THE FALLOUT: THE CARTERS' CHRISTMAS SPECIAL: Dec 5th - Wallace's Fallout
He wasn’t hiding a crime. He was hiding himself. Wallace didn’t lose control. He lost the script he’d been performing for forty-two years.
The apartment was spotless. It always was. Wallace had scrubbed every surface that morning, wiped down counters that hadn't been touched, vacuumed carpet that showed no footprints. The place smelled like lemon cleaner and anxiety.
Julian sat on the couch, watching him. Waiting.
"We need to talk," Julian said. His voice was calm. Too calm. That voice that meant he'd been thinking about this conversation for days.
Wallace stopped wiping the already clean coffee table. "About what?"
"About how you're feeling."
Wallace's jaw tightened. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You've been cleaning the same apartment for three days. You haven't left except for work. You haven't answered your mother's calls." Julian leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Wallace, baby, we need to talk about what happened at Thanksgiving."
"There's nothing to talk about." Wallace moved to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of glass cleaner, started spraying the already gleaming stovetop.
"Your family saw me."
"I know."
"And you haven't spoken to any of them since."
"I know."
"So what are we doing here?" Julian's voice stayed level, measured. "Are you planning to hide forever? Pretend I don't exist? Go back to Wynona and play house?"
Wallace stopped spraying. His hand trembled slightly. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't ask you to be honest? Don't expect you to actually choose me instead of keeping me locked in this sterile little box you call a life?"
"This isn't fair." Wallace turned around, glass cleaner still in hand. "You don't understand what it's like. My family, they're church people. My parents, they'll never accept this. Bobby already thinks I'm a fuckup. Bella's drowning in her own mess. And Wanda..." He trailed off.
"What about Wanda?"
Wallace said nothing. His phone buzzed on the counter. MOM. He watched it ring until it went to voicemail.
Julian watched him ignore it. "That's the fourth time today."
"I know."
"You going to call her back?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Wallace grabbed a dishrag, started wiping down the kitchen counter. Slow, methodical circles. "Because I don't know what to say."
"How about the truth?"
"The truth?" Wallace laughed, sharp and bitter. "The truth is I'm a coward, Julian. The truth is I married a woman I never loved because I was too scared to be myself. The truth is I let Wynona waste ten years of her life because I couldn't face my own family. You want me to call my mother and tell her THAT?"
Julian stood up, walked into the kitchen. "I want you to stop cleaning and actually talk to me."
Wallace kept wiping. "I am talking to you."
"No, you're spiraling. There's a difference." Julian reached out, put his hand over Wallace's. "Baby, stop."
Wallace pulled his hand away, moved to the sink, started scrubbing. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're terrified."
"Of course I'm terrified!" Wallace's voice cracked. He stopped scrubbing, gripped the edge of the sink. "I'm terrified that my parents will disown me. I'm terrified that Bobby will look at me with pity. I'm terrified that I'll lose my job because some customer finds out I'm gay and complains. I'm terrified that..." He stopped.
"That what?"
Wallace turned around slowly. His eyes were red. "That you'll leave me too."
The words hung in the air.
Julian's expression softened. "Wallace..."
"No, listen." Wallace moved back to the counter, started wiping it again. Harder this time. "I know your history, Julian. I know about the other guys. The married ones. The ones who promised they'd leave and never did. The ones who kept you hidden. You have a pattern. You pick men who can't fully choose you. And when they don't, you get to be the victim. The one who loved too much. The one who got left behind."
Julian's face went cold. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Wallace's hands moved faster, circles on the counter becoming more frantic. "You pick unavailable men on purpose. It's safer that way. You never have to actually build something real because you can always blame them for not being brave enough. Well guess what? I AM one of those men. I'm scared and I'm closeted and I'm a mess. So why are you with me, Julian? Is it because you actually love me? Or is it because you knew from the start I'd never be able to give you what you want?"
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about." Julian's voice was tight now, the calm finally cracking.
"Don't I?" Wallace threw the rag into the sink, grabbed the broom, started sweeping the already clean floor. "You pushed me, Julian. You pushed me to come out. You pushed me to tell Wynona. You pushed me to be visible. And look what happened. My entire family knows now. Wynona threw a vase at my head and filed for divorce. My mother won't stop calling. And you..." He stopped sweeping, looked at Julian. "You're sitting there acting like this is MY fault for not being brave enough."
"It IS your fault!" Julian's voice rose. "You're forty-two years old, Wallace! You've been lying to yourself and everyone else for two decades! I didn't MAKE you get caught on that FaceTime call. I didn't FORCE you to marry Wynona. I didn't CREATE this mess. You did. And now you're mad at me because I won't let you keep hiding?"
Wallace laughed, cold and sharp. "You want to talk about hiding? Let's talk about how you never date single men, Julian. Let's talk about how every boyfriend you've had for the past ten years was either married or 'figuring things out' or 'not ready.' You don't want a partner. You want a project. Someone you can fix. Someone you can save. Well I don't need saving. I need space."
"Space?" Julian's voice dripped with disbelief. "Space to do what? Keep lying? Keep pretending?"
"Space to THINK!" Wallace was yelling now, broom still in his hands. "Space to figure out how to tell my parents that their son is gay without breaking their hearts! Space to figure out how to walk into church next Sunday and face everyone who's going to whisper about me! Space to figure out if I can keep my job when my boss finds out I'm a faggot!"
The word hung in the air like a slap.
Julian stared at him. "Is that what you think people will call you?"
Wallace's hands shook. "It's what I call myself."
His phone buzzed again. MOM. He watched it ring.
Julian watched him watch it. "Answer it."
"No."
"Answer the fucking phone, Wallace."
"I CAN'T!" Wallace threw the broom across the room. It clattered against the wall, fell to the floor. "I can't talk to her! What am I supposed to say? 'Hi Mom, sorry I ruined Thanksgiving. Sorry I married Wynona even though I'm gay. Sorry I'm a disappointment. Sorry Bobby's the good son and I'm the fuckup.' Is that what you want me to say?"
"I want you to stop comparing yourself to Bobby!"
"Why? He's perfect! He's got the perfect wife, the perfect kid, the perfect life! My parents love him. He can do no wrong. And me?" Wallace laughed bitterly. "I'm the gay twin who married a white woman to cover up who I really am. I'm the joke."
"You're not a joke." Julian's voice was quieter now. "You're just scared."
"Of course I'm scared." Wallace picked up the spray bottle again, started cleaning the windows. "I've spent my whole life being scared. Scared of who I am. Scared of what people will think. Scared of losing everything." He stopped, turned to Julian. "And you know what the worst part is? I thought being with you would make me less scared. But it just made everything worse."
Julian flinched. "Wow."
"I didn't mean…"
"No, you did." Julian stood up, grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch. "You meant every word. And you know what? You're right. I do pick unavailable men. I pick men who are too scared to love me back. Men who keep me at arm's length. Men who make me feel like I'm asking for too much just by existing." He walked toward the door. "But at least I'm not the one scrubbing clean counters at eight o'clock at night because I'm too terrified to feel anything real."
Wallace's phone buzzed again. MOM.
Julian looked at it, then at Wallace. "Answer your mother's calls. Or don't. But stop pretending this is about me pushing you. You're not scared of me, Wallace. You're scared of yourself."
He opened the door.
"Julian, wait…"
"I'm going home." Julian's voice was flat. "When you're ready to stop hiding, you know where to find me."
The door closed.
Wallace stood in the middle of his spotless apartment, spray bottle still in his hand. The phone stopped buzzing. Voicemail notification lit up the screen.
He looked around. Everything was clean. Perfectly clean. Not a speck of dust. Not a dish out of place. Not a single thing wrong.
He slid down the wall, sat on the floor. The spray bottle rolled out of his hand.
His phone buzzed. MOM.
He let it ring.
Wallace wasn't the only Carter sibling avoiding their parents' calls. Across town, his twin sister Wanda was staring at her own phone, watching the same name flash across the screen. But unlike Wallace, Wanda wasn't cleaning. She was packing. And she wasn't alone.
Tomorrow: Wanda's Fallout
THE END PART 2A: WALLACE'S FALLOUT
