Promises

LaVieEnRose

So we've established that I have no shortage of affection for Justin and certainly, Lord help me, no shortage of patience, that I am more than happy to share with him my bed, my bank account, my life, but when he walked into my office mid-afternoon in February I wanted him to be literally anywhere else in the world. He tried to say hi and I greeted him instead with Not now. Prince fucking Charming, that's me.

He scratched absently at his arm. What's up?

I really can't...we fired Marcus this morning.

Oh, wow. Why?

What about me gave him the impression I had time to talk about this right now? Because he hadn't been doing half the shit he said he was doing, he was just fucking lying about it for goddamn months, so now I'm trying to pick up the slack and figure out what clients he didn't check in with and what accounts he didn't charge and what paperwork he didn't file, and I screamed at Emily and now she's crying and I don't...what the fuck are you even doing here?

He ran his hand over his mouth, which is absolutely a mannerism he stole from me, and on another day I might have found that endearing. Nothing.

Okay, you're obviously lying, but I don't have time to deal with that right now.

He cracked a smile. Yeah, but it's nothing. We can talk about it later. He leaned over my desk and gave me a quick kiss before he headed out, and I swear I was about to throw something at him, maybe even something soft, who knows, to get his attention and give him something at least adjacent to an apology, but then I got another email from Cynthia about e-fucking-nother way Marcus had completely fucking screwed us over, and by the time I even glanced up from that Justin was gone.

Half an hour later, I'd pretty much forgotten he was ever there.

**

I didn't get home that night until almost eleven. I was fucking starving and had really been hoping Justin had made something, but instead he was just lying on the couch and there was an empty bowl in the sink and a box of cereal on the counter, because God forbid he ever actually clean up a goddamn thing. I threw my briefcase on the chair and kicked off my shoes and was grateful to not have to give a shit about how loud I was, though probably I wouldn't have cared anyway right then.

“Hi,” Justin said.

I checked the fridge. Why is there no fucking food in this house?

He shrugged and twisted to his elbow and sneezed a few times, which was enough to jog my memory about his day, at least.

I said, You didn't go to work today, you'd think you could go to the store.

I did go to work, he said. I took a couple hours off, that's all.

I sighed and came into the living room, loosening my tie. How'd the allergist go?

Fine.

It seems like they didn't magically fix you.

Yeah, I hate when they don't do that. He dug his knuckle into his eye until I slapped his hand away.

Did you get a daily inhaler prescription?

He doesn't think I need it yet.

I shrugged. Okay. I'm going to order pizza or something. Not that we can fucking afford it. You know we lost eighty thousand dollars today?

He sat up. We what?

Yeah. Well, actually, we lost it fucking months ago, and Marcus just didn't feel the need to tell us until now. You're lucky we already put the fucking deposit down on this Italy trip... I picked up the phone and called for pizza, and Justin turned the TV on. I ranted about fucking Marcus while I waited for the pizza and got the pizza and ate way too goddamn much of the pizza, and Justin sort of listened and mostly worked his way through a box of tissues and glared at me when I batted his hand away from his eyes. Eat some of this, I told him. You weren't this skinny when you were a teenager, for God's sake.

He sneezed and shook his head. “I can't taste anything.” His voice was hoarse, quiet.

I nudged my foot against his. What did you come by to tell me earlier?

“Oh. I sold the green painting. The gallery called today. So now we're only down seventy-eight and a half thousand dollars.”

Guess we can go to Italy after all, I said, which was the closest he was going to get to an apology, and he knew it.

“Yeah, guess so.” He leaned his head against my shoulder but pulled away a second later to cough.

I rubbed his back. You really don't sound good, you know.

“I'll take your word for it.” He coughed a little more. “I'm gonna shower. Are you coming?”

I looked him up and down, that too-skinny, still perfectly-working body, and wanted to very, very badly. I have to work.

Okay. He scratched his wrist. You're going to be working late again tomorrow too, I'm guessing?

Yeah, why?

“Nothing, I just have that movie with Gabe, so I won't be here either. So you don't have to cry into your files about poor Sunshine all on his own.”

Thank God.

He smacked me on the head on the way to the shower, and I poured myself a drink and settled in for a long night.

Which, it turned out, was even longer than anticipated, because when I finally fell into bed around three, Justin, as if he'd been fucking saving it for the instant I was ready to sleep, started snoring. “Are you fucking kidding me,” I growled, and I put every effort I had left into not rolling him over as roughly as I could.

He woke up as I was rolling him onto his stomach. “Don't want to,” he mumbled. “Don't feel good,” except he was wriggling and spreading his legs out.

I contemplated that, and how fucking tired I was, and shook his shoulder until he looked at me. Do you want to or not, what the fuck is this?

He rolled to his back. “Yeah, but I can't breathe on my stomach.”

I kissed him roughly. Once I'm done with you you're turning back over.

“No...”

I fucked him hard enough to work him into a good sweat and to hopefully take the edge off the fucking coiled up aggression I was holding in my stomach, but I was still pissed off when we were done, though feeling more warmly to the guy who'd just made me purr like a damn kitten, at least. I cleaned him off and watched with amusement as he coughed up all the crap I'd loosened up in his chest. Better? I asked.

He spit into a wad of tissues. “Ugh. Gross.”

Maybe sex is the cure for snoring. Come here.

No, I don't want to be on the wet spot.

Shut up and come here.

He grumbled and fit himself into the crook of my arm, and I swatted him on the back of the head when he sneezed pathetically into my chest. He squirmed around trying to get comfortable, slinging his leg over mine, readjusting every time I steadfastly stopped him from trying to fall asleep on his back.

Eventually I caught him in something someone a less charitable person might call a headlock and pinned him in place. Stay, I signed in his face.

He struggled against it a little but gave up finally, cheek on my chest. I could feel him watching me, so I closed my eyes, but he said, “Brian?” with his fucked up R that cut through the sleep I was finally, finally falling into.

“Yeah?” I said, hugging him into me, eyes still closed. He could get it off my lips.

He fit his forehead against my neck. “Nothing.”

I kissed the top of his head as I drifted off. “Kay.”

I was almost, almost asleep, so fucking close, when he started snoring again.

**

So, okay, look, it was day two of this Marcus crap, he had the goddamn nerve to make noise about filing wrongful termination while I was literally still in the process of discovering more things he'd fucked up, and I was running on about ten solid minutes of sleep and had used up any decency I had apologizing to Emily for yelling at her the day before,

All this to explain why I was, once again, not the sweetest to Justin when he interrupted my work day, this time with a phone call a little after five. Really can't talk, I said.

He was walking to the subway, and he said something out loud, the hand that wasn't holding his phone scratching underneath his collar, but he doesn't know he has to raise his voice over the construction and shit that he walks past.

Street noise, I said. Sign.

Did you go to the pharmacy last week?

What are you talking about?

Last week, I think it was Wednesday? You said you were going to go.

No, that was when the train was down so I just took a cab straight home from work. Gently getting Justin to remember on his own that two things happened on the same day is always kind of a Herculean task, and it wasn't one I was really feeling like undertaking right then. Cynthia was already in the doorway with an armful of what I could only assume was more bad news.

Oh. Right.

From what I can see, your legs work fine, I said. You go to the pharmacy.

Yeah, I am. I was just checking that you didn't already go and just leave my meds somewhere—

Sunshine, I do not have time for this. “Come in,” I said to Cynthia.

She said, “If I'm interrupting—”

“No, he's interrupting.”

Fuck you, Justin said.

What the fuck, you read lips now?

I'm going to go to the pharmacy now so I don't have seizures, Justin said. And then I'm going to go out with my boyfriend who's a lot nicer than you are.

Yes, I know he's nicer than I am, that's literally what he's for.

Cynthia said, “Why don't I give you two—”

“No, we're done.” I hung up and turned to her. “How bad is it?”

Cynthia said, “Uh, well, we haven't paid the rent on the office in three months and they've been making noise about evicting us. How bad would you say that is?”

“Well, I don't know. They can't evict us if I fucking burn this place to the ground.”

**

I got home before nine to do the rest of the work from the apartment because I physically couldn't stand to be at the office any longer. I was, somehow, once again surprised by the lack of food in the refrigerator, not to mention by Justin on the couch. I shook him by the knee and said, What happened to your date?

“Cancelled.”

Couldn't have gone to the store, then?

“I ordered groceries. They'll be here in the morning.”

At least there was beer. I got one out and held one up for him, but he shook his head. Is the gallery giving you a direct deposit on the painting money, or did they write you a check?

“They wrote me a check.” He sat up a little, stretching his hand as it started shaking. “Is it really that dire that we're giving a shit about my painting money?”

No, I just didn't see it in the bank account today and I was wondering if you'd fucking lost it.

“I didn't lose it.” He pulled his legs in to make room for me on the couch. “I just haven't deposited it yet.”

“Okay.” I took a swig of my beer. God, what a fucking day. What's up with you, why did you cancel? I ask because I need to know if you're too sick to survive on your own if I fucking throw myself off the balcony.

“You know, we talk about throwing ourselves off that balcony a lot.”

Yeah, the new place I move us into because we'll no longer be able to afford this probably shouldn't have a balcony. We'll have to switch to threatening to drink bleach.

“Comforting. I feel really good about your mental state right now.”

I rolled my eyes. I'm fine. It's not like I'm you.

“Wow, thanks.”

I nodded to his hand. That's been going for a while.

“I guess.”

Give it to me. That why you cancelled?

“No, headache.”

I massaged his hand. Migraine?

He shook his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Just sinuses.”

Yeah, your voice still sounds like crap. And your eyes are swollen. And you've been scratching for two days, you're driving me crazy. Do you have hives? Let me see.

He sneezed and let me pull on him and check his skin.

Yeah, look at this. Seriously, your allergist was just fine with this?

What was he going to do, lock me in a plastic bubble?

Yeah, I guess.

He scratched his wrists, watching me. “You look really tired,” he said.

Yeah, well. You kept me up all fucking night.

He looked down. “Yeah. I can sleep in the office until the meds kick in.”

I didn't like it, and I felt like an asshole, but what the fuck could I do? I couldn't keep dealing with this crap on zero sleep, and God knows he fits better on the pull-out than I do. Okay. I kissed him, gentler than I was feeling. I have to get back to work. Order something for dinner, I'm fucking starving.

I set up shop in the office and combed through receipts and barely glanced up when Justin put a few sushi rolls next to me an hour later. I finally got up for a break when I heard him in the shower, but I ended up just watching him cough in the steam instead of doing anything to him.

You need to go back to the fucking doctor, I said. You're like this in fucking February, what's your plan for June?

He scratched the hives on his wrist. “I don't know yet.”

He seriously didn't give you any new prescriptions for this shit? Maybe he prescribed like ten things and your interpreter was just a moron.

Yeah, maybe. He washed my arms, fingers catching my collarbone. “You should sleep in tomorrow. You deserve it.” He got up on his toes and kissed me. “I'll make you breakfast.”

I can't, I have to go back to the office first thing.

On Saturday?

I shrugged.

“Fucking Marcus.”

Yeah, you can say that again.

Fucking Marcus.

I smiled a little without really meaning to. Bilingual perks.

“Yeah.”

I went back to the office got some more worked done and snapped at Justin when he coughed too much and made way more fucking noise than was necessary pulling out the couch and he snapped at me when he wanted to sleep and the light from my laptop was bothering him. Eventually I couldn't fucking concentrate over his snoring anyway, so I moved to the bedroom and kept sorting through old emails until my eyes wouldn't stay open anymore.

I couldn't sleep, though, which was goddamn ridiculous after being awake for this long. I cursed the traffic noise, cursed the lights on in the building next door, cursed the soft snoring I could still hear from two rooms away, and I tossed and turned in a bed that felt somehow impossibly large and finally gave up and went to the office and turned the light on.

Come on, I said, while he blinked blearily up at me.

“What?”

The bed's got the fucking...hypoallergenic everything. You shouldn't be sleeping in here.

He was so confused. He's always at his worst right after he wakes up. “Do you...okay, do you want to switch or—”

I sighed. Come to bed, Justin.

“Oh. Okay.”

He snored like a damn train, and I was worn out enough that I slept on top of him just fucking fine.

**

He was still fast asleep when I left for the office the next morning, and when my phone rang around eleven I figured it was him bitching at me for leaving him to take care of the grocery delivery singlehanded, but it was Emily, who doesn't normally call me. There's an app the Deaf kids like where we send short videos back and forth, like a signing version of texting, and that's how I usually communicate with her.

She was standing in her bright little kitchen Daphne and I helped her decorate. She said, Fuck, are you still at the fucking office? Go home. Your husband misses you.

Probably not, I've just been yelling at him for two days.

Hmm, what's that like?

I gave her a simpering look. Can I help you, darling?

Yeah, so...I get dental insurance, right?

Of course.

Okay, that's what I thought, but I went to the dentist last week and I just got a letter saying my insurance was denied.

What? Let me see.

I can fucking read English, you know. Here. She held it up to the camera.

I read it and sat back in my chair. God fucking damn it, Marcus. Hang on. I started searching through the files Cynthia dropped off yesterday afternoon. How much is the bill for? I'll cover it, don't worry about that, okay?

Don't be ridiculous.

I'm not. You're my employee, I take care of you, this is my job. I stopped halfway through the pile, staring at the page in front of me. He didn't renew any of the health insurance. It all expired at the beginning of last week.

Jesus, is there anything this fucker didn't screw up?

This is...this can't be right.

You can fix it, right?

Yeah, in a few weeks, but...

I kept staring at this paper, like it was going to tell me anything other than the fucking obvious truth of the situation.

Emily waved until I looked at her. What is it?

I have to go home, I said.

What's wrong?

My partner's a fucking liar.

**

Justin was putting away the grocery delivery when I got home. “Hey, I didn't think you'd be home for a while.” He held up the box he was holding. “They had those shells they were out of for a few weeks. I thought I'd make clam sauce tonight.”

You didn't go to the doctor, did you?

He set the box down slowly. “I went,” he said carefully.

And then they kicked you out because you didn't have health insurance? Justin, look at me. I slammed my hand on the counter, and he jumped. Look at me.

He did, barely.

Why the fuck didn't you tell me? I said.

“I was going to. I came to the office to tell you, but...you haven't exactly been easy to talk to these past few days, and—”

No, I said. Absolutely not. You do not get to not tell me big and important shit because I'm a little fucking cranky. That is not how this works.

You were already stressed, you didn't need—

Yes, I absolutely needed to know about this, because this does not just affect you, this is three hundred employees who I am responsible for, who trust me, and you have known for three days that I wasn't taking care of them and you didn't tell me. And you know what, this fucking is about you, because you knew that I wasn't taking care of you and you didn't tell me, and that's fucking fucked up.

I'm fine, Justin said.

You can't sleep, you can barely fucking breathe, and you had me fucking believing that a doctor fucking saw you and thought this was okay! I thought you were fine!

Calm down, he said. I am fine. I've had allergies my whole fucking life, it's not a big deal.

Bullshit. Bullshit. And what if something had fucking happened to you? What we'd had some kind of emergency? When exactly the fuck were you planning on telling me this?

When I came to your fucking office to tell you, and I—

I what? I wasn't a perfect fucking gentleman to you, so you made up some fucking lie about selling your painting?

He set his jaw. That wasn't a lie. I sold my painting.

Then where the fuck's the money, Justin?

He crossed his arms.

You spent it at the pharmacy, I realized. You got the meds out of pocket.

“My anticonvulsant was out, I needed—”

How much were they?

He chewed the inside of his cheek. Eight hundred dollars.

You spent eight hundred fucking dollars so you wouldn't have to have a conversation with me.

No, I spent eight hundred fucking dollars because I needed my prescription that day and even if I had told you, you couldn't have—

I took a few steps back from him. This is such bullshit, I said. Hiding shit like this from me, fucking lying to my face, this is not a goddamn marriage.

He scoffed. “Don't act like the fact that we're married has something to do with our fucking standard of behavior, we got married so—”

“We got married so you could FUCKING HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE!” I screamed at him, out loud.

He stood there staring at me and looking so fucking small, like he'd fucking never seen the world before or something.

I ran my hand over my mouth. Did you get that?

“Yeah.”

I'm sorry. I should have signed it. He doesn't only deserve people speaking his language when they're not mad at him, that's not how it works.

Just like I don't only deserve the fucking truth about his goddamn health when I'm being sweet to him.

He shrugged a little.

You have to explain it to me, I said. You have to tell me what the fuck made you think it was okay to fucking look at me and lie to me about this.

You don't understand.

I swear to God, I'm making sure they put him down as the cause of death when I'm mercifully dragged from this world. I...understand that I don't understand, that's why I'm telling you to explain it to me.

It is different for me, he said. Trying to fucking...have a conversation with someone who's mad, it's different for me.

I rolled my eyes. Don't make this a brain damage thing.

No, I'm making this a brain damage thing! he said, and he was shaking a little. You don't understand how fucking scary the world is to me! It is not the same!

So, what, you're scared of me, that's it? I snap at you because I'm having a bad fucking day and I'm too scary for you to talk to?

Don't make fun of me! he said.

I'm not—

Yes you are, and you don't fucking get it! he said. I am in fucking...I think about the worst case scenario all the goddamn time, okay? I am prepared for the worst fucking thing that can happen all the time, I can't stop.

I said, Well, what the fuck is the worst fucking case here? What do you think I'm going to do, fucking hit you because you give me bad news about our fucking health insurance?

“Of course not.”

Then what?

“I don't know!” he said, covering his face with his hands. “I was just scared, okay? I'm scared all the fucking time. You think you're the only one thinking what if there's an emergency? I've been walking around afraid to fucking breathe, I don't...” He raked his hands through his hair and dropped his arms.

I know, okay? I said. I do know that you're scared all the time.

He shook his head. You're always saying I'm fearless.

Well...yeah, look at you. You go out and do shit anyway.

He laughed a little, and I could hear the tears in the back of his throat and Jesus, I'm only human. “I don't do anything. I didn't even argue with the receptionist at the office about the insurance. I just said okay and left. The interpreter probably went home and told her interpreter friends what a pushover I am.”

You can't be scared of me, I said. It's been ten fucking years and...and I have baggage about this, you can't be scared of me.

“You could always be nicer to me,” he grumbled, but he fit himself into my arms. I held him for a while and willed myself to calm down, running my hand up and down his back.

What if I wrap you in bubble wrap until you have health insurance again? I asked when we broke apart. Does that count as nice?

“Yeah, that'd be okay.”

I gave him an easy smack on the cheek. Don't lie to me anymore.

“Okay.”

I'll get this insurance thing sorted out. I looked at the pasta on the counter. Maybe don't boil water until then. I think those skin grafts were expensive.

He made a face at the joke and then sneezed twenty thousand times and pawed at his eyes. I knocked his hand away and tilted my head to the side, watching him.

I know you're miserable, I said. You really wanted that appointment. Set up a new one, I'll come with you, I'll explain we're paying out of pocket.

He shook his head. I can wait, it's fine, he said. I sighed, and he put his hand on my arm. “Hey, what?”

I shrugged. This is why we got married. So I could do this thing for you. This one thing. And I fucked it up.

You didn't fuck it up.

I should have been on top of this shit.

He placed his hand on my chest. I looked down at it for a little while.

I think you can divorce me now, if you want, I said. I think you'd be within your rights.

“Okay,” he said. “I'll keep that in mind.”

I ran my hand over his hair a few times. I have to go back to the office. I'll call as soon as I get there and start fixing this.

“Okay,” he said, but as I was leaving he said, “Brian?” and God, he sounded so fucking nervous.

I turned around.

He shrugged, looking right at me. It's why we went up to Vermont and signed a piece of paper, he said. That's all.

I swallowed. I know.

And I could get it through my work, he said. It's not as good as your policy, but I could—

I shook my head. No, I'm going to fix this.

Okay, but...you get my point, right? I don't need you for this anymore.

I didn't say anything.

He raised his arms up and dropped them. I'm here, okay? I don't need you to do this thing for me anymore and here I am.

I nodded a little.

And I'd do it again right now, he said. Marry your fucking useless, uninsured ass.

I loved him a lot right then.

So I said, There is nothing useless about my ass.

I could still hear him laughing as I closed the door, took a deep breath, and I headed back to the office. Because I had shit to take care of, because fuck it, he didn't fucking feel good and I'd stood in a courthouse in goddamn Vermont and made a promise about that.

And also because if I didn't get him that allergist appointment he was fucking never going to stop snoring.