Entangled: Chapter 16 - Brad and Quinn Go to the Hospital

Chapter 16 - Brad and Quinn Go the Hospital

I awoke to the sound and smell of coffee brewing, and after a minute I could also hear and smell bacon frying. I sat up on the couch, rubbed my eyes, surprised I was able to sleep again.

I knew I had to go to the hospital but was really dreading it. The last time I remembered being in a hospital was when Vince got sick and I had to take him to Metro Hospital, a couple of streets from where we lived on Cleveland’s near west side. It was when Vince was unemployed and had lost his health insurance, so we had to go to Metro where they took everyone. Most of the people were nice enough, but the wait was horrible. Starting at the emergency room, we spent hours upon hours just to be seen by a doctor.

When Vince was finally seen and admitted and diagnosed with congestive heart failure, the treatment was very good. Over the course of the week he was in the hospital, I was home alone. And when he found out I went for drinks at the gay bar, he was pissed, even though I told him I was there to drown my sorrows which was not untrue.

By the end of the week, Vince was seen by three different specialists who conferred with one another and collectively decided on a medication regimen. But the process of going through the emergency room system uninsured was an agonizingly slow process.

Sitting there picturing Vince in the hospital bed, I started to get emotional but was able to quickly shrug it off, surprising myself. As I did, Quinn came over to me and handed me a mug of coffee.

“Thanks, dear,” I said, not exactly sure why I said “dear,” looking at Quinn who sort of looked at me sideways.

“You’re welcome… honey,” Quinn answered, awkwardly, sitting down on the matching chair. He then anxiously asked, “We are still going to the hospital today, right?”

“I suppose so. Well, yeah. I really hate to, but I think it’s the logical thing to do, isn’t it?”

Looking somewhat disappointed, Quinn said, “Well, yeah. I mean, I was hoping that you had somehow snapped out of it in your sleep or something, but since you don’t seem like you have, it’s probably good that I called Dr. Arias and made an appointment.”

“Who’s Dr. Arias?”

“She’s your primary physician over at Huntington Memorial. I remembered her name this morning from when you got a colonoscopy two years ago.”

“Why did I… I mean he, fucking whatever… what’s with the colonoscopy?”

Hesitating for a second, Quinn answered, “It’s because of what happened with your dad.”

Having expected him to say more, I asked, impatiently, “Well, what?”

“About a year ago, your Dad was diagnosed with colorectal cancer. He had had some problems… you know, down there, so he got a colonoscopy. They removed several polyps, but they also found a tumor which they eventually diagnosed as cancerous. They did some chemo and then surgery, and after a while he was fine. You flew back to Cleveland and had gone with him and your mom to the hospital during all of it. And since they knew you were his son, at different times on that same day, both a doctor and a nurse stopped and told you that you should get a colonoscopy soon, too. You weren’t very happy to hear that, but, of course, you knew it made sense.”

After looking at and listening to Quinn, I looked away, stared blankly, took a gulp of my coffee and then said, “Shit.”

Quinn looked at me and was trying to figure out what to say next and then settled on, “I know it’s a lot to take in….”

“It’s not that… it’s just ... What happened with this Brad’s dad is what happened with my dad in my own life, the life I know, except that the diagnosis for my dad has only been recently and I don’t think he’s done anything about it yet. It’s weird. I mean it sort of makes sense, but it’s still weird.”

“Yeah, I guess so” was all that Quinn could think of to say.

“I take it that your Brad got the colonoscopy then.”

“Well, yeah. They found and removed a couple of small polyps which they said were normal and otherwise it was fine.”

Closing my eyes for a second and pausing, I said, “Thank God,” sighing, putting my mug down, and sitting back further into the couch.

As Quinn looked at me, studying my face, a sudden sense of understanding came over him, one that was more profound than he fully realized at the time, to which he said, “You didn’t get one, did you?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for starters, I’m unemployed. I don’t have health insurance. I quit my job in Cleveland to move to Idaho with Vince, and haven’t been able to find work yet. And even when all that stuff happened with my dad and they told me I should get checked out, I was underemployed. I mean I worked all week as a bartender server, but I was only allowed to work so many hours that technically kept me from being a full-time worker with benefits. And, I don’t know. I think… even if I had somehow been able to come up with the money somehow, or went to a public hospital, I’m not sure if I would have had enough guts to go through with it.”

Quinn seemed to understand to a point, but was somewhere between understanding and confusion, frazzling his mind, continuing to find it hard to believe that the person in front of him was anything but a brilliant physicist. He wanted to ask more questions, but to do so would be to surrender to the possibility that the person in front of him was not the person that he knew and loved. If this Brad was who he said he was, where was his Brad, where was the Brad that he loved? Instead, he decided to focus on the planned agenda.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about not having health insurance here. You just need to worry about having the guts to see this thing through. And I suggest that you do, for all our sakes,” Quinn said plainly, almost dismissively. Looking at his watch and standing up, he declared, “Well, we better eat and head out. They’ll be expecting us soon,” as he picked up his mug and the coaster and walked into the kitchen.

As he walked away, I looked at Quinn with a combination of curiosity and sympathy. After a second, I got up, picked up my mug and coaster as well, and followed Quinn into the kitchen, deposited them in the sink, as Quinn had done, looked at the dining area just past the kitchen where Quinn had laid out breakfast with two place settings, and said, “Well, you know, or actually you wouldn’t know, but I really don’t eat breakfast.”

Quinn looked at me confused.

As they stood in the kitchen, I continued, “When I was working, I worked the second shift, so I didn’t get up early. And, while I was never really a morning person, work sort of cemented that for me… I eat a light lunch or a V8, usually, if I’m hungry, but sometimes it’s just a good dinner for me… I’m sorry. It looks good, though. I mean, I’ll wait for you.”

Again, Quinn wanted to ask questions or felt like he should ask questions, but decided against it. Not really having much of an appetite anyway, he said, “Well, okay. I guess we’ll just hit the road then.”

“Yeah.”

As we turned and started walking toward the door, with me in front, Quinn looked at what I was wearing, jeans and a T-shirt, and quickly offered, “Well since we have a little time, you could probably have a quick shower and change clothes if you want,” in what he hoped was both a helpful and hopeful tone.

I thought about how I must have looked like to Quinn who was wearing a navy-colored blazer and matching slacks and a cream-colored dress shirt on top of what looked like dark brown Italian shoes, not too different from what he had on last night. Embarrassed to look straight at him, I stopped, then started walking toward the hall, looked at Quinn over my shoulder, and said, “Yeah, I can do that.”

Instinctively able to find the bathroom, I had a sense of deja vu as I walked into it. Unlike the previous night, when I drunkenly admired the layout of the apartment, I noticed that the large bathroom with both a shower stall and a large, wide bathtub was laid out and decorated almost exactly how I would do it, from the light fixtures and soap dispensers to the color of the towels, masculine with a hint of confident flair. It made me smile.

After quickly showering, I put a towel around my waist, picked up what I felt was my toothbrush and brushed my teeth, all the while looking at my reflection in the mirror. It seemed to me that this Brad didn’t care very much for his appearance. He wasn’t as much overweight as he was flabby, as if he’d never executed a push-up or a sit- up in his life. Then I remembered that the other Brad was never in the Marines. It made me somewhat disgusted to look at myself. And the hair, it was very close to a Moe haircut.

After finishing brushing, I then made my way into the bedroom to change, walking into the fairly large walk-in closet. Immediately, I could tell which side was mine, or rather, the other Brad’s. While both were very neatly arranged, Brad’s side was full of dockers, polo shirts, and loafers, while Quinn’s side had much of what Quinn was wearing. While I desperately wanted to raid Quinn’s side of the closet, it looked like there was nothing there that would fit me, Quinn being almost a foot taller, with shoes about four sizes larger.

Then, I saw a medium brown suit and brown shoes at the end of my rack that looked like it was supposed to be worn with the white dress shirt and dark brown tie hung next to it. I decided to wear the suit, substituting the shirt and tie with a khaki polo. Luckily, the suit seemed to have been custom-made, so it fit like a glove, just right in the sleeves and cuffs, and the brown color, though not great, was not horrible and was offset by the khaki in the polo.

After getting dressed, I went back into the bathroom to take a look and decided that I looked pretty decent, except for the Moe cut. I hurriedly looked and luckily found some hair gel, slicked back my hair, elegantly parting it to the side and brushed it up and back, giving myself as much of a GQ look that I was going to get out of that haircut, that haggard face, and dumpy body. I thought about shaving, but thought the five-o'clock shadow might give me some masculinity my current look was sorely lacking. I found it very odd that me and my alter-ego have virtually the same taste in decor, but a totally different self-image.

As I made my way down the hall towards the living room, Quinn had been sitting on the couch listening to some light jazz to help him relax since he probably assumed it could be a long day. Hearing me walking down the hall on the light Persian-style carpet that just covered the center of the dark hardwood floors which creaked in certain spots, Quinn turned off the stereo, stood up, making sure he had his keys and cell phone. When he looked up to see me, his eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly.

Noticing his reaction, I smiled wide and said, “Well, I didn’t want to keep looking like a slouch while you’re looking so good. I have my pride.”

Quinn couldn’t speak for a second, shaking his head in disbelief, finally saying, “Well, that’s just it. My Brad doesn’t have that kind of pride, you know, in himself. He has it for his family and, I suppose, me. I mean, he goes out of his way for things not to be about him. I haven’t seen that suit since he had it custom-made for your brother’s last wedding. I never liked the color, but he didn’t care.”

“Well, if he doesn’t have pride in himself, why did he have it custom-made and not buy off the rack?” immediately regretting the question, because I soon realized I knew the answer, so that both Quinn and I both simultaneously said “Because he couldn’t find anything that fit” which made them both chuckle. It made sense that neither I nor the other Brad could hardly ever find clothes off the rack, especially suits, whether in regular men sizes or the boys section.

Quinn added, “He’s not very prideful, but he doesn’t want to look like an idiot either.”

Thinking about it for a second, seeming to understand, but skeptical, I said, “Yeah, sure, Jan.”

Still smiling and looking at me, Quinn seemed to see me in a different light. I smiled back, then looked away.

Sensing that it seemed to make me a little uncomfortable, he quickly said, “Well, I guess we’re ready then,” opening the door for me. As I stepped out into the hall, Quinn closed the door. As we made our way to the elevator, before catching up with me, Quinn, who was a few steps behind me, noticed that I walked differently. He didn’t know if it was the suit or that I wasn’t wasted like the night before, but it seemed to him that I walked with a certain slow and quiet, yet noticeable if somewhat feminine swagger, wholly unfamiliar to him.

As we reached the lobby floor, I began to dread walking past the front desk, suddenly remembering, though not exactly, making somewhat of a spectacle of myself. I was relieved to see that the man at the front desk was not the same from the night before. He was a young, attractive Latino guy who looked at us and formally said, “Gentlemen,” as we passed him, giving me a lingering, admiring, if slightly confused look.

I smiled and said, “Hello.”

Quinn also smiled, and said, “Good morning, Pedro.”

As we approached Quinn’s car, with Quinn leading, I was intrigued to find that Quinn’s car was what appeared to be a red European car, not really remembering having ridden home in it the night before. Before we got in, I asked what the make of the car was.

“It’s a Saab 900 Ruby, with a Carlsson engine, and an interior lined with buffalo leather and Zegna pure wool,” Quinn said proudly.

“Oh, okay. It’s nice,” I said, mostly meaning it, slightly impressed by its weird sort of luxury, though it wasn’t really my type of car. Growing up in Parma, Ohio with both Ford and GM plants around, I only bought American, mostly Fords and one GM. It was mostly American pride, but it was partly to fit in.

“Thanks, my Dad had it shipped over from Ireland for me after he was a few years into his retirement and started getting sick after my mother died. He died about a year later,” Quinn explained, still getting used to explaining things to someone who he thought he’d already explained things to long ago. He imagined it would be similar to having to deal with someone with amnesia.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said genuinely, finally confirming where the very faint, almost undetectable lilt in Quinn’s voice came from, guessing so from his name and appearance, although I knew full well that obviously not all Irish people had red hair and fair complexions.

“Oh, don’t be. My father was a great man. He had a great family that loved him and he loved dearly back, a great career as a writer. He was one of those people who lived the kind of life that we all strive for, most of us never achieving. I miss him, of course, but I believe I’ll join him and my mother and everyone else eventually.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad to hear that about your family. And that you seem to have a pretty good outlook on life… and well, death.”

“Well, I’m not sure I would go that far. I have my core beliefs, but that doesn’t mean that day to day life is easy. I mean, my life with you… well, you know what I mean, is complicated. It’s not really how I ideally imagined it.”

Feeling like I was prying into a stranger’s life, I couldn’t help but be silent for a minute. I wanted to ask questions, but was not sure if I should, whether it was appropriate. Then again, Vince, a shy introvert, often warned his friends, mostly co-workers, that I was prone to subjecting even total strangers to “twenty questions.” Even though somewhat of an introvert myself, I like to be social, or at least make an attempt, especially when I’ve been drinking. That is when my natural curiosity comes out, and a good part of it was in challenging myself into making conversations flow, though I was usually genuinely interested.

Wanting to break the awkward silence, I finally asked, “Why’d you do it?”

Taking a moment, having figured out what I was asking from the last thing said, Quinn answered, “You know, I have asked myself that question time and again over the years, and I think I know why, but it changes depending on how I think about it. But I guess the bottom line is that we can’t always control who we fall in love with. And you just have to deal with it the best you can, for however long you can.”

Quinn’s words resonated with me since I was in a five-year relationship a long time ago that did not end very well. I cut myself off from dwelling on it. All I could say was, “Yeah.”

For the longest time, neither of us really had anything to say, even though it was, in most situations, my nature to want to keep the conversation alive and flowing. The situation I was in, though, was admittedly unlike most situations. I struggled to come up with something to say that didn’t sound nosy or insensitive. After a while, I thought about bringing the conversation back to myself, but it seemed like everything was about me at that point, and I didn’t want to really add to it, strangely, as part of me was becoming increasingly annoyed and embarrassed by it all.

As we made our way down the road, I finally broke the silence by asking what hospital they were going to.

“Huntington Memorial. The same place you went to last time.”

“I don’t have to get my ass probed again, do I?” I asked loudly, looking forward, seemingly annoyed. I then slowly looked at Quinn. He looked at me, puzzled, until I smiled. His confused expression turned into a return smile, as he suddenly began to laugh, looking at me, as I laughed with him. At one point, he was laughing so hard he almost lost control of the car.

When Quinn regained his composure, while I still chuckled intermittently, mostly because of Quinn’s reaction, which was unexpectedly a lot, we soon found ourselves pulling into the hospital. As Quinn worked on finding a parking spot, our mood became more serious again, although one or the other of us would flash a residual smile or chuckle.

Finally parked, Quinn turned off the engine, but before either of us actually got out of the car, he said to me, “That was the best laugh I’ve had in a long time. I know you’re… our… this whole situation is intense, but thank you. I needed that.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” I answered, almost putting a “dear” at the end, but stopped myself.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Quinn declared, half-smiling.

“Yeah,” I answered, half-frowning, opening my door. Quinn opened his door, too, and started to get out, when, surprising myself, I yelled, “Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you,” Quinn replied, plainly.

“Who’re you going to say you are?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to say I’m your boyfriend or partner. I’ll do like I did when I called Dr. Arias. I’ll tell everyone I’m your colleague. What do you care, anyway? In your other life, you’re openly gay and have a partner.”

“It’s not that. In this life, I’m married to a woman and I have children!”

“Like I said, I’m your ‘colleague.’ And since when do you care about this Brad’s reputation anyway?”

“Of course, I care. I mean it’s not me, but it sort of is me. And I don’t want us getting back to my family… I mean, you know, my wife and kids. I don’t want them to get hurt unnecessarily, even though I, personally, am not the one who did all of this.”

As soon as I said that, Quinn turned away from me and his argumentative look turned to one of hurt, and he looked like he might cry.

Quickly, I said, “Okay, okay, come in with me,” but Quinn’s look remained unchanged. So, I put my left hand at the back of Quinn’s head and neck, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, saying, “I’m sorry,” and before I was able to move to sit back, Quinn turned to face me and kissed me on the lips, surprising me. Somehow, I wanted to both push away and let it linger. I ended up pressing my closed lips to Quinn’s to kiss him back, so as not to hurt his feelings, but quickly moved back to my seat, saying, “Okay, let’s go,” and got out of the car. I waited for Quinn, and as we started walking toward the hospital entrance, Quinn appeared to regain his composure.

“Speaking of my wife and kids, what are we going to do about them?”

“Well, they’re not expecting you until sometime tonight, sometimes you make it for dinner, sometimes you don’t… depending on what we do... really, depending on what I planned for the day. You usually give her the heads up sometime in the late afternoon. So, we’ll have to come up with something before then and then give her a call.” Pausing for a moment, he continued, “I sure didn’t plan on this today…. Anyway, I called your assistant and told him that you were conferring with colleagues and wouldn’t make it in today and maybe the next day. He just said okay. So, you’re good there.”

“Great, thanks,” I said. Looking around I asked, “What are we looking for? Where’s the hospital?”

“Right in front of you.”

“That’s it? Holy shit! I thought that was a hotel we were going around to get to the hospital!”

“Well, yeah, it’s a nice hospital.”

“Wow!” I said, impressed. As they got closer, he asked, “What did you tell the doctor anyway?”

“I basically told her what was going on with you. I didn’t think it would do any good to hold anything back. I mean, I think they should know as much as they can, so they can do their best to help you, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s just so weird and embarrassing and shit. I just don’t want anyone looking at me like I’m some kind of whack job or something.”

“Oh, come on, honey, they’re professionals.”

“I suppose,” still a little jarred by Quinn calling me honey, but I was getting used to it.

When we got inside, I was floored by the opulence of the place. It truly looked like a luxury hotel or resort, rather than a hospital, a far cry from the public city hospital that I was used to. We were immediately very warmly greeted by Dr. Arias, my primary, and Dr. Jackson, a psychiatrist. Dr. Arias explained that they were keeping my situation very confidential and that only the two of them knew why I was there and that the entire staff that was going to come into contact with me was instructed not to make any inquiries. I was to get a series of medical tests to determine my state of physical health, including imaging of my brain, concluded by a psychological screening with Dr. Jackson. She continued to explain that the entire schedule would take three to four hours and that there would be likely no waiting between procedures, unless I wanted to take a break, at which time they could offer me and my colleague trays of healthy snacks and beverages, or even full meal services. She also explained that all of the test results would likely be available today, but that they would need another full day to confer, and that it would be at least another day before they had anything conclusive.

At the end of her speech, I was flabbergasted. I had never seen that level of customer service at a hospital, or anywhere for that matter, making me wonder if that was what it was like for everyone that goes there or just him, especially when Dr. Jackson said quietly to him, “I’m an admirer of your work.” I could only reply to him, “Um, thanks.”

When they were alone for a moment, I whispered to Quinn, “Can you believe this shit?”

Taking a second to figure out what I meant, Quinn replied simply, “I’m sure it was like this the last time you were here.”

Quietly and under his breath, I said, mainly to myself, “It must be nice.”

Dr. Arias then approached them and said, “I do apologize that I won’t be able to perform the general exam myself, because I have a previous commitment at another location, but you’ll be in good hands.”

Quinn took it upon himself to say, “Thank you, doctor, and thank you for arranging all of this on such short notice.

“No problem,” she answered, “It was great to meet you, Quinn. And, Brad, I know what you are going through must be extremely difficult, but we will do everything in our power to help get you through this. And if it helps any, you do look well.”

“Thanks, doc,” I replied, slightly embarrassed, yet slightly proud, while Quinn just smiled.

It took about three hours to complete the tests and procedures, including blood draws and MRIs and MEGs, but Quinn, who was always with me, which both annoyed and comforted me, convinced me to take a break before I talked to Dr. Jackson. We were escorted to our own very comfortable suite where we helped ourselves to two trays, one with fresh vegetables, one with fresh fruit, that were brought to them, as well as a pitcher of light cranberry juice.

“I feel like we should be getting our manis and pedis done while we’re in here,” Brad joked.

“Do you think we could?” asked Quinn, innocently and slightly hopeful.

“Oh, come on. I was joking!” Brad said, but wondered if it was actually possible.

“Yeah, I knew that,” Quinn lied.

“Yeah, okay,” Brad said, under his breath. After a couple minutes of silence, Brad asked Quinn, “So, what exactly were you planning last night? I mean, before all this happened.”

“Well, it was our 5th year anniversary. Last night we were supposed to meet up at the apartment at seven. Normally, we would just hang out, but when you got there, I was going to tell you that I arranged for one hour, just me and you, at the observatory, where we met.”

“Oh, so it really was going to be observatory night,” I said, amused, chuckling to myself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that lady, my wife, mentioned something about it,” I explained, “and also my eldest son.”

Slightly annoyed, and close to asking about it, but choosing to ignore it, Quinn explained, “Once we got there, I was going to surprise you with a candlelit dinner with your favorite, spring vegetables with chicken and penne in a creamy white sauce, that I made earlier that day. I went up there with two plates in saran wrap, a bottle of Pinot Grigio, and a mini cheesecake and hid them away in the refrigerator in one of your offices there. I also hid a little round table and two chairs, along with a white tablecloth and two long candles in little glass candleholders, and two wine glasses in one of the closets at the base of the telescope. While I had you gazing up at the stars when we got there, which you tend to take forever doing, I was going to bring it all out as quietly as I could and then call you down. As soon as you got to the bottom of the telescope it all would be ready, candles lit, the food having been heated in the microwave, wine opened and poured, and cheesecake at the ready,” Quinn explained, smiling proudly.

“Wow, that sounds... perfect,” I said, genuinely impressed. It kind of makes me wish I was the guy you went to all that trouble for.”

Quinn, who had been smiling, didn’t quite know what to say to that, as his smile faded. Suddenly, he profoundly missed his Brad, the one who wore simple clothes and a simple haircut; the one that was quiet and shy around people, most of the time, except when he was talking about science, of course, especially when he was teaching it, and art, whether it was paintings, or books, or even movies. Then you couldn’t shut him up. As he thought about him, Quinn began to cry.

Startled, I went over to him, knelt in front of where he was seated, put one hand on top of his and one on his knee, and asked, “What’s wrong, dear?”

Through his tears and occasional sobs, he said, “I miss him… What if I never get to be with him again?”

Taking a moment to think about it, I said, without really knowing whether or not it would come true, “Of course you will, dear. I think this is just a temporary thing. This is probably just a weird cosmic accident… is all, and it will all go back to normal once everything is fixed. And it will get fixed somehow. I promise. Okay?”

Quinn was somewhat comforted by what I said and started to calm down, saying, “Do you really think so?’

“Well… I am obviously not as smart as your Brad, otherwise my life would be a lot more like his, well, as far as his successful career, but there’s something I have to tell you…. I honestly think, and this is something you probably already have felt… I mean, how else would I have known your name without you telling me, and about the lamp and things... I think he, your Brad, is still in here somewhere. I mean, I think differently sometimes. My thought processes are working a little differently somehow. I react to things differently, emotionally, than I normally would. When I look in the mirror I see a different person, physically. But, even in the short time that I’ve been here, I’ve noticed that I am a different person, I mean, besides the obvious. At first, I thought it was because this was all just a bizarre dream, one that mixed who I am to who I could have been. But, I’ve had time to think about it and, frankly, I think I’ve been a different person because your Brad is still here… just not fully conscious, or something. Or maybe he is, I don’t know. It’s confusing. But deep down, I think he’s still here, somewhere.”

Through his slightly red and tear-filled eyes, Quinn looked at Brad, who himself was misty, and said, “Do you think I can talk to him?”

Bewildered by the question, I wanted to do everything I could to make Quinn feel better. So, as a purely intellectual exercise, based not necessarily on logic, as much as pure hope and intuition, I said, “Um, I think if you had something to say to him, he would hear you. As far as whether he could answer you, consciously, I really don’t know, though I kind of doubt it.”

“Would you mind?”

I immediately said, “No, not at all,” even though I became very uncomfortable with the idea very quickly, not only because I didn’t really want to be the middleman in such an intimate encounter, but also because I was afraid, for whatever reason, that I would listen to it the wrong way, unsure of whether the feelings I was starting to develop for Quinn were actually mine or the other Brad’s.

Quinn stood up, prompting me to do the same. He then held my head in his hands and said, tearfully, looking me straight in the eyes, “Brad, my Brad, if you’re in there, please know that I love you, with all my heart.” After a second, he continued, sobbing, “I’m sorry about all this. We’re going to do everything in our power to bring you back… and just know that I’m lost without you…please come back to me.”

Even though, intellectually and consciously, I knew that Quinn’s message was not for me but for the Brad that Quinn knew and loved, I couldn’t help but feel the sadness and desperation in Quinn’s words and in his voice. I wasn’t sure whether it was the other Brad’s emotions that were coming out or my own or both, but tears began to stream down my face. I felt I might start to sob as well, uncontrollably, which I was naturally prone to do anyway. But I didn’t, thinking that the other Brad was keeping me in check. I didn’t know what to do or say, but only instinctively brought my own hands up to Quinn’s head and neck and leaned forward to bring my forehead up against Quinn’s which caused Quinn to cry and sob even more.

They were only interrupted by a male nurse knocking on the door of their suite, saying through the closed door, “Hello? Is it alright if I came in?”

“Give us a minute, please,” I answered, my voice strained with emotion.

“Sure, no problem,” the nurse answered.

Quinn and I looked at each other through our tear-filled eyes, as we both, mutually and simultaneously, pressed our lips purposefully together, each lovingly stroking the other’s face and head. We wiped each other's tears away, somewhat hurriedly, and gathered ourselves as best we could, sitting back in our respective seats, each taking a sip of our juice. Once they thought each other was ready, giving each other a glance of “it’s okay,” Brad said to the nurse behind the door, loudly enough to be heard, adjusting his voice from the emotion, “Come in.”

The nurse opened the door, couldn’t help notice their emotional state, yet remained professional, and said, looking at Brad, “Dr. Jackson is ready whenever you are,” and started to retreat slowly, about to close the door behind him.

“Okay, thank you,” Brad replied, adding, “Can we get manis and pedis?”

“Sure. I’ll send someone right over,” the nurse replied, leaving.

Before I could tell him that I was just joking, he was already gone. When the door closed, I laughed, asking, “What the actual fuck!?”

Quinn looked at me and started laughing, too. “I thought you were joking before?”

“I was! And I was just now, too. Who knew?” I asked, as we both continued laughing.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, two people from the inhouse salon came and did our manis and pedis, leaving a clear non gloss polish. They were done after twenty minutes since I told them we were in a hurry. Quinn and I were smiling at each other the whole time, trying unsuccessfully to refrain from laughing. I didn’t know about Quinn, but I had never had that done before, nor would I likely have it done again, but it was a nice, noticeable improvement.

After they left, we gathered ourselves and I got ready to go.

“Are you ready for this?” Quinn asked, knowing he couldn’t go with me to see the psychiatrist.

“Fuck no, not at all,” I answered.

“You really like that word, don’t you?”

“Sorry. I’ll try to stop,” as I gathered myself, ceremoniously brushing nonexistent lint from my clothes,

Quinn said, quietly and sincerely, “Thank you. And, you’ll be fine. Just relax.”

Not knowing what to say, I simply stood up, went to where Quinn was seated and put my hand to the side of his face. Quinn met my hand with his own and gave me a sympathetic smile.