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Author's Chapter Notes:

Brian and Justin spend Christmas in Pittsburgh.

 

 

 

 

Brian

Of course I knew that Justin would sleep most of the way to Pittsburgh and that's fine with me, I have a list I'm going over on my laptop and I don't have to worry about him peering over my shoulder. We left the Bradford and Slate party at eleven, stopping only long enough at home to change clothes and grab our suitcases, and we got to the airport right at midnight. Our one-fifteen flight left on time, and as soon as Justin discovered there would be no food service for a few hours, he tilted back his seat, plugged in his earphones, and slipped immediately into la-la land. Later the flight attendant gave me a blanket which I arranged over his shoulders and he's been softly snoring ever since.

From time to time I glance over at him, to be sure he's still out and, to be honest, just because I like watching him sleep. On his back he's a bit of a mouth-breather and sometimes makes little chortling sounds, like a chipmunk with a deviated septum; but now he's sleeping curled up on his side, his back to me, and I can see the sweep of his eyelashes brushing his cheeks, and every so often I watch his eyelids flicker with REM sleep, while wondering what strange boy-ass dreams are flitting around in his head.

We had a busy Saturday, lots of last-minute errands like picking up the dry cleaning, and we had our usual packing arguments, me struggling to keep Justin from packing everything he could think of. We're staying for a week, six days actually; he's not going to need twenty-seven sketch books. Naturally, he argued, insisting that I was packing too many clothes. But you can't have too many clothes, who knows what you'll want to wear from one day to the next?

After lunch, Saturday Justin surprised me. I should have but did not anticipate that he would give me a Christmas present, which naturally he insisted is NOT a present, since it's "merely" one of his paintings. It's a beautiful piece - though "beautiful" is the wrong word for it, since there's anger and fury as well as passion in the small composition. It's not representational, it's mostly color and movement captured in watercolors and gesso, but the overall impression is one of beauty, and I had an immediate visceral response to it that made Justin happy. He said he'd hoped my gut would react before what he called my over-analytical brain wrapped around it. I'm not even sure I like it, but it moves me emotionally much more than you'd think a vaguely formless painting could do.

I'm going to hang it in my office near my desk, it will be one of my first contributions to the office décor, as I've not wanted to get too comfortable at Bradford and Slate in case I decide not to stay after this first year. The only other personal items I've taken to work are a small photo of Gus and my green squeezy ball. That's what Cynthia called it, a plastic tension reliever you can squeeze and stick pins in. Playing with that in my hands has always helped me think. Christ, I miss Cynthia - though my Spice Girl assistant has proved to be efficient and even shows good initiative at times. But Cynthia was truly my right-hand man, and I wish I could afford to give her a Christmas present this year. Which is strange because I hate giving Christmas presents.

And I had nothing to give Justin. There's a good reason for that of course (besides the fact that we fucking AGREED "no presents") but it made me feel churlish after Justin's special gift to me. Which made me grouchy, and I don't suppose that's a very good response after your partner has given you something special and thoughtful. So of course then I had to jettison my plans to do some project work Saturday afternoon - just a general outline of my planning process for a new client, ready for me to take up the reins when we get back from Pittsburgh. Instead, I spent a couple hours in bed with Justin, sharing a long and slow and eminently fabulous pre-Christmas fuck. Sometimes work priorities have to be juggled for the greater good.

The Bradford and Slate party was held at Campanile on La Brea in downtown Los Angeles. A valet took the jeep and we entered the restaurant, where the maitre d’ escorted us through the main dining room; against a rear wall painted yellow-gold were three open archways leading into the garden.

"Oh, look at the golden arches," I leaned down to murmur in Justin's ear. "Maybe you can get your favorite Happy Meal here." Then I put a hand on his shoulder and steered him through the middle archway into the garden where the Bradford and Slate party was underway, spilling out into a covered patio area.

There's a feel of a medieval castle in the garden, with enclosing tall stone walls reaching up to an enclosed peaked skylight through which could be seen the illuminated campanile that must give the place its name, towering into the night sky. Predictably Justin craned his neck so far back that he had to lean against me to keep from falling over. Sometimes his childlike antics make me want to smack his ass, other times he's endearing. Tonight he was endearing, and I hadn't even had a drink yet. I tightened my hand on his shoulder and moved him to the left, to one end of the garden where Bradford and Slate and their wives were greeting guests.

"Brian! Good evening," Matt welcomed me, and "Good evening, Matt," I smiled back at him. "You remember my partner Justin?" Strange to realize that just a few short months ago I couldn't utter the word partner and now it slides trippingly off my tongue without hesitation.

"Of course, welcome Justin!" Matt's smile was warm as he shook Justin's hand, and his wife Sarah immediately greeted Justin as an old friend.

"We meet again, in another historic Los Angeles building!" she informed him. "The Campanile was built by Charlie Chaplin and was his office building for a while."

"Really?" Justin asked eagerly, twisting his head to glance around the place.

"He's always looking for movie stars," I stage-whispered to Sarah; "I don't have the heart to tell him that Chaplin's dead."

"Bri-an, I know that!" Justin chided me with a laugh, but in spite of his advanced age, he's still prone to blushes, which somehow make him even more adorable. I had to catch myself, to keep from leaning over and kissing his lips. I’m getting soft in the head around him sometimes, I’m not sure what to do about that.

Instead, I took his hand and said, "Excuse us, I see Phillip Slate, we'd better go say hello," and led him away before I made a complete fool of myself. It was easier to be formal with Slate, he's a rather unbending and reserved older man, though his greeting to Justin was nice enough.

I've discovered that I'm not the only gay exec at Bradford and Slate, there's a guy in marketing, Chad Bentley, who apparently brings a date to office parties sometimes. I caught a glimpse of him across the room and just as I decided that we'd avoid that corner, Chad looked up and caught my eye. He was holding a champagne flute and he raised it in a smiling salute. "Who's that?" Justin asked, and "Nobody," I said, turning him aside and heading the other direction, toward the bar.

Chad made no attempt to chat us up nor did I approach him. He's younger than I am, in his mid-twenties, tall and slender with excellent taste in suits. Though we've acknowledged each other with nods and hellos from time to time, neither of us has ever made a move to get better acquainted, so I wasn't surprised that he was as content as I was not to press a meeting at the party. I don't know Chad's reasons, but for myself, I feel sure that Justin meets enough gay guys at his own job, he doesn’t need to meet any at mine.

I become aware that Justin is stirring, so I hit "save" on my laptop and quickly exit the program. Justin sits up, dislodging the blanket and rubbing a hand over his eyes. "What time is it?" he asks, a wide yawn showing all his teeth.

"You're the one with the watch," I scowl, unable to resist reaching over to smooth a bedhead cowlick in his beautiful hair, which is lighter blond from the California sun. "Everybody's going to think you've gone Hollywood and bleached your hair."

"Oh, I'm so happy to be going home!" he exclaims, smiling hugely.

That sobers me a bit. "Pittsburgh will always be home to you, won't it?"

"Brian," Justin says quickly, "That's just an expression, 'going home,' you know that! Home is really wherever you are, wherever we are together. I'm just excited to see our family again."

"I know." I can't help the gloom that has descended on me, and he senses it too and takes hold of my arm with both hands, shaking me and trying to make me smile back at him.

"You can't be depressed, it's Christmas!" he insists. "Aren't you excited to see Michael and Debbie and Lindsay and Gus?"

"Sure." I turn away and flip my laptop closed, shove it under the seat in front of me and relax back into the seat. "So what time is it?"

Consulting his watch, Justin answers, "Almost four. Just a couple more hours. Did you sleep at all?" When I shake my head no, he wheedles, "Tilt your seat back and close your eyes for a while, you'll feel better if you rest for an hour or so."

"Yes, dear." Despite my sarcasm, I do as he suggests, lean back in the seat and close my eyes. I'm amused a few minutes later when I feel Justin spread his blanket across my chest and lap, and a moment after that, he's slipping his hand under the blanket to rest it against my thigh. He always needs to be touching me, hanging on to me.

I can't really blame him, I think we both haven't entirely recovered from that period of time without touching, without belonging to each other. I'm not sure exactly what happened with the fiddler, how Justin felt while they were involved for those long months, but he's assured me that he never really loved the guy. I want to believe him, but because I want to so badly, I'm afraid I might be fooling myself. When those old doubts start crowding in I have to mentally shake myself, try to fling them off. In truth, I cannot imagine Justin giving anyone else what he gives to me.

And I've never even asked him to, I've never really asked him to belong to me. It's like one of those twists of fate you hear about and scoff at. He insists that, for him, it was love at first sight. As for me, while I don't believe in that twaddle, I only know that I can't forget the first time I saw him, standing under that streetlamp, and how I was drawn toward him as inexorably as a moth to a flame.

On that embarrassingly romantic note, I feel my eyelids flutter and I begin to drift away, and though I'm aware of the muffled sounds of low voices and the muted roar of the plane's engines, through it all I can feel the warmth of Justin's hand still touching me, and it soothes me into comfortable sleep.



Justin

Brian's asleep at last, he must be totally exhausted. I forgot to ask who’s meeting us at the airport but I’ll wait till he wakes up. I want to go right to Linds and Mel’s house and have a hot shower. Maybe I can talk Brian into taking a nap, so he’ll feel good for the dinner party tonight. He's invited the whole family to dinner as our gift to them, and while I worried about the expense of that, he brushed me off in his typical high-handed way.

There'll be a big family party at Debbie's on Christmas Eve, though Michael enlisted Emmett to do most of the cooking so Deb doesn't overextend herself. I volunteered to help too, I told Em on the phone that I'm a pretty good cook now. "Too good," Brian corrected me; he's gained two pounds since we've been in California and he blames it on me. I know he misses belonging to a gym but he's said that as soon as he pays off a second gold card, he'll get us each a membership. I'm not really interested but he's ragging on me to start taking better care of myself, he said if I get fat he'll dump me into the Susquehanna.

Christmas Eve is the night we'll all exchange gifts. I'll have plenty of time to wrap the pictures I painted and Brian had framed, it was a great idea for him to have them all sent on ahead of time for Lindsay to keep at the house.

I'm so glad that Brian liked the picture I painted for him - and with Brian, there's no faking, if he didn't like it, he'd say so. It was a strange experience creating that painting - it felt sort of cathartic in a way, it felt like I was reliving a lot of the angst I've felt the past three years of our relationship and the picture turned out feeling very emotional. Brian got it immediately, I could tell. He unwrapped the covering, pulled it off and dropped it on the floor, then he stared at the painting silently for a second, and he sort of gasped and said, "Jesus." He stared at it for a couple minutes longer, then moved his eyes to my face. "This is amazing," he breathed at last, "This is one of the best things you've ever done." I couldn't keep the smile off my face, and really I think he's right, but most of all I was just thrilled that he liked it so much. He's going to hang it in his office, which is a huge compliment.

One of the best things about Brian is also one of the hardest for people to get used to. He's just so totally fucking honest, and sometimes that can hurt a lot - he's not careful about wounding people's feelings, his honesty is brutal and all-encompassing. But you always know where you stand with him - if he tells you something, it's the absolute truth.

He's as honest about himself as he is with everyone else, except of course he's only human so he fights against truths he doesn't want to know. Like about us. I knew the first time I saw him that I loved him, and in my heart, I believe it was love at first sight for him too. He says it was just sex and I know he doesn't lie, but this is one of those truths he doesn't want to acknowledge. Oh, I'm not stupid - I know that even for me, it was all wrapped up in excitement and sex and Brian's beauty and the whole first-time thing, and I admit I was just a kid back then and didn't really know my own mind.

Yet in retrospect I realize that I never wavered in my pursuit of him - even the whole Ethan debacle was merely an attempt to prove to myself that I didn't need Brian, and that was the biggest fucking mistake of my life. I'm so grateful that Brian has forgiven me for that mistake, and he's admitted - not in so many words but in all his actions - that he was at fault too, and he's taken pains to change the way he treats me so I don't feel those insecurities that used to haunt me. The domestic partners thing was a huge leap for Brian - being willing to put on paper his commitment to me, even though at first he didn't want anyone to know. In fact, now he's taken our certificate to be framed and he says we can hang it in the apartment. He was pissed that the framers didn't have it ready in time for Christmas, but that's okay, I can't wait to see what kind of frame he picked out.

Christmas morning we'll be at Linds and Mel's house - I'm so glad Brian will be there to enjoy Gus’ excitement. Gus is the only one we're buying real presents for, though we decided to wait till we got home to shop for him. Then, of course, I'll want to spend a day with Mom and Molly, maybe I can do that on Friday, the day after Christmas. We're flying back to LA on Saturday morning - thank God, not another red-eye. My own eyes feel red, and they're getting heavy again. Maybe I can doze off for a little while longer. . .



Brian

"Don't fucking argue - why is everything an argument with you?"

"Oh, I don't know," Justin's voice is as aggravated as my own. "I'd just like to be consulted about things once in a while. Silly of me, huh?"

I stop then, just stop in my tracks; Justin marches on a few more steps till he realizes I'm not beside him, then he turns around and comes back. We've just gotten off the plane and we're halfway through the terminal, the crowd of de-planing passengers divides and moves smoothly around us where we stand glaring at each other. Justin caves first; he almost always does.

"Okay," he says, his shoulders drooping and his pout becoming evident. "Have it your own way, you always do."

"Justin, why is this a big fucking deal? We need a rental car, do you really want to be dependent on others to cart us around the Pitts this week? I didn't know you'd need to be consulted about it, it seems pretty fucking obvious to me."

"Lots of things that are fucking obvious to you are partner-decisions, Brian. Couples make decisions together, you know? Especially when it concerns money."

I sigh, shake my head. "Okay, I could have told you before, but I'm telling you now. The car's really cheap, I got a good deal with some frequent-flyer miles, so it's not a big expense."

"Oh," he's slightly mollified. "Still, you could have discussed it with me."

I stare at him balefully for a moment, then it's my turn to cave. "Okay, you've got a point. So - is it all right with you that we rent a car?"

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"No," I shake my head again. "No, I'm not."

"Then okay, I agree," he nods. "Why don't I get our luggage while you go to the car place? That'll save time."

"Good idea." I was going to suggest it anyway but I don't tell him that. "Get a luggage cart, don't try to carry all those heavy bags yourself."

"Brian, I'm not a wimp, you know?" His voice is getting cranky again.

"No, you're not a wimp," I assure him, then add a smile and whisper, "But if you get a hernia, I won't be able to fuck you for a month or more, so be careful."

He smiles back at me and it almost feels like we've kissed.

"Okay," I tell him, "Meet me at the Avis counter. And remember - lift with your knees."

His hands are full of his backpack and a small carry-on bag filled with last-minute garbage he decided he couldn't live without, but Justin turns sideways and bumps my shoulder with his own, adds a smiling farewell, and the air between our eyes crackles with undelivered kisses.

Then I hurry on through the terminal to the car rental area, mentally preparing myself for the next upcoming argument. He's really going to be pissed about this one.




Brian

"What the fuck? Brian, when did you talk to my mom about this? I was planning to see her on Friday."

"I've got some things to do today. You can spend the whole day with your mommy and I'll come pick you up in time to get ready for dinner."

"You are so fucking bossy, here we go again!" Justin throws out his hands in frustration and yelps when he bangs his right one on the side door - this fucking economy rental car is a lot smaller than the jeep and we're crammed too close together for a decent argument.

"Would you please cut the drama princess routine and be reasonable? Did you have some major activity planned for today, that you'd rather do than see your mother? I was sure you'd be dying to visit with her and Molly. Will it kill you to do it today?"

"No, I didn't have any plans, but I didn't know that YOU had plans, you never told me. What is it you’re doing today that you have to do alone?"

"Jesus," I exhale an explosion of overheated air. "Do we need to hang together every fucking minute?"

I know I'm heaping coals on the fire of his really rather justified outrage, but I don't know how else to get rid of him today.

Justin's silent then and I add, "I called your mother from work the other day, I needed to find out if she wanted to bring her doctor-fiancé to dinner tonight. She said she was hoping you'd come see her right away, and it seemed like a good idea for you to visit her today, since I have some things to do that would only bore you. Anyway, I just forgot to mention it till now."

I'm a terrible liar but a sideways glance at Justin shows me he's swallowed this one. "So," I hazard to ask, "Is it okay with you, or not?"

"Yes." The answer's succinct, he's frowning and he doesn't look at me. He'll continue to be pissed, but I can't do anything about that right now. A minute later, he asks plaintively, "Can we at least stop at Linds and Mel's so we can drop off our luggage?"

"There's no time - your mother's giving us breakfast as soon as we arrive. Our stuff will be safe locked in the trunk, if you need something from your bags today, take it out when we get there."

A sideways glance shows me that Justin's frown has deepened though he says nothing else, we ride along in silence for a while, then I suggest, "Why don't you call and let her know we're almost there?"

Justin sits up straight in the seat and pulls his cell from his pocket, then he dons the demeanor of a carefree young man as he punches the buttons to call Jennifer. I can tell he's still pissed off, but hopefully, his mommy won't notice. "Hey Mom, it's me," he chirps into the phone, "We're in Pittsburgh, on our way to your house! I can hardly wait to see you!"



Justin

Brian eats only a few bites of breakfast, just enough to be polite. Of course, Mom has prepared a huge feast of scrambled eggs and home fries, bacon and ham and sausage, and a tall stack of pancakes. Brian nearly blanches when we sit down at the table, he even hates the smell of food in the morning, normally it's guava juice and maybe a piece of toast for him. He nibbles on a single slice of bacon and two spoons full of eggs, then sits drinking coffee while I pig out. Mom tells him he can smoke if he wants to but he shakes his head - he's not about to do anything she can complain about behind his back.

It's so funny to me that Brian is scared of her. Not scared, Brian's not scared of anything or anybody, but he's very cautious around her. She's always given him a hard time, not always without reason, of course, I mean, she's a mother after all and mothers always overprotect their kids. Well, maybe Brian's mother never did, she's so nasty now, I guess she always has been. I wish I knew more about Brian's childhood but that's a subject he just really won't talk about. "It sucked," is all he will say.

Some of Mom's feelings about Brian are unfair and she does acknowledge that, though she still insists on blaming him for the bashing and it's a subject we just can never talk about. She insists that if he had not come to the prom, I would not have been hurt that night. She won't give him credit for trying to save me, well he did save me, he stayed with me all that night and for several days after that, till I came out of the coma. Michael told me that.

For a long time when I lay in the hospital, I was hurt that Brian didn’t come to visit me. After a while, I’d figured out - and Brian confirmed it later - that he was himself so full of guilt that he couldn't face me. He was so sure I would blame him too. Much later Mom told me that Brian had been there every night, secretly watching over me as I slept. He didn’t want anybody to know, and he still won’t talk about that time, not even with me.

Sometimes I get mad when I think about our family, almost all of them blaming Brian, nobody sticking beside him, leaving him alone to suffer. That's all in the past, nothing can change it and I've tried to let it go. But in a way, I'm glad I'm remembering it today, this morning, because it enables me to stop feeling mad at Brian for not consulting me about things - the rental car, this visit with mom. Those old memories put today in perspective, and I feel myself relaxing as I enjoy my mom's delicious food. What difference does it make if we have our visit today or Friday, I made too much fuss about it.

When I walk Brian to the car, I apologize. "Brian, I'm sorry I got mad at you. This is a good time to visit Mom, I'm okay with it."

"Good," he nods. "I'll pick you up about six o'clock, but call if you need anything." We stop next to the car and he pulls open the door. "Take a nap this afternoon, why don't you, so you're not tired tonight?"

"I will if you will. You only got about an hour's sleep on the plane."

"Okay," he agrees, putting his arms around my shoulders and giving me a rough hug. We pull apart and then with a smile he leans down to kiss my lips - he never used to kiss me if we were within a hundred miles of my mother.

"Bye," he murmurs, "Have fun today."

"You too," I echo him, standing back so he can close his door, and I wave him away as he backs out and drives off - to do whatever the fuck he's doing today. I keep the smile plastered on my face for a few minutes, but I can't help feeling a little left out. That's silly really - even though I know that Brian's probably going to spend the day with Michael, maybe even drop in at Woody's, maybe he'll even fuck a trick or two. I guess Brian just needed some freedom from togetherness today, and I try not to let that bother me. With a sigh, I turn to go back into the house and I realize that I am kind of tired, maybe I'll have a nap after all.



Brian

Lindsay first, then Emmett, then the restaurant. Not everything can be trusted to the telephone.



Justin

Brian's a few minutes late, I watch for him out the window and when I hear my phone ring, immediately I'm worried that I won't have time to change for dinner. But it's okay, he's on his way, he'll be here in a few minutes. So I say good-bye to Mom, she's dropping Molly off later at a friend's house, then her doctor's picking her up and bringing her to the restaurant. I realize that I don't even know where we're going, Brian told me he wanted to take everyone to dinner but he made the arrangements himself and didn't tell me what restaurant. I could ask Mom but I don't want her to know I wasn't consulted.

Brian's here, and I rush down the stairs and fling myself into the car. It's funny to see Brian driving a little two-door Toyota but I refrain from mentioning that, I'm sure he's annoyed enough not to have a statusy car to tool around town. I lean over to kiss Brian, instantly on the alert to sniff out any unexplained odors, and I catch a grin come and go quickly on his face, he knows exactly what I'm doing.

Luckily I don't smell anything - or anybody - but that doesn't mean he didn't wash up afterward. It's okay of course - I'll never hold Brian to monogamy, it's impossible and really, at this point in our relationship, unnecessary. I realize that our partners registration helped me feel a lot more secure about Brian's commitment to me. And I hope he feels the same about my commitment to him. I hope he knows for sure that I'll never leave him again.

Mel greets us with hugs - well, I get a hug, all Brian gets (or wants) is a semi-cheerful hello. Mel can hardly hug me, she's huge, it's all I can do not to stare and point a finger at her protruding belly. She waddles into the living room and plops down on the sofa with a groan.

Lindsay isn't home - Mel says she has to work at the gallery till about seven, so Brian complains, "She'll be fucking late to dinner, why'd she have to work today, it's Sunday?"

"That's what I said," Mel agrees, "But she said she promised a long time ago, she couldn't get out of it at the last minute. Maybe if YOU planned ahead, we'd all have had more notice."

They're still bitching at each other, some things never change.

We leave Mel then, humping our luggage upstairs to the guest room; we just have time for a shower and a shave, and an intense and necessary but very brief fuck, the sound of the shower covering our moans. Brian insists on tying my tie, and when he notices something on one of my shoes, he even gets down on his knees while I sit on the edge of the bed and rubs his finger over the blemish till it's gone. When I stand up he gives me another critical once-over, then announces, "Now you're okay, I'm won't be ashamed to be seen with you."

"The highest Kinney compliment."

Mel’s too big for the back seat, which Brian delights in pointing out to her, so I get in back and we’re on our way. A neighbor is keeping Gus, she picked him up before we got there, so we haven’t even seen him yet. Brian’s not a clingy type dad so I guess that doesn’t bother him. We’ll have plenty of togetherness, though, probably way more close encounters of the toddler kind than Brian can handle, while we’re staying at what Brian calls The Lair of the Lesbians.

Dinner’s at the Aubergine, a French restaurant downtown that I’ve never been in before. Mel’s eaten there a few times and a bit reluctantly admits that Brian made a good choice. As it turns out, she says it’s only a block away from the gallery where Lindsay works, so Brian can stop worrying about Linds being late.

We’re a few minutes early but Ben and Michael and Hunter, Debbie and Vic and Vic’s boyfriend Rodney, are already there, they’re seated in the bar and we join them at a large table in one corner. They stand up and greet us with hugs and kisses, even Michael gives me a hug, taking me by surprise. Hunter’s a bit too enthusiastic when he’s hugging Brian, and I notice Brian removing the kid’s hands that are trying to slip around his waist. I can’t be mad at Hunter, I’m just glad that Brian’s not affected by the boy’s eagerness. In a few minutes, Mom and her doctor arrive so we all jump up and hug each other over again.

We decide that Emmett must be running late, then I’m surprised when I catch sight of Ted hesitating in the doorway, he’s with a guy I don’t recognize at first, then I see that it’s Blake, and they’re holding hands. Oh, I’m glad Ted looks happy, and he looks a fucking lot healthier than the last time I saw him, I guess he’s okay now. I’m surprised that Brian invited him – well fuck, Ted is surprised to be invited, and he falls all over himself thanking Brian, who is characteristically ungracious in his welcome. Their mutual bitchiness goes back a long way, before my time, and I guess they’re used to it.

Now we’re just waiting for Em and Lindsay, we’re all sipping drinks and Brian and I are fielding a thousand questions about California, as he predicted I’m getting teased about my blonder hair and everyone proclaims that we’re thinner which is totally not true. Mel’s phone beeps and with an effort she bends over and digs it out of the purse sitting at her feet.

“Hey, babe,” she says, “Where the hell are you? We’re ready to eat.” She listens for a moment and her face falls. We’re all silent, eavesdropping. “What? Are you serious?” she demands. “Why on earth – “

“What the fuck now?” Brian demands crankily.

“She wants us to – “ Melanie starts to answer, then she listens a moment longer and looks around the table. “Linds, are you kidding? We’re all here, waiting for you. It’s fucking snowing outside! Can’t you just – “

“Give me the fucking phone,” Brian orders her, reaching out a demanding hand and waving it in Mel’s face. “Let me talk to her.”

Mel hands over the phone before Brian can wrestle it away from her.

“What the fuck?” he growls. “Lindsay, what the – “

Like Mel, Brian’s reaction is surprised silence, then he rages, “What the fuck are you talking about? You were due here twenty minutes ago, they won’t hold our table forever. What? What?”

Brian’s shaking his head. “Hold on,” he says grimly, and then he stands up and without a word to us, he strides out of the bar and we can see him having a conversation with the maitre d’ near the entrance.

“Mel,” Debbie demands, “What’s going on?”

“Lindsay wants us to come meet her at work, she can’t get away yet, I don’t know - ?”

“She’s working tonight?” somebody asks, we’re all looking at each other, bewildered. Why would she. . .

Now Brian’s back and he’s glowering. “Okay,” he says into the phone, “We’re on our way. They’re going to hold our table - in fact, they’re not even set up for us yet. But we’ve got to be back in fifteen minutes.” With that, he clicks off the phone and almost throws it at Melanie.

“Put your coats on, everybody,” Brian orders us grimly, “We’re taking a stroll – or in this weather, a brisk jog – to the gallery. It’s just up the street, can all the old or pregnant people manage the hike, or shall we get a couple cars going?”

Everyone stands up, pulling on jackets, looking at each other and asking, “What the fuck?” but with Brian in charge, we’re all quickly marshaled out of the restaurant. Brian pauses to slip a folded bill discreetly into the maitre d’s hand and then we’re outside in the snow. It’s not storming, just soft fat snowflakes falling gently from the velvet-black sky, actually, it’s kind of a welcome relief to be out in fresh air for a few minutes, away from the overheated restaurant.

I’m hanging onto Brian’s arm and trying to find out what’s going on but he’s so mad he can’t even speak. We move along at a good pace, Michael and Ben are hanging onto Debbie, Ted and Blake are on either side of Melanie, the doctor’s holding mom’s arm; nobody’s going to slip and fall down. Then we reach the end of the block and Brian raises a hand to stop us.

“Even better,” he says, “We’re to use the tradesmen’s entrance, it seems we’re not respectable enough to go in through the front door, we might clash with the paying customers.” Then he leads us around through the alley and when we get close to the building, the door opens and Lindsay is framed in yellow light streaming out to illuminate the snow-covered back steps. I was here once before when Lindsay first starting working at the gallery, but I haven’t been through the back entrance so I’m feeling disoriented.

“Come in, come in,” Lindsay urges us, and Brian once again becomes the shepherd urging us up the steps and in through the back door of the gallery. “Take off your coats for a minute,” Lindsay asks, “So you don’t get the floor wet.”

Everybody’s curious and bewildered but obediently we take off our coats and hang them on hooks on the wall, then Lindsay says, “Shh, shh, follow me into the gallery, but be very quiet.” Then Lindsay holds a phone to her ear and into the mouthpiece, she says “Now!”

Holding aside a pleated curtain with one hand, Lindsay grabs my sleeve with the other and pushes me ahead of her. Brian’s right behind and he’s pushing me too. The gallery is brightly lit and it’s hard to focus my eyes after coming in from the dark street, then suddenly I hear someone on a PA announce, “Here he is now, the man of the hour, the wonderful young artist we’re saluting tonight – Justin Taylor!”

If Brian were not right behind me with his hands on my shoulders, I’m sure I’d fall flat on my ass. He continues to push me gently into the room, and I look around in amazement at a sea of faces, there’s fifty or sixty people gathered around the periphery of the main gallery, and the only one I recognize at first is Jim Cranston, one of my teachers at the IFA.

Mr. Cranston reaches out to grab my hand and shake it, “Congratulations, Justin!” he beams, then he passes me off to another person with an outstretched hand. One after another hand reaches out to touch my sleeve or shake my hand, they’re murmuring, “You’re amazingly talented!” and “We know you’re going to go far, young man,” and other unbelievable things, my head is swimming, then I glance around behind the crowd, and on every wall are hung examples of my work, paintings and sketches, charcoals and watercolors.

I also recognize the pictures I’d painted for our family gifts, pictures that Brian said he sent ahead to Lindsay to keep at the house, and Brian reads my mind, before I can speak he whispers in my ear, “Nothing’s for sale, Justin, this is just an exhibit of your work. This is your very first one-man show. Your new teachers at City College and your old teachers at the IFA helped me gather up some of your best work, and Lindsay facilitated this show at the gallery. This is your Christmas present.”

Still speechless, all I can do is turn around and lean my head on Brian’s chest, I’m trying so hard not to bawl or otherwise make a fool of myself, I’m just so amazed that Brian arranged all this for me, he did all this for me, the biggest surprise of my life. “Steady,” he whispers in my ear, “Straighten up now and be gracious to all these patrons of the arts – they might be your meal ticket in the near future!”

I gulp then, swallow hard a few times, then I raise my head from Brian’s chest and turn around to smile at everybody. “Thank you, thank you for coming,” I manage to croak, then I clear my throat and repeat, “Thanks, everybody!”

Then Brian pulls on my arm and we leave the circle of light and move to one side of the gallery, where our family is gathered. The gallery crowd mills around talking among themselves and looking at my paintings and drawings. Then I spy Emmett. He rushes up to grab me and plants a smacking kiss on my cheek. “Hi baby, were you surprised? Ha-ha, we gotcha, didn’t we?”

“You all knew about this?” I demand, then everyone exclaims that no, no, no - nobody knew about it but Lindsay and Emmett.

Brian intones dryly, “Do you honestly imagine any of this motley crew could keep their mouths shut for one minute? I was able to blackmail Lindsay, and Emmett’s getting paid to cater this affair, but I knew I couldn’t buy anyone else’s silence.”

“Brian,” I’m still blown away by it all, “Brian, I can’t believe you did all this for me! It’s – it’s just so amazing, I can’t seem to take it all in!”

“Well don’t go on an on about it,” he drawls, “You need to go start mingling with your admirers and let them build up your ego even more than it already is. Just don’t expect anything like this next year – next year we’re going to Hawaii for Christmas, I can’t stand all this excitement.”

Everybody laughs but I have to throw myself into Brian’s arms one more time, and he hugs me really tight and whispers, “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh!” I pull away, suddenly remembering the restaurant. “What about dinner – will they keep holding our table, or ?”

“The maitre d’ is in on it,” Brian explains, “They know we’re not coming back. Emmett’s whipped up some of his famous and very expensive southern fried horse-apples, for the gallery crowd and for us.”

Then everyone disperses to mingle with the people in the gallery, and Brian leans down to plant a quick kiss on my lips. “Come with me, I’ll show you the piece de resistance.” He smiles mysteriously, takes my hand, and leads me to one end of the gallery where a single framed picture is highlighted by track lights in the ceiling. When we get close and I see what it is, it literally takes my breath away, I gasp and my fingers clutch convulsively on Brian’s hand.

“Oh my God,” I breathe, “Oh my God.”

It’s our certificate, it’s our partnership certificate, the one I copied onto parchment and painted pictures around the border. The certificate Brian said he was having framed for our apartment. Brian shipped it here to Pittsburgh for all the family, for all the world, to see. I could just die from happiness right this second, nothing can ever top this amazing happiness, the best moment of my life.



Brian

I can’t believe everything went off without a hitch, I’ve been a nervous wreck all day, running back and forth all over town, there were a million problems all afternoon, but everything got resolved like Lindsay promised me it would. She’s very good at her job, no wonder her boss agreed to let us use the gallery tonight (well, that together with an exorbitant rental fee of course, but Justin doesn’t need to know about that, what’s a few extra months of credit card payments?), and now everybody’s settling down to enjoy Justin’s first one-man show. He’s incredibly happy, which should guarantee an amazing fuck tonight and maybe two or three days without arguments.

A three-piece chamber music group plays quietly in one corner. I used to fuck the cellist and the pianist so the group’s playing practically for free. I never fucked a violinist and by Christ, I never will fuck a violinist now. The buffet table in another corner groans under a shitload of Emmett’s concoctions, champagne is served in judiciously skinny glasses to make the three cases stretch out to water this hopefully not very thirsty group.

The gallery show ends officially at nine, though a few stragglers hang on till almost nine thirty. Justin’s been making the rounds, his first shyness and embarrassment replaced by mature crowd-handling. He’s done even better than I expected, he knows how to use his charm on these patrons, a skill that will come in handy in a few years when he’s ready for real to start peddling his art.

Finally, the doors are closed and only family remain in the now-quiet hall, nibbling on leftovers and doing their damnedest to finish off the last bottles of champagne. The musicians slow to a stop and I look up to see Lindsay beckoning to me. It’s time now. I nod and move across the floor to where she’s standing talking to the cellist. I’m ready for this. Amazingly enough, I’m ready, and I don’t feel the least bit nervous. Well, not really. I surreptitiously wipe my palms on the inside of my pockets and then I’m standing next to Lindsay, returning her bright smile.



Justin

I’m leaning on the arm of Debbie’s chair, offering to get her another glass of champagne, when I realize that the room has gone quiet. Looking over my shoulder, I see Brian and Lindsay standing near the seated musicians, Brian’s holding a microphone while Lindsay speaks to the cellist. Linds nods and turns to take the mic from Brian and she says, “Testing, testing, testing.” Then there’s total silence, and glancing around, I see that everyone else is as clueless as I am.

“There’s one more surprise tonight,” Lindsay announces, smiling wide and throwing a glance my way. “Now, Brian talked me into this, so don’t blame me if your eardrums explode!”

“Babe,” Melanie exclaims, “You’re going to sing?”

“She’s not bad,” Brian mutters, frowning at Mel. “She sang in the chorus at college. So everybody shut up now and let her get started.” He nods at Lindsay and she grabs his hand and squeezes it.

“Okay,” Lindsay says then, glancing at everyone crowding forward. “Move back, clear a space on the floor. Brian’s going to dance with Justin.”

“We’re going to dance?” I exclaim, but only a squeak comes out of my mouth.

Then Brian’s bearing down on me and he reaches out to take my hand. “Come here, spouse,” he grins, then without another word he pulls me along behind him across the polished wooden floorboards, as he returns to stand in the open space created by everyone moving backward. What the fuck is this?

“Brian, what the – “

“Wait,” he whispers, then loud enough for everyone to hear, he says, “This is the second and final time in my life I’m going to do something ridiculously romantic, so shut up and enjoy it, for fuck sake.”

I can’t help but laugh and everyone joins in.

Brian pulls me against his chest, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, and my hands slip under his jacket, holding him tight around the waist. As the first few chords of music begin, Brian leans down to press his forehead against mine. “Listen,” he murmurs, a tiny smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “This is for you.”

Then Lindsay begins to sing along with the music. I don’t know if her voice is good or not, the first words render me speechless and I can barely move my feet to stay in rhythm with Brian as he sweeps me slowly around the improvised dance floor.

“You made me love you,
I didn't want to do it,
I didn't want to do it.

You made me want you,
And all the time you knew it -
I guess you always knew it.

You made me happy sometimes,
Sometimes you made me glad.
But there were times, dear,
You made me feel so bad."

"Listen to the words," Brian murmurs into my hair. "Listen."

"You made me sigh for
I didn't want to tell you,
I didn't want to tell you.
I want some lovin', that's true,
Yes I do, indeed I do, you know I do.

Give me, give me, give me, give me what I cry for,
You know you've got the kind of kisses that I'd die for,
You know you made me love you.”

I’m the one who’s crying, I feel the hot tears seeping out of my eyes and sliding down over my face. Brian moves his head a few inches and kisses the tears off my cheeks. “Shh,” he says, “Shh."

“You made me sigh for
I didn't want to tell you,
I didn't want to tell you.
I want some lovin', that's true,
Yes I do, indeed I do, you know I do.

Give me, give me, give me, give me what I cry for,
You know you've got the kind of kisses that I'd die for.
You know you made me love you.”

The music stops and Brian raises my arm, twirls me around in a circle and then pulls me tight against his chest, his mouth finds mine and we kiss and kiss and kiss. I think I hear applause from our assembled family and friends but I can’t be sure, all I can be sure of is the grip of Brian’s arms holding me tight, the pressure of his lips on mine. When he finally pulls his mouth away so we can take a badly-needed breath, Brian says, “I love you, I think I’ve always loved you, and now I know I always will.” He pauses, then adds with a menacing growl, “So if you ever leave me again, I’m going to have to kill you.”

“I’ll never leave you, Brian, I love you with all my heart!” My heart that’s so full of joy I’m afraid it’s going to burst out of my chest and fucking explode into a billion pieces.

Then he kisses me again and I don’t even care if my heart explodes, I’ve never been so happy in my entire fucking life. Brian said he loves me – and this time I’ve got witnesses!



Brian

Inevitably while I hold Justin in my arms, memories of that first ridiculously romantic dance swirl around inside my head, making me realize suddenly that this night is unquestionably a direct consequence of that night. And it occurs to me that our relationship has been one long complicated dance. Every step, every mis-step, every stumble, every ending and beginning since we looked into each other's eyes that night under the street lamp, led us here to this time and space.

The music stops, we kiss and I hold him tight, and I can feel Justin's body tremble with joy. And suddenly I realize that he is holding me just as tight, and my own body is also trembling, and in this moment I know that I need Justin as much as he needs me.

More or less.

No, I correct myself, not more or less. More. Definitely more.

So, I've done it - I've sealed my fate, and I can't even claim that my hand was forced. Whirling Justin around the dance floor with a crowd of our family and friends as witnesses to an event at least as historic as manned space flight, I've committed myself publicly to a lifetime with this boy, this man, this partner and spouse and whatever-the-fuck-else we might decide to call each other down the years.

And I'm okay with it. I'm more than okay with it. Still holding tight to Justin, I pull my head back a few inches and move my lips to his ear. "Guess what?" I whisper, breathing in the sweet scent of his skin. “Guess what, partner,” I whisper to him, choking on a laugh, “I’m as happy as a clam in chowder.”

The End.
Morpheus is the author of 54 other stories.
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This story is part of the series, Season Three Stories. The previous story in the series is The Kiss.
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