Gonna Make This Place Your Home

LaVieEnRose

I showed up at Justin and Brian's building on an irritatingly cold morning in late February with muffins and coffees. I pressed the doorbell with my elbow, since my hands were full, and waited. Then hit it again. And again.

Finally, Brian answered, looking all bedheady and pissed off. Why are you here?

“You told me to come. Let me in, I'm cold.”

He moved out of the way. I told you to come in the morning.

“It's morning.”

It's six-thirty!

“And your movers come at eight, and you still have shit to pack.” I set the cupholder and the paper bag down on the kitchen counter and washed my hands. “Your coffee's on the left, Justin's is in the middle. Yours has almond milk so don't let him drink it.”

He sipped. Stop trying to kill your boyfriend.

“Stop drinking regular milk and then bitching that you have a stomachache.” (It wouldn't kill him. At worst he'd get an itchy mouth. Brian is a drama queen.)

He peeked into the paper bag. You know he's your job today.

“I figured. How is he?”

He shrugged and just said, Sick.

Justin had a massive seizure a week and a half ago when the two of them were on vacation, and he’d been having a lot of trouble shaking it completely off. Brian even said it was a really bad one, and coming from Brian that's saying a lot. Justin was so out of it that he didn’t even notice he’d dislocated his elbow again until the next day, and Brian was not pleased with himself for not realizing, even though he had a pretty good excuse for being distracted that night. But his palm was fully healed, and Justin was out of the sling and now just had brace in his elbow, but he still was having a lot of trouble concentrating or staying awake, and his headaches had been worse than usual and he was just really...shivery. I'd slept over a few nights before, after Brian and I loaded up his car with the stuff of mine that was going to the new house and dropped it off there—which was not much, because it's not like I was giving up my apartment and actually moving in, and anyway Brian said absolutely not was my secondhand mattress darkening his doorway, and bought me some new one that weighed a million pounds and came curled up in a roll—and Justin had gone to bed at nine with a migraine while Brian and I split a tab of E at Nova. And we were still less tired the morning after than Justin was.

“Is he asleep?” I asked.

Brian shook his head while he crammed half a muffin into his mouth. Shower. I don’t know when he got up. I didn’t wake up until someone kept ringing the doorbell.

What's wrong with him?

His breathing isn’t terrible? I don’t know, looking for something positive to say.

I sighed. “And how are you, dear.”

Tired!

“Oh, poor you. You know I had to wake up at five to get here.”

You're up at five anyway. I like to run early in the morning. Brian and Justin both find that horrifying.

“Regardless. Drink your coffee. I’m gonna get Justin. Is Molly still coming?”

Allegedly. It involves manual labor, so I assume she'll conveniently forget.

I went into the bathroom. Justin was standing under the shower spray, his head back and his eyes closed, looking goddamn luminescent. He was finally back to a good weight, and he'd given up on shaving because it kept irritating his skin and it wasn't that easy for him to manage with his bad hand anyway, so he had this dark blonde scruff on his face and it was honestly pretty great. Brian was completely obsessed with it. It was really funny. Whenever Justin was in the room he couldn't take his eyes off him, and he was always running his knuckles up and down Justin's cheek.

I flicked the lights on and off to get his attention, and he opened his eyes and smiled at me. The bathroom looked strange without our toothbrushes in a cup and Justin's nebulizer pieces drying on the counter or Brian's fifty anti-aging creams on the shelf above the sink.

How long have you been in here? I asked him.

He coughed a little. Just trying to get warm. I wasn't expecting you this early.

Yeah, neither was Brian. I watched him wash his hair. You're not supposed to be bending that elbow.

I'll stop in a minute. Have you eaten?

Yeah, I brought muffins.

Oh, so Brian's already cursed you out. And then inhaled two of them.

He should really be in some scientific study on self control.

Justin turned off the water, and I shook out the towel he'd left hung up; my boy's always prepared. I put it around his shoulders and brought it up to ruffle his hair dry. He smiled up at me when I wrapped it back around his shoulders, then pulled me in for a soft kiss.

How are you? he asked me.

Good. I ran my hands up and down his arms to warm him up. We need to get clothes on you.

Who are you and what have you done with Evan?

I followed him to his room and sat on the bed while he got dressed. Are you excited? I asked him.

Yeah. He pulled his shirt over his head, wincing a little as it jostled his bad elbow. Nervous. How about you?

I didn't really know how to answer that—I didn't want him thinking I was under some impression that the house was mine like it was Brian and Justin's, and it was just...such a fucking important line to walk—so I just shrugged a little.

How did Brian seem? he asked.

Fine. Relaxed, for Brian.

Justin stepped into a pair of jeans, jumping a little to pull them up, and I bit back a smile. I'm waiting for him to freak out, Justin said.

Why would he freak out? This was his idea.

When he was my age, Brian would barely keep groceries in the loft because it was too domestic.

Well, that was like twenty years ago.

Justin laughed. Lord.

Did he freak out when you moved here? I said.

No, but that was leaving a fuckpad in Pittsburgh for a fuckpad in New York.

This is...a very respectable two-bedroom apartment.

Still, he said. No one feels domesticated by moving to New York City. Now we're putting Brian Kinney in a cute little two-story? In the suburbs?

Flushing isn't a suburb. I actually really like Flushing. I didn't spend much time in Queens before I met Brian and Justin, but once I started working at Kinnetik I made a point to get familiar. And Flushing is really cool. It kind of reminds me of the Lower East Side here in Manhattan. Cramped and colorful. Amazing food.

I don't think Brian's ever lived in a place with more than one bathroom in his life, Justin said. I just don't want him to get to the house, realize he bought a house, and then disappear for a week and then I find him in a club in New Jersey passed out with glitter all over him and his pants stolen.

Why not? I said, and he laughed. I pulled him close to me by the hem of his shirt and he came willingly. I was sitting on the bed and he was standing, so he was taller than me, which was funny. I eased him down and kissed him.

You worry too much, I said.

You're the first person who's ever told me that, he said, and kudos to him for managing to keep a straight face.

Come on, let's finish packing up the last minute stuff. Movers will be here soon.

We put the last of the bedroom stuff into a suitcase and went back out to the living room. Brian was on the phone, trying to tell the movers where they should park, and I watched his lips and interpreted for Justin. I'm pretty practiced at reading Brian's lips from when he talks in meetings and stuff at work. Of course there's always an interpreter there, but...I don't know. I like watching him.

The movers figured it out eventually and showed up just after eight, three guys who looked like they might be related. Brian shook their hands while Justin fell into a coughing fit in the kitchen. “Brian Kinney,” he said, then pointed at us. “Evan Taylor. Justin. Don't bother Justin.”

I was pretty much on don't bother Justin duty, making sure he didn't try to lift anything and forcing him to sit down on the floor and take a break and catch his breath every now and then. Every once in a while I'd answer a question from the movers or help pick something up, but mostly Brian was on top of all of that. He was Boss Man Kinnetik Brian, managing everyone and surveying his territory and walking around with that perpetually pissed off look on his face. He spent a lot of time out on the street directing things into the trunk, while I gave directions upstairs.

I met him down on the street at one point, where he was helping haul the mattress up into the truck. This counts as cardio for three days, he said to me. I want it on record.

Noted. Can Justin lift anything? Like light things?

No, his fucking elbow is dislocated. He shouldn't even be signing.

Yeah, that's what I told him, but he told me to ask you.

Well, tell him I said he's supposed to listen to you. He wiped his hands on his jeans. How's he doing?

Remember when you were looking for something positive to say and you said his breathing wasn't terrible?

Yeah.

Okay, well now he's not breathing well.

God. Not a good day. What does he need?

I think just to lie down. And not have moving people looking at him sideways every time me coughs. I'm wondering if I should go over to the house with him now? I can bring some stuff with me and start unpacking, and there's a bed down in the basement already that he can sleep on. I didn't want to call it my bed. I don't know. I didn't buy it.

Brian thought about that for about two seconds before he nodded. Yes. Good. Very good. You want to drive? Do you know how to drive stick?

I don't know how to drive period.

You can't drive?

No.

He gave me a long look, then shook his head. Okay, that's for next week. Here, you still need the keys for the house... He gave me his keys, then took his wallet out and gave me money for a cab. I knew better than to bother protesting at this point.

“Thanks.”

Don't unpack. Lie down with him.

I kissed his cheek. “Okay. See you soon.”

Justin slept on my shoulder most of the cab ride, and I nudged him awake and held onto his elbow on the way down to the basement. He was really anxious about not helping and kept asking if Brian was mad at him, but eventually I got him to lie down on my chest on the mattress. I put my hand under his sweatshirt and felt the scratchy rumble of his breathing.

You can put an easel there, he signed sleepily.

I stroked his hair and worried a little bit. Yeah. I didn't have an easel, though.

It's a nice house, he said, stretching.

It is.

I hope Brian likes it.

He'll be able to wake up a lot later now. Closer to work.

Justin nodded, his eyes drooping, and I made myself sort of crazy wondering if I was supposed to read into the fact that he didn't say you can wake up later too, Evan or if it was just him falling asleep or if it was so obvious I wasn't supposed to need a response, except what direction was it supposed to be obvious in...

Justin and Brian don't spell stuff out. That's the thing about them. They've been together for twenty million years and they don't really need to say stuff to each other anymore, and it's also just not in either of their personalities to do grand gestures and stuff like that. They're everyday sort of people, and I love that about them, because God, what kind of person with my history wouldn't want the goddamn reassurance that there's going to be an everyday? So they're understated and kind of sarcastic and they work with jokes and nuance and touching and I love that. I do.

But sometimes I just really need a straight answer on exactly to what degree I'm living in this house, and the thought of actually asking was the only thing less comfortable than living with not knowing.

So I just kept picking at clues.

Is Brian okay? Justin asked as he was falling asleep.

Brian's fine. He loves you. Wants you to rest.

Are you okay?

I'm great. I love you. I want you to rest.

He laughed a little. Rest from what? I haven't done anything.

Breathing. Close your eyes. I pulled his hand between mine as it started to shake. Okay, easy.

He fell asleep pretty quickly after that—even little seizures like that are so goddamn exhausting, I don't know how he does it—and after I was sure he was settled I crawled out from under him and went upstairs and started unpacking stuff in the kitchen. They'd knocked down a wall in here so the kitchen was open into the living room, so really the whole house was one massive room, besides the bedrooms, the upstairs, and the basement. The cork floors made my footsteps feel soft and wood beams crisscrossed the high ceiling. It was warm here.

The movers got there not long after, with Brian and, a little surprisingly, Molly in tow. She was wearing sunglasses and a massive NYU sweatshirt and her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. She came and gave me a hug and pouted. Brian's making me carry things.

I hate him, I said, and she nodded strongly. Brian flicked me in the back of the head on my way out to the moving truck, and I smiled a little.

“He's asleep?” he asked me, our hands full trying to double-team a box that was full of...I don't know, rocks, if I had to guess.

“Yeah. I don't know how long he'll let himself rest. He's convinced he should be helping.”

Brian sighed. “Justin.”

“His hand was seizing earlier.”

“Yeah, it was doing it all night too. I'm going to figure out how to fucking schedule the bad days for weekends and bank holidays.”

“He's stressed. It was always going to be a bad day.”

“Yeah, you're probably right.”

He went down to check on Justin while Molly and I directed the movers. She peeked into the smallest bedroom on the main floor that they'd converted into a closet. This is the dream, she said.

Seriously.

This is quite the step up from your fucking shithole, she said.

If you think my current place is a shithole, you should see what it's a step up from.

Well, you'll like living here, she said, and then she scrunched her nose up—she looks so much like Justin when she does that—and said, What?

What, 'what?'

What was that face?

There was no face.

Oh, bullshit. I know when you have a face.

This is a big day for Brian and Justin, I said. It's their first house! It's a whole milestone. I don't want to...intrude.

She stared at me. You're a moron.

No, I'm careful. You could learn a thing or two.

She laughed. Yeah, I could tiptoe around everyone like you do! Or I could actually get what I want!

What I want is not to ruin this for them, I said.

Oh, yeah, that's you. Just running around ruining shit. And that's them! Fragile as glass, Brian and Justin.

I groaned. If I give you twenty dollars, will you walk up to Brian and say so, is Evan moving in or what?

I don't know. Give me twenty dollars and find out.

“Justin thinks he's going to have some domesticity freak out,” I said a little later, while we put some of Justins books on the shelf.

You mean you don't?

“Wait, seriously?”

You weren't around the first time my mom called him her son-in-law. He like, wouldn't even look at Justin for hours. Trust me, the guy's got issues.

“That was a long time ago. They're married now. He calls you his sister.”

Listen, I'm hoping for the best too. I'm just saying, don't be surprised if there's some shit that comes out tonight once everything's quiet and it really hits him what he's done.

Brian came back upstairs a few minutes later. He clapped his hands on my shoulder and kissed the top of Molly's head without saying anything. How's he doing? I asked.

Still sleeping. I put the nebulizer on him. He dragged his fingers carelessly across my shoulder blades. Are you drinking enough?

I'm fine.

How about you, Lilith, you need anything?

Molly shook her head. Someone taller than me to do the top shelf books.

Yeah, I'll finish this. Can you go watch the movers? One of them just brought in my six thousand dollar Terzani lamp like it was a flat-packed chair from Ikea.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, and went out the door to bust some balls.

“Ikea has some good chairs,” I said.

If only you could hear the things that come out of your mouth.

Do we need to be worried? I said, once Molly couldn't see.

He shook his head. He already looks better than he did back at the apartment. Getting his color back.

Maybe it's the lighting.

Without a Terzani lamp installed? Impossible.

Keep your pretention out of my basement, I said, my basement before I could stop myself. Brian just smirked, which didn't give me much. Brian will smirk at anything.

The movers were done by three, and Brian shook their hands and tipped them what I'm sure was some exorbitant amount and the house felt so huge once they were gone. We kind of stood around for a minute like we didn't know what to do, and then drifted around doing various things; Brian unpacked dishes in the kitchen, I swept up the dirt we'd tracked in, Molly flopped down on the couch and said if she had to move one more inch she would probably die. I wandered into the kitchen to ask Brian if we should think about food, and halfway through Brian stretched out one arm without taking his eyes off me, and a minute later Justin appeared underneath it. Sometimes it's like hearing people have superpowers, I swear.

Hey, how are you feeling? I asked him.

He yawned and gave me a thumbs-up.

The girls will be here pretty soon with pizza, Brian said. He touched Justin's chin to get his attention. You hungry?

Justin nodded.

Good. That's good.

I think I want to take a bath, Justin said.

Go for it.

Yeah?

That's what it's here for. Get to it. He studied him. Bring Evan, you look seizurey.

Their tub is fucking enormous, like a small swimming pool. It took forever to fill up, so we fooled around for a while, nipping at each other while I peeled his clothes off of him. I sat on the edge of the tub and he straddled me and we made out for a while.

Someone's got some energy back, I said.

He smiled and laced his hands behind my neck.

God, you're fucking beautiful, I said.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he said.

The tub filled eventually, he sighed as she sank into the water. I laughed. “Good?”

Oh my God, this is everything. Holy shit. I'm never getting out. You'll have to bury me in this.

That just sounds convenient.

He grinned, and God, it just lights ups his whole face. You sound like Brian.

Occupational hazard.

Don't I know it. He shifted some in the water. I'm sorry I didn't help today.

There's still plenty to unpack.

Good. He took a deep breath. Except I'm never getting out of this tub.

We can bring you some boxes in here. And you can kind of just fling stuff at the shelves.

You always have an innovative solution.

That's from my tragic backstory as a street kid, I said, and he smiled and reached out of the water and took my hand.

He didn't end up having a seizure, so that was a nice surprise. He got out and we went back out to the main room just as Emily and Gwen arrived with pizza and the baby. Justin couldn't pick Jane up with his shitty elbow, so I grabbed her instead and we took her on a tour to see her room and the backyard. She didn't really care, because she's, you know, ten months old, she was happy to see Justin and that was sweet.

We ate pizza and lay around the half-unpacked room and I couldn't help but fucking marvel at this place, now that it was full of people signing. The lighting was amazing, and the sight lines were so clear that you could see what someone was saying from the kitchen as soon as you walked in the front door. I went upstairs to look at what Brian had done with the office and the gym and what Molly had already declared was her room, and then I stepped out onto the balcony and looked down at the quiet street and the not-quite-distant twinkling lights of downtown Flushing. I wondered if you could hear the train.

It was cold, but I didn't feel cold.

Daphne and Derek came over a little later, and after everyone had unpacked for a while we opened up a few bottles of wine and sat around the living room, laughing at Daphne's stories about her nightmare patients and making faces for the zillions of pictures Emily took. I sat on the floor with Jane, playing with her toy piano that probably makes noise, but all she cares about is that it lights up. Justin was asleep, his legs slung over Brian's lap, and Brian signed with one hand and held Justin's head steady against his neck with the other.

Everyone left before too late, and I lingered by the door feeling awkward and not sure if I was supposed to go. Molly smacked me as she pulled on her coat. Ask them, she said.

What if you stay over too? Then it wouldn't just be me. More normal. Okay, so I was a little desperate.

I have a dick appointment, she said. And you have to find this out sooner or later. Just ask. How else are you going to know? Bye bye, darling.

Brian was cleaning up in the kitchen, but as I came back from saying goodbyes he looked like he heard something and went over to the open door of their bedroom. He leaned against the doorframe, smiling just a little, and signed, small, You okay? You need anything?

He watched whatever Justin said, then turned around and saw me watching and looked a little sheepish. How are you? he asked me.

“I'm...I'm good.”

He nodded. Okay.

He went back to the kitchen, and I followed him, and we tidied up quietly for a while, rinsing out wine glasses and loading the dishwasher. The mood was relaxed, but something about Brian seemed...charged, electric, and suddenly he put down the plate he was holding and held himself up on the counter, and before I could ask if he was okay he turned to me and he had his lip pulled into his mouth and he was smiling, he was smiling so much.

We did it, he said to me. His eyes were sparkling. We got Justin into a house.

You can't not smile looking at that. You can't. “We did it,” I said.

He laughed and grabbed me and twirled me around, and then he kissed me, soft, quick, and tapped his forehead against mine.

I don't know if I can explain what it feels like. I don't think there are words.

We did it. We did it.

And when we were done cleaning the kitchen and Brian said he needed to get some work done, he said, You're not leaving, right?

No, I said. I'm not leaving.