Change and Absence

Hutch has been away.

For Karen-Leigh on her birthday, from Jane, July 2009. Because now and then we need to get away.

There are certain days of each week when I miss Hutch the most. Like Mondays. We always did our laundry together on Mondays. Sometimes I’d park his skivvies on my head just to piss him off. That always worked. I made sure I smoothed things over with him before we headed home. Usually just took a little smooch or a gentle pat to his backside when nobody was looking. Of course if the Laundromat was crowded and I embarrassed him, I had to spring for beer and tacos from the Mexican restaurant next door.

Wednesdays we shopped and cleaned. Saturdays we hit the beach or took in a movie depending on the weather. You probably get the picture. Hutch being a creature of habit and me not wanting to miss a moment with him.

Guess the day I miss the most is Sunday. Every Sunday we would walk to the bakery on the corner, pick out doughnuts or bagels or a coffeecake—sometimes all three—grab a paper from the rack outside, head home and read. I would read to Hutch, him to me, each of us to ourselves. Ourselves because I just couldn’t get excited about how to dry your own fruit anymore than Hutch could care about the advances in auto carburetors. But, we were together in our own place. Real comfortable, ya know?

So they say change is good for a relationship. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. It’s been three weeks. I did my laundry alone, drank lots of beer from the Mexican restaurant, skipped cleaning, did plenty of walking alone on the beach. On Sundays I didn’t do a damn thing. Didn’t see the point in reading out loud to myself. What fun is a coffeecake without Hutch enjoying it and making a liar out of his health-food-no-junk-food sanctimonious self? Change stinks for a relationship, and if my heart has to deal with any more absence, damn thing’s gonna shatter.

He called late Saturday night, acting like a runaway kid afraid to come home. Stammered a few times trying to ask me to pick him up at the airport at seven Sunday morning. I wanted to chew him out, tell him I loved him, ask him why. I didn’t. Just told him I would be there, parked curbside, and to look for me. Soon as I hung up the phone, I was out of bed. Cleaning, scribbling down a grocery list, whistling like an idiot. Hit the all-night market and made a silent promise to the corner bakery when I drove by to see it in the morning.

I made a point of getting to the airport a few minutes early. I wanted to see Hutch walk out the doors, see him before he saw me. Savor that moment and tuck it away forever. Just in case.

There he was. Looking good–like Hutch did. He saw me and then his face went south, his shoulders drooped, and he just stood there. Like he was ashamed or something. Like he was scared. It took maybe a minute for it to get through my hard head that he was scared. Scared I would be pissed and not want him back. A lot could have happened in three weeks. I could have decided to tell him goodbye and was just doing a final favor. Could be angry enough to slug him. Angry enough not to care about him anymore. None of that was the case, though. But there I was letting Hutch think all that and worse every second that went by.

“Hutch? You coming?”

Talk about a hopeful expression. Hutch’s face was wide open, his smile more shy than the first time I loved him, his hand reaching out just enough to ask me to please, please take it. I took it, pulled him into my arms, asked him what took him so long.

“Let’s go home, Hutch. Come on, get in the car.”

Hutch didn’t have much to say; in fact he was silent until I pulled over to park in front of the bakery.

“Starsk? Just drive home, okay?”

Now it was my turn to be worried. Sunday morning, Hutch was home, and all I wanted was things back the way they used to be. Bakery, paper, home. I just whispered okay and drove the block to our house, turned off the car, and waited.

“Starsk? You coming?”

Didn’t even realize he was out of the car. Standing at my door, waiting for me.

I was back in his arms before I could blink. In his arms being kissed and hugged and kissed some more. He grabbed my hand and turned in the direction of the bakery. Stopped cold because my feet wouldn’t move and he was pretty much anchored in place.

“What?”

“What? You’re asking me what? Hutch, you just kissed me right here on the sidewalk in front of our house. In front of…of windows and eyes and…”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Hutch was the one who insisted we be so careful, stick to our routines, never raise eyebrows, keep it all behind closed doors. Hutch was the one who left. And came back a little bit different. And was now looking at me like I was the village idiot or something.

“We’re going to the bakery.”

Guess that was supposed to explain everything. My feet still weren’t moving.

“Like we do every Sunday, Starsk.”

Umm, not quite.

“Hutch, you’re holding my hand.” His eyebrows went up and the village idiot look got a bit more pointed.

“Yep.” Now Hutch was grinning like he just found a million bucks. Finders keepers. “And you and I are walking to the bakery and I am going to hold your hand the whole way there.”

How the hell was I supposed to argue with that? It’s what I wanted all along—it was just so not Hutch. Hutch the secret keeper, the worrier, the man afraid for his lover. I didn’t argue. I walked down the sidewalk with Hutch and held his hand. Didn’t see but two people the whole way to the bakery, and they didn’t even look twice. It was one of the days we bought doughnuts, and bagels, and a coffeecake. Felt like celebrating, I guess.

The bakery boxes sat on the kitchen table for a few hours before we got around to them. Hutch loved me up one side and down the other, first. And then he talked. About the little beach house he stayed in up north, the walks he took, and the thinking he did. About how tired he was of hiding us. And how happy he was to have a home to come home to. And how much he loved me. Change, apparently, was good for a relationship. So was coming home and keeping some things just the same as always.

Absence making the heart grow fonder? Still not buying that. Too much worry and sadness. Way too lonely. When Hutch whispered in my ear, asking if I had missed him, I told him yeah, I sure had. But I didn’t love him any more or any less. That would always stay the same.