Within a half-hour there were already more than a dozen messages from friends and family congratulating Bik and Laura.
"Wowl, there are messages over the place!" Marty replied as he also mentioned the tweets and emails going back and forth.
"Twins! He was holding out on us!" Peter said as he hit the auto speed dial again for his Pop. It was his fifth or sixth time, he couldn't remember, but the line was always busy. He was about to put the phone down when he finally heard a voice on the other side.
No one had to remind Peter of some of the tough times his Dads had as gay parents, though they never complained to him about it. Ironically enough, back in high school he'd had friends from straight families who preferred the peace of his unconventional home to the strife in their own `normal' households. So he wanted to give his Dad every chance to crow about the birth.
"Hey Dad! Congratulations, you're a Grandpa!"
"Hey son, yes...it's wonderful." He had expected a rousing response, vindication of social skepticism. But was surprised by the lack of excitement he seemed to sense on the other end of the line.
"Dad, you OK?" he asked, almost not believing what he was hearing, or rather, not hearing.
He didn't answer for a moment, and Peter repeated the question, still hoping to get what he thought was the `right' answer.
"Yeah...yeah, Peter, we're OK. In fact, your Pop and I, we're great."
"But you don't sound good."
"It's just...um...Bik and Laura did something really nice..."
"Really? What did they do?"
Silence again. Then suddenly the voice came back, slow at first, then stronger. "You know what? They named the boy after your Pop and I, and the girl after your grandma and Aunt Hanna. He's Bradley Michael, and she's Francesca Hanna."
Through his Pop's seizures and all the other vicissitudes of life, his Dad seemed to always hold himself together. But there was a slight crackling to his voice that Peter had never heard before. Not wanted to stress him more, though it was a `good' stress, all he could think of was humor.
"Um,...what about Miroslav? Isn't that Pop's real name.?"
After a pause, there was a laugh on the other end of the line as he heard his Dad call out on the other end of the line, "Hey Pup, Peter is asking about Miroslav' rather than' Mike.' It made Peter smile hearing his Dad say Pup', his old pet name for Mike that he only used when they were alone, or thought they were.
There was more laughing and commotion on the other end of the line, until he heard his Pop's voice on the phone. "That's a technicality that I'm not going to raise," he said, the excitement that Peter had expected unmistakable in his voice. He could picture him grinning from ear to ear.
He himself smiled at the fact that, for the first time in years, he had noticed his Pop's accent. There was a whiff of dats' instead of thats.'
Having somewhat succeeded in loosening them up, he was ready to grill them on the details.
"Are they doing OK? How is Bik doing? How is Laura?"
"Actually, Bik said it was kind of rough for her, and I can tell he's worried. She didn't want to do a C-section, so pushing out two kids is pretty tough. All I know at this point is that he said she's sleeping now."
"What about the kids?"
"Bik said that they screamed like crazy when they came out, which is usually a good sign. Guess it means they know something big happened. Besides being just a bit underweight, which isn't unusual with twins, he said they're doing well and very healthy.
"That's excellent about the kids, but what's going on with Laura? Is she OK?" Peter replied, his voice low and serious. "Can we call him now? Do you think it would be OK?"
"Not sure. He's staying in her room, so it might not be good right now. But try in the morning. Chicago is only an hour difference. You might text him, too, just to check."
"OK, we'll do that," Peter replied.
"By the way, are guys you still planning on having lunch with Clare in the next couple days?"
"Yup, probably tomorrow, it looks like I get off around 4:00, so I shouldn't be too whipped." Then he remembered something else that he knew would get his Pop's attention. "Hey, you know what else? We're going to do some shots at the Brooklyn Bridge on Wednesday, even some night shots. I've never been there, but I know you think it's a really cool place."
"That's so great! You should enjoy it, Peter. It really is an incredible structure. I'll try to email you some information on it, so you know can really appreciate what it is."
He couldn't help but be amused by the offer. Whenever they traveled, his Pop had put together a history or explanation for all of the sites they visited, whether it was the construction of the Hoover Dam or the geology of the Hawaiian Islands. Like he didn't want his kids to miss anything important that made up the world. Peter couldn't claim that he always understood or even appreciated it as a kid, but the value was starting to reach him now as he was older.
"That's great Pop, thanks. I'll take a look before we go there."
"OK, son. I hope it helps. Just look around it, it's pretty old and really kind of a groundbreaking structure Have fun. And let me see some pics of you guys there!"
"Order whatever you want, you guys are poor college students. My treat!" Clare pronounced after greeting Peter and getting introduced to Marty.
Clare had brought them to one of the most expensive restaurants on the West Side, a far cry from Marty's lunch at Wei's parent's restaurant. Both of the guys felt a bit uneasy in the high-toned setting, unsure of exactly sure how to use the galaxy of utensils that had been put out for them, not to mention which glass was for what drink.
"Aunt Clare, I've got to tell you, I feel like I'm kind of in the cockpit of a fighter jet with what with all this stuff, but I'm more used to a model airplane," he said, gesturing at the layout of multiple spoons, forks, knives, plates and saucers.
She smiled and laughed. "I'll tell you as each course comes, so no worries. I had to get used to this, too, but learning is part of the fun," she said, smiling. "But we don't make a habit of it. I usually only come here with clients, Josh and I and the kids almost never come here on our own except for special occasions, like visits from people like you guys."
"That's really nice of you, thanks so much. We should toast to that," Marty said as he raised his water glass." Peter was surprised by his sudden ease and confidence, but also noticed his hand slightly shaking.
"You know what Pete?" he said, looking around the service that surrounded him on practically all sides. "I seem to have vague memories of coming to places like this when I was small. Let's see this is the soup spoon, that, I think, is a salad fork," he said, pointing to the shiny silver object next to Peter's plate. And there placed in a sort of in order of how you're supposed to used them, I think."
"That's right, you're really a natural, Marty." Clare joked, "To the manner born' as they say,"
"I certainly wouldn't say that. I just remember it for some reason. Probably dinners as a kid with my grandparents or someone like that, I guess."
"Let me know before I go for the wrong one first, OK?" Peter asked, holding up the fork farthest out from the plate. "So whatever I get first, this is the one I use, right?"
"I guess," Marty replied, "Unless it's a soup," he replied as they all laughed.
Later, after they had ordered, Peter said, "By the way, my Dads are now Grandpas, did you hear that?"
"Yes, I got an email from your Dad this morning. I'll bet he's thrilled, especially with twins. We've got a grandchild on the way ourselves, so I know, or I think I'll know, how it feels."
"They are SO happy. I'm not sure I've ever seen them like this, especially now that they are, I guess you could say, the `eponymous' grandparents, at least of the boy."
Clare put her hand on her mouth as she tried to stifle a laugh. "That's something your Dad would have said." She replied to him before taking a sip of her wine.
"What do you mean by that?" Marty asked. "I mean, I've seen things that Peter does that remind me of his Dad and all, but what struck you about that comment?"
"I was asking myself that, and to be honest I'm not exactly sure. But I think it's that sometimes Brad would play these word games, or use big words for small things. It's kind of hard to believe that a jockish guy like him was into this stuff," she said, then quickly interjected, "not to mention being gay, but that's another issue," she said cracking another smile.
"But sometimes he'd rhyme things, or describe things like you did. I think law school brought this out in him, or something there did, I'm not really sure. Maybe he was just mocking the pomposity of some of the profs. But it was a quaint little quirk that I noticed. And Josh did, too."
After their food came, the earlier comments about how he was like his dad in certain ways brought other thoughts and questions to Peter's mind, about both of his dad's.
"I've never had much a chance to talk with you without my parents around, so I'd like to ask you something, if I could."
"Sure, Peter, absolutely. What's that?
"Well, what were they like back then? I mean, you know..." he stumbled with the question, not even sure what exactly he was asking. But he clearly wanted to understand more.
Where the conversation had up then had seemed very casual, Clare put her fork down, placed her elbows on the table and rested her head on her folded hands. Like he had asked her a question that she couldn't wait to answer.
"Peter, I could start by saying that I think that your Dad and I are about the only two people from our law school class of like 175 who are still with the same person. There might be a few others; I haven't kept up with everyone. But of the people I knew of, we're the only ones."
"What do you mean?" Peter asked.
"I mean that we're the only ones still married, either legally or otherwise, to the same person they were with in college."
"Really?" He had known Clare and Josh his entire life, and, being young, just took it for granted that everyone was like them and his dads.
"Yep. Just us."
"Huh...why do you think that is?"
"Well, I have to say this in the context that everyone is different, and what works for one person doesn't necessarily work for someone else. But having said that, I thought about it a lot over the years, and I've got some ideas." She said, her head moving and eyes looking out toward the multi-paned window.
"Brad, well, your Dad," she said, re-orienting herself for Peter, "said something once that I really stuck with me, which I think says a lot about him, and them."
"What's that?"
"Well, I need to back up for a second," she replied. "I think as couples, there's always disagreements, we're all people and by definition we don't think alike, we're individuals. And you dads are the same way. They don't agree on everything either.
"I think that your parents both came into the game as pretty level-headed people, and that's a big head start. But there was an experience they had in New Haven that affected your Dad more than anything.
"What happened?"
"He's never told you?
"They've told us all sorts of war stories and stuff, from school but I'm not sure what you're talking about.
"Did he tell you about the time your Pop had a seizure and he found him passed out in the snow in front of their apartment? she asked as she picked up her fork but only poked around in her salad.
"I'm not sure he ever told me about that particular one. But I grew up with the seizures, and I know what can happen to him. And I can also say that it's when I see my normally cool and collected Dad the most anxious."
"You know, If I can digress again for a moment, your Dad was the most ferocious litigator in our class. Nobody wanted to go up against him. He was really tough. His team even won the moot court competition."
"My Dad!? Ferocious? You know, I've heard people talk about him like that, but I've always kind of brushed it off. I mean, I know he's good at what he does, but he's just been Dad to me." He noticed that she wasn't quite getting to the point yet, but assumed that, like his Dad, she liked to give a lot of what he called `background.'
"Yes, that's a surprise to me, too. I've never seen that side of him, though I know he can be pretty firm with Peter here," Marty said as he nudged into him.
Clare smiled back, one side of her mouth higher than the other, a feeling of déjà-vu going through her head as she looked at the guys, but then continued. "Your Dad can be a total bulldog in the courtroom, but when it comes to Mike and you kids, that's his real world and what he's really about. He'd do anything for his family. Anything.
"Well, what about this story you were going to tell, about when my Pop had a seizure?
"Oh, yeah, let me get back on track here," she said as she motioned the waiter over. "Could I have another glass of wine, please," she asked.
"Well, we were over at you folks' place one night, I think you Dad was going to cook dinner for us. Anyway, we were about ready to eat, but Mike still wasn't there."
"Pop tends to be tardy sometimes, he gets wrapped up in something and the world just kind of goes by him." Peter interjected, smiling. "He calls it `focused'."
Clair laughed. "Well, was like that back then, too. But he was never later for things that involved other people, so it was a little unusual. But, you know, sometimes you just get delayed for whatever reason, so I didn't think so much of it."
"Burt you Dad, did. It was almost like he had another sense when it came to what was going on with your pop. Usually, he'd just peak out the window, but this time he actually went outside the house to look down Chapel Street, toward the direction of the Architecture school."
"I just heard him say "Mike!" and he disappeared form the doorway. I was putting the last touches on the table but Josh ran out after him. When I finally got out to the front stoop, I couldn't believe what was happening."
"I saw your Dad pick him up out of the snow and get him onto the edge of the stairs. Mike is kind of average size guy, and Brad isn't a whole lot bigger, yet he was then able put his arms underneath him to carry Mike up the stairs all by himself. Josh offered to help, but Brad just asked him to back him up in case he slipped."
"He asked me to bring some blankets from the bedroom as he laid Mike on the couch. Mike seemed to be slowly coming out of it by then as your Dad was bundling him under the blankets, but he ended up sleeping for pretty much a whole day."
She took another sip from her wine glass, then placed it back on the table exactly where she had picked it up from.
"Your Dad changed after that. He was always fun, and still is, but when it came to your Pop, well, that was where his life really was and he didn't mess around. After that, he insisted that Mike knock-off no later than 11:00 every night. You could set your watch by it. If we had a study group or were working in the library, he'd walk out the door at 10:55 to walk down the block to the A&A building, where the architecture school was, to pick up Mike, or Mike would come wherever we were at that time to pick up Brad. They'd alternate who picked up who and at what time, but it was never later than that."
"Some people may have felt inconvenienced, or put upon, or bugged by something like that. Like someone was trying to control them. But not your Pop, and I think that's one of the reasons that they've lasted so long."
"What do you mean?" Marty asked, just as mesmerized by the story as Peter.
"I think it's because they trusted each other completely. Their intentions toward each other were never about 'control' or 'insecurity' or any of that stuff. They just knew that everything they did for each other was done out of... well...love."
It was the one non-Christmas shoot he was doing, a quick production for some late summer clothing that a department store had gotten in. It could have been a terrible, muggy summer night in New York, but instead it was gloriously mild, the kind of weather that makes a person want to promenade across the bridge and revel in the lights and sounds of the city. Even though Peter was technically `at work,' his expressions and energy fed off of that feeling and the whole crew felt his vitality.
Compared to the studio work, it was very low-tech, with just a photographer and a couple support people positioning umbrellas.
But it had started at 3:00 and had gone way into the evening, far more than Peter had expected. The photographer said the night was so great, and the skyline so cool behind Peter, that he couldn't help getting a more pictures with the background of the city.
"Hey, before we leave, you guys want a shot together?" he asked as he looked at Peter then turned his head toward Marty, who was off to the side rail of the bridge, looking at the Manhattan skyline.
"Yes! Great idea!" Peter exclaimed as he ran over and grabbed Marty's hand. There was only token resistance as Marty let himself be pulled along.
"I didn't expect this, Pete. I mean, do I look OK?"
Peter stopped and turned around. "Are you kidding? You always look good!," he replied, and continued to pull him along. But sensing Marty's slight anxiety, he decided to slow the pace and not make him feel rushed.
Peter stood at the edge of the rail and gently put his hand seductively into the pocket of Marty's shorts, pulling their hips together, before slipping his arm around him and holding his waist. Instinctively, Marty did the same with his arm, then put his finger inside the belt loop of the khaki shorts that Peter had been modeling. He gave them a playful tug down before pulling them up again.
"Hey, no fooling around," the photographer cried out as he looked through his lens, the crew and everyone else breaking out in laughter.
The guys held steady as he started to fidget with his settings. "Just a sec, I want to get this just right," he said as he studied the aperture again.
As they waited for the mental calculations to be complete, Marty thought that that he heard Peter sigh, then seemed to feel his weight shift in the belt loop.
He gave Peter a yank. "You OK? He asked.
"Oh yeah, sure...just slipped a bit with my foot here, no problem.
"You're SURE?" Marty asked staring into his face. Instinctively, he put his hand around Peter's shoulder, pulling them even closer together as the photographer finally seemed to have satisfied himself.
Peter gave him a quick glance. "Of course, Babe. Now let's pose," he said as he reached up and gently pushed Marty's head toward the camera.
"Ready?" the photographer asked.
"Oh, wait, one sec." Peter said leaning his body into Marty's as he felt an equal and opposite force against his.
"Now!"
Peter hadn't look at his phone since they started the shoot, so felt anxious to open up his emails once they got seated in a restaurant near their hotel.
Surprisingly, there weren't many messages, except for a couple that seemed to allude to Laura, like "hope she gets better' and 'keep us posted. The he saw one from his Dad.
"Give me a call when you can."
Marty saw the look on his face. "You OK? Is something wrong?
"I can't tell for sure, but maybe. Some cryptic messages about Laura and text from my Dad to call home."
"Go ahead and call him back now, we can wait to order."
Marty could see Peter's hand slightly shaking as he hit the speed dial. Since he was across the table and didn't want to disturb Peter's focus on the phone, he kicked his foot against Peter's bare leg, gently rubbing it.
"Hey Dad, I got your message. What's going on with Laura?" he said quickly, skipping the usual greetings.
His Dad let out a sigh, but didn't pause for long. "Peter, the delivery seemed to go OK, but now it looks like Laura is having or had some bleeding problems, something of both. She didn't want a C-section, and the labor was pretty prolonged, and, well , I'm not sure, but I think there may have been some damage. She's actually in intensive care right now."
"Oh no.. I mean, what's going to happen?"
"Well, to be honest, I'm not sure. We're all hoping for the best. Bik is being stoic, but hasn't left her side except to see the babies."
"Damn! Everything was going all right, what the heck happened?
"They don't know, Peter. According to Bik, they said it was initially more blood loss than they expect or want, but nothing too severe. But now the bleeding doesn't seem to want to stop."
"What can we do?"
"Not a lot right now, I guess. Just give Laura good thoughts. Maybe a little prayer."
"How are the kids?"
"According to Bik, they're doing really well. Luckily they're still in the hospital and should be able to leave in the next day or so. Your Pop and I are going to Chicago tomorrow to stay with them and take care of the kids and whatever else we can do to help."
"What are you doing about work?"
"I've got a week or so here before my case starts back up again. Not that something like this can ever have good timing, but this is about as good as it can be, at least for the moment. Your Pop can't take off a long time right now, but he's at least coming for the weekend."
"Dad, we'll come back right away. I'll..."
"Whoa, Peter! Don't worry, not need to rush it for yourselves, at least right now. You only have a couple days more in New York. Stick it out. I don't think that there's lot you can do back here, anyway, at least for the next few days. But it would be good if you and Marty were back here when your Pop returns. With Angie and you guys here, I think it's good to have a lot of people around."
"I understand Dad. I wish there was something else we could do."
"There actually might be, Peter. I have a feeling there might be, but let's wait and see."
After he hung up the phone, he relayed the conversation to Marty, who pretty much understood it already anyway. After a desultory dinner, where both could hardly enjoy the dinner that they had so much looked forward to, they left the restaurant and started down the street.
"I want to try to call Bik first thing tomorrow," Peter said, repeating himself for the third time about reaching out to his brother.
"I know babe, you can do it in the morning," he said as they strolled up the avenue toward their hotel.
"I hope they're doing OK. I mean, Bik was so looking forward to this. I'll bet he was just so excited about twins, and then making a dramatic announcement. He'll be the proudest dad of all time. He...
Suddenly, Peter started to stumble. Luckily, Marty had been walking right next to him and put an iron grip on his arm.
"You OK?" he asked, quickly moving around Peter to grasp his other arm and standing straight in front of him.'
"...Um sorry...I got a bit dizzy...just the ear stuff, I guess. Ugh...could you just hold on to me for a ...bit more..."
Marty didn't say a word, he just moved closer until he almost had Peter in a hug, only keeping the grip loose enough to not interrupt his breathing, which he noticed had quickly elevated.
"Breathe easy, OK? Nice and easy." Even though he could tell that Peter was having some trouble with getting enough air, it seemed a lot more like a balance issue than a breathing one, more akin to the time he had stumbled when getting out of bed. "Just take your time, don't rush anything."
It was almost like Peter was a rag doll. He could support himself vertically, but Marty could feel his weight move from one side to the other, struggling to balance himself.
It was only a minute or two, but felt like a lot longer as Peter was finally able to stabilize his position.
"I'm OK, now Mart. Thanks." he tried to gently push himself to independence, but Marty's grip didn't slacken.
"No really, I think I'll be OK,' he said, not wanting to worry him any more than he already had.
"I hear ya, but I'm not letting go, at least not with both hands," he declared. "Let's just pause here for another minute to make sure that you're OK.
"No, I think we can..."
"Peter!"
It was the tone that meant the argument was over, as Marty gently steered him toward the façade of the building flanking the sidewalk. Luckily, the window of the clothing store at the street level had a recessed ledge at the display window, just enough to create a seat.
"We'll stay here until I think we're ready to go, OK? he said, a slight smile on his face that did nothing to diminish Peter's impression of his seriousness. He was no longer gripping his arms, but positioned him between the edge of the window jamb and himself, bookending his rather limp body and giving him no room to flop over. But just for insurance, he wrapped his arm around Peter's back.
"Yeah, OK. It will just take me a minute. I think a got a little tense, and it affected my balance, I guess."
"Do you feel dizzy?"
"Um...I did for a second, but I'm better now. It just came on kind of suddenly. Sorry about that, I..."
"Is this what happened to you a back at the shoot?"
Damn' Peter thought to himself. He remembered.'
"Um... I guess so, I mean, yeah I think so. It doesn't feel real bad but I guess hearing about Laura didn't help," he said, then sighed. "I'm sorry,babe, I..."
"Hey! Remember what you told me a while back, at that club?"
Peter just looked at him and shook his head. Then, Marty saw his eyes open up. "Oh yeah, but that's not the same thing. You see..."
"It's exactly the same thing, Pete, but just to emphasize the point, I'll repeat it," he said as he reached over and stroked his leg. "Don't ever apologize to me about this kind of thing, OK? There's nothing you can do about it."
Peter lowered his hand on top of Marty's and gently stroked the back of it, but didn't say anything for a moment. He just looked down at his moving fingers.
"I know, but...this probably won't get better, I..."
"I know what's happening Peter...I know what you're thinking," he said as he leaned over and gave Peter a soft kiss on the cheek.
Peter gave him a nod, then squeezed and released his leg again a couple times in a row. He didn't make any other motion, and just sat there for a couple minutes, not making a sound or moving at all.
"You OK?" Marty asked, now concerned by the silence.
"Uh huh, yea. I"m just trying to be calm, clear my mind, relax."
"That's good, Pete. I know it's not easy." He took his hand off Peter's back and raised it up to his neck, thumb on one side, fingers on the other, and stroked up and down. Even though it was dark, Marty noticed how the light dusting of blond hairs on his fingers contrasted with crisp edge of Peter's newly cut dark hair.
He heard a sigh, and then felt Peter's head weighing on his shoulder, the dark hair now rubbing up against his ear. He gently moved his head in rhythm with his hand to add to the massage, getting another, even quieter sigh out of Peter.
"Well, maybe we should go now. I'd like to call Bik and see what's happening there," Peter said as his hand now pressed into the flesh of Marty's leg in a gesture to boost himself off of their seat.
"Whoa, partner," Marty responded, his hand quickly grasping the back of Peter's shirt. The message was clear, and Peter sat back down on the improvised bench, gently leaning back into Marty's hand, which was now massaging his back.
"Let's take it easy here for a few more minutes, OK? We both want to see what's going on, but we'll also be a better help if we're both at full strength."
"Who knows what's happening now with Laura. Gosh I feel so bad for her, for Bik. They don't deserve this."
"You're right, no one does. Maybe there's something we can do. Let's see."