No Apologies

Brian called me two weeks after his mother’s funeral. “Justin and I would like to request the pleasure of your company,” he said. “How’s two weekends from now?”

I knew what it was, obviously. Brian and I had barely talked since he’d gone back to New York, after the awkward way everything went down that day. This was an olive branch, probably one Justin was making him extend, if I really looked at it honestly. And that little “Justin and I,” a reminder that this wasn’t going to a rerun of the good old days, that he hadn’t forgotten that I maybe hadn’t been the greatest to Justin at the funeral, was pure Brian. Nobody can treat their partner like shit and then turn around and bare their teeth at someone who said something maybe unkind about them like Brian Kinney.

So is it any wonder I was a little, I don’t know, trepidatious about coming to visit them?

“The longer you put off seeing him the more awkward it’s going to get,” Ben said. “He reached out to you. That’s big.”

“Yeah, and who do you want to bet’s behind that?”

“Stop thinking of them as warring parties,” he said, wiping the kitchen counter. “You think people think of us that way?”

“They’re not like us,” I said.

Ben put down the sponge and planted his hands on my shoulders. “Go to New York.”

“What about the baby?”

“I think I can go three days on my own with the baby."

“Yeah, but...”

“Let Brian show you New York,” he said. “Spend some time with him when he's not in the middle of a crisis. And for God's sake, have an actual conversation with Justin. Something that's not about Brian, or Rage, or some kind of medical emergency.”

“...What else is there?”

“Anything! Ask him about his job, or his painting, or, I don't know, how his sister's doing. Ask him if he's seen any good TV shows lately. Ask him for a restaurant recommendation. Just treat him like a person. You might find out you like him.”

Seriously, this again? “I love Justin,” I said. “He's like my little brother.”

“I said like,” Ben said. “Not love.”

**

So I told Brian yes, but two days before I was scheduled to fly up he called again. “We should reschedule,” he said. “How about next weekend?”

I was literally in the middle of packing my suitcase. I was standing there holding my fucking underwear! “Next weekend?”

“Yeah, so what is that, like...no, that’s the twelfth, never mind. Weekend after that?”

What the fuck? “Weekend after...no, I have plane tickets for this weekend.”

“So get a refund.”

“They’re not refundable.”

Brian was quiet for a minute and then said, with curiosity in his voice, “You have a chronically ill husband and you buy non-refundable shit?”

“Ben’s not...” Fuck. “it’s not an issue very often.”

Brian laughed once. “Mmmkay, you can unpack that on your own time, I have a meeting in ten. This weekend will...be fine. We'll make it work.” He paused. “I’m gonna get you a hotel room.”

“Oh, I thought I would just—“ They have a pull out couch in their office, so I assumed I’d be crashing in there and we’d stay up late, drinking and smoking and shooting the shit like the old days after we stumbled home from the bars.

“I’ll cover the cost,” he said in a voice that made it clear that was the end of the discussion.

I knew I was treading on risky ground here, but I couldn't not ask. “Is Justin all right?” I assumed it had to be something with him, though I didn’t know what that had to do with me not staying in the spare room.

“He’s fine, thanks for asking,” Brian said smoothly, well-practiced.

So either that was a lie or it wasn't, and I had no idea which.

Really should have sprung for those refundable tickets.

**

I got into New York Friday evening and dropped my stuff off at a hotel in midtown. We had plans to meet for a late dinner and hit the clubs, and I was amped to pretend I was a lot younger than I was, just for a little while. Hell, if Brian could pull it off constantly, I could survive a weekend.

They met me on the sidewalk outside a trendy-looking restaurant in Chelsea. They were dressed for going out, and they both seemed happy to see me and Justin looked perfectly healthy, so I didn't know what was going on.

The restaurant was loud and bustling but the lighting wasn't too dim, which is something I've learned is the most important thing to take into consideration where Justin's concerned. Brian had this new account he'd sealed the deal with—in more than ways than one, he said, and Justin rolled his eyes—that day, and he was all animated signing about it. I was having the hardest time keeping up with him. Justin kept reminding him to slow down. I missed when he used to talk while he signed, so I could keep up better. He never did that anymore.

Brian's monologue about work and me updating Justin on the sales of our last issue of Rage got us through appetizers and half the wait for the main course. I remembered what Ben had said, so I turned to Justin and asked how the gallery was.

Good! he said. My boss is trying to get this space in the village so then we'll have two galleries.

And next the world, Brian said.

Or Harlem, Justin said. Whichever's easiest.

Probably Harlem, Brian said charitably.

So you'll help her manage both? I said.

For now. But I'm hoping, eventually...

Brian signed up high, like a marquee. The Taylor Gallery.

Don't jinx me, Justin said.

Taylor's Trappings. Sunshine's Sundries, Brian fingerspelled. Justin's...what's an art word that starts with J?

I don't know, I don't speak English. He turned back to me. You should come back in June, he said. I'm showing a few things.

Yeah, sure, I said.

We started talking about the club they were taking us to tonight, the pros and cons of it versus Babylon (cons: more expensive drinks, pros: everything else) and I don't think I would have noticed Justin going kind of quiet if not for Brian glancing at him every so often. Our food came, and Justin just kind of picked at it, and after a minute he and Brian exchanged a look and a brief conversation too fast and small for me to follow, and Justin took out his phone.

What's up? I said.

Just something going on with a friend of ours, Brian said. He might have to go take care of it. That didn't make any sense to me, because how did they know something was going on with their friend when neither of them had looked at their phones until right that second, but Brian looked at me kind of...sharply, and I felt like I shouldn't question it. Brian speared a few pieces of his pasta on his fork and held it up to Justin, and he ate it even though he'd barely touched his own food. I was too busy trying to grasp that I was now in a reality where Brian Kinney was fucking feeding someone off his fork to really analyze that.

Brian pulled my attention away with some questions about work and the baby and Ben, kind of jumping around, and Justin smiled vaguely and checked his phone a lot.

Brian paid the check kinda fast, and when we went out to the sidewalk, Justin's friend Emily was there. Brian kissed her, and she slipped her arm around Justin's waist and tucked her head on his shoulder.

Justin said, You two have met, right?

A few times, I said. And the last time was awkward as shit. Good to see you, I said.

She signed something way too fast for me, so I just kind of nodded. Brian rolled his eyes and signed back to Emily, also too fast. God, these guys must go at light speed when I'm not around. Justin and his Deaf friends, that wasn't too surprising, but I didn't know Brian was that good.

Emily laughed at whatever Brian said and the three of them kept going for a little while I suddenly became very interested in reading the menu in the window of the restaurant we'd just fucking eaten at. After a few minutes, Brian gave Justin a quick kiss, Emily and Justin waved goodbye to me, and they walked to the subway.

“Emily looks okay,” I said to Brian.

He shrugged. “I doubt either of us is that adept at reading the inner thoughts of women. Particularly Deaf women.” He started walking us towards the club.

“What's going on with her?”

“She broke up with her girlfriend a couple weeks ago.”

I looked over my shoulder at Justin and Emily walking away, their arms linked together. “She's gay?”

“Bi or...something. She slept with Derek—you know Derek?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“And now he's dating Daphne.”

“Daphne's dating a Deaf guy?”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “That's so surprising?”

“I didn't know she signed that well.”

He gave me a weird look. “She's one of our best friends.”

Brian pulled me into this club Nova, and sure enough, it was just a bigger, louder Babylon. Queers really are the same everywhere. We drank and danced and laughed and God, I felt shitty for thinking it, but fuck was it easier not having to worry about Justin understanding me or not understanding him. It's not something that you think about—I mean, who walks around feeling grateful that they're having conversations in their first language?—but fuck, you really notice it when it's not a given anymore. And I could count all the conversations I'd had with Brian in English anytime recently on...I mean, more than one hand, but not a lot of hands.

Brian grinned as we danced, tipping his face up to the lights. “God, I needed this. I needed a fucking distraction.”

“From what?”

He shook his head. “Everything.” He took my face in my hands and kissed me. “I'm glad you're here.”

I put my forehead against his neck.”I am too.”

We danced until one, and his apartment was on the way to my hotel anyway so I ended up going back with him to have a cup of coffee and sober up a little before I tried to take the subway on my own. The way Brian had expanded on the whole Emily-Derek-Daphne drama, I was a little worried I was going to walk in on her crying, as if she didn't already hate me enough, but when the elevator got up to the penthouse I could hear music coming from the apartment even before the doors opened. Brian shrugged. “Deaf life.”

“I thought they were in mourning?”

“I guess they're finished.” He unlocked the door, and there were Emily and Justin, dancing around the living room, laughing. Justin grinned when he saw us and came up and danced on Brian, and Brian smiled and gave him a deep kiss before he went to turn down the music.

So...Justin blew off going dancing with me to stay here and dance with his friend he can see any day of the week? Because let me tell you, she didn't seem shattered outside the restaurant, and she sure as fuck didn't seem shattered now. So between that, and the weird moment where I guess Justin could just psychically tell that Emily needed him because she hadn't texted him...yeah, so I was feeling a little fucking slighted.

Justin collapsed on the couch, laughing, his legs on top of Emily's. “Did you guys have fun?” he asked me, and the fact that he said it out loud seemed kind of...I don't know, like he thought I wouldn't understand him if he signed it. Brian and Emily were already deep in conversation. I caught Justin's sign name but not much else.

Yeah, it was good. How about you guys?

Justin shrugged. “Just a quiet night at home.”

Sure. Emily feeling better?

Yeah. She just needed some company.

I saw Brian ask Emily if she was staying over.

So I couldn't stay here, but Emily could?

Not to be too blunt about it or anything, but what the fuck?

Emily said no, she wasn't staying, and Brian kissed her so fucking sweetly, and then Justin gave her this big hug, so I don't know, maybe she was dying or something. She gave me this small wave out the door, and Brian gave Justin a little shove towards the bedroom and watched him go.

I felt pretty sober without the coffee, so I figured I'd get going. “Brian?”

“Yeah,” he said, still looking into the bedroom.

“I'm gonna take off, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks for tonight.”

“Sure. We're getting breakfast tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.”

I paused by the door. “Think Justin will be there?”

“No,” he said. “Probably not.”

Couldn't socialize with a hearing person for one fucking weekend. And Ben thought I was the reason we didn't talk.

**

I was supposed to meet Brian—and, I supposed, only Brian—for breakfast at this place downtown at ten. I double-checked the address when I was still waiting at ten twenty, and called Brian when I was still waiting at ten thirty. And again at ten forty-five.

At eleven, I called Justin. He answered quickly and held a finger to his lips.

Where's Brian? I said.

He rubbed his forehead. What?

Brian? Your husband?

My...I know who Brian is.

Great, now do you know where he is?

Justin pointed the phone at the bed next to him, where Brian was sprawled out asleep with his arms stretched over his head.

Wake him up! I said.

No.

He was supposed to meet me a fucking hour ago.

Tomorrow.

What?

He sighed. Your flight home. It's tomorrow night, right?

Yeah...

He'll have breakfast with you tomorrow.

Yeah, and what the fuck about today?

He's sleeping, Justin said.

Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?

I can't do this right now, he said. I'll talk to you tomorrow.

Yeah, so fuck that. Twenty minutes later I called Justin again.

What? Justin said.

I'm outside your door. Let me in or I start pounding.

Justin hung up the phone, but a minute later the front door swung open. I told you—

You didn't tell me shit, and I think I deserve an explanation after I came all the fucking way here to see you, and you can't sacrifice one fucking night to hang out with me and Brian can't even goddamn text me to tell me he's not coming—

I don't understand what you're saying, Justin said.

You don't know what I'm talking about?

No, I literally don't understand what you're saying, can you...use signs you know better, or something?

I'm fucking trying, Justin—

I appreciate that, but I can't understand if I can't understand.

Everybody thinks I'm the fucking problem, that's what I don't understand! They blame me for not trying hard enough with you, for having issues with you and Brian, and you're the one who cancels plans and acts like a fucking asshole when I think I deserve an explanation for being fucking stood up—

“Justin!” Brian yelled, and I noticed he sounded scared before it occurred to me that it was weird that Brian was calling Justin's name out loud at all. There was a flurry of noise from the bedroom and Brian appeared half naked in the doorway, looking wild-eyed for half a second until he found me and Justin.

“Good to see you, asshole,” I said over Justin's shoulder, and Justin frowned and turned around.

Brian crossed over to him and put his hand on his shoulder. Why are you up? he said to Justin, completely ignoring me. He palmed the back of Justin's head.

I didn't want him to wake you.

I hate martyrs. He looked at me, finally. Why the fuck are you here?

Well, apparently I can't sign well enough to—

“So fucking say it out loud,” Brian said, and it was goddamn startling to see him speak in front of Justin. Justin slipped under Brian's arm and looked up at him, then at me.

Fine. Fine. “Everyone's always fucking telling me to be nicer to him and he's the one who doesn't want the first fucking thing to do with me, who fucking blows us off our plans to hang out with Emily, who by the way hates me and also didn't really look too goddamn heartbroken, and for some reason it's fine if she stays here but you have to ship me off to a hotel, and now you're fucking standing me up so you can catch up on your beauty sleep?”

Brian watched me, working his jaw in that way he does, then said, Are you done?

I guess.

Brian looked down at Justin, studying him for a second, then said, Go lie down and don't fucking get back up again, all right?

Yeah, okay. He pawed at Brian a little on his way back, and Brian placed his hand on the small of Justin's back and gave him a little push. He watched him head back to bed, then turned to me and pushed me against the wall.

“Ow!”

Brian stuck his finger in my face, and when he spoke his voice was dangerously quiet. “I have been unbelievably goddamn patient with you,” he said. “I have let you throw a ten year hissy fit about him. But this. Shit. Ends. Now.”

“Don't act like you have some fucking moral high ground—”

He let go of me and took a few steps away from me, and when he whirled back around he was laughing. “You have no fucking idea what's going on right under your goddamn nose, you know that? It's fucking remarkable how fucking oblivious you are. You could win awards. Set records.”

“Well, why don't you fucking tell me, if I'm such a moron!”

“Great. Should we start with how he looks like absolute fucking shit right now and anyone with a goddamn pulse would notice, if they weren't too busy yelling at him? Jesus, even I wouldn't fucking yell at him right now, you think you can?”

“Now hang on—”

“Or maybe we just take it from the top, with the part where I told you this wasn't a good weekend to come down?”

“Yeah, at the last fucking minute!”

“Amazingly, Justin's fucking epilepsy doesn't give him a convenient ten day's notice before it fucks him over. It's rare for him to get any warning that he's gearing up for a rough few days, so this kind of foresight was actually pretty fucking great. Not enough for you, though! Fine, so you come anyway. And Justin promises that he's going to tell me if he starts getting auras. Which, surprise!”

I started putting the pieces together. A little late, I know. “And then he texted Emily.”

“Very good. He texted Emily because Daphne was at work and he's closer with Emily than Derek so that's what we agreed on, so he'd have someone there so he wouldn't be alone when he felt like he was going to have a massive seizure. Because even though, yes, he would have rathered be with me, he didn't want to take me away from you during your weekend here. And we came up with a whole fucking lie for the occasion because you throw a fucking ten year hissy fit when something Justin needs gets in the way of what you want, so we figured we'd put the blame on Emily instead because she doesn't give a shit what you think of her.”

“But...they were dancing.”

“Yeah, he started feeling better once they got home and he'd gotten out of the lights and the crowd so they fucking had some fun, God forbid sick people be allowed to fucking have fun.”

“So if he started feeling better, then why...”

He stared me down. “Take your time.”

I sighed. “He had a seizure after she left.”

“Theeere you go. And he had two. Big ones. Hence all the exciting lead-up.”

“And you stayed awake to watch him.”

“There you go.”

“You could have just fucking told me.”

“I really fucking couldn't.”

“You told Emily!”

He pinched his nose.

I said, “No, look, I know I'm not perfect, but I've known him for ten years, and he's fine with her staying over but not me? I came and took care of him when you were in Australia, I know what I'm doing, I think I have a fucking right to—”

“He didn't want you.”

“And that's bullshit! I love him, you know that I—”

“If you love him, then you have to fucking love him even when he doesn't want you!” Brian yelled. “You love him even when he's not cuddly and feverish and adorable, because sometimes he's an asshole because he doesn't feel well or because his fucking brain is goddamn seized up and sometimes he's an asshole because he's just a fucking asshole, and you do not get to decide that he's only worth your patience or your fucking consideration when he's a helpless nonthreatening fuck because that's the only time that you're okay with coming in so completely goddamn second, because let me fucking assure you, Michael, let me clear up any motherfucking doubt—”

“Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

“You want to decide you just don't fucking like him, you go right ahead,” he said. “But you don't get to keep telling yourself you're on his side because you think rushing in when he's on his fucking death bed earns you unrestricted access to his problems. He's a goddamn man, not a puppy down a well. Respect that, and respect his fucking choices, or stop telling yourself what a great guy you are.”

“You are so fucked,” I said. “You act like you don't fucking care about him and then expect us all to know how to treat him. I mean, what kind of example are you setting?”

He gaped at me. “Is this a fucking episode of Sesame Street? You need me to teach you how to fucking be nice to him? Is this a new skill you're learning?”

“You make it seem like Justin must fucking like people being mean to him! He stays with you!”

“I am not...no. I'm not fucking dignifying this shit. You have no idea what goes on when you're not around. No goddamn fucking idea. And while we're ending shit now? The 'mean old Brian beating up on poor little Sunshine' narrative we've constructed, that's over too. You have a genuine concern over how Justin's being treated, by all means, seriously, by all fucking means, you pull him to the side and you check with him if he's okay. But nobody ever does that, you noticed that? They just bring it up as an excuse for why they won't do more for him, because Brian doesn't so why the fuck should I? So this ends. You listen to me. He is fed and fucked and honored and loved and I make no goddamn apologies.”

I don't think I'd ever heard Brian say that many words in a row in my life.

“Now get the fuck out of our apartment,” he said. “I'm going back to sleep.”

**

I came back the next morning. Brian opened the door and raised an eyebrow.

“I got bagels,” I said.

He stepped back and let me in. I set the bag on the counter and started unpacking. He watched with his arms crossed.

“How's Justin?” I said.

“He's fine.”

I wondered if Justin made him say that.

“Any more seizures yesterday?” I said.

Brian shrugged. I guess that's all I was getting.

Okay. “Is he still asleep?” I asked.

Brian gestured to the balcony. Justin was out there with an easel, facing the water.

I said, “Do you think I should...?”

“That's really up to you, now, isn't it?”

“You're really not making this easy, you know that?”

“I know, it's very out of character for me.” But his mouth quirked into a half smile, and he ripped a piece off a bagel and chewed on it. “He likes those nasty blueberry ones.”

I pulled one out of the bag. “I know.”

Brian's laptop was open on the bar, and he went back to it, so I guessed I was on my own for my peacekeeping mission. I toasted the bagel and slathered it in butter, the way I've seen Justin take his a hundred times, and brought it and a cup of coffee out to the balcony. I set them down on the little table out there and waited until Justin had lifted his brush off the canvas before I put my hand on his arm. He still jumped a little.

Sorry, I said. I gestured towards his breakfast.

He gave me a small smile and sat down and took a bite of his bagel. Sorry about yesterday, he said. I was pretty out of it.

I laughed. That's how you act when you're out of it?

Yeah, you'd be surprised.

How are you now?

Fine, thanks.

I bit back an eye roll and looked at the water. Justin kept eating, and the silence, both literal and otherwise, kind of hung there. I remembered what Ben had told me and pointed to his canvas. What's it going to be?

A hurricane, but not...literally. I'm doing a lot of weather lately. My agent thinks it's good. He wants my next collection to have more of a theme.

I didn't know you had an agent.

He nodded.

That's really cool.

Thanks.

Is this going to be in that show you have coming up? The one you mentioned?

I don't know. Depends if the gallery owner likes it.

You don't decide what pieces to show?

Justin shook his head, and then he explained to me how the show-planning process worked, and I just...listened. It was kind of wild, Justin knowing that much more than me about something that wasn't, like, literature or drawing or whatever. Something concrete. I guess I still thought of him as like this kid.

He finished eating and went back to the canvas, and I looked inside where Brian was on his laptop and quickly averting his eyes like he hadn't been watching us.

I came around where Justin could see me and said, Hey, what's the twelfth?

“The twelfth?” he said, studying his painting.

Of April. Brian said I couldn't come next weekend because it's the twelfth.

“Oh, it's our anniversary,” Justin said vaguely, dabbing some purple paint around one corner.

Like it wasn't even a big fucking deal to him that Brian didn't want company for their anniversary. Like that didn't even impress him. God, those two pissed me off sometimes!

But, I don't know.

I guess maybe it's none of my business.