Sparks Fly

LaVieEnRose

So Spike's calling at two-fifteen, Emily said, while I sat there and nodded and pretended like this was any normal briefing, and that I wasn't wondering what those owl eyes of hers would look like on an infant. I'm going to have the comps couriered over to them by one if I have to go down to the art department and draw them myself. And then courier them. Myself.

Can you draw? I said.

I do great doodles of tornados picking up houses. They'll love them.

Sounds great.

She checked her list. And Isabel wants to consult with you on her campaign for that anti-aging serum.

Sounds homophobic, but okay. Tell her noon is fine.

Okay. What do you think of Isabel's assistant?

Oh, he sucks.

Okay great. Didn't know if it was just me.

No, he's categorically the worst, but she likes him for some reason. I don't think she realizes she could have an assistant who actually doesn't make her life more difficult. Do me a favor and don't tell her? Don't go getting yourself poached.

She clucked her tongue. But it would be so exciting to work for all the executives.

Found my moment. I already don't know what we're going to do when you go on maternity leave, I said, watching her.

She grinned, slowly. He remembered.

He remembered. How the fuck did you not talk to me about this?

Oh, I'm sorry, boss, I didn't realize you were privy to what I do with my body.

Jesus Christ, you're exhausting.

She shifted nervously from foot to foot. Is he going to do it?

He's still mulling it over.

Do you want him to do it?

I gave her a look. Do I want a baby around who looks like Justin who I have to take zero responsibility for? You really asking me this?

Yeah, yeah, never mind.

Just make sure you get all the legal stuff squared away before he goes squirting anything up you. You're going to want to get contracts and a lawyer, make sure you're protected and everything. Do you have a legal interpreter you like?

Yeah, I can use the one from when I signed my lease. Though I'm not really worried about Justin screwing me over.

I shook my head. Doesn't matter, this is you and your kid. Get it in writing. And it's for Justin's protection too. I studied her. You're sure about this? You're pretty fucking young.

I'm not that young. And Gwen's thirty.

You don't want to get married first? They'd legalized it in New York the year before, so you no longer had to make the New England sojourn Justin and I did back in the day.

She shook her head. I don't want to get married. We couldn't get married for thousands of years, and we did just fine. We don't need a heterosexual stamp of approval to have a baby.

I'd marry this girl if she weren't so against marriage. Finally. Yes. Thank you.

No offense.

Offense? We did it for the health insurance, not to take the next step in our little relationship.

Oh, the rings are a health insurance stipulation, huh?

I glared, and she grinned at me as she backed out of my office.

Convince him, okay? she said. Lots of paperwork. He's not going to be on the hook for money or custody or anything like that. Just some semen and you get to borrow a baby when you want it.

I don't think it's going to take a lot of convincing, I said. He likes kids. I paused. You realize I'm going to spoil the fuck out of this baby, right?

Counting on it!

**

It was, incidentally, Justin's birthday, and for the first time in years he was actually in decent shape for it. Not that he was a hundred percent back to where he was before this latest bout of sucking misery—he was still having a lot of trouble with his hand, and he was sleeping fourteen hours a day, and he still had these brutal migraines a few times a week and a constant low-level headache (and that, I am sorry to say, never got better; Justin's head hurts all of the time now)—but his memory was for the most part back to where it was, he wasn't losing his temper over, you know, literally nothing, and the cut on his forehead had faded to a light pink scar. All the lights at Nova were still too much for him, but he was up for a few hours at the bar with our friends, so that's what we did, even though his one-drink limit meant he nursed a beer all night while the rest of us did shots.

The baby stuff came up pretty quickly.

I just don't see why you don't ask Brian, Justin said. He makes cute kids.

I'm too old, I said. It'd come out with three eyes.

He's too tall! Emily said. I can't fit that baby in my uterus. And I can't have a baby with a hearing person. My body would know it's hearing sperm and spit it right back out.

I was hearing until I was twenty-three, though, Justin said. You've got better odds of a Deaf baby with Derek.

Veto, Daphne said. Those are my babies.

Derek said, I'm only Deaf because I was a preemie, there's no chance of me passing it on. At least with you there's some hope that even if it's born hearing it won't always be. A trapdoor.

Losing your hearing is actually not fun, though, Justin said.

Derek shrugged. I don't remember.

Emily waved a hand to shut us up. None of this is a concern. She counted it out on her fingers. Both my parents are Deaf. All four of my grandparents. Three brothers, two nieces, five nephews, even though one of my brother's wives is hearing—Deaf, Deaf, Deaf. St. Boroughs don't make hearing babies.

You know my sister had a seizure once, Justin said. So they could be genetic.

I'm not scared of your epileptic sperm! Emily said.

Gwen ordered another round. As long as you give her the blue eyes, she's happy.

Emily grabbed Justin by the chin. Can you blame me? Look at those eyes.

Can't have blue eyes if you have brown eyes, Daphne said.

We'll see about that, Emily said.

Derek said, What the fuck are you going to do about a last name? St. Boroughs doesn't exactly hyphenate.

Hyphenate it anyway, Gwen said. Get the kid hating us right off the bat.

This is so cool, Molly said, reaching for another shot before I batted her hand away. Mom's going to be so fucking happy.

Oh, yeah, she's a good grandmother, too, I said. Gus cleans up.

Have you told Gus yet? Molly asked.

I shook my head. He'll be here tomorrow. Might as well tell him in person. He was coming up for a week, spring break in the big city.

We don't even know if there's anything to tell him yet, Justin said.

I know, I know. Emily kissed his cheek. Take your time.

Justin sipped his beer and changed the subject.

I leaned on him on the way to the subway a few hours later, while he was escorting my drunk ass to the subway. Twenty-nine, I said. Wow wow wow.

“Watch out for that—the crack there, Brian.”

Met you. Had a baby.

“You sure did.”

I was twenty-eight when Lindsay got pregnant, though. So you're behind. I nibbled on his ear as we walked. You would make such pretty babies.

“Christ, you're trashed.”

I hope it has your voice.

I don't think this is a good idea, he said.

What, fucking you on the sidewalk?

No, that's fine. But I don't think I'd be any good at raising a kid.

“Psshh,” I said. You don't have to raise anything. The mommies do the work. You get to hold a baby when you want to and then he grows up and you get him for spring break. I paused at the steps for the subway so Justin could get on the side of me with the railing. Gus turned out fine and God knows you'll do better than I did.

Gus is a terror.

Yeah, but he's cute. Besides, who cares if you get a terror? I caught him when he slipped a little on the stairs. That’s the moms’ problem, again. And maybe you’ll be lucky and get a girl.

You’re saying girls are better? Have you met Molly?

True. Plus I think Gus might stage a revolt if he gets a third sister. Hey, I guess your kid will be Jewish too, right? With Gwen. We got down to the subway platform, and Justin stayed a body length away from the edge, like always.

“Brian, I don’t even know if I’m going to do it,” he said out loud, which was weird for him to do when there were other people around like this, and it definitely startled the ones who’d been watching us sign.

Yeah, I know, and why the fuck is that?

Justin shrugged and laughed coldly and looked around the platform and otherwise made it very clear he'd rather be anywhere in the world but here having this conversation. Because...what fucking kid would want me as a father?

No, I said. I am too fucking drunk to deal with this bullshit.

Yeah, I know, he said as the train pulled up, and I instinctively put a hand on him. I just always do.

See? he said.

What the fuck are you talking about?

Nothing. He kissed me. Let's go home. Birthday sex.

All of a sudden everything else seemed utterly unimportant. Yes. Birthday sex.

**

We didn't continue that conversation for a while, because, well, there was a lot of birthday sex, and then Gus came. He wanted to see a show and we couldn't find anything interpreted, but Justin told us to go anyway, so Gus and I saw some musical that wasn't half bad and ate pretzels from a street cart and walked around for a while. I'd seen him when I was in Pittsburgh while Justin was hurt, but I hadn't exactly gotten to spend a lot of quality time with him, so he filled me in on school and his Bar Mitzvah prep and how things were going with the family. I'd kept Justin from having any visitors because he was so overwhelmed just from goddamn existing, but it meant that they were all hassling me all the time about how he was doing and I didn't kid myself that part of the reason they'd decided to send Gus up here spur of the moment was to play spy. I didn't mind all that much. They were worried about Justin. A month ago he'd bashed his head open on the floor and they weren't sure if he was going to wake up. They fucking should be worried about him.

“You can barely see the scar on his forehead,” Gus said.

“Yeah, it should fade pretty good.”

“That's too bad. Scars are cool.”

It was so, so goddamn hard not to tell him about Justin and Emily, but Justin still hadn't technically said yes yet, even though honestly the thought that he wouldn't eventually hadn't really crossed my mind at that point, and he and Gus were going to be alone together the whole next day while I was at work, so I figured Justin would tell him then. For someone with a (recovering, let's give credit where credit is due) tendency towards lying, Justin can't keep good news to himself for anything.

I got home late and Gus was asleep in front of the TV and Justin was at the kitchen table with a glass of wine, working on our taxes. I used to have Ted do mine, obviously, but Justin always did his own and when we got married he took them over and...I don't know, I haven't been audited yet.

There's really no reason for me to earn any money at all, he said. Your tax bracket just takes it all. I might as well give up painting entirely. Or just start giving them away for free.

You say that every year.

He turned a sheet over. Well, you know. Me and my memory.

What'd you two get into today?

Met. He didn't hate it.

Between musicals and art, maybe we'll make a gay out of him yet. I poured myself some wine.

Do you think you can get home early-ish on Friday? Gabriel asked me to get dinner and I don't want to just abandon Gus. I can reschedule with Gabriel if you want.

No, that should be fine. I leaned against the counter and sipped my wine and watched him. Are you two okay?

God, who knows. I guess. He hasn't bailed, I guess.

Have you told him about the baby thing? Did you tell Gus? Did he beg for a brother?

Justin sighed and sat back in his chair. I haven't told either of them. I don't know yet that there's anything to tell.

I rolled my eyes. You know you're going to do it. It's Emily.

Yeah, and Emily deserves a stable, reliable guy to be the father. And so does her baby.

Is this about passing your disease on? Because you heard her, the kid's probably going to be born Deaf anyway.

No, not really.

Then what?

He pulled his legs up. A month ago I was in a fucking coma.

Yeah, for like twelve hours. Drama queen.

This shit keeps happening. It's going to keep happening. This kid's going to grow up and as soon as it gets some grasp of what's going on it's going to have to worry about me. Worry about its dad. What the fuck kind of parenting is that? How's he going to feel when he's having his graduation and no, Dad can't come because he had another fucking seizure, or maybe because he's just freaking out at the idea of being trapped in a room with a bunch of people. This isn't me doing some self-pitying shit, this is...this is reality. I deal with this and it's fine, but what kind of an asshole would I be to bring someone else into this horror show? I'm not capable, Brian. You tell me I don't have to raise it, I just get to hold a baby whenever I want? You're really going to trust my shaky fucking self with a baby? I wouldn't. Nobody should. I'm a hazard. I would be terrified to even be around a tiny baby. And you think I should love one?

I'd like to say that what I did next was planned and deliberate, that I was trying to get a certain reaction out of him.

In reality I was just fucking...well. It's not pretty, but I was disgusted.

I set the wine glass down.

When did you become this person? I asked him. When did this happen?

What?

Because this isn't a head injury thing, this was before. This has...been happening. And I just let you do it. Where the fuck did your spark go? When did you become this scared...I mean, do you think this is something you have to do? You think what, if you don't worry about something, no one else will? Because Jesus Christ, this isn't you. And you know what, you're right, this guy wouldn't be a good dad. You'd raise a kid who's just...weak.

Justin moved his wine glass away, carefully. Are you calling me a coward?

If the shoe fits.

Wow. Fuck you, Brian.

You've been disabled since you were eighteen, I told him. And you have been out there pushing limits the entire time, being reckless, doing stupid shit, and I am there to pull you back. And now what the fuck am I supposed to do when you don't have the balls to, to what, hold a baby because you might have a seizure? You said you wanted things to be different when you came back from California, is this it, is this different? Your fucking mansion filled with pillows—

This is such bullshit! You fucking freak out and assume I'm dead if I don't answer my phone, but I'm not allowed to—

That's my fucking job! I said, and it occurred to me vaguely that one of the perks of sign language was I could goddamn scream at him without waking up Gus ten feet away. You want me to fucking go into how much I worry about you, would that make you feel better?

No.

I can barely fucking sleep, I can't get a goddamn thought through my head, I...it's every fucking minute of my goddamn life I am scared that you aren't okay, and for what? So you can get out there and live your fucking life and know someone is on top of shit, not so you can fucking lie around like some sad sack of shit and steal my fucking job.

You're fucking crazy.

I worry, that's my job, you roll your eyes and tell me I'm overreacting and fucking do whatever you were going to do anyway, that's your job.

Justin narrowed his eyes. That was the set up when I was a relatively healthy little shit joining the Pink fucking Posse, not now.

Why not?

Because you're not overreacting anymore!

So what? I yelled. So what, so you get to decide on your own that you just get to stop doing this little dance we've been doing for ten fucking years? Bullshit. Bullshit. You can't just stop, you don't get to decide on your own that we're not who we used to be anymore. You don't get to stop.

Justin stood up. You're calling me weak for being scared of something that's happening in my own goddamn body because you think you have some sort of fucking executive license over me? Fuck you, Brian.

I shrugged and faked nonchalance because that's my go-to, it's always my fucking go-to. I'm just wondering where my fearless little shit is, all right, it was an innocent fucking question—

Oh, bullshit it was. You get to stand there and tell me how you don't sleep like a fucking martyr and you're a hero but I'm scared for a while and you think you have grounds to tell me I'm pathetic. What's next, my hand goes out so I'm weak?

No, Jesus, that's a fucking symptom. Have all the goddamn symptoms you want.

Being scared is a fucking symptom, you fucking asshole!

Yeah, and you fight it! You've been fighting it for goddamn years and I'm looking back on it now and wondering when the fuck it was that you stopped. When you just fucking gradually started being this person who lets this shit push you around, because this isn't my Justin. I don't know who this is.

Don't fucking manipulate me with your 'my Justin' bullshit. I'm not Sunshiney enough for you?

No.

He pointed to the hall. There's the door, Brian. I'm not good enough for you, leave. Go find someone who will make Gus the brother of your dreams because it's not fucking me. You'll get some goddamn cowardly baby raised by a fucking wimp, I guess.

You're fine, I said, because how was he not getting this? You're just not Justin. And you're in there, somewhere, I just...I don't know when the fear took you over.

Jesus Christ, maybe when fucking terrifying things kept happening to me over and over! He was crying a little now. Don't stand there and tell me you haven't been freaked out, you've been coddling me for fucking weeks and now all of a sudden I just, what, I have to be over it?

I was coddling you because you were sick, I said. You're fine now.

I'm not fine! he exploded. I'm not fucking fine!

My job! I yelled back. Stop taking my fucking job! Christ, you think I don't know you're not fine, am I a fucking idiot? I see you. I see you. I know. Do you need something I am not giving you? Tell me.

No.

Then shut the fuck up and let me do my fucking job. Let me goddamn tell you you're fine while I fucking fix you behind the goddamn scenes, Jesus, do you seriously not get how this works?

He sat down heavily. Well, what the fuck is my job, then?

You...enjoy your fucking life. You light shit up. You just...you have the spark.

So, again, you're the martyr, and I'm manic pixie dream husband. Disabled inspiration porn overcoming the odds. I don't know why the fuck you think that's me, that was never me.

It's not overcoming, Christ, it's just fucking existing around them instead of throwing in the fucking towel! I will throw in the fucking towel for you when you go too far. And Christ, I'm the martyr? Fuck, you're the one bitching and moaning that your kid would have to find out you're not fucking invincible! Guess the fuck what, asshole, it happens. My parents are dead, your dad might as well be. Every kid fucking finds that shit out.

Not when they're fucking little, they're supposed to get—

Say Emily has a kid with some nice healthy guy, who's to say he doesn't get hit by a bus next week or, I don't know, hit on the fucking head?

Screw you.

I'm serious! This shit is not fucking predictable, it just goddamn happens. Fuck, I fell in love with a healthy person. There aren't fucking guarantees. Things change. Nobody can promise this kid a healthy father.

He drained the last of his wine, and I took a deep breath and came and sat down at the table across from him.

Are you okay? I asked him.

No, I'm really mad at you.

In an actual way or a brain damage way?

Some of each, he said primly, and I smiled a little bit.

I just miss who you used to be, I said. I want my bratty kid back.

He laughed bitterly and looked up at me. You think I don't miss it?

I didn't know if you'd noticed. I hadn't really.

I'd noticed, Justin said. I just don't know what to do about it. And I'm thinking passing the neuroses on another generation might not be the solution.

Won't know 'til you try, I said, and he rolled his eyes.

**

We didn't really talk much more about it, or about anything, for the next few days. We played the happy couple in front of Gus and barely spoke when we were on our own. We had sex every night without making eye contact. Justin got a migraine and I brought him an ice pack and covered him with a light blanket and told Gus to leave him alone, but I didn't stay with him.

Gus and I were watching a movie when he got home on Friday from his date with Gabriel earlier than I was expecting. He waved and made a little smalltalk with Gus before he asked if he could talk to me in the kitchen. He stood on his toes and kissed me when I came in.

Hey, I said.

Hey. He cleared his throat and dropped back to the floor. I had that meeting with the building manager today. He said since the studio's a rental I can't change the floors, and the best bet is to put down mats or something. Neither of us really loved him alone all the time in a place with tile floors.

Yeah, that's what I figured.

Me too. So I'll find some of those.

So...is that what you wanted to talk about? I mean, not that I'm not happy to end the cold war, but...

Gabriel and I broke up.

Fuck. Okay. Shit. Come here. I pulled him into a hug and held him there for a long time. He pushed his face into my shoulder. What the fuck happened? I asked him, once I'd let him go.

He doesn't like kids. He's a fucking teacher, but he doesn't like babies. He said if I did this thing with Emily he didn't want to be with me. So..here we are.

I put a hand on the counter. So, wait, you've decided to do it?

He looked at me like I was crazy. No, I haven't decided anything. I broke up with him. I'm not going to be fucking held hostage like that. He didn't even want to have a conversation about it, he just said, well, it's this or me. That's not a relationship. I'm not a choose your own fucking adventure book, I'm a person.

I did everything I could not to smile, not to tilt my head back and thank the goddamn stars.

Of course Justin caught me anyway. I thought you liked Gabriel, the fuck is this?

No, I do, it's just... I gestured at him. This. Thank fucking God. There you are.

He raised his arms a little. Here I am.

Twenty-nine looks good on you, kid.

**

Two weeks later, Justin came by Kinnetik in the middle of the day, and he sat on my lap in my desk chair and we made out for a while.

I like this whole you not having a day job thing, I said.

He brushed the hair off my face. I called our lawyer today.

Finally wising up and leaving me, huh?

Well, you know what every good divorce needs?

I raised an eyebrow. A kid?

He nodded. Let's up the goddamn ante.

You are going to be a great dad, I signed, my lips brushing his.

After a long minute, he said, I know.