VERSE TWO Chapter Sixteen

BRIAN

"I just don't want anyone to treat him differently, that's all. I mean, don't make him feel anything's changed."

"Got it," Mikey says.

"But don't bug him, either … if he doesn't feel like talking, don't let your Mom get on his case. Oh, and don't forget to remind everyone not to keep grabbing him. It makes him jumpy."

"Jeez, Brian, I think we've all got the picture."

I know I'm acting like an idiot; but fuck, I'm nervous, and that's not an emotion I have much acquaintance with; a churning gut and clammy palms are not part of the Kinney mystique, thank you very much. In fact, and I think I might be freaking a bit now, I can't ever recall being nervous like this in my entire life. Because this is Justin's first foray into the bosom of his adoptive family and I really do not want it fucked up.

Personally I wouldn't have chosen Gus' birthday party for a first get-together – everybody's here, except for Ted, who's been keeping a pretty low profile himself since his spectacularly pathetic attempt to self-destruct; and Ben, who has to work on his pec definition. I don't want Justin spooked by too-much, too-soon family prying – especially since they aren't aware of how close the kid came to self-destructing, himself. But I know Justin has a big soft-spot for Gus – not to mention the fact that my son's birthday is such a pivotal date for us – so I guess I wasn't totally surprised when Mikey informed me that Justin had asked him if perhaps it would be okay - if Mel and Linds wouldn't mind - if he could drop by and bring Gus a present.

In fact, I was pretty fucking delighted that Justin had taken the initiative and made first contact. I took it as the first truly positive step towards re-establishing ties with him. And Sunshine's female fan club was pretty fucking happy about the development, too.

And then I started to think about all the things that could go wrong. Despite threatening Emmett on pain of death that he would not attach himself to Justin's neck like a weeping limpet; despite Deb's assurance that she'd respect Justin's space – I'm not a total fucking idiot, asshole! – and despite my explicit instructions to Mikey that he would make no, repeat, no involuntary remarks about violins or ungrateful twinks or any other inappropriate subject – I still fretted. After all, since when have any of them listened to me?

"He probably won't turn up, anyway. You said he had a shift first, at that shitty restaurant?" That's another thing that's irritating me – Justin's still working for that asshole, admittedly for fewer shifts.

"Brian, he said he'd be here when he finished. Just relax, would you? Come and have a fucking beer, or something."

I let him drag me into the kitchen, where Linds, Deb and Vic are busy setting out plates of food and ferrying them to the table in the dining room. Over the bustle I can hear a monotonous, tinny banging sound coming from somewhere deeper in the house.

"Where's Mel?" Mikey asks, pulling two beers from the refrigerator and handing me one.

"Delegated baby sitter," Linds whispers conspiratorially, nodding towards the distant racket. "It was the only way to get her to sit down for a while."

I follow Michael down the hall to the lounge, where Gus is sitting in the middle of the floor with a huge grin on his face, whacking the bejesus out of a small tin drum with a wooden spoon. Mel is seated on the couch with a mutinous expression.

"Remind me," she demands. "Who exactly bought him that fucking thing?"

"Um, that would be Theodore," I smirk.

"And just when I thought my opinion of him couldn't get any lower."

"Tell you what," I say, "why don't you go and get some fresh air? Go and chill out before the party starts. I'm sure I can watch my son for a while."

She opens her mouth for a snarky reply, then seems to think better of it. "They're your eardrums," she shrugs, and begins to get up. Mikey leaps forward to help her.

"For God's sake, Michael, I can still stand on my own! I'm pregnant, not a fucking invalid!" She stomps out the door. I can understand her irritation; in her baggy dungarees she's hardly even showing yet. I find myself feeling very sorry for the small morsel of humanity she's carrying; a mixture of Novotny and Marcus genes sounds like a conception from hell to me.

"Still not appreciating your chivalrous paternal instincts?" I grin, dropping to the floor beside Gus and trying to distract him from the drum with a toy puppy that squeaks when you squeeze it.

"The doctor said she has to take it easy because her blood pressure keeps going up. But she's still working late and not resting like she should and generally acting like a stubborn crazy asshole."

"No," I whisper to Gus, "Your Momma is a stubborn cwazy wesbian."

He laughs back at me, drops his drum, and starts whacking the puppy with his spoon instead. He giggles with delight each time he makes it squeak.

Probably not gay, then.

*******************

Midday winds on into afternoon. Everyone stands round talking and laughing, snacking on sandwiches and dips and pastries. Gus falls asleep in the middle of his toys, still clutching his drum. I try not to look at the clock every ten minutes. I figure Justin won't arrive before three – he'll probably go home and change first – but I still jump when the doorbell sounds even though it's only Emmett, clutching a bottle of wine in one hand and a selection from the latest Torso Tots range in the other.

I help myself to another beer. I find myself in a bizarre conversation with Linds about selecting a school for Gus.

He's not coming. There's no way he's coming.

Then, at two forty-five, the doorbell rings again. I hear Linds' voice: happy, welcoming.

I hear his.

And then Linds is coming in with a huge smile on her face, and there's Justin behind her; a little shy, a little hesitant, a little wary.

So before anyone can react, I move.

*******************

JUSTIN

My heart's in my mouth as I ring the bell. I tell myself that it's okay, that I'll just drop off Gus' present, hang around enough to be polite, and then get out. I don't really expect anyone to make me feel uncomfortable but I'm sure I'm not an entirely welcome presence either, no matter what Brian says.

And of course he'll be here, and he'll be remembering how for the last two years this day's events have defined and shaped our relationship. He'll be as on edge as I am – and he's probably dealing with it in his own inimitable style.

But Linds opens the door with a wide smile and gasps, "Sweetie, I'm so glad you've come!" and kisses my cheek and takes my hand, and I follow her reluctantly to the dining room.

I see Deb with Mikey and Vic, Em sitting at the table with Mel: Brian standing alone with a bottle of beer in his hand. He's smiling.

And then he walks straight up to me, gives me a gentle hug and a kiss, and says, "Justin."

No one says my name like he does. No one ever has; no one ever will.

And it's not so bad. Everybody's really nice, and friendly, and normal. Or they make a good show of pretending to be. When Gus wakes up and sees me, he gives a joyful little squeal and toddles over, arms stretched out for a hug. So I pick him up and he shows how glad he is to see me again by twisting my hair in his sticky fingers and then trying to eat it, until Brian manages to detach him. Actually I'm touched that he remembers me

I give him his present, which is box of fat Kiddy Krayons and a drawing book, and we sit on the floor together and I draw him pictures and he draws me squiggles. When he toddles off to show his Mommies his latest masterpiece, I get up and join Em on the couch. He hands me a glass of wine. "How's it going, Baby?" he asks.

"Everything's fine, Em."

"It's just you look a little peaky. I hear your boss is a good old-fashioned redneck slave driver." Em shudders delicately. "Is he running that cute little butt of yours into the ground?"

"Nothing I can't handle," I smile. Although I really am tired; Sunday lunches can be such a bitch.

Emmett glances at me; looks away, then back. "You know," he says, "everyone thinks I'm just a big nelly-bottom without the sense God gave me, but just because I like a little gossip now and again it doesn't mean I can't keep my mouth shut when it's important. Or that I can't give a fairly impartial opinion. So if you ever want to talk to me, Justin, about anything that might be worrying you … I'm right here, Baby."

I feel something suspiciously like a lump in my throat. "Thanks, Em," I manage to say.

Emmett leans forward and kisses my ear. "We all miss you," he whispers, "and we all love you."

For a fleeting moment I want to believe him. Then I pull away and stand up; I suddenly need to be alone – I'm afraid my emotions are showing too much. "I'm going outside for a smoke."

"Okay, Baby," Emmett replies, "But don't be too long. I think they're going to get the cake in a minute."

I make my way out into the garden. The sun's still really warm even though summer's long gone and the leaves are beginning to fall. I wander down across the grass to the bench behind the shrubs; it's nice and secluded there, and I figure I'll sit for a while and let myself settle a little before the cake-cutting. I flop onto the warm wood, dig out my tin and roll a cigarette.

I light it and draw deeply, savouring the burn. I close my eyes against the sun and let the mellow warmth flow through my body, easing my tired, aching muscles. I've always liked the way this little spot, masked from the house and drive by bushes and small trees, can make me forget for a moment that I'm even in the city – here it always feels like countryside.

Five more minutes. I lay back on the bench and take another drag at my rollie. I close my eyes again.

"Where's Justin?" Lindsey asked, looking around. "We're going to cut the cake."

"He went out for a smoke a while ago," Emmett said. "He must still be in the garden."

"Well, go find him so we can blow out the candles," Deb said. "Gus, Honey, no," she added as the little boy made a grab for the matches.

Emmett hurried out into the garden, hoping that the boy hadn't just taken off without a word to anyone. He seemed so quiet, so sad; nothing like the Sunshine he used to be. Emmett's sympathies had always inclined towards Justin; it seemed so unfair that such a flower of a boy should be doomed to be so frequently and predictably crushed under The Great God Kinney's careless boots. And yet Brian had changed, there was no denying it. Emmett had been sceptical at first along with everybody else, but four months of what was (for Brian, anyway) unprecedented abstinence from the hedonistic excesses of his nature had come a long way towards convincing Emmett that his intentions were genuine. It seemed as if Brian, having at long last discovered the treasure that fate had thrown in his way, was finally prepared to fight for it.

Seeing no sign of Justin, Emmett set off towards the shrubs at the end of the lawn, where the bench was hidden. Then he pulled up suddenly.

Justin was there, curled up on his side on the bench, obviously asleep; and he wasn't alone. Brian was crouched beside him, close to the boy's sleeping head; Emmett could see his face clearly.

Brian was smiling a little, a soft, loving, proud smile; it reminded Em somewhat of the way he looked at Gus sometimes, only more intense. And he looked … happy. It wasn't an expression Emmett had ever associated with that particular face before.

Screened by the bushes, Em watched. He saw Brian reach out and tenderly brush Justin's hair; then suddenly he stiffened, his attention seemingly caught by Justin's right hand where it lay curled beside his face. Brian leaned a little closer and Emmett saw his smile fade as he hesitantly touched Justin's finger.

Emmett turned and walked back towards the house where he would be out of Brian's sight. "Justin!" he called loudly. "Where are you, Baby? We're going to cut the cake."

TBC