Coming of Age

LaVieEnRose

Do you want to go down tomorrow night or Friday? Brian said.

“Tooooomorrow,” I said, slowly, bringing plates to the sink. “I think. I might have to be there when my show closes, but I don't think they actually need me there. I don't want to be there. They'll make me lift things.”

What about your cripple perks?

“Everyone's disabled nowadays. I've lost my leverage.”

Not me.

Well, give it time, I said, and Brian laughed a little. I read some theory thing a while ago that said that everyone becomes disabled if they live long enough, which is totally true and something you never think about, and Brian really latched onto that. He pulls it out all the time with able-bodied people who act like giving accommodations is such a big deal, like they won't need them themselves someday.

No, Brian said. I'm going to die suddenly and beautifully. Imagine how annoying I'd be disabled. We can't risk it.

I'll take your word for it, I said, because Lord knows I won't still be around when Brian's ox-adjacent constitution finally gives out. It's okay. It helps to joke about stuff.

He knocked my head to the side, gently, and I kissed his shoulder and helped him load the dishwasher. It was just this nice kind of evening, and talking about our plans to go to Pittsburgh for Gus's Bar Mitzvah was exciting, even if it was going to be the first time Evan met all the Pittsburgh people—including my mother—and that was kind of nerve-wracking. But he was so excited to see the Bar Mtizvah, to witness this big Jewish event, because he's been working on converting which is so cool and I'm so happy for him.

We were going to drive down, partially because Evan really loves road trips, but mostly because flying is such an ordeal for me nowadays and always leaves me feeling wretched for a while afterwards. Brian hates long drives but he’s good to me and doesn’t complain. Probably partially because he’s the one who has to deal with my body completely falling apart on airplanes.

Okay, so if we get down there by Thursday night we have all of Friday to do whatever, and then the service Saturday morning, Brian said.

That’s better, I think.

Why is there so much goddamn food left on your plate, I swear...

Leave me alone.

Why the fuck am I doing dishes? This is not my job. Where is your boyfriend?

“Why is it that whenever he does something like go back to school or nail a campaign board or pick up the dry cleaning without being asked it's all I love our boyfriend, look at our boyfriend go but the second he doesn't do the dishes it's, Sunshine, where's your boyfriend?”

It's a mystery.

I rolled my eyes. He's in the basement working on his essay. Evan, as previously implied, was back in school, taking an English class at the local community college, which was amazing and a really big deal for him, because he's so self-conscious about his written English—I would say something about his spoken English too but well, how the fuck should I know—but he knows it's been holding him back at work and keeping people from taking him seriously. It's one of the areas where I'm really lucky I didn't lose my hearing until I was older. Emily and Derek always talk about how hard it was to learn, and even though they had the best Deaf education money can buy growing up and for the most part read and write beautifully, every once in a while I'll get a text from them that has some not-quite-right turn of phrase. It's charming, and also a good reminder of the fact that this shit is really, really tricky if you didn't grow up hearing. It's honestly amazing Evan got through as much high school as he did, and that he reads as well as he does.

Brian, thinking similarly, smiled in that way that makes his eyes sparkle and said, Writing an essay. How about that.

I see he's our boyfriend again.

We did the dishes quietly for a while, Brian nudging me with his hip every so often, and then he turned to his left and signed something and I saw Evan had appeared in the kitchen, this strange expression on his face.

It's going fine, he told Brian, who presumably had asked about his essay.

I dried my hands on a dishtowel. “Sweetheart, what's wrong?” Brian put his hand on my back.

Evan started to sign, then stopped and shook his head a little.

Evan, Brian fingerspelled, deliberately, every letter, not the quick EVN he uses for his name sign.

Baby? I said.

Evan took a deep breath. I got an email from my mom.

Delete it, Brian and I said together. Sue me, we're not big fans of the parents who raised Evan completely cut off from his community, who didn't give him the chance to have a language or people who understood him, and who threw him out of the house the second they found out he was gay. They're the reason Evan came to New York with nothing, that he fell into drugs and homelessness and all the other he somehow, thank you God, managed to drag himself out of. As far as I'm concerned, they're the reason he's positive, the reason he's in kidney failure.

My mother's incredible, but broadly speaking we don't do great with parents around here.

I was going to but then I...didn't.

Brian rolled his eyes and looked away because otherwise Evan would see the worry in his face and, well, there are some parts of Brian that he still only shows to me.

What did it say? I said gently.

Evan paused for a long time and then said, My father's dead.

**

“I don't like this,” I said, as I rubbed lotion on my legs and stretched on the bed and got ready for bed, without Evan.

Brian spit into the sink. It's what he wants.

“He always wants to be alone when something's wrong. That doesn't mean that's what's healthy for him.”

And being smothered isn't necessarily healthy just because it's what you want.

“His father died. He's upset, you saw him. He shouldn't be alone tonight.”

He didn't even like his father.

“You didn't like your parents either, and you still had a rough time when they died.”

He gave me a look.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to acknowledge that you have feelings.”

Well, don't let it happen again.

I flopped down on the bed. “I just don't know what to do here. When your mother died I just hung around and waited for you to need me. I don't know if that's even going to happen with Evan.”

Brian climbed next to me and stroked my hair for a minute. Evan...has a lot of experience with people dying.

And he never talks about Adam. He's clearly not great at handling it. God, do you think there’s going to be a funeral?

Probably.

“Do you think he’ll want to go?”

Brian snorted. I don’t care what he wants. He’s not going. And before you play the but your parents card again, I went because Michael would have a shit fit if I didn’t. We’ll have a shit fit if he does.

“He might want to say goodbye.”

He said goodbye when the bastard threw him out of the house. Said it in English, he added pointedly.

Hmm. Annoyingly valid.

Brian pulled the blankets up and took my right leg—I’ve had trouble moving it lately when I'm tired, it’s like the signals don't get through—and casually lifted it up and placed it under the covers. It’s just one of those little things he does that makes my heart swell (not literally, thank God; I have enough going on). He just takes care of everything, like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.

“We have to take care of him,” I said.

Brian nuzzled my neck. We’ll watch him all weekend.

“Yeah. Okay.”

**

I had to spend the day closing out my art show so that they wouldn't mind when I bailed out early, so I ordered Brian to keep an eye on Evan and text me with updates, which he didn't do nearly frequently enough because he's an old man who doesn't understand the expectations of texting. Around one he sent me a short video of him saying, He's fine, he's working on a painting in the basement, it's very angry, think it'll turn out well, I packed your shit for the trip, I love you so that sated me a bit.

I got home at around four to shower and get ready to go, and then Brian and I had to have some sex because he looked really hot today so we were kind of delayed by that, and we were discussing whether to order in a quick dinner or just grab something on the road, despite Brian's horror at having food in the car, when Evan finally came up from the basement.

Are you all packed? Brian asked him.

Evan ruffled the hair on the back of his head, not really looking at us. Brian stomped on the floor until he did.

I think...would it be really bad if I didn't go?

My heart dropped a little. But you were so excited for it.

I know. I just don't think I can stand to be around like, big crowds of people celebrating and being happy right now.

Brian would call that cognitive dissonance, I thought vaguely. Everyone will understand, I say. I turned to Brian. I should stay here with him.

Evan waved his hand to stop me. You absolutely should not. You are not missing your kid's Bar Mitzvah.

But you'll be going to dialysis alone this way and coming home to an empty house—

I want to be alone, Evan said. Really. I just need a few days to just...it'll be good for me. I promise.

I looked at Brian, who shrugged.

He's not you, he said.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

You'll call us, I told him.

Okay.

And you'll call Emily if you need anything while we're gone.

I will.

I went to him and hugged him tightly. My Evan.

**

“I still think I'm being the worst for leaving him,” I said in the car.

Gus would be devastated if you weren't there.

“I know...I would be too.”

Brian turned the music up so I could feel it, and we were quiet for a bit, while he drove and I watched the scenery roll by. I was already starting to feel kind of crappy, which wasn't a great sign for this car trip, or this weekend, but I didn't want to tell Brian yet. He was already a little on edge, partly because of Evan, partly because facing the Pittsburgh crowd always gets him kinda tightly wound. They're just a lot. It used to really bother me that they spoke all the time and I missed out on a ton of conversations, but now...I don't know. I have my own people now in New York. I don't need them anymore, which would feel a lot crueler if they weren't the ones who had, for the most part, largely decided I wasn't worth learning to talk to.

Maybe I was a little on edge too.

Brian picked up on it, like he always does. It's going to be painless, he said. Two days. We were staying at Ben and Michael's because Michael pretty much insisted, and because my mom's condo isn't really big enough and if we get a hotel room it's this whole thing where everyone feels insulted.

My right arm started seizing a little while after that, banging against the car door, and I grabbed it with my left and yanked it into my lap.

Brian took a hand off the steering wheel and adjusted my grip Easy, he said. Be gentle with yourself.

**

It had been a while since we'd been back in Pittsburgh, so even though we didn't get in until late everyone was at Michael and Ben's to make a big deal out of it, which pissed Brian off because he knew I wasn't feeling well and a surprise party was just about the last thing I needed. But we were charming and smiled as much as we could and I tried to understand their terrible signing and it wasn't that bad. Brian had a few drinks and then ushered me upstairs when no one was looking. We had sex and lay in bed together and laughed about how we'd ghosted our own party as we heard the crowd downstairs slowly peter out.

Want the good stuff tonight? he asked me, counting out pills. Sometimes I take a really heavy duty sleeping pill to effectively knock me out, and Brian obviously knows I have trouble sleeping in places other than our bed, and Evan's.

No, I don't want to be groggy tomorrow.

Big day, Brian agreed.

Our boy becomes a man.

Brian handed me my pills and crawled up on the bed beside me. Thankfully through a different process from last time I had a boy become a man, he said, and I laughed.

Probably less fun for Gus, though.

Hmm, singing in Hebrew versus getting your brains fucked out. It's a tough call. He stretched out next to me. God, that boy's going to be a nightmare when he starts dating.

Kinney, but straight.

Brian shuddered. Words that should never be signed.

I nuzzled into his neck. “Poor Brian.”

He wrapped his arms around me and rocked us back and forth a few times. No, he said. I'm okay.

**

I couldn't sleep, though, even with Brian cashed out on top of me, his arm winding around my waist. I was worried about Evan, and also feeling kind of crappy and seizure-y, and also very, very hungry. Eventually I gave up and slipped out from under Brian's arm and hauled myself out of bed. My right leg was predictably being weird, trembling underneath me and threatening to give out with every step, and by the time I made it to the top of the stairs I knew there was no way this was going to work. I sat down there to rest and tried to decide whether I was going to go back to bed brute force sleep or make Brian go downstairs and fix me a sandwich, but a minute later I felt footsteps behind me, and then there was a tap on my shoulder and Ben sat down next to me.

“Did I wake you up?” I said.

I was still up. Getting some writing done. You okay?

“Yeah, just hungry. And my body doesn't think stairs are on the itinerary.” I probably butchered that word.

Want help?

“Mmhmm,” I said, and he pulled me up carefully and got on my bad side and we went slowly down the stairs, his hand on my waist. It's still hard for me to accept help from people besides Brian—and hell, sometimes including Brian, when my mental health is really for shit—but Ben is one of the easiest. He knows how to not make a big deal out of it, and he's one of the only Pittsburgh people I still talk to regularly. We email all the time.

He kept his arm around me until we were in the kitchen, and I settled myself into a chair and slowly stretched out my leg. Leftover lasagna? Ben fingerspelled. He fingerspells a lot. It's okay, but kind of exhausting to read.

“Sounds perfect, thanks.”

Ben worked peacefully in the kitchen and I sat there and took in the calm, breathing it in like air. He set a plate in front of me and said, So...

“Yeah?”

Is everything okay?

“Yeah, my leg's just been awful. Brian wants me to get my anti-convulsant upped and I just like...I'd be a zombie. A zombie who feels like shit. I'm not a fan.”

Ben smiled a bit. I meant because Evan's not here. I was looking forward to meeting him finally.

“Oh. Oh. No, everything's fine, just...his dad died a few days ago.”

Oh, I'm sorry.

“I think he just felt strange being in a room full of people celebrating right now.”

Of course.

I ate a bite and shook my head a little. “I don't know what to do. It's so different from when Brian's mother died. I felt like he and I were together then, like it was us against...all the expectations, I guess. But I feel so far away from Evan.”

I lost my father when I was about his age.

“Were you close?”

Ben sighed. It was complicated. I think with fathers it almost always is.

“Evan's dad kicked him out of the house.”

What about when he was young?

I thought about it for a minute. “I'm not sure. He doesn't talk about the past unless he can't help it. His is....not good.” But all of that was once he was outed, after he came to New York. I didn't know what his childhood in LA was like.

It breaks my heart sometimes how little I know about Evan before he got to me, and it makes me feel like the worst partner in the world. But every time he's forced into talking about it it's just this fucking black hole of misery. It's so hard to believe that Evan, my Evan, has been through as much as he has. It doesn't make sense that that much could happen to someone. It makes even less sense that it could happen to someone I'm supposed to protect. And I know, I know I wasn't there yet, he wasn't my responsibility back then, but...time doesn't work like that when you're in love. You should have seen how white Brian turned the time I mentioned offhand that I was hit by a car when I was younger. It just doesn't matter. We've always been holding each other.

But I don't know about his childhood.

“He lost his first partner,” I said. “And a lot of his friends.” I winced and said, “And now I am remembering that you too lost your first partner and a lot of your friends.”

Ben smiled kindly. It's one of the hazards of staying alive.

“He's dealt with so much. And now this, and it's hitting him harder than I would have guessed, and I don't know what to do.”

I think all boys grow up idolizing their dad, Ben said. When they die, there's this feeling that you have to take their place. That what they carried is yours now.

I nodded a little.

Evan is sick, right? Ben said gently.

“He's so sick.”

So he has a relationship with death. Like we do.

“Yeah.”

Evan was probably not expecting to outlive his father, Ben said.

**

We spent Friday morning with Gus, helping him with some last minute prep work, but I started to feel fucking awful around one so Brian called it quits and took me back to Ben and Michael's. Thank God, he said, as he got me settled on the bed. If I had to listen to Lindsay freak out about one more thing I was going to lose my fucking mind. You okay?

“Not sure,” I said. It was hard to focus on his signing. “Room's spinning.”

We should call Evan.

“Yeah. In a minute.”

What do you need?

“To throw up, probably, but I don't want to. Come lie down with me for a little.”

He sighed like this was some big burden and lay down next to me, hugging me into his chest. Your breathing sounds bad. I think you're just oxygen-deprived.

“Maybe.”

You know...

“Oh Lord.”

You feel like crap because you were on your feet all day and you don't get enough oxygen to do that anymore, Brian said. Between that and your shitty leg...

“I don't like where this is going.”

We can go to the medical supply store and rent you a wheelchair for tomorrow. It'll take like five minutes of my precious time. Done and done.

“It'll steal attention away from Gus. Everyone will be asking about it.”

Anyone who's surprised has no right to be asking about it.

“Yeah, like that's ever stopped anyone.”

Brian sighed and squeezed me. I just don't want to be carrying you around all day. Bad for my back.

“That would certainly get attention.”

Big Freak the Mighty energy, yeah.

I yawned. I just need to sleep. That'll fix me.

Oh, really? That's new and exciting.

I exist to thrill you, I said, and Brian ran kisses down my neck.

**

I thought about Evan all that night and brought it up to Brian the next morning, when we were getting dressed for the service. I think Evan should be in therapy, I said.

Was that even a question?

I mean...he's not.

Brian snorted. You try talking to him about it.

You mean you have? I knew Brian had come around a lot on therapy after seeing how much it helped me, but this was a surprise.

A million times. You haven't?

Well now I felt like the worst boyfriend to ever exist. He seems so well-adjusted.

Brian gave me a look.

“What?”

Nothing, I just know this other sick kid who seems really well-adjusted and actually has a lot of shit to unpack...

“Evan makes me look like a trainwreck and you know it.”

Evan is scared of his trauma, Brian said. Whereas you run headfirst into yours like it can't possibly hurt you again. You're both exhausting.

“What about you?”

Brian shrugged. My trauma is your trauma.

I wish someone had told me that you could fall in love ten million times. Fall in love with two people. Fall in love every day with the best man you've ever known.

“Evan's trauma should be our trauma too,” I said.

Again. Try telling him that.

“God, I just force it on everyone whether they like it or not.”

You're sick. It's what you need.

“He's sick too.”

And is he getting what he needs?

“No.”

Okay then.

**

Synagogues aren't ornate like churches are, but it was still beautiful in its own way, with people laughing in the hallways and flyers everywhere for youth sport leagues and support groups. Brian and I put on tallits and kippahs and took our place with the family. Gus was up at the bimah, and that's the end of Hebrew words I know. Evan taught me those.

There was an interpreter there, which ended up being really cool because the service was all in Hebrew, so no one really understood what was going on except Melanie, who'd been to a million of these, and me and Brian, who watched the interpreter. The best part was Gus's Torah portion, because while he was up there singing in Hebrew—Brian told me he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, poor kid—we could actually follow what he was saying.

Brian was quiet during the service, contemplative, and his eyes switched between Gus and the interpreter and me, even though I wasn't doing anything interesting. I'd had nightmares that I'd have some dramatic seizure right in the middle of the service, but that didn't happen. Ben said I wasn't even breathing very loudly.

There was a brunch reception afterwards, where we hugged Gus and he rolled his eyes and hugged us back and everyone flitted around drinking tiny paper cups of wine and talking about...I don't know, whatever hearing people talk about. I wanted to find the interpreter and thank her, but as soon as we entered the room Brian put his hand on my shoulder and said, Bathroom.

Have fun. So I went in by myself and tried my hardest not to cling to anyone who knew a lick of sign language, which meant I did a lot of smiling and nodding when hearing people tried to talk to me. There were bagels, so it wasn't the worst, but eventually I started wondering what the hell was taking Brian so long. I asked Melanie for directions to the bathroom and made my way there. Brian was by the sinks, his head bowed, taking these heavy breaths.

“Brian?”

He jumped. Come here, he said. There were tears on his cheeks.

“Brian, what the hell?” I went to him and held him. “What's wrong?”

He shook his head.

“Did you call Evan, is something—”

No, no, nothing like that. He kissed my forehead and laughed a little. I was just thinking.

About Gus growing up?

Yeah, sort of.

I ran my hand up and down his arm. “Time flies, huh?”

It's not that, it's... He swallowed and looked away from me for a second. You were there the night he was born. And now he's a man.

I nodded, but Brian looked at me like I wasn't quite getting it.

You're still here, he said, and I caught my breath and hugged him so tight.

**

We had a few hours to rest before the party, so we went back to Michael and Ben's and slept and fucked and called Evan, but he didn't pick up. He sent us a quick text telling us he was okay.

Don't love that, Brian said, and I didn't either.

But there wasn't much time to think about it before we were ushered off with the crowd. There were formal portraits, soooo many formal portraits, of Gus and Melanie and Lindsay and Gus and Melanie and Lindsay and Brian and Gus and Melanie and Gus with Brian and me and Gus with Melanie and Lindsay and Brian and me and it went on and on until I was really regretting not letting Brian rent that wheelchair. He totally knew, too, and he gave me this smarmy smile as he held me up by my waist.

The party was cute, a lot of Gus's little teenybopper friends running around, but there was food and an open bar and music that I could feel through the floor and everything was celebrating Gus so we were satisfied. There was a little slideshow with pictures of him from birth until now, and Brian covered his face with his hand. I'm ancient, he said. I'm a relic.

Brian pulled me up to dance for one of the slow songs, and we swayed back and forth, nothing fancy because I was tired as hell, but it was nice, my fingers laced through his and held between our chests, his eyes on me.

Want to do thirteen more? he signed to me.

Yeah, okay.

When the song was over he kissed my cheek and said, I'm going to check on Evan.

Thank you.

He was back pretty quickly, coming back to our table and taking my arm. I think we should go.

What?

He's about to fall apart. We should be there.

I looked at Gus, playing some game the DJ was hosting with a bunch of his friends. He won't care.

He absolutely will not. Come on, we need to sneak out or else we'll never make it out of here.

So we did, and despite the reason we were sneaking out it was kind of fun. We felt like bandits. Brian had driven us to the party, so we got right into our car and went to Ben and Michael's to get our stuff—we'd explain later—and then got the hell out of town.

Go to sleep, Brian told me as we got on the highway. You've been on your feet for hours.

He didn't have to tell me twice. I curled up against the door and worried about Evan until I fell asleep.

It was past 1 AM by the time we got home. Brian had woken me up a few miles back because for me waking up can be kind of a long process, so I wasn't too horribly groggy when we pulled up the house. “I missed it,” I said.

You're ridiculous.

“I know.”

The lights were off on the main level, but we could see a glow coming up from the basement. Brian started towards the stairs, but I put my hand on his arm.

Let me go in first, I said.

He...

You can come on a little strong.

The corner of Brian's mouth quirked up.

Come down in a little, okay? But let me start.

Brian swept his arm like be my guest and kissed the top of my head, and I carefully made my way down the stairs. Evan was sitting on his bed, twisting his hands together, and he didn't see me until I was already most of the way down.

He was crying, but he laughed a little. What are you doing here?

Brian thought you needed rescuing.

When does Brian not think I need rescuing? Come here.

I stood in front of him on the bed and he wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing his face into my shirt. I could feel him crying a little, and I let him stay just like that for a while, my fingers scratching gently on the back of his head.

Eventually he swallowed and turned his head up to me. How was the trip?

It was good. I wiped his tears off. Gus became a man.

Yeah, Evan said. I think I did too.