Problem Solving

LaVieEnRose

Evan leaned on my office door until it opened a little bit past six and made that scrunched-up face that always comes before someone asks you a favor. “Miiiister Kinney?”

Do not tell me Aquatics isn't finished.

He kept making the face.

Find a new place to live.

He rolled his eyes. They wanted me to ask you if Justin can come in tomorrow and help finish it.

They don't think you can ask Justin?

I'm pretty sure the art department does not know I'm fucking the CEO's husband, no.

Hmm.

He said, I could finish it myself tomorrow but I'm leaving at noon to get my blood removed.

Well, I'm not asking him. He's in a shitty mood, I'm not talking to him any more than I have to. He'd been sending me a host of charming, whiny texts all goddamn day, complaining that he was dying of various symptoms, you know Justin. He had just cause to complain right now, even by his standards. After a week of feeling decent at the beach house he'd come home to this pollinated nightmare, and our neighbors mowed their damn lawn first thing so he got a sinus infection about fifteen minutes after getting back. The antibiotics, miracle of miracles, were working, and he was fine, but he was still headachey and stuffed up and uncomfortable, and it was messing with his sleep and making him irritable. Honestly the whole thing was kind of amusing. Bitchy Justin has its appeal. He tries so hard to make everyone so fucking comfortable with him, so it's always fun when he just fucking throws that out and complains as much as any normal bastard would in his situation.

Btu still, there are only so many whiny texts a man can take over one work day.

Evan sighed. Are you going home soon? I'm going to head out.

With Aquatics unfinished.

I'm a rebel. And my boss left.

I looked at myself like I might be a ghost. Oh, he did?

He rolled his eyes. Goodbye, Brian. I'm going to go fuck your husband.

Not so fast.I closed my laptop. I'm leaving too.

Thank God. I am way too tired. A small hand reached up from behind him and tugged on his pants, and he turned around. Oh, hello.

I smiled a little, and Jane held her arms up in the air. Evan picked her up.

Where's mom? he asked her, and Jane pointed out into the lobby.

Horse, she said, which was not exactly novel for her. She was going through this stage where she was obsessed with horses. Horse toys. Horse pajamas. Horse TV shows. It was...a lot.

Did you lose your horse? Evan asked her. Where's your toy?

Mom, she said, nuzzling into Evan's collar. She signed horse about ninety more times before Emily came in, which we didn't think anything of at the time.

But then Emily asked me, Did you see the email?

What email?

From the daycare. They sent it out to all the parents.

I said, So why would they send it to me? Christ, I'm not...whatever. I opened my computer back up.

Tell them that next time you storm down there all who gave my daughter a pistachio, Emily said.

That's just good advertising rhetoric.

Evan copied me, fingerspelling rhetoric to himself a few times. I'd have to teach him that word later.

I scrolled through my email. I don't see...okay, yeah, there it is.

So a little background here. Isabel's assistant had a kid named Alice. Alice and Jane were apparently best friends. How a sixteen-month-old who's afraid of closets and says good morning to the toilet every day could have a best friend was a question I had asked many times, trust me, but no matter. Alice was turning three, and, presumably using Isabel's connections at whatever the fuck stables there are in New York, since her daughter, if you'll recall, is very into horse-dancing, was having a pony-riding, horse-petting sort of birthday extravaganza and inviting the whole daycare group.

Hence, horse.

This is going to be the best day of her life, Emily said. They're inviting all the parents. We'll record it and use this at her wedding.

She's not getting married, I said. She's a bohemian. Evan tried that word to himself too, but he didn't get it. I could tell he was a little lost in the conversation, between not seeing the email and us throwing out English words and Emily's beautiful, but very quick signing. I'd catch him up after she left.

She kissed Evan's cheek and took Jane from him. This Saturday. Tell Justin, okay?

Yeah, I said, because, clearly, I am missing a part of my brain, which I realized about half a second after Emily left. Oh, fuck.

What? Evan said.

I waved him over to read the email. Justin can't go to this, right? I said. Evan has a better memory for this shit than I do, what's completely off-limits and what isn't.

Justin absolutely cannot go to this.

Oh, good, I said. I'm sure this will be fine.

**

That was tabled when we first got home because I couldn't fucking find Justin, and there's a specific type of fear that comes from misplacing your Deaf epileptic. I finally found him in the bathroom, which I hadn't even checked at first because I didn't hear the shower running. He was in the bathtub with a washcloth over his eyes. I flicked some water at him and he swatted at me lazily without moving it.

I went to tell Evan that he wasn't dead, then came back and pulled up the chair we keep in here and peeled the washcloth off. That's fun that the rules about you bathing alone changed today, I wasn't aware.

I'm trying to drown, he said. Obviously. He looked so fucking awful, good lord. He had the flush underneath his ears and across his cheeks that he gets when he has a fever, and his sinuses were so goddamn swollen and his eyes were puffy. So, I mean, let's cut the bullshit; he looked beautiful—no one wears sickness like one Justin Taylor—but goddamn that had to hurt.

I rolled up my pant legs—I'd already changed into sweatpants after getting home, before I'd realized my partner had gone rogue—and moved from my chair to the floor next to the tub—remember how he got them to build it into the floor?—and slid my legs into the water. Justin shifted around until he was sitting between my legs, like I'd intended him to, facing away from me, his head against my knee. I massaged the back of his neck for a little before I moved up to his cheekbones, which I knew he wouldn't like as much, but it would help his sinuses drain. He let me for a while but batted me off when he couldn't quit sneezing, so I gave him a break and washed his hair, digging my thumbs into his temples. He wiped his nose on his washcloth and sighed softly, wheezy and sad.

This is why it's hard to get annoyed when he's being a cranky bastard. He's just unhappy.

He turned around in the water and faced me after I'd rinsed his hair. “How was your day?” he said.

Boring. Meetings. Art wants you to come in and help with something tomorrow.

He shrugged a little. “Maybe.”

Yeah. How was yours?

“Oh, delightful. Coughed, wheezed, and sneezed, what's not to love?” He dug the heel of his hand into his palm. “God, I'm so itchy.” He sneezed hard, then winced and touches his sinuses carefully. “God.” Making sneezing hurt is really just low, where crimes against Justin are concerned.

Bless you.

He shook his head.

No? Can't bless you?

“I'm cursed.”

Yeah, well, that's why you need the blessing.

He sunk a little deeper in the water. “Why are you being nice to me? I don't like it.”

In my defense you don't like anything right now.

He considered this. “True.”

I pulled my legs out of the water. Come on. This water's too hot, your fever's probably up.

I dried his hair with a towel and let him hold onto me for stability while he got into some pajamas and took his temperature—a little under 102, nothing dire. He shivered his way into bed.

You have to get up and eat in an hour, I told him, and he rolled his eyes. Yeah, I know, forced to eat dinners someone else makes. Such a hardship.

“Oh, you're making dinner?” he said skeptically.

Takeout chefs at the Thai place are people too.

He snorted and groaned. “Don't.”

Okay, okay. I kissed the bridge of his nose and squinted by way of apology when it made him sneeze. You're cute all irritated like that.

He batted at me, but he was smiling.

Up in an hour, I said. I mean it, and he nodded and rolled over so his head was in the pillow.

The cuffs of my sweatpants were wet, so I changed, and then I ended up going through my closet and pulling out some shit I never wear that I thought Evan could fit into so I could bring it down before Justin snatched it all away and donated it when I wasn't looking, as he is wont to do. I heard him shifting around behind me and I figured he was just uncomfortable, but I guess he'd decided to look at his phone before he conked out because a minute later I heard him say, “Oh,” softly, and I when I turned around he was sitting up and looking at his phone.

Right. The email. All the parents.

**

Because this makes a ton of sense, Justin ranted while he set the table. Let's put a one-year-old on a horse. That works.

I think someone holds her, Evan said diplomatically.

This is going to turn her into some sort of high-ponytail plaid-skirt St. James Academy snob, Justin said. This is where it starts. Horse parties.

That's good, Molly will finally have some company, I said.

And you know what, she could be allergic to horses! We don't know! You're telling me none of the kids in that daycare have allergies? Did they ask first? Or what if someone gets kicked by a pony? Is Kinnetik going to be liable for that?

Water or juice? I asked him, and he sat down heavily in his chair and pouted.

He got quiet as dinner went on, though, and Evan and I kept glancing at each other while Justin picked at his food. She's really going to love this, Justin said eventually. This is going to be the best day of her little life so far.

We'll record it for you, Evan said.

Yeah, I know. It just sucks. He sneezed hard and rubbed his face. God. I need to go take something, I'm too fucking itchy.

You didn't eat enough, I said.

You try eating when you can't fucking taste anything and you can't goddamn breathe and you can't stop sneezing for more than four and a half fucking seconds. He sneezed again and tossed his fork down. “God.”

Go take a Benadryl and find something on TV, Evan said, and Justin dragged himself up and over to the drawer where we keep his meds, but his hand started shaking when he was trying to get the pills out and he dropped them. He kicked the cabinets in frustration.

Okay, loud, I said. I got up and picked the box off the floor; bending down like that isn't the easiest for him. Let me see your hand.

He shook his head. It's fine.

Okay.

I can't fucking do anything, he said, and he didn't say it big or dramatic or anything, but still, that's not the kind of sentiment you get from ra ra let's fight ableism Justin very often. And it's not a good sign when you do get it. Like, time to call his therapist's after hours emergency line not a good sign.

Sunshine, I said.

But he made eye contact with me. That was something.

I punched out the pills and handed them to him and filled a glass of water. I nodded towards his left hand. You got it?

“Yeah.” He drank after I tipped the pill into his mouth. He sneezed and even that sounded just... defeated, worn out.

He doesn't do well when he doesn't get a break, and he wasn't getting breaks here.

Go get settled on the couch, I said. We'll be in in a minute.

I sat back down once he'd left and Evan and I kind of half-heartedly kept eating. He's got to get to this fucking party, I said. We need to figure this out. He needs a win. He hasn't felt okay for a fucking minute since we got home. And it's not like I could just whisk him off to the beach house; even if it weren't mid-construction now that we'd decided to buy it, there were logistical issues in play here. I needed to be in the office most days, and Evan's dialysis made travel complicated anyway, and Justin couldn't exactly be in a house alone with everyone who knows him two hours away. That's not something that works in our life.

It was just one fucking logistical nightmare after another for him, and Christ, he just wanted to see his fucking daughter ride a horse. How is that so much to ask? Why does fucking everything have to be so much to ask for him?

Christ. I try not to get like this either, but this shit is so fucking unfair.

How are we going to do it? Evan said.

I don't know. Maybe with a mask. There's got to be something. He'd figure out something if he were in our shoes. He's always coming up with solutions for shit. He'd probably solve this one before we were in bed that night.

He didn't, though. He was quiet while we watched a movie, breathing in his soft scratchy way that he does when he's not too sick, sneezing a little less and blinking a little slower as the Benadryl kicked in. About halfway through he shifted on the couch so his cheek was pressed against my arm, and that did a lot to, I don't know, calm me down, I guess. Evan fell asleep in the armchair during the movie, and he'd been having a hard time sleeping lately so we just covered him with a blanket and turned out the light—he fucking loves that armchair, he'd be fine—and had him sleep there for the night. Justin did a neb treatment in bed while I took a shower, and when I got back and we got into bed everything seemed a lot more peaceful, but not much happier.

How allergic are you to horses? I said, as we peeled back the covers.

His mouth quirked into a smile. “Like on a scale of one to ten?”

On a scale of those cherry lollipops you eat anyway to...a wasp. Made out of Tylenol. Covered in dog hair.

“A wasp, made out of Tylenol, covered in dog hair.”

Yeah. It's the Taylor allergy scale.

He laughed a little and sat down on the bed and rubbed some lotion on his arms. “I don't know. Somewhere between...cats and oak trees?”

That's not good.

“It's been years since I was around one. I was a kid and it was at a birthday party and I had to go home, I don't remember a lot of specifics.”

So maybe you're not even allergic anymore.

“Ah, yes, that does sound like me.”

I sighed and got into bed next to him, resting my head on his thigh.

He played with my hair. “Even if I magically did outgrow it, there's still dust and hay and grass and it's out in the sun...”

I nuzzled him a little and kissed the side of his leg, and he scratched the back of my neck.

“Just not doable,” he said softly.

I'll figure it out.

He sneezed before he could say anything and flopped back wearily on the pillows, and I skimmed my lips up his body. He watched me with those poor damn swollen eyes, and I reached up and brushed the hair off his forehead.

Itchy, I said, small.

He nodded, his nose twitching.

I kissed the hollow of his throat. Sensitive.

He shivered a little. “Brian...”

Doesn't have to be all bad, I said, and I handled him so gently that night.

**

Justin showed up in my office at around eleven the next day, once again not where I'd left him. I hung up the phone and waved him over. Hi. Everything okay?

He nodded. Was feeling better so I thought I'd come do the Aquatics thing before dialysis. He pressed a quick kiss to my mouth. “Hi.”

How did it go?

“It's finished now, they're gonna bring the boards up soon. I think it's good.”

I laced my fingers behind his neck and pulled him onto my lap. “Thank you.” He felt a little warm still, but he looked better than he did yesterday. Considering his fucking immune system, it's always some kind of miracle when he just...gets better on his own. Seems very fake.

We kissed for a while until Emily came in and said there was a call I needed to take, so I rolled my eyes and did my actual job while Justin and Emily talked for a while, mostly gossiping about a mutual casual friend of theirs whose wife had just left her. Emily had gone back to her desk by the time I was off the phone, and Justin was over by the couch examining his painting that hangs over the couch in that critical way of his. I should have done something different here, he said when he saw me looking at him.

Don't touch my painting. When do you need to leave?

Twenty minutes.

Want to blow me?

He shook his head regretfully. Too stuffed up. You can blow me.

Okay.

He came back to the desk and leaned over and kissed me. I just breathed him in for a minute.

Did you and Emily talk about the party? I asked him.

He shrugged. Told her I wasn't coming. She understood. But he looked sad. He'd looked sad since he got here. Since yesterday.

I thought of some solutions, I said.

He rolled his eyes.

No, I did, come here. I yanked him around so he could see my screen. So there's a visitor's center here, see? And it looks like it has a decent view of where the ponies are. So you could stay up there.

“That's...extremely far away.”

We could get you binoculars.

“So I'm the guy with binoculars creeping on a child's birthday party?”

Hmm. We could get you one of those beekeeper suits.

“Brian.”

Do you think I can't find a beekeeper suit? I can find one.

“I would scare the shit out of the kids.”

We'd tell them you were an astronaut.

He sighed a little and sat on the corner of my desk. It's sweet of you to try to fix this.

Gross.

But there isn't a solution here. I can't go to this party.

I'll figure it out.

Brian. There isn't a way.

Yeah, well, we'll see what you say after I find one.

“I didn't ask you to find one!” he burst.

I stared at him, shaking my head slowly. You're fucking exhausting, you know that?

He rolled his eyes and stood up.

You pout around like a fucking child when you don't get what you want, and then you throw a hissy fit when I try to help.

“You can't help,” he said. “Not this time.”

You don't know that.

“Yes I do, Brian! And so do you. You know there's no way I can go to this party.”

So what am I supposed to do?

Just let it suck, he said. It fucking sucks. I can't see my daughter have this amazing experience. It sucks. He shrugged. Whatever. Sometimes things suck.

Wow, what a deep lesson.

I'm allowed to be unhappy sometimes that shit isn't fair to me, he said. It doesn't mean I'm expecting you to solve it.

Okay, well...I don't like when you're unhappy.

“Now who's pouting?”

I wrinkled my nose.

I need to dig out my “Brian, this is not about you,” t-shirt again, he said.

Yeah, so it would seem.

He came back over and perched on my lap, and we kissed for a while. I was pretty much ready to stop talking about horses and get his pants off at this point.

But one thing. This doesn't mean I have to go to this party and film her on the horse, right?

He laughed. “No. You can stay home with me and we can drink wine and make love and lots of other things we couldn't do if we were at a children's birthday party.”

After all these years you underestimate me.

He grinned.

I slid one hand under his shirt. That does sound a lot more fun than pony rides.

“Yeah,” he said softly. His puffy eyes glowed. “It doesn't have to be all bad.”