The One Where Brian Freaks Out

One of my favorite parts of us both having nine to fives—okay, really mine is more like a ten to six, and Brian’s is more of a nine to “whenever the fuck I text him and ask if he’s planning to show up with food any time this year,” but it’s the principle of the thing—is getting ready for work with him in the morning. You have to be careful about drawing too much attention to domestic shit or Brian starts getting all spooked, so it’s always exciting when it’s a situation even he can’t twist in his head as something I’ve engineered. It’s not my fault we’re getting up at the same time! What am I supposed to do, not pour him a cup of coffee? Not straighten his tie? Not kiss him and hand him his briefcase and tell him to have a good day?

Eeeeeee.

I was making breakfast one Tuesday while he sipped his coffee and told me about a potential client he had coming in. This guy wants to grow in the 25-30 market and is convinced the way to do it is radio ads. Do kids your age even listen to the radio?

Everyone I know my age is Deaf.

True.

I worked my spatula underneath a pancake. “There’s an app Daphne uses for music. I think it has ads. That might work.”

Spotify?

“Yeah, that’s it.” I flipped the pancake. “Ta da.”

Brian kissed my cheek. What do you think, navy tie?

“Yeah.” He went back to the bedroom and I called, “Brian, do you want strawberries or no?”

I flipped the rest of the pancakes and waited for him to stick a hand out and sign a yes or no, but he stayed in the bedroom for a really long time. And when he finally out he looked...different. Not like the guy who’d just kissed me and asked what tie to wear.

No, he said. I should probably go.

You have time to eat.

I want to get settled before the meeting. He grabbed his jacket and started out the door.

I said, “It’s warm, you don’t need a—“

The door slammed.

“—jacket,” I said, and then I stood there wondering what the fuck just happened.

**

I met Derek and Emily for lunch at a cafe near the gallery to brainstorm. One minute everything was fine, then all of a sudden, barely looks at me and he’s out the door.

Emily said, Maybe he got a call or something from work? You said he had a big meeting, maybe he got bad news about it.

I picked at my croissant. Maybe.

I mean, it couldn’t have anything to do with you. You said it yourself. Nothing happened.

I said, Yeah, that doesn’t always stop Brian.

Derek said, Maybe he was already pissed about something and he’d forgotten and something you said reminded him.

I shrugged.

Emily said, Okay, clearly you have your mind made up already about what the issue is, so why are you keeping us guessing?

I just know Brian, I said. I know he gets freaked out if I act too...wifey.

Isn't he the one who talked you into the rings? Derek said.

I know this is confusing for people who aren't me and Brian, but it's actually not all that complicated; we both have our hang-ups about marriage and commitment and shit, and they're completely opposite to each other's. My friends think I'm the one with all the baggage, and his friends think he is.

Brian once told me, years and years later, obviously, that he's known we were going to be together forever, in some capacity, since I was nineteen years old. That is fucking bananas. And he was so fucking casual when he told me that, too, like it was this completely obvious thing and I should have known it this whole time too. Brian doesn't flinch when he thinks about us doing stuff however many years from now, unless it's just him freaking out about getting old. And I think that surprises people who don't know him well, or people who do know him well but have constructed this totally weird form of him in their minds—hi, Lindsay and Michael, what's up—that's supposed to freak out at every single aspect of commitment.

He's good on that. What makes him go off the fucking deep end is any time he thinks we're turning into, or thinking about turning into, or thinking about thinking about turning into, some kind of imitation heterosexual couple. So stuff like monogamy—not that I want that either, but he always acts like I'm engaged in some long con to trick him into it—or breakfast in bed or, I don't know, giving him advice on what tie to wear.

Meanwhile, I'm not afraid that if we don't keep constant vigilance that we'll accidentally turn into straight people, but I still get totally and completely antsy sometimes at the idea of being locked into a relationship for the rest of my life. And it's not because I don't totally love Brian and want to be with him! I just spend a lot of time worrying about death, antidepressants be damned, and also, like...you know those Choose Your Own Adventure books? I could never read them as a kid because I would get so distracted by the options that I didn't take that I could never remember what was going on. And like, God forbid I'm playing some video game with Molly and there's two directions you can go. I go ten feet down one and then double back and go down the other, again and again and again.

So he's gentle with me about the whole 'forever' aspect or else I start freaking out about him dying and leaving me old alone, and I'm gentle with him on the whole 'heteronormative' aspect because otherwise he starts freaking out about our dicks falling off, and we make it work. Except our other big difference is that when we're worried about something in our relationship, I tend to buckle down and deal with it, and Brian, bless his heart, tends to spectacularly blow things up. And I really wasn't in the mood to come home and found out he'd like, set the apartment on fire because we can't be domestic if we don't have a home or turned our office into a sex club to prove how gay he is or something.

Look, it doesn't matter, Derek says. If you think he thinks you're being too...whatever, you just have to prove to him that you're not. Do something really non-wifey.

That, I said, is a fucking great idea.

So that's how I ended up ducking out of our lunch early and taking a cab to Queens. I only had half an hour before I needed to be back in the office, and I didn't even know if Brian was going to be available, but the spontaneity was part of it. I waved to Cynthia and she nodded me through, and I stood in the doorway of Brian's office. He didn't look up.

“Hi,” I said.

Hi, he said, without looking up from what he was writing.

I came over to his desk and drummed my fingers on it until he finally put his pen down and raised his head.

What are you doing here? he asked.

I tilted my head to the side. I thought I'd stop by and...improve your afternoon.

Shouldn't you be at the office?

I'm on my lunch break. I came around to his side of the desk and slid onto his lap. I caught a bit of a smile, and his hands closed around my waist. Good. I thought I'd come by for dessert.

Oh yeah?

“Mmmhmm.” I kissed him. “Relive my days of being your intern. See if you can still make a phone call while I blow you under the desk.”

He let go of me.

“Brian,” I said.

I have a lot of work to do.

What's going on?

The traffic's going to be a bitch getting back into the city.

What the fuck is going on with you?

He sighed and kind of eased me off his lap.

I'll see you at home, he said.

**

The rest of my day was for shit. Maybe it was the stress or maybe it was just a coincidence, but I started having issues with my hand for the first time in weeks, and by the time six o'clock came around I had a migraine and I had to throw up in a trash can at the train station. So much for part two of my plan, to pull Brian out to Nova for dancing and public fucking and otherwise proving to him how utterly un-heterosexual we were. My meds had kicked in some by the time Brian came home, so I was just sacked out on the couch trying to gain some kind of energy back. He walked into the living room and loosened his tie and didn't say anything.

I'm going out, he said eventually.

I figured.

He went to the bedroom and got changed and got the hell out of there, and I ate cereal for dinner and thought about getting some work done for Rage but didn't actually do it. Brian came home earlier than expected and stood by the couch, smelling like liquor and sex.

You have to talk to me, I said, stretching the fingers back on my hand.

I'm gonna get the heating pad.

I relaxed a little. Okay.

I sat up on the couch, and he pulled the chair around and sat in front of me, wrapping the heating pad around my arm and taking my hand between his to work at the muscles. Bad day? he asked.

“You could say that. How about yours?”

He shrugged. We got the account.

“That's good.”

He concentrated on my hand for a while, then sighed and said, You're losing your Rs.

“What?”

The letter R. You've started saying it kind of funny.

I blinked. “Oh.”

He kissed my hand and let it go, and looked at me.

We knew it would happen eventually, I said. I'd start forgetting what things were supposed to sound like.

I know.

So...

It doesn't bother you?

I mean, we've pointed out there are situations where it would be easier if strangers could tell I was Deaf. Maybe me sounding Deaf isn't the worst thing in the world.

He looked away.

I bent my head and forced him into eye contact. Does it bother you?

He stood up and started pacing.

“What the fuck,” I said. “Are you embarrassed of me?”

Of course not.

“You don't want people to hear me and think there's something wrong with me?”

It's not that.

“What, you think they'll think less of you if they think your boyfriend is—”

He stopped pacing me and signed, It's not going away.

What? What isn't?

He gestured at me. This.

Me...being Deaf?

He pinched his nose and nodded.

I stared at him. Were you under the impression this was something temporary?

No, of course not.

So then—

I knew it was forever, he said. I just didn't...feel it. And then I'm in the fucking bedroom and you say strawberries and it fucking....took me a second to understand what you were saying.

So I can't say Rs! Who fucking cares!

There's an R in my fucking name, Sunshine!

So?

So I don't want you to say my fucking name wrong for the rest of my life! he said. God. Fuck. FUCK.

I felt something drop in my chest.

Well, too fucking bad, I said eventually.

He rubbed his hands over his face. I know.

I said. Are you...having doubts about us?

Brian sighed and sat back down in the chair.

And he didn't say no.

What the fuck, I said.

I just...it's just hitting me that this is going to be forever, he said.

That what is? Signing? Explaining me to people? Managing me?

I...

You stood over me in that fucking bed in the loft six goddamn months ago and you told me that you liked taking care of me. You're a goddamn fucking liar.

Stop. I do like taking care of you.

You are not supposed to freak out about the rest of our fucking lives! That is my goddamn job! You're supposed to be sure!

I know, he said. I know.

So what the fuck, tell me you're sure. Tell me you're not fucking questioning our goddamn relationship because I said your fucking name wrong.

He bowed his head for a long time, and when he finally looked up at me his eyes were wet.

How sure do I have to be? he asked.

**

Daphne woke me up in the morning and handed me a cup of coffee. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Ugh. Thanks. What time is it?”

A little before eight. I have a cadaver to go dissect, so. She sat down by my feet. Are you going to try to see him before work?

No. I have no idea what to say to him. As soon as he'd asked me that last night—how sure do I have to be? I'd stuffed some shit in my backpack and gotten the hell out of there. He hadn't tried to stop me, and I glanced at my phone now and...no. Nothing.

This was such a fucking nightmare. Usually when we had some kind of dust-up, I could at least see it coming in advance. This came out of fucking nowhere. All because I said his goddamn name wrong. Him and his fucking ego.

I guess that whole “I knew we'd be together forever,” thing came with a disclaimer, really. Together forever...as long as you stay healthy.

Christ.

And God, the fucking irony of the fact that it wasn't even the goddamn seizures and the lifetime of that bullshit that was scaring him off, it was the fact that I was fucking Deaf, which wasn't even a goddamn problem! Can't he ever get freaked out about something goddamn rational for a change?

She sipped her coffee.

I think I'm in shock, I said. What are the symptoms of shock?

Rapid pulse. Cold skin. Death.

Definitely in shock.

She smiled just a little.

I'm really fucking scared, I said. I think I might not have a place to live.

This isn't like the loft. It's your apartment too. Even if you broke up—

I put my head in my hands. “Oh God, you said it.”

I said even if.

How is this fucking happening? Over something so goddamn fucking stupid? Oh, God, and when Gregory and Mario broke up I was such a cocky asshole...

You are not breaking up.

I don't even know who I am without him anymore. I feel like some part of my body is missing. What the fuck. What the fuck.

She reached out for my wrist and took my pulse. Breathe.

I don't understand how this is happening, I said. He's being such a fucking...he's just pulling the rug out from under me on this. He's been so fucking supportive ever since I got this diagnosis, and he's reassured me a million times that it's not too much for him and he's not going anywhere, and now, out of fucking nowhere...now he's telling me it was all a lie?

It wasn't a lie, Daphne said. He's not leaving you. He's just...having a temporary malfunction.

He shouldn't be having a malfunction about me being Deaf, I said. It's not a bad thing. I rested my head against the back of her couch.

She squeezed my knee. I've got to get going.

Okay. She stood up, and I said, “Daph?”

“Yeah?”

“Do I say Rs weird?”

Yeah.

I nodded a little.

Does that bother you? she said.

I don't want it to.

She rested her hand on top of my head. I'm sure he doesn't either.

**

Who cares if you don't sound like some hearie anymore? Derek said, when we got tapas for lunch. God knows I never have.

I thought it was stupid at first too, but now...I don't know. I get why he's freaking out about it. It feels more real now.

You can always get speech therapy if it really bothers you.

I shook my head. It's not about that. It's...I don't know. I guess I still have internalized audism issues to work through.

We all do. He popped a mushroom in his mouth. Sounds like especially Brian.

Well, not internalized, but yeah.

He'll get over it.

I think it's more than that, I said. He's starting to think about the future and what he wants for his life, and I'm thinking...maybe that doesn't include slowing down for me.

Who says you're slowing him down?

It doesn't matter. If our lives aren't compatible anymore... How the fuck was this happening?

Who says they're not compatible?

I don't know. Society.

Derek took apart a kabob. Society also says two guys aren't compatible together.

I raised an eyebrow.

Oh yeah. he said. I'm super fucking wise, you didn't know?

**

are you coming home tonight Brian texted me.

no

ok

I cried in the bathroom at work.

**

I made dinner for Daphne to thank her for letting me stay there another night, and because I thought if I didn't do something I'd probably throw myself out the window of her four story walk-up.

She drank a glass of wine and leaned against the refrigerator, watching me.

“What?” I said.

Did he ever grieve? she asked.

Grieve? Nobody died.

You can grieve things other than people.

A funeral for my ears? I asked.

For the things he had planned. Who you used to be.

I groaned in frustration. Going Deaf was not a bad thing. I said, for the hundred millionth time. It gave me—

I know what it gave you she said. You got this new language and this new community and culture and history and all of this stuff, and that's great. It's totally great. But...what did Brian get out of this? Like, I know he's happy for you and everything, like he genuinely is, but if you think about it...I mean, his life is totally changed because of this too, and he's still an outsider on all the stuff you got. So if you think about it...this has kind of been completely a negative experience for him and only partially a negative experience for you. And I think maybe he's been really afraid to say anything about that because he didn't want to make it about him.

Well, so much for that.

Hey, trust me, no one's about to pat him on the back and compliment him on doing a bang-up job these past few days. I'm not sticking up for him.

I don't want to be someone's tragedy, I said. Not even his.

You know that's not what it is, she said. That's not what he sees when he looks at you.

How do you know?

Because, she said. It's been three years, and he's thinking this for the first time now.

We ate mussels and linguini and drank shitty white wine, and eventually I said, He asked me how sure he has to be.

Well? she said. What's the answer?

I have no idea. What do you think?

She shrugged. Sure enough not to walk out, I guess.

He's never the one who walks out.

She looked at me meaningfully.

I remembered what Deb said, when I was fucked up about my hand after the bashing: All you can do at a time like this is hold on until the scenery changes. It wasn't about waiting until my hand magically got better. It was just about hanging in there until it wasn't so goddamn devastating anymore, because eventually it wouldn't be.

Brian didn't leave. I did. He sat there and he stayed and he asked me how sure I needed him to be.

Maybe it wasn't a rhetorical question.

Maybe I made a really big mistake not answering it.

**

I got back to the apartment half an hour later. I thought about calling Brian's name, then realized that was probably a bad idea and felt kind of stabbed.

But anyway, I could smell steam and his shampoo, so I knew where he was.

He jumped a little when I opened the shower door. Jesus, scared the hell out of me.

Now you know how I feel when you're grabbing me from behind all the time.

I got in with him and he put his arms around me. He still looked so afraid of me, like I was about to disappear at any minute.

I was thinking we could have a funeral, I said.

His eyebrows came together. He was beautiful.

For hearing Justin, I said.

He stayed perfectly still for a second, then his lips twitched into a smile.

My mom can sing something, I said. Debbie will sob through some hideous poem. Emmett will put together some stunning flower arrangements.

You're allergic.

So? I'm dead.

True.

You can wear your new Brunello Cucinelli, I said. You'll be gorgeous.

I'm always gorgeous.

I closed my eyes and let him wash my hair.

What do you want to wear? he asked, once my eyes were open again.

To be buried in?

Yeah.

I relaxed under his fingers. You can pick.

The steel gray Versace I got you for Christmas. he said immediately. Black shirt underneath. Open collar.

You've put some thought into this, I see.

Considering how often you make me want to kill you, it'd be irresponsible not to.

I kissed his chin. Like when I run away to Daphne's instead of staying and finishing a conversation?

Does it count as a conversation when it's just one person being Deaf and one person being an asshole? Asking for this guy I know.

I lathered my hands up with soap and ran them down his arms. I never let you be sad about me losing my hearing, I said.

I didn't want to be. It wasn't about me.

Someday we are going to have to get out of this pattern of thinking we're not allowed to have feelings about shit happening to each other, I said. It never, ever works. We end up drinking ourselves into comas or having seizures.

He leaned into me. But I read this article about love languages in a magazine in Lindsay's bathroom and I think ours is out-of-control self-loathing.

One of us is going to fucking die someday of a heart attack because the other one had a stomachache first so we felt like it would be in bad taste to complain.

I call the heart attack, he said.

No, because I want to call the heart attack, because we both want to martyr ourselves out over who gets to have the heart attack.

That does sound like us.

I'm telling you, we're a mess.

Losing your hearing did happen to you, though, Brian said. That's not bullshit.

It's not a competition over who...lost my hearing the most, I said. We all know it's me. You don't have to prove anything.

He rinsed my hair. Do you get a medal for being the first one to say you get to be more fucked up about something?

It'll go nicely with the Armani.

He ran his fingers through my hair and tapped his fingers against my collarbone. I had so many plans for us, he said. They're different now.

Every instinct in me told me to reassure him, to tell him it wasn't different, to make promises. But I didn't. I held on until the fucking scenery changed. I know, I said, watching him. That sucks.

He nodded a little.

We can just let it suck, I said.

You won't walk out?

You won't throw a hissy fit and kick me out of your office?

Yeah, that's fair.

I wrapped my arms around him and laced my fingers behind him. He sighed.

I traced my hands up his back. “I know I'm not the person you fell in love with anymore.”

He winced and dropped his forehead on top of my head. Too much.

“I know.”

He dug his fingernails into my shoulders.

I'm sorry, I signed on his chest, and he shook his head.

You were seventeen years old, he said, and I tried very hard to stay in the moment and not lose my shit over that little admission. You were supposed to change.

This is probably a little more than you bargained for.

He kissed me. You're a little more than I bargained for generally.

I'm sorry, I said again, and again he shook his head.

He said, Remember like a month after we met and you had that allergy attack at the loft?

Oh my God. Why did you have to mention that?

How are you still embarrassed about something from nine years ago?

I'm still embarrassed about stuff from nineteen years ago.

My point is, Brian said, that I knew pretty early on you were a fucking handful. You haven't changed all that much.

Wow, thank you.

He shrugged.

I have, I said. There's no point pretending. I feel like all the changes you've made are you, like, improving as a person, and meanwhile I'm just zigzagging around and expecting you to keep up.

He didn't say anything, and I breathed out and rubbed my face. I'm scared that you think I'm with you because you take care of me, I said.

He pushed my hair back. Would that be so bad?

Yes.

I do like it, though. He kissed my cheek. And you do get sick a lot.

Yeah, but I don't want to feel sad about that anymore.

I barely knew what I meant, but he took my face in his hands, hard, and then took one away to sign, I don't want you to either. Okay?

I can't explain how I felt in that moment. If you don't have a chronic illness you probably couldn't understand it anyway. But I was just...free. And much, much too scared to believe it. It's so fucking scary, to have someone in your life who can say shit that means that much to you. The risk is so goddamn high.

But still, I said, Okay.

He breathed out and let go of me. Can I promise I'm not trying to fix you? Does that help? As long as you get through another day, I'm good. I promise.

I nodded.

People expect me to fix things, he said, small. I don't know what other reason there is for me.

That's why it's bad for you to think that's why I'm with you.

He sighed.

That's what you were asking me last night, wasn't it? I said. If I needed you to be strong all the time?

He looked away, and I took his chin and brought him back to me.

I don't need you to be sure, I said. I should have said that last night. I didn't understand what you were asking. You don't ever have to be anything, okay? I don't need it. As long as you get through another day, right? I'm good. I love you.

He swallowed. Too much, he said again.

Okay. I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Okay. We can stop now.”

We just stood like that for a while, and then he spun me around and fucked me for a while, which did a lot to lighten the mood. We got out when the water started to run cold, and I was ruffling a towel over my hair when he grabbed my arm, hard.

“Ow, what?”

It doesn't mean I don't love you how you are now, he said. You know that, right? Say you know that. His face was pinched.

This fucker.

I stood on my toes and kissed him briefly. Don't hurt yourself, I said, and he sighed and laughed and covered his face with his hands, and God, I would take that over sure any day, Brian Kinney fucking hiding his face like a schoolgirl because he goddamn loves me.

**

I made French toast the next morning.

You're trying to get me fat, Brian said.

I watched him polish off his third piece. No one's holding a gun to your head.

He kissed my cheek. I have to go to the gym after work now. You want to meet for dinner after, go to Nova?

Yeah.

He headed for the door and paused, his hand on the doorknob. Well?

Well, what?

Usually you call after me...

“Oh. Have a good day.”

He sighed theatrically. Have a good day, who?

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

Say it, he said.

“No.”

He came over to me and grabbed me around the waist, working his fingers up my ribs. Say it.

“Don't you dare.”

He worked his fingers between my ribs, crawled them around my waist, and I hit him and tried to squirm away and probably made some inhuman kind of shrieking noise. “Let go of me! Oh my God, you are such a jerk.”

Say it!

“Fine,” I said, gasping for air, and he finally let me go, the bastard. “Brian Brian Brian Brian, have a good day, Brian.”

He looked down at me, his eyes glowing with...well, if it weren't Brian, I would say pride.

“How'd I sound?” I said.

Beautiful, he said, and he kissed me so hard I think I chipped a tooth.