Gratitude

LaVieEnRose

It all started when Ma found out Brian and Justin weren't coming home for Thanksgiving. Honestly, it was kind of amazing this was the first year they hadn't, the way Brian sneers at holidays, but I guess Justin had managed to corral him ever November before. Hunter was spending it in Chicago with his girlfriend's family, and Emmett and Drew were in France for a few months, and Melanie and Lindsay had taken the kids down to Melanie's mom's because she wasn't doing well, so we were already gearing up for a smaller Thanksgiving than usual, and I guess Brian and Justin also missing it was more than Ma could bear, because she called me and said, “Brian and Sunshine are staying in New York,” like she was giving me the news they were being sent off to be executed.

“Well, that's not really that surprising, is it?” I said. “Justin's probably not up for traveling.” He'd been really, really sick, and until a few weeks before this we didn't even know if...God. It was fucking scary. We couldn't get in touch with Brian at all for over a week, not a phone call, not a text, nothing. I had to get all my updates from Ma, who got them from Jennifer, who got them from Molly, but even they didn't know much because Brian wasn't really talking to them either. We had to keep going around just living our lives, and we were all jumping every time the phone rang because...ugh, I can't even say it. We kept sleeping over at each other's houses like fucking kids because none of us wanted to be alone. Even though we're all partnered up now, it still didn't feel like enough. I found out later that all their friends were doing the same thing in New York, just being together.

“They could drive! It's not like he has to be on an airplane with the great fucking unwashed.”

“I'm sure he'll be feeling better in time for Christmas.”

“They said they were gonna bring my little grandbaby! I haven't seen her since fucking July!”

“Ma.”

“I want you to go up there,” she said.

“Ma!”

“It's Thanksgiving, they're up there alone, somebody needs to check on them and make sure they're all right. Bring them some fucking food 'cause God knows they're probably going to be eating goddamn Kung Pao if we don't intervene.”

“I haven't been invited!”

“Invited? Who the fuck do you think you are, the Queen of Kashmir? Call them and tell them I said you're fucking coming.”

So I called Brian that afternoon, the Saturday before Thanksgiving. “Yyyyello,” he said. I'd talked to him a fair amount the past week, just trying to check in and see if he was...I don't know, somehow managing to hold himself together despite all this happening. But he always sounded so normal.

“Hi.”

“Hi there. Justin, do you mind—”

“What?”

“Oh, he's throwing up again. While I'm busy on the phone, just bad manners all around.”

“Jesus, be nice to him.”

“Well, Michael, he's Deaf. Roasting him behind his back is one of the perks. Sunshine, learn to aim.”

“Maybe I should call back.”

“Oh, if you're trying to find a time to call when Justin isn't vomiting, I'm afraid you're going to find precious few.”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, the meds to boost his white count make him nauseous. Plus he's, you know. Coughing up a lot of shit. It's a party! So...how can I help you?”

“Well...I'm supposed to tell you that I'm coming to New York next week.”

“Whhhhhy?”

“Thanksgiving?”

“Oh. We're not having Thanksgiving.”

“Well, Thursday's gonna happen, and it's going to be Thanksgiving, and Ma's shitting at the thought of the two of you up there by yourselves.”

“We're always up here by ourselves. We do just fine. Stay with your mommy. Ah shit, gotta go. Buh-bye.”

I was about to call my mother and tell her that exactly what I thought would happen happened, when not two minutes later my phone rang again. “Uh, hi.”

“Apparently,” Brian said. “We are having Thanksgiving.”

“I thought—”

“I have just been informed,” Brian said, with an edge in his voice that told me not to ask questions. “That we are having Thanksgiving.”

I bit back a grin. “Right.” I guess even Brian Kinney can get a little what my partner wants, my partner gets after a scare like they'd had. “Well. I'll get in on Wednesday.”

“Just to be clear,” Brian said. “You will not stay here. I'll put you up in a nice hotel. Dinner will not go late. It will be in sign language. You will not wake up Justin. You will not say, why is he sleeping through dinner, I thought Thanksgiving was his idea. You will not stare at Justin when he coughs more than is rational for a human to survive. You will wear a mask. You will wear gloves. Despite the gloves, you will wash your hands so often that when you are done washing your hands, oh, look, it's time to start washing them again. You will not touch him, unless I yell grab him, in which case you will drop whatever you are holding, his child not excepted, and grab him. You will not comment on how skinny he is. You will not cross onto the island of Manhattan if you have so much as a sniffle. “

“Do you think you're scaring me away? You're not scaring me away. I think this is all very sweet.”

“Good. That's why I came up with these rules. For your entertainment.”

“I know about immunodeficiency, Brian. I'm on board for whatever it takes.”

“Good,” he said. “Also? Justin's boyfriend's going to be here.”

“Jesus, really?”

“He's nice. You'll like him.”

“I'll behave.” Pretty sure Justin could have whatever the fuck he wanted right now as far as I was concerned.

“You could cause a big scene if you want. Justin would probably find it amusing.”

“I'll see you next week, Brian.”

**

Brian opened the door on Thanksgiving and immediately zoomed in on the tin in my hands. “What the fuck is that?” He was, I should note, not wearing a mask or gloves.

“Cookies.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“My mom made them!”

“Leave them in the hallway.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I've seen your mother's hygiene, we're not gonna have Justin literally goddamn die of food poisoning.”

“You're telling me, what, he cooked all of this up in a sterile lab?”

“You think Justin's up to cooking a fucking Thanksgiving dinner? Jesus, you're about to be disappointed in his recovery. Catered, catered, catered. Lots of people with hairnets. Now leave that fucking tin in the hallway. Hand sanitizer and masks on your left! Justin's awake, get him while you can. Good to see ya, Mikey.” He squirted some crap on his own hands and rubbed them together on his way back into the kitchen.

I set the cookies on the floor—whatever, they're dry anyway—and sanitized myself and put on a mask and some gloves. The apartment was sparkling, and there was a tray of bruschetta out on the counter and like five kinds of wine. Justin was taking plates out of a cabinet, and he looked over and grinned when I came in. And yeah, he'd lost a lot of weight and he was in sweats and he didn't look great or anything, but Christ, I'd been expecting a lot worse after that little intro. I put my hand on my chest and I must have looked fucking dumb, like a proud parent or something, because he rolled his eyes at me, but he was still smiling.

It's really good to see you, I told him.

You too. How was your flight? There was a whistle when he breathed that I could hear even from my five feet away.

Brain touched Justin's elbow. You mind if I put some music on?

Yeah, go ahead. Justin said, and Brian put on something quiet. I thought that was sweet, I don't know. Brian asking if it was okay that something happened that Justin couldn't hear. Everyone should be here soon, Justin said. He stood up on his toes to reach a high shelf, and Brian reached over and kept a hand lightly on the small of his back.

Your mom's not coming, right?

Justin shook his head. “She and Molly are doing a spa thing.”

So...how are you feeling? I asked him.

“Much better. You know I had this idea for our next issue, I've been really anxious to get back to work.”

Brian shook his head at me subtly over Justin's shoulder.

Whenever you're ready, I said. I've been busy with the store, there's no rush.

Justin started to answer but instead started coughing, this horrible wet growling kind of thing. I must have looked kind of alarmed because Brian said, Yeah, he does that, and kept getting plates down. Justin had his face buried in his sleeve and the other hand white-knuckling the counter, and it kept going and going and I wondered how he was getting any fucking air at all while Brian took out glasses and silverware like nothing was fucking happening. When Justin finally, finally stopped, he was panting and his lips looked kind of blue, and I said, “Uh, grab?” to Brian.

Brian shook his head. He's fine. He rubbed Justin's back and said, That's enough, Katrina Ivanova. Or something like that; how does he fingerspell so quickly? Go sit.

I said, “Brian, I don't think he can breathe.”

He can't ever breathe, you'll get used to it. And then he asked me to grab something from the bedroom but fuck if I can read fingerspelling that fast.

Get what?

It's like..a small machine. On his nightstand. Don't touch the bed. Go. As I left, I saw him cock his head to Justin's level and sign something small to him.

Brian was helping Justin into a chair when I got back to living room. I hadn't noticed it before, but Justin was shivering. “I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine,” he said, batting Brian's hands off of him. His voice was hoarse and kind of hollow-sounding, like when the wind blows around tree branches.

Are you cold? I asked him, looking around for a blanket.

Justin shook his head, and Brian said, He's just tired. How fucking tired do you have to be to start shaking?

Justin messed around with the machine and sucked on this misting thing that looked like some kind of medical cigar, still wheezing in this way that sounded totally painful. He had this bad asthma attack at the shop once when he and I were working on Rage, and he sounded worse now than he did then and both of them were acting like it was nothing. He was curled up calmly in the arm chair, and Brian was already fucking back in the kitchen, washing his hands and taking pies out of the fridge and sticking them in the oven. He signed something to Justin that I didn't catch, but it made Justin laugh and cough some.

I came into the kitchen and said, “Brian?”

“Hmm?”

“What the fuck is going on with him, is he okay?”

“What, the sneezing? He has a sinus infection. And allergies, still, somehow. The things I have learned about antibodies...does this look done to you?”

“Not the fucking...he can't breathe. I thought he was over the pneumonia.”

“Don't worry, he's not contagious.”

“That's not what I—”

The doorbell rang and lights flashed in the hallway. Brian looked at me and pointed at the door, and from the living room so did Justin, so I guess this was my job. I answered the door and immediately Emily and her partner Gwen were in here like a flurry, taking off their coats and kissing my cheeks, and they immediately sanitized themselves and put on masks and gloves. Clearly they were used to these procedures. Jane was crying, and Emily immediately marched into the kitchen and handed her to Brian. Yours. Your problem.

Brian kissed Jane and took her over to the sink to wash her hands. “New gloves,” he said to me while he did, so I peeled mine off, threw them away, and put on a new pair.

Gwen went into the living room and sat on the couch and started talking to Justin, way too fast for me to follow, and Emily opened the oven and peeked inside.

“Wow, look at this big girl!” I said to Jane.

Brian signed something I couldn't even sort of understand, with his arms full of baby.

“What?”

He pointed to the baby and signed, Deaf.

Oh. Right. Hi, Jane.

Jane stuck her fingers in her mouth and watched me, and Brian grumbled, “Why do I bother.” Emily came over and tucked Jane's hair behind her ear, and Brian signed something to her I didn't get.

Good, but I wanted pecan, Emily said.

I thought about it, but I decided Justin's almost died enough this month.

Justin came into the kitchen then, Gwen under his elbow to support him in I guess some sort of exception to the no-touching rule. And then he tugged on Brian's sleeve, and Brain lowered the baby enough for Justin to kiss her cheek a few times before he went to the sink and washed his hands and face. He produced a mask from somewhere and put it on afterwards. It was different from ours, some cloth thing with a valve on it. We were just wearing crappy disposable ones.

You're done coughing? Brian asked him.

I'm never done coughing.

Brian cocked his head to the side with something like sympathy. True.

Smells nice in here.

Yes, we're very impressed you can breathe through your nose. Sit, you look like shit.

How's he doing today? Emily asked Brian, which I thought was weird, right in front of Justin, because it's not like Brian was going to give her a straight answer with him sitting right there. Like, why not ask Justin?

Brian narrowed his eyes, looking at Justin, and passed the baby to me. Better, I think. Better than yesterday. He's able to get around a little more. He turned back to Justin. What do you think, better than yesterday?

Yeah, better than yesterday. He tugged his mask down quickly and sneezed into the crook of his elbow.

Everyone milled around for a while, moving our masks to the side to drink wine and eat appetizers and cough, if you're Justin. Brian and Emily managed the food, even though Brian kept snapping at her to go sit down and let him handle it. Justin stayed in a chair in the kitchen, kind of supervising everything, and Brian actually listened when Justin told him to adjust the temperature on the oven or let the sweet potatoes sit for a minute. I ended up on the living room floor on a blanket with Janie and Gwen, helping Jane fit pegs in holes and doing a really bad job of discussing developmental milestones with Gwen, but, you know, trying. Jane already had a few signs down, and she was Mom mom moming Gwen every minute when she wanted her attention. How old is she? I asked.

Almost nine months.

Holy shit.

Deaf babies talk earlier than hearing babies, she said. Signing's more natural for babies. That's why hearing parents are all doing baby sign.

Yeah. I think my five-year-old's a better signer than I am.

Kids are amazing with picking up languages. We're going to try to get her reading as soon as we can. That can sometimes be a process with Deaf kids if you don't start early and really connect it to signing for them. Like Evan, he never really got the chance.

Evan?

Yeah, Justin's boyfriend. You haven't met him?

Not yet.

Purest soul on earth.

And that was about the only preparation I got for Evan, because he arrived just a few minutes later. I opened the door, and he came in already wearing a cloth mask like the one Justin was wearing, and he gave me a curious look over top of it while he took his coat off and rubbed in hand sanitizer. “Are you Michael?” he said, his voice muffled through the mask.

I lowered mine. “Yeah, are you...hearing?” I thought the whole point of Justin...dating or whatever was not sleeping with hearing guys. Except for Brian.

He laughed a little. “No.”

“Oh.” Sorry, I... None of Justin's Deaf friends ever spoke to me besides him.

“You're fine. I'm Evan. I'd shake your hand, but...”

Yeah. Uh. Of course.

Evan went into the kitchen and said hi to everyone and put his hand on Justin's shoulder, and Justin reached up and gave him a quick kiss through their masks. Evan asked Brian what he could help with, and Brian waved him off like a fly and Evan laughed and knocked Brian's head to the side on his way to the oven.

You want to help? Brian said to him. Put Edmund Tyrone here to bed, he's annoying me trying to show off.

“M'fine,” Justin said, but his head was resting in his hand and he was clearly falling asleep at the table.

Evan signed something quick to Justin and Justin nodded heavily, and Evan pulled him up and steered him out of the kitchen. They had a small argument in the living room that ended, I gathered, in Justin flopping down on the couch instead of in bed and falling right asleep as compromise. I moved out of Emily's way as she pulled containers of gravy out of the refrigerator and joined Brian wiping up a spill by the sink. “So, uh, that no touching rule varies from person to person?” I said.

“Yeah, it's a complicated algorithim. It's a points-based system. You've earned a three-second hug goodbye later. Don't ask any more questions and maybe you'll get up to five. Go help Emily.”

In all seriousness, there was some sort of...I don't know, vibe, there, where everyone seemed to know their place. Gwen played with the baby in the living room and kept an eye on Justin. Emily and Brian flitted around each other in the kitchen without really talking, barely acknowledging each other, but somehow never in each other's way. I guess they'd worked together long enough at that point to know each other's patterns. Every once in a while one they'd sign a word, maybe two at each other, and the other one would get a whole set of directions just from that.

Daphne and Derek got there soon after, and holy fuck, Daphne's signing was so much better than mine. Derek had to be reminded of stuff more than the others did, and Brian and Emily were constantly nagging him, don't touch that, wash your hands, put that down, stop eating that, but all of that seemed to fall into their rhythm too, like Derek was their little puppy they had to corrall. Daphne just emminated calmness, rescuing the macaroni from burning and catching wine glasses before they spilled and pulling out a stethoscope to check Justin while he slept.

I couldn't stop watching Brian and Evan. I would have thought there would be...I don't know, some kind of rivalry between them. I mean, okay, so Brian was apparently so secure about their relationship that he'd let Justin have a fucking boyfriend, whatever, but Evan had to be jealous of Brian, right? I mean, this was his boyfriend's husband. He got to live with Justin and make plans with him and kiss him without a mask. So I assumed there would be tension.

There wasn't. Evan was young and energetic and pretty much never left Brian's side, and...God help me, it reminded me of a million years ago, a certain other guy who followed Brian around like an adoring fan. But Brian was different nowadays, and there was none of that old eye-rolling or sneering. Brian hooked his arm around Evan's neck and dragged him around by his shirt, and Evan drummed on Brian's shoulder blades, and in-between they had these tiny, impercitable conversations that barely looked like ASL, and they'd keep these absolutely straight faces with each other, eyes locked, jaws tight, and then one of them would break and they'd bust up laughing. They carved the turkey together, bitching that the other one was doing it wrong like an old married couple, and at one point Evan said something that made Brian casually lean over and kiss his forehead.

If I didn't know better...

Daphne was over by the couch, sticking a thermometer in Justin's ear that he slept right through, and I said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Brian and uh, Evan, are they...”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are they what?” She laughed. “Sleeping together? God, no. I don't think they even kiss. They're just cuddly like that.”

I didn't feel the need to point out that kissing would be a lot bigger deal for Brian than sleeping with him would be. Daphne might know Justin and Brian pretty well, but she's still straight. “Well, what the fuck are they, then? They're like gazing into each other's fucking eyes.”

Daphne snorted. “You sound like your mom.”

“I'm just curious.”

She said, “Okay, have you ever loved like...a movie or a TV show or a band like so incredibly much, and some of your friends are like, yeah, it's cool, but they don't get it the way you do, so you can't talk about it as much as you want, and you have to kind of tone it down and act normal, and you feel like you're going to explode because all you want to do is like dissect and analayze and theorize about this thing you love, but your friends are sick of you and want you to shut up?”

“Uh, yeah, literally every day of my life.”

“Okay great. So then you meet someone, finally, who's as obsessed with the thing as you are, and you can talk about it for hours and hours and neither of you gets bored or judges you for how crazy you are about it and you can just totally geek out about it together and the world is full of rainbows?”

“Sure.”

She gestured towards Evan and Brian. “Tada.”

Well. Fair enough, I guess.

Anyway, it was time to eat. We made an extended buffet section out of the little kitchen table and all the counters while Emily and Gwen set the table in the living room. Everyone took up plates and started filling them, and when Evan picked one up Brian signed two to him subtly, and Evan nodded and started fixing another while Brian went out to the couch. I watched him lean over the couch and wake Justin up so gently, brushing his hair out of his eyes and rubbing his back when he started to cough. Justin was talking, and he sounded pretty out of it; I heard him anxiously ask what time it was, if he'd missed Thanksgiving, if Brian was mad at him. I couldn't see what Brian signed to him, but it seemed to calm him down. “Brian?” Evan said, and Brian looked over and nodded at him, and Evan set the second plate down next to Brian's at the table as Brian got Justin slowly off the couch.

I sat between Brian and Daph and dug into some seriously good food. The table was a flurry of movement, Emily feeding the baby, plates being traded back and forth—not to Justin—so people could try things, everyone jumping up to refill wine glasses or grab a second helping of something. Justin mostly picked at his food and watched the conversations, though he didn't really join in. He still looked mostly asleep, and he was turning away from the table to cough pretty frequently. Brian didn't hover, just argued with Gwen over the proper way to serve sweet potatoes and talked to me about Gus and Evan about...I could never really figure out what, some kind of art thing, but he'd nudge Justin every so often and Justin would take a real bite of something. Eventually he pulled his legs up onto his chair, elbows on his knees, and kind of rested his head against his forearms, watching everyone and smiling a little. Brian reached over without looking at him and checked the temperature of his forehead and his cheek, and Justin relaxed under his hand.

I said, So aren't all your parents mad at you for missing Thanksgiving?

Justin squeezed Evan's hand, and Emily said, We were planning to go to Pittsburgh anyway this year. My family does a big dinner on Saturday usually.

Mine's not close, Gwen said. Ugly divorce. I usually work Thanksgivings.

My parents were pretty understanding what with everything going on with Justin, Daphne said.

Derek said, My mom too.

You make it sound like this is my last Thanksgiving ever, Justin complained, and Brian smiled and kissed his cheek.

Emily started signing fast, and Brian glanced at me and then interpreted. “Last Thanksgiving would probably be a little more mournful than this.”

Sitting shiva but with turkey, Gwen said.

This does seem really...cheery, I said. You guys are amazing.

Daphne laughed. Amazing at what?

You're just all...here. Celebrating. Happy.

“That's enough,” Brian said softly.

It's a holiday, Derek said. Generally they're happy, right? Don't you guys write all those songs about them? He looked at Daphne and she nodded and kissed him.

I said, No, I just meant...with all that all of you have been through this month.

We didn't really do much, Derek said. Well, Brian did.

Brian waved his fork dismissively.

And Evan did all that cooking, Derek said.

Evan did his best dismissive Brian impression, and Brian snorted.

But we mostly sat around being sad, Derek said. It wasn't that much work.

I said, I just know when my husband's been sick, or when my uncle—

This wasn't like that, Brian said.

It's just hard to bounce back from...seeing that, I said. I just think you're impressive.

But they just told you they didn't do anything, Justin said, suddenly.

Brian looked at him curiously.

Except Brian, Justin said.

I don't know, Brian said easily. I didn't cook. Evan laughed and kicked him.

All they did was worry about me, Justin said. That's not...they love me, they're supposed to worry sometimes.

I said, No, I know.

I'm not going to apologize for that, he said. I'm really sick of...feeling like I have some sort of explaining to do. I didn't do anything wrong.

Brian kept watching Justin with the oddest little smile on his face.

Don't get too excited, Justin said to him. I'm sure it's temporary.

Still, Brian said.

I said, I'm sorry, I didn't...mean it like that.

Justin just shrugged and said Okay, and shoved a big bite of turkey in his mouth.

Brian looked at Justin appreciatively, then turned to me with his eyes narrowed. “Two second hug goodbye,” he said darkly.

“What! You said—”

“I have spoken,” he said, then he turned to Emily and complained Jane was dripping gravy on his floor.

**

Everyone trickled out after dinner, first the girls with the baby, then Daphne and Derek. Evan stayed for a while, sprawled on the sofa and trapped under Justin, fast asleep with his head against Evan's sweater, and I helped Brian finish cleaning up the kitchen, and we talked about Gus and Ben and Hunter and J.R. and Ivy and Ma and Evan played on his phone and rubbed Justin's back every time he coughed.

Eventually Evan left, slipping off his mask to kiss Justin's forehead and exchanging a handshake with me and a back-slapping hug with Brian, and I figured it was time for me to clear out. Justin was trying to stay standing and it was clearly taking every ounce of energy he had left. Brian hugged me, his hand on the back of my neck, and I pulled Justin into my arms and held him for a long time, looking defiantly at Brian.

Well, now I just have to throw the whole Justin away, Brian said.

I let go of him, and Brian wound an arm around Justin's waist and pulled into him. Thanks for coming, Mikey, he said.

Come back sometime, Justin said.

I said, Yeah, any time. You know where to find me.

Brian rested his hand on top of Justin's head. We'll be here.