Nancy Jones had simply put, the perfect life. She had the all American dream: a beautiful house with a well kept garden that had won first place five years in a row(soon to be six), all surrounded by a crisp white picket fence. She loved her fence! But not as much as her family, young Billy, Mary, and baby Susanne. All fathered by her adoring husband, Adam, the local family doctor for the town.
When Nancy wasn't making a pot roast for dinner, or a peach cobbler from scratch, she was the leader of the Neighbourhood Watch. A fact that she was incredibly proud of, especially when you considered all of the hard work she'd managed. The streets have never been neater, and the Church bake sales had never raised as much money.
In short, life had treated her well. Anyone would be hard pressed to destroy this image of harmony, if it was possible at all.
June, one of the warmer months. It was a hot day, hotter than what their town had felt in a while. There was not one cloud in the sky, allowing no coverage from the sun's constant attention. Afraid that their lawns would dry out from the heat, everyone had left their sprinklers on. The image was mesmerizing, bursts of icy water spraying into the open air, casting the glimmer of condensed rainbows against the vibrant green of the grass. It was wonderful, one of the few sounds that day.
School hadn't ended yet, and most were at work, meaning that the streets were empty. Besides the sprinklers, what few sounds were of the clothes swaying on the lines, and the grasshoppers chirping.
Around this time Nancy had gotten her first call of the day, of course from her gal pal, Betty.
She flipped through her favourite magazine, Woman & Home, as she answered the incessant ringing.
"Hello?"
"Hello, it's Betty." Of course, who else would it be?
"How are you, Betty?" She asked, not really caring but wanting to be polite. Before her friend could even respond, she was talking away, "I saw this lovely recipe for banana bread, I think I'll give it a try-"
"Nancy, I heard some news ab-"
"Adam can't resist a good loaf, the big dolt that he is! Maybe if I make it I can convince him to put a gazebo in the backyard, you know how long I've been wanting one."
"I know, Nancy. But I only just called to-"
"Speaking of fashionable choices, I just heard from my Avon representative that stripes are in! Isn't that wonderful? I'll have to take my old clothes out of retirement. Heaven knows how long it takes to get rid of that mothball smel-"
"Nancy!" Betty shouted, "We're being infested!"
The line eased into an uncomfortable bout of silence. Placing her magazine beside her on the couch, Nancy leaned forward as she frowned.
"Infested? What earth are you talking about, Betts'? No, don't tell me.." She sat up straight, "Is it... lice?" She ignored the sigh on the other end, "I swear if I find out that Williams girl has been napping in the sandbox again I'll be writing an angry letter to the school board! I am not dealing with another- "
"Nancy it isn't lice!" Betty gulped hastily, "It's worse, much worse... it's... the gays..." She could practically hear the shudder coming from her friend.
Nancy blinked, "Gays?" She tested the word, swishing it around in her mouth. It took a couple of seconds before realization dawned on her, "Oh, gays! Don't worry about them, dear. They're harmless."
"Harmless!" Betty scoffed, "They'll taint our children, Nancy! Next thing you know poor little Billy will be shoving cucumbers and hamsters into his...you know."
"They don't really do that... do they?"
"It's true! I read some article on it and everything! And now we'll be having one living next door!"
"Betty calm down! I'm sure they won't be that bad, they're silly little things! They always wear delightful little suits, carry rainbow flags, and just loooooovvveeeee Broadway!"
"I don't know, Nancy."
"Look if it makes you feel better, I'll go over and welcome them to the neighbourhood. After I meet them, I'll call you straight away and dish out all the dirt. How does that sound?"
"I swear to God! Eric?! Where's the fucking brush?!"
"What?!"
"The... I'm not doing this." Kyle stood up from his crouched position, pushing the cardboard box out of his way as he went into the room across from the soon-to-be-office, their bedroom.
In it his husband sat on the floor, trying to put together their bed frame. The whole process of moving had exhausted him, but he refused to stop until this fucking bed was complete. He would NOT be sleeping on some shit air mattress, like some moderately wealthy hobo.
"Have you seen the paintbrush?"
"No. Does it look like I'd know where it is? I've been working on this piece of shit the whole time." The pair might be just a little bit pissy. Just a little bit.
"It was just a question, Eric. There's no need for that tone."
"What tone? I don't hear anything? The only thing I hear is this fucking bed frame, being an asshole!" As if to prove his point, he swatted at the wood. "Fuck off!" He shouted, glaring harshly at the inanimate object.
Kyle rolled his eyes.
"What?"
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to, you're giving me that whiny bitch stare."
"Eric."
He paused, now noticing that maybe it was plausible he went a little too far. Kyle hadn't slept that much either, maybe less, he was always the one to fret. Like an old mother hen, the idea had the corners of Eric's lips inadvertently twitching. Immediately he squashed the feeling, gulping as he mumbled out a quiet "Sorry".
Kyle sighed, screwing his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened them, he forced his face to soften. "Look," he said, walking over and bending to meet his husband's gaze, "I know things are hard right now. I really do. You have to trust me that it'll get better, okay?"
Snorting at the hummed response, Kyle pushed the hair back from Eric's forehead. Swooping down, despite his protesting back, to press a quick kiss against his mouth. His eyes flickered close for a moment, still reeling from the squeezing sensation in his chest. Even after all of this time, it still hadn't faded. It always felt fresh to him. He pulled away, satisfied that Eric looked just as breathless as he did. "You need a haircut" he whispered.
Eric laughed, reaching up to tug on a particularly unruly curl. "Speak for yourself and your Jew-fro."
"I thought we agreed not to call it that..."
"I recall no such thing. The only vows I made were to keep tapping that sweet ass."
Kyle groaned, annoyance and amusement flaring again. "That reminds, you need a shower too."
A smirk slid onto Eric's face, befitting as he waggled his eyebrows at his fuming lawyer, "Why? Want to join me?"
"Yeah, no thanks. I have a million and one things to do, I don't have the time to stroke your ego."
"You could always be stroking something el-"
"Besides," Kyle loudly interrupted, "you really smell."
"Excuse me, who's fault is that? You're the one who decided to pack all of the useful stuff, like the deodorant."
"I told you could use mine!"
"I'm not using Irish Spring. Not now, not ever."
"Holy Moses! You are such a baby!"
"If I'm a baby then that means you're a pe-"
"No. We're not doing this again. Just, please have a shower? You're peeling the wallpaper with your stench." Before any other snide comment could be made, Kyle was gripping his husband's hands and hauling him up onto his own two feet. He made sure to swat Eric's ass on his way out of the room. Chuckling under his breath as Eric called, "Hey! That's sexual harassment! I'll fucking report you, you pedo'!"
She cleared her throat for what felt the hundredth time that minute, testing the waters once again. "Hello, my name is Nancy Jones, and welcome to our neighbourhood! I can't tell you how impatient we're all are to meet you! You are in fact our first gay couple. Maybe you could...No that isn't right... I hear your kind is the artsy type. How delightful! Have you seen the musical Wicked? With all... oh shit." She paused for a second, brow furrowed as she tried to think of something else. Anything.
"Oh fuck it." She pressed the doorbell. After a few seconds, Nancy was almost certain that the bell wasn't working. A pink sharp fingernail rose above it, ready to press again when the door was flung open.
Well, he certainly wasn't what she expected. There was no neon colours, a shirt that was popped open at the chest, or mesh clothing. Nowhere in fact.
Instead there was a tall, lean man before her, doubtlessly tired from the looks of him. There was dirt and paint smeared on his dark jeans and oversized flannel shirt, and what looked like ink on one of his tan cheeks. Paired with russet curls that were cut short, and brilliant green eyes, Nancy had to admit he looked cute. In a bookworm sort of way. She glanced at his nose, defined and nobly aquiline. She'd have to make a point to refer him to Betty's husband, Frank, he was a plastic surgeon.
Hefting the weight of her gift so it rested more comfortably in one arm, she offered the other as she flashed a smile. "Nancy Jones, pleased to meet your acquaintance."
He gave a hesitant smile back, shaking her hand in a firm grip. "Kyle, nice to meet you." After they released each other's hands, they stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do next. Eventually Kyle cleared his throat, nodding towards the house as he held the door further open. "Would you like to come in?"
Nancy smiled back, showing her perfect teeth, "Of course."
It felt strange entering this house, even though she'd been here plenty of times throughout the years. This used to belong to lovely Mrs. Pearl Phillips. The poor thing had been a widow for years, and after her children moved out, quite lonely. It had been five years since she passed, but it still felt like yesterday.
The hallways were still the same, as was the paint, all bright colours. That would change quickly enough, as evident with the stacks of sealed boxes, all labelled for different rooms.
"Oh! Heavens me, I almost forgot." She readjusted her gift, peeling the tin foil off the top. "I brought something for a little house-warming."
Kyle smiled, accepting the held out gift, "You shouldn't have."
"It's tradition." Nancy replied, like that explained everything. "Now, I hear you're gay, is that true?"
"Yes...?" Kyle glanced away, suddenly feeling like an animal in the zoo.
"Splendid! Where's your...'partner'? Don't tell me he's at work."
"No he's-"
"Babe, have you seen..." The thundering steps that came down the staircase stopped. Nancy and Kyle turned around, mortified for completely different reasons. Eric paused, still dripping wet from his shower as he stood wearing nothing but his boxers. Suspiciously he smelt of Irish Spring, but Kyle was far too preoccupied to comment on it. He was too busy wanting to strangle Eric, then himself to put an end to this hellish experience.
"Holy shit, is that apple pie?" Never one to shy away from an audience, Eric went down the stairs and walked straight up to Kyle, taking the dessert away from him. He stuck three fingers in, shoveling the innards into his mouth. "Shit" he moaned, "is there cinnamon in here? And nutmeg...? Fuckk.."
"I..." Nancy started, but quickly changed her mind, "...Yes?"
"You can tell" Eric mumbled around his food, "it's good. This bitch over here," he waved a finger at Kyle, unconsciously flicking a chunk of apple onto Kyle's shirt. The nerve under his lawyer's left eye twitched; "never puts enough sugar in anything. It sucks. Man, its still warm from the oven."
"I'm...I'm sorry to hear that?"
Suddenly realizing his manners, Eric offered his sticky hand to Nancy, "Eric, by the way." She stared at the offending appendage for a moment before shaking her head, "Nancy Jones. I only came over to introduce myself, I best be on my way."
Eric paused in his eating, "Don't be like that, Nancy. You can't just show up and leave, at least sit on the couch and talk for a few minutes."
"I..."
"Please?" It was like he'd been saving it, a bazillion watt smile that fried Nancy's brain to mush. She was nodding her head and following the lumbering form of her neighbour into the living room before she even knew it. Unaware that she was a pawn that prolonged the tongue lashing that Kyle was about to give Eric, even when the gritting of his teeth was obvious as he said, "I'll put the kettle on. Coffee or tea?"
"Tea, please." She had responded, missing the heated glare that Eric smirked back at.