.
The whole pretending the hook-up didn’t happen for eleven months and two weeks? That might’ve been grief-spiralling. But even then, it hadn’t been about Robby. It’d been about Jack, and the memory of his wife telling him to be happy, please, at least try, and the screaming match at the funeral, and three months of crippling guilt and depression before he’d gone to Afghanistan, followed by years of even more crippling guilt, which, unlike the depression, never really went away.
“Are you going to ghost me again in the morning?” Robby had asked, the night of their second hook-up, and he’d probably meant to sound cocky, asking the question with Jack’s cock in his hand, but really, he’d just sounded sad.
That realisation – that, possibly, he’d just spent an entire year making a massive dick of himself, and that he’d hurt Robby’s feelings in the process – had been enough to snap Jack out of it.
“Nah,” he’d said, and saved everything else – I’ve jerked off to you 113 times this year, I want to tattoo my name on your chest, I love you – for later.
He remembers falling asleep that night with Robby wrapped around him like a big octopus and vowing to himself that he’d not hurt Robby again like this. Not ever.
Well, Jack thinks now, seven years on, that hasn’t really worked out at all.
While he’s talking, Robby stays strangely silent all throughout. He just sits there like a statue. Occasionally, a muscle in his jaw tics, and his fists are clenched where they rest on his thighs, but that’s all. It’s like talking to a wall.
When Jack finally explains how he’d told his mom to come back in six weeks to get the cast on her wrist removed, Robby doesn’t do anything except nod once.
Then he gets up and walks out the living room.
“Robby? Robby!”
Jack, because life hates him and wants him to suffer, has only just managed to put the prosthetic back on, his fingers trembling slightly, when Robby reappears in the doorway, now wearing boots and one of Jack’s Army hoodies.
“I’m going out,” he says calmly, “and I don’t want you to follow me. Go to sleep; your shift starts in ten hours.”
“Robby-“
“I’ll be back before you go to work,” Robby says, and leaves. After a few seconds, Jack hears the front door click shut.
He could go after him. Perhaps he should. But.
Robby promised he’d be back tonight. That’d been his way of implying that he’s not going to jump into the Allegheny, and he’s going to trust Jack to understand that.
Jack does understand it. He doesn’t like it, of course he doesn’t. But Robby is an adult who’s got the right to make his own decisions, even if it fucking kills Jack sometimes. And there’s the stupid Army sweater, too. Robby likes wearing Jack’s clothes, always has, but he usually does it at home, because “people talk, man”.
“They know we’re married,” Jack always says to this line of argument, mostly because he’s spent years imagining Robby coming in to work with ABBOT written on his back.
Robby, for some reason, refuses to fulfil this fantasy. But he does like wearing Jack’s clothes when they’re at home. Him going outside like this now is another bit of reassurance. Robby wouldn’t borrow his hoodie if he planned for Jack to have to identify him to the police later.
So Jack does what he does best, even if Robby’s the real expert: he compartmentalises.
He brushes his teeth and sets an alarm that he’s not going to need because he always wakes up five minutes early, and goes to bed. The last thought he has before he drifts off is that if Robby took his motorcycle, he had better have remembered his fucking helmet.
*
“He works here, doesn’t he? My son.”
“He does. He’s not here today, but if you want, I’d be happy to-“
“No. Don’t. Please.”
*
True to his word, Robby is back when Jack wakes up.
“No run today?” he asks, like this is any other day, like he hasn’t disappeared this morning and returned now looking like he’s been put through the meat grinder, face a ghostly white.
Jack shakes his head. “Socket’s fucked. Need to get it replaced. It’s a yoga day, baby.”
Robby sighs. “I’ll pull down the blinds.”
“Hey, if they look, that’s on them,” Jack calls after him.
It’s easy to fall into normalcy. He goes through a 20-minute yoga routine, then Robby keeps yesterday’s promise of making him breakfast, and throughout it all, neither of them brings up Robby’s mom. It’s one of the more bizarre meals of Jack’s life although, all things considered, it also probably doesn’t hit top 5.
“So,” he starts, when he’s literally at the front door, about to leave for 12+ hours, after Robby still hasn’t said one single sentence that indicates he remembers this morning’s conversation. “Do you-“
“Nope,” Robby says immediately, not missing a beat. “Have fun at work. I’ll see you at handoff.”
“You know, Santos asked me the other day if I find it weird that most days we only see each other at the hospital.”
Robby frowns. “Why would that be weird? It’s where we both work.”
“I think that was her point.”
“What did you say?”
“That it’s the secret to a happy marriage.” Jack winks at him. “I was kidding, obviously. We both know the secret to a happy marriage is lots of sex. Although we could have a little more sex, granted.”
“The next time you suggest a blowjob in the staff toilets, I’m reporting you to HR,” Robby says flatly.
Jack laughs and kisses Robby on the cheek before he leaves. Even after all these years, it’s still his favourite place to kiss his husband, mostly because of how flustered it makes Robby every time he does it in public.
“I think you forgot to sneak out,” Robby had said, the morning after they’d slept together the second time. “I’ll just pretend to be asleep again.”
Jack had smiled and kissed his cheek, then his lips, then his cheek again. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, brother. Not this time.”
“HR-“
“Screw HR.”
Screw HR, but also, screw all these fucking gossips, Jack thinks, when the group of people crowded around the nursing station falls abruptly silent at his approach.
Jack calmly lets his gaze roam over them, making eye contact with every person who’d been stupid enough to freeze in their tracks like frightened rabbits instead of scattering. “I know you’re not gossiping about me or anyone dear to me during work hours,” he says mildly.
“Um,” Santos says, “technically, day shift’s off the clock- ow, what the fuck.” She glares at Javadi, who’s elbowed her.
“Thank you for the input, Dr. Santos,” Jack says. “Speaking of the day shift: I don’t want to hear a single person so much as breathe wrong in Dr. Robby’s direction tomorrow.”
“Or else you’re going to kill us?” Donnie guesses.
“Or else nothing. He’s your chief attending. Show some fucking respect. Now – where’s my night shift? Everyone who’s not hands-deep in another human’s body right now, gather up!”
Dana waits until most of the day shift people have left before saying quietly, “Heard that was a fucking shitshow yesterday.”
“It doesn’t actually count as not-gossiping just because you’re trying to gossip with me,” Jack points out. Then he sighs. “Did you know? You’ve known him longer than me.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean anything with him. Twenty-five years, and the only reason I know his birthday is because the administration started sending flowers when he became chief.”
“I remember. He was embarrassed for days.”
“I had no idea,” Dana says, and Jack knows they’re not talking about birthdays anymore. “Not until last year. I don’t think he meant to mention it. Just slipped out. How’s he doing?”
“Oh, you know. The usual.”
“Great,” Dana says, shaking her head. “That’s all we need.”
In spite of that less-than-ideal start to the shift (though, again, not breaking the top 5 – not breaking the top 50, even), the next twelve hours are surprisingly okay. Jack checks his phone whenever he gets the chance, which isn’t that often, but Robby never texts. Jack isn’t sure if that’s a good or a bad sign; he’s leaning towards good. With any luck, the reason Robby isn’t texting is because he’s busy being asleep.
His threat seems to have done the trick: when Robby shows up twenty minutes before his shift officially starts, no one gives him weird looks, no one attempts to talk to him about his mom, no one even asks if he’s okay (Robby hates this question more than anything else).
“What’d you to them?” Robby murmurs as they start the walk through the ED for the handoff, med students and residents following closely behind. “Threaten them with manslaughter?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack says blandly and opens the room to Room Two.
“Uh-huh. Right, what’ve we got here?”
Although Jack had been joking the other day when he’d made that offhand comment to Santos about happy marriages, it hadn’t been a complete lie, either. The thing is – they met through the job. If they hadn’t, perhaps it’d be different. Perhaps Robby would complain about Jack working nights, or Jack would complain about Robby’s unwillingness to take more than two days off in a row, or perhaps they would argue constantly about how little they see each other through most of the week.
But they work the same job, and have done the entire time they’ve known each other. This is why so many doctors end up dating, marrying or, at the very least, sleeping with other doctors. They’re the only ones who get it. Besides – where else are they gonna meet people?
This is why, when four days pass with him and Robby essentially only interacting for ten minutes twice a day, never without dozens of witnesses nearby, Jack doesn’t mind. He’d learned to treasure the small moments long before he ever met Robby. Knowing that his and Robby’s days off overlap on Monday is enough to get him through the rest of the week.
The only thing that worries him is how much time to himself Robby gets. How much time to think. Jack is more aware of this than ever because he can’t stop thinking about it, either. Two identical pairs of brown eyes. Two identical ways to gesture.
Not two identical smiles, because she hadn’t smiled once.
The more time passes, the more Jack’s starting to feel bad about how it had all gone down. Should he have called Robby? Or should he have pressed her for an address, a phone number, anything? Should he have shackled her to the bed until Robby got there? Would Robby have wanted him to?
Of course, Jack has no fucking clue what Robby wants or doesn’t want. Not about this.
So twice a day, he grits his teeth at the sight of his husband’s pale face and the dark circles under his eyes, and he waits patiently for Monday.
*
“Look, I know it’s none of my business. But the fact that you knew that Dr. Robinavitch works here tells me that you’ve looked him up before. You could’ve gone to a different ED today, but you didn’t. You came here. That has to mean something.”
“I just wanted to see what he looks like. The only pictures I could find are old. I just wanted to see. It was a stupid idea.”
“So let me call him. You’ll be able to see him then, in the flesh. Or- if you don’t want to speak with him, at least let me give you his contact info. Just in case you change your mind. I’m not asking you for yours, alright? I’m just going to give you his. That’s all. Okay?”
“…No.”
*
On Monday evening, Jack is already waiting outside the PTMC when Robby walks out, his backpack slung over his shoulder, wearing a blue hoodie that Jack gifted him a few years ago.
“Are you a taxi driver now?” Robby asks as he slides into the passenger seat.
“Only for you. I accept tips in cash, card and blowjobs.” Jack turns on the ignition and says, “You were literally wearing my West Point sweatshirt in the kitchen this morning. Why couldn’t you just keep it on?”
“I’m not having this discussion with you again. I’m not leaving the house while wearing a fucking- tramp stamp on my back.”
“That’s not what that word means,” Jack says cheerfully. He takes a left turn, which makes Robby whip his head around to stare.
“Home’s the other way.”
“Yep.”
“Grocery store is the other way, too.”
“I know.”
“If this is a surprise party, I’m going to remind you that my birthday isn’t until tomorrow, and also, you know I hate surprises.”
“And parties, and presents, and fun,” Jack says, nodding. “Never say I don’t listen. Although I’m going to be real with you – your present got delayed, so you’re going to have to wait until next week.”
“Literally couldn’t care less,” Robby says. “You shouldn’t be wasting your money on me, anyway.”
Jack shakes his head. “Eight years, and we’re still having this conversation.”
“Seven,” Robby corrects. “Seriously, where are you taking me?”
Jack turns on the radio and doesn’t say anything until a few minutes later, when he pulls into a free parking space. By now, the jig is up anyway, since Jack’s driven them up Mt Washington all the way to the most famous outlook over the city. That’s okay, though, because Robby really does hate surprises.
“Thought I’d find us a different railing to lean against,” Jack says once they’re on the viewing platform, looking at the Pittsburgh skyline in the distance.
“Beats the hospital view,” Robby agrees.
For a few minutes, they just stand there like they’ve stood hundreds of times before, shoulder to shoulder, silent.
Eventually, Jack says, “For what it’s worth, I think she felt guilty.”
“Did she?” Robby asks sarcastically. “That’s a relief. I’m glad abandoning her kid resulted in some pangs of conscience, but I also can’t help but notice that it wasn’t enough to come seek me out at any point these past few decades.”
“I’m not going to defend her actions,” Jack says quietly. “That’s not why I drove us here.”
“It’s not?”
“Nah. I just wanted us to have a nice moment together, in the most beautiful place in Pittsburgh, the day before you officially turn a year older. Last time I checked, that wasn’t a crime.”
Robby snorts. “Last time I checked, you don’t do big gestures without ulterior motives.”
“Alright, so maybe I also wanted to use this nice moment to check in with you. Talk to me, man. I can’t help if you shut me out.”
“I’m not shutting you out.” Robby sounds like every word is causing him grave agony. “Not on purpose. If anything, I’m shutting myself out. I feel like if I take just a single second to really think about it, I’m going to be so fucking angry, and that scares me.”
“Right. So, for these past four days, you’ve used your free time to…”
“Go to the cemetery, mostly. Seemed like the right thing to do. You want to hear something really messed up? For the first year or so, my grandmother told me my mom was just taking a really long vacation.” Robby lets out a little laugh that sounds more like a sob. “Then, when it became clear that she wasn’t coming back, she just stopped talking about her at all. Removed the photos from the hallway, never brought her up again. I mean, that woman took me in, she raised me, she’s the reason I applied to med school, I owe her so much, and I still don’t understand her.”
This is more than Robby has ever told Jack about his family before. Jack lets it sit in the air between them for a moment. Then, because there isn’t much to say to this that Robby likely hasn’t already thought of himself, he says, “Family’s complicated, man.”
“Jesus.” This time, Robby’s laugh is more real. “That’s your great wisdom? ‘Family is complicated’?”
“When my brother heard we got married and rang me just to call me a faggot, you quoted the bible at me,” Jack says, “so let’s maybe not throw the first stone.”
“Technically, I was quoting the Torah.” Robby rubs a hand over his face and falls silent again, so long that Jack isn’t sure if he’s done talking about this for good. “If she had shown no interest, I would get that. If she had come to reconnect, I would get that, too. But this? I don’t know what to do with this. It’s fucking selfish, right? She wants to hear about me in the abstract, but even after all these years, she still doesn’t want to face the reality of the actual child that she put into this world.”
“It sucks,” Jack agrees. “Not going to pretend that it doesn’t. You’re allowed to be angry. If you ask me, it would be a little weird if you weren’t.”
“But what good does anger do if the person I’m angry at will never know?”
Jack bites his lip, his hands tightening on the railing. He’s been hesitant about suggesting this. But now, suddenly, he feels like he can’t not. “You know, patients do have to fill in a form when they check in. She had to have put down some contact info. The hospital is going to have it on file.”
“No.” The word comes so fast, so decisively, that for a second, it overlaps in Jack’s memory with another No, said just as quickly. No. Don’t. Please. “She didn’t want me to know. That’s her decision. I’m not going to invade her privacy.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Robby sighs. “Sign up to the gym, I suppose. Repaint our kitchen. Do something that distracts me, until it’s not a distraction anymore. Try not to take my anger out on the people in my life who’ve actually stuck around.”
“That’s unexpectedly healthy.” Jack lets out a low whistle.
“Well, what can I say? I learned from the best.”
When Jack turns his head, Robby is smiling a little, eyes on the Pittsburgh skyline again, and Jack is overcome by such a wave of sudden affection that he wraps an arm around Robby’s waist and holds him close. “You’re the best,” he says. “I love you so much, man. Feels like I don’t breathe right when you aren’t around.”
“Jesus Christ,” Robby says, laughing, but he doesn’t shove Jack away. “What’s brought this on?”
“The fact that you have to ask is depressing, but not surprising.” Jack kisses Robby’s cheek. “Ready to go home? You’ve got a little less than thirty-six hours to mentally prepare yourself for the surprise party when you come into work on Wednesday.”
“For fuck’s sake. I knew it.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Gently nudging Robby to turn around, they start making their way back to the car.
Later, once Robby has gone to bed, Jack tries to read, but his heart isn’t in it. In the end, he gives up.
“Hm?” Robby mumbles when Jack lies down and wraps his arms around him.
“Go back to sleep,” Jack tells him. “I’ve got you.”
At some point, the summer heat is going to force one of them to roll away. But for now, Jack holds on.
*
“I’m going to have to tell him about this conversation, you know.”
“I know. But…and I do understand if you don’t want to answer this, but. Is he happy?”
“…Yeah. He is.”