On The Table

LaVieEnRose

I woke up to Justin pouncing on me and yelling, “GET UP!”

I pulled my pillow out from under me and over my face. Do you have any idea how loud you are? I signed. Sometimes I like to set him up like that.

“NOPE!” He started tickling me. “Get up get up get up get up get up.”

I wrestled him off of me and tossed the pillow to the side. Do you want me to kill you?

He grinned at me. Today's the day!

What day? I said, just to annoy him.

He groaned and crawled back on top of me, this time with gentle touches and kisses, so...I let him live. I trailed my hands over the scars on his chest. He said, Right now, Gus is sitting in first class all by himself while a flight attendant asks him if he wants his third cup of apple juice.

I should have gotten him a new suit. You can't sit in first class in jeans.

I can't believe he's coming.

Only took us living here for a fucking year.

Justin rolled off of me and lay on his back beside me, stretching his legs up, pointing his toes at the ceiling. I watched the ways the muscles in his feet contracted, how the sunlight through the window caught the almost translucent hairs on his legs. I swallowed, and he turned and looked at me, suddenly peaceful. So much to do this weekend, he said. His eyes were so goddamn blue, which I realize is just...the stupidest fucking thought, after this long, but goddamn were they blue right then.

And you have work to do.

He sighed. I know. He had a show coming up with a few other artists at a gallery in Brooklyn, and his agent, always antsy about deadlines, wanted everything squared away way, way faster than Justin was in the mood to square it.

But hey. The kid had an agent. The kid was good.

You know, I said. With Gus sleeping in the next room for two nights, God knows how we're going to be able to fuck.

Quietly?

You haven't done anything quietly in three years.

Justin rolled over onto his stomach and played with my hair. You would know.

I would.

Well. He kissed my throat. We have about an hour.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back. Lead the way.

**

They just announced his flight, I told Justin, while we waited in arrivals. He wasn't really paying attention to me, though. Justin's always a bit overwhelmed in crowds, not in the painicky way he used to be, at least not most of the time, just overstimulated and fascinated. He was darting his eyes around at people hugging and kissing, stressed out families hauling luggage of the carousels, sketchy guys offering rides to tourists, and you could almost see his mind working to come up with backstories for everyone, to make up ways they all fit together. I don't know if it's an artist thing or a head injury thing, needing to make sense of the world like that. He shouldn't have to explain it.

I tapped him on the shoulder, and he shook himself a little and wrinkled his nose apologetically. How much longer? he asked.

I pointed up at the arrivals board. No reason to tell him the hearing people got to know a few minutes before he did.

Has he texted you yet?

No...yes. There it is.

Good. He bounced a little.

I laughed. Are you nervous?

Yeah, he's a kid, he flew by himself.

Well, clearly he's alive.

I want him to have a good time, he said. I haven't seen him since New Year's. We didn't go back to Pittsburgh for Christmas that year because of Justin's show, so we made a New Year's trip instead, going against the flow of ten million tourists flooding Manhattan. Ben and Michael had just finished moving into their new house, something larger and more modern so they'd have room for the new kid they were adopting without usurping a room for J.R. when she stays over or one for Hunter, in case that new job in Chicago didn't work out. There was even a spare room after that, where Justin and I had sneaked away at midnight, and I listened to everyone counting down in the living room and tapped out seconds on Justin's collarbone. I'd seen Gus since then, on one of my all too frequent trips back to Pittsburgh to clean up some mess or another at Kinnetik, but Justin rarely came with me for those. I realized on one of those trips that they'd been using Justin not coming back all that often as an excuse to slack off on their signing, so my past few visits I made it a point not to speak English to any of them, and not to respond to any of them speaking English to me. Kind of cracking the whip, so to speak. Since then they'd all gotten back on the horse somewhat, and who knows, maybe the next time Justin was lying in a hospital bed they'd get an invite if they kept that up.

Justin tugged my sleeve. There he is.

Sure enough, Gus was coming down the escalator in the world's rattiest denim jacket, headphones jammed over his head, looking like the preteen version of a lead singer in a fucking '90s emo band. He grinned when he saw us and loped his way over, and I impulsively put an arm around Justin's waist and squeezed him.

Hey, little man, I said.

Hey, big man. He hugged me, then Justin. First class is so cool. Everyone treated me like royalty or something. The grammar was off in his signing—really Englishy, which I knew was saying something coming from me, since Justin's friends are always on him about how English his signing is, never mind my hearing-ass shit—but I could understand it, so I knew Justin could too.

Justin took Gus's bag and slung it over his shoulder. Are you hungry?

Starving. Can we get pizza?

Justin laughed. We can get pizza.

There's always something so fucking...strange about seeing the two of them together, especially now that Gus has gradually grown into, you know, a human who can hold a conversation—fuck a conversation in two languages—instead of a cute blob. I mean, we all know the story here; Justin crash-landed into my life the same night Gus did. And sure, with Justin there have been bumps along the way, but for the most part...I mean, fucking shit, my relationship is old enough to hold a conversation in two languages. How the fuck did this happen?

Justin and I have never really talked about his relationship with Gus, even now, and I at least have no desire to, because there's something kind of...well, I suppose it's not a surprise coming from me that I think there's something special in the undefined, even though Justin and I couldn't live in that space forever. Gus has never called Justin anything but his name, and when he comes to art shows Justin introduces him as “my partner's kid” and has never pushed for any role in making decisions about Gus's life, not that I have more than a small one anyway. What they have seems easy, and fuck if I'm going to screw that up by making Justin have some fucking conversation about it. When Gus started calling Jen “Grandma” I was worried one might be coming, but thankfully we seemed to have dodged that bullet there too. Gus has on occasion referred to the four of us as his parents, introducing us and Mel and Lindz to his coach after a hockey game, stuff like that, and that's fine. Really, whatever the two of them decide is fine, as long as I don't have to fucking have anything to do with it. I'd just overthink things and fuck everyone up. And you know I would, so spare me.

We took a cab back into Manhattan and went to some greasy pizza place Justin loved, and of course Gus did too. Gus showed us new pictures of the baby Ben and Michael were going to China to get next month, and we made all the appropriate excited noises even though Michael was already sending us ten emails a day. And then, because I am the most indulgent motherfucker on the planet, we took Gus to Times Square, and yeah, I'll admit, I got a kick out of watching him gawk at the lights and ask us all sort of geeky sciencey questions about how the billboards worked that I didn't really know the answers to, but at least I had better guesses than Justin did. I don't know, magic, he said.

Any science classes at St. James's Academy? I asked him.

He looked around as the ads changed. I should probably go, he said.

I hadn't even thought about the fucking flashing lights. Shit. Are you feeling weird?

I'm fine, I'm just nervous.

“Gus?” I called. He was busy scaling the red steps. We gotta go, bud.

We just got here!

I said we're going, come on. I looked at Justin. No auras or anything?

Really, I'm fine, I just realized this wasn't my best idea.

I was a nervous fucking wreck on the subway, I'll admit, trying to keep an eye on Justin without freaking out Gus, and Justin was trying to reassure me without freaking out Gus, and I was getting pissed at Justin for thinking he needed to reassure me, which he absolutely did, and trying to do that without freaking out Gus, and it was...a whole thing. We got home, and I sat in the armchair and tried to decompress while Justin dug some ice cream out of the freezer and Gus leaned on the counter, chattering at Justin.

What are we going to do tomorrow? he said. I want to go to the top of the Empire State building!

“Ask your father,” Justin said. “And ask him if he wants ice cream.”

I can hear you, I said, but he couldn't see me, obviously. We have pretty good sign lines in the apartment, obviously by design, but the cut out above the bar means you can't see the armchair if you're over by the fridge. Which was why I sat there to mope around about being worried about him.

He's going to say he doesn't want any and eat yours, Gus said. Just like he always does.

Justin came out and held out a bowl of ice cream to me, giving me one of his I'm onto your bullshit looks. Unclench, he said. Everything's fine.

I sighed and pulled him onto my lap and fed him a spoonful of ice cream. You're okay, I signed, small.

I'm okay. He leaned in close for me to kiss the ice cream off his lips.

“Gross,” Gus said from the couch. “I'm like, right here.”

**

Justin, ever so conveniently, had to work the next day, so I was stuck dragging Gus to every tourist trap in the city on my own. He was kind of quiet, like he had something on his mind, and after I'd stood in line all day just for him to pout into his burger and fries when we stopped for lunch, I'd reached the end of my patience.

I trapped his foot between mine under the table. “What's with you?”

He shrugged.

“C'mon, spill.”

Gus sighed and leaned back against the booth. “Okay, so, Mama said you two moved to New York because it was like...time for you and Justin to do that. That this was the next step for you guys.”

“Okay,” I said.

“So like...are you ever going to have a baby, or what?”

I just about choked on my sandwich. “Are we what?”

“I mean, that's how it works, right? You get married, then you have a baby. You got married.”

“Gus,” I said. “Please tell me I don't have to explain to you how babies are made.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please. Gary Bluth told me all about sex, like, two years ago.”

“Okay.” I paused. “You mean real sex, right? Not the shit heterosexuals do.”

“Dad.”

“All right, all right.”

“You can make some lady have one for you,” he said. “I bet Mama would do it.”

“Too old,” I said. "It'd come out with two heads."

“Or adopt one,” he said. “Like Michael and Ben are doing.”

I sipped my water. “That's what this is about?”

He shrugged. “J.R.'s all psyched about how she's getting a new sister. And like, what is this new baby even going to be me?”

“I don't know.”

“Nothing, really. Like...my sister's getting a sister and it's not even related to me? It's dumb.”

“I can't believe you want another sister,” I said. “Am I imagining the years you've spent complaining about J.R.?”

“She's okay now.” He stirred his milkshake. “And Moms say they don't want to have any more, but if you and Justin had a kid...”

This was a delicate situation, because there was a little more to this than just telling Gus fuck no, I don't want another kid, because he would, obviously, want to know why. And Gus had, thankfully, never pulled any of that “did you even want me,” crap on me about the fact that I didn't have custody, but that didn't mean I thought we'd be in the clear if I had to go right out and say no, I don't want to raise a kid.

“I don't think it's gonna happen, bud,” I said gently. “I'm pretty happy with just you.”

He said. “But...what about Justin?”

Well.

What about Justin.

**

Gus had homework to do, so I texted Emily and offered her an exorbitant amount of money to sit around the apartment and keep an eye on him so I could go out for a few hours.

I refuse to change any diapers, she said when she showed up.

He's nine.

Wow, then I really refuse to change any diapers.

Justin was down in his usual room in Marie's studio, working on something with a sponge brush, pressing the side of his fist into the paint to get the texture right. I trailed my hand over his shoulder blades.

You lost Gus already? he said.

Yeah, somewhere in midtown. He's a street kid now. This is cool.

Thanks.

Can you take a break?

In a minute. What's up?

Have you ever thought about having a kid?

He rolled his fist over the canvas. You mean like for dinner? he signed left-handed.

Justin.

He laughed. Why are you asking me this?

I don't know. Because I never have before.

Gus said something.

Because you're, what, a year younger than I was when Lindsay got pregnant with Gus? This is when people start thinking about this shit.

“You weren't thinking about anything,” he said. “You were stoned and Lindsay got you to jack off in a cup. There was no big life decision.”

I don't know how you feel about this, I said. Doesn't that strike you as fucking weird? I know how you feel about goddamn everything because you never fucking shut up.

He shrugged, still annoyingly casual, still working on his fucking painting. “I guess I've never really given it much thought. I never thought it was on the table.”

Because you're gay?

He gave me a weird look. “Because I assumed you wouldn't want one,” he said, like it was obvious.

What the fuck does that have to do with anything?

“Hmm, I don't know,” Justin said, waving his wedding ring at me.

That's fucked up. If you want kids—

Justin rolled his eyes and didn't stop painting and altogether acted like we weren't talking about something potentially fucking relationship-ending. “Again, I never said that I—”

You never said you don't, either.

“You know, I was in such a nice little zen painter place, and then you come in here with all the entrapment...”

Would you fucking be serious right now?

He finally fucking put down the paintbrush, and looked at me with this face like he was being so goddamn indulgent. Darling. You're the one playing dumb about the fact that whether or not you want kids has anything to do with whether or not I will have kids. Can we not fucking do that?

I bowed my head. Sorry.

He came over and sat on his studio table next to me.

I don't want you to miss out on shit because of me, he said. You know I don't want that.

Yeah, and that's a really sweet fantasy and everything, but the reality is...of course I'm going to miss out on shit. I'm missing out on being married to literally any other fucker out there.

But you could be, I insisted. If you wanted—

He threw himself back on the table. You have got to stop taking the fucking...acknowledgment that there are other paths out there as me fishing for an easy exit. I chose this. I'm happy.

And I realize that, but at the same time I want you to have absolutely fucking everything that exists in the world, because I'm a fucking mess over you, so let's not act like that's a surprise.

He smiled a little and kissed me. We have to give up things for each other sometimes, he said. You had to leave Times Square last night because of me.

I stared at him. That's your example?

He laughed. Okay, maybe not the strongest comparison.

I was fucking coming out of my skin to get out of Times Square, and even if I fucking wasn't—

Okay, okay, I get it.

Jesus Christ. I thought you were supposed to be all right-brained and shit. You're giving up having children, but it's true, I did leave Times Square for you. Jesus Christ, this is what the creative-minded are coming up with these days? Pack it in.

Can I get back to my painting now?

I don't know. You can try.

He stood up. And for the record, I don't want kids.

Well, who says I don't? my hands said, for some godforsaken reason. I came around to his easel and kissed him. Maybe I want to see a tiny you running around.

You're ridiculous.

I said, You could do that if you wanted, you know. Find some nice lesbians, have the kind of arrangement I have with Gus. You might like that.

He laughed and shook his head, but there was some kind of sadness there.

What? I said.

Come on. That's definitely off the table.

Why?

No lesbian's going to pick the guy who has a chance of passing on this disease to their kids.

I believe some Deaf lesbians might.

He shook his head. I don't want to pass it on.

Seriously? I said. I would have thought you'd want a Deaf kid.

He raised an eyebrow. Do you?

I shrugged and pulled a stool up by the easel. Yeah, sure. I mean, if we were going to have one.

Which we're not.

Right.

I don't know, he said. I'd feel bad about just...handing this to some unsuspecting kid. Maybe if they were born Deaf it'd be different, but they'd be born hearing and then have their whole life change and God knows what age...it's not really a fun experience.

No, I guess not, I said.

He sighed. Maybe when we're old. Like, very old. Like sixty.

Is this some world in which we're sixty at the same time? Do you think you're eventually going to catch up with me? I'd be fine with that.

Averaged, he said. Fifty-four and sixty-six.

Then what, then you find some Deaf lesbians?

No, then we pull a Ben and Michael and rescue a stray. Two years of parenting and then we send him off to college.

I pulled him onto my lap. Yeah, we could do that. Fuck it, if I'm still alive at sixty-six, clearly Justin's doing something right. Might as well give in and let him call the shots at that point.

He kissed me. Since you're clearly dying to add another body to the apartment, though, you could always give in and let me get a pet.

I snorted. Sure.

They make dogs that detect seizures, you know, Justin said.

That's cool. So we get one of those, and then a second one to detect when your throat closes up from the first one? Do they make those?

He laughed. I'll have you know I lived with a cat for six months and I didn't die. So there.

Oh, so that's why your face was all swollen every time I saw you? I thought you were crying over me that whole time.

He kissed my nose. Some of each. He sighed. If you're not going to get me a pet, can I at least get back to work?

Can I stay and watch you?

Yeah.

Then okay.