Homebird

by Amy Lane

  Sherman’s woof could fill the whole house, so Crispin shushed him and opened the door, letting him go outside and tear up the saturated lawn.

  “I cannot see the yard,” Luka mourned, wrapping his arms around Crispin’s shoulders as they fought off the outside chill.

  “It’s sort of dreary in November,” Crispin admitted. “You should see it in the spring.”

  Luka didn’t exactly stiffen behind him, but Crispin could feel a distance. “You shall have to show me pictures,” he said softly.

  “Or you could visit then too. I’m sure the Cave Bar gets super busy in the spring.”

  He was just going to let that lie there, taking up space, and hope Luka would simply think on it, but Luka gave him one better. “Perhaps,” he said. “I am so very comfortable here already.”

  Crispin couldn’t figure out if that was a good or a bad thing, and he suddenly didn’t want to question it any further.

  For just this moment he had Luka, pressing against his back, naked and warm and kind and generous—in his home. In his bed. In his life.

  Crispin was going to pretend there was no deadline. Pretend Luka would stay indefinitely. Pretend that the tender charms of his rampant domesticity could tie down a wandering star.

  He’d spent ten years pretending he wasn’t lonely as hell—this should be cake.

  “YOU WERE a very charming baby,” Luka told Millie, and she beamed.

  “I hear that a lot,” she said, preening a little. “But it’s easy to be cute when you’re four months old. Look at Crispin’s eyes—they’re ginormous. He’s totally stealing the show.”

  “Yes,” Luka agreed. “He looks very precious also. How old were you here, Crispin?”

  “Still five,” Crispin said brightly, bringing in a tray of bacon cream-cheese jalapenos. He’d promised Millie garlic bread, but he and Luka had looked up something interesting for appetizers as well after their luxurious morning of doing nothing at all.

  As promised, Nick and Cam had arrived at five with the motorcycle, and objectively, Crispin could admit it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t a crotch-rocket—all power on a popcorn frame—and it wasn’t a tank with a windscreen either. The tires had tread, the engine sounded, well, however one of those things should sound, which was usually loud, and it looked big enough to see and not so big it would break Luka’s leg if he laid it out.

  For a death machine, it would have to do.

  They shot the shit for a bit and took off in time for Luka and Crispin to start cooking dinner, and Crispin had a moment of settling as they left.

  They were still his friends—nothing about Cam’s sad and surprising revelation had changed that.

  It was something of a relief.

  “When did you turn six?” Luka asked, curious. “You were born when, Millie?”

  “December nineteenth,” she responded. “Sagittarius. Crispin was born March twenty-ninth. He’s an Aries. Shy, you know?”

  “Yes,” Luka said, nodding his head. “I did know that.”

  “And you, Luka?” Millie asked, saving Crispin from embarrassing himself. “When’s your birthday?”

  “August,” Luka told her, before winking at Crispin. “Leo. All vanity, us Leos.”

  “And charm,” Crispin told him. Luka’s slowly spreading, generous smile was his reward.

  “How about you, Todd?” Luka asked, genuinely curious. “When is your birthday?”

  Millie’s husband had always seemed very much the anti-Millie. Shy, slow to speak, a little intense, Todd sported long brown hair and a black beard, and he tended to slouch in the back of the room, pet Sherman, and listen. Since Crispin and Millie could fill the time like siblings, it had never seemed awkward—until now.

  “October thirteenth,” Todd said, a rare smile appearing under the beard. “Libra. I get along with almost everybody.”

  “Indeed you do,” Luka said, laughing. “Do you have any baby pictures? It shall be fun to see if your child looks like you!”

  Todd actually bit his lip, making the sort of eye contact with Millie that had always assured Crispin they were truly in love. “I do, but they’re at home. I really hope the baby looks like her.” He winked at his wife. “Look at those cheeks!”

  Millie giggled, obviously flattered. “Well, if the baby has your eyes, Todd, it’ll be perfect,” she said, and Crispin rolled his eyes a little, but he could admit he was jealous as hell.

  “But let’s see some more of you two as children,” Luka begged. “Millie, you are very pretty, but Crispin was….” He trailed off as she flipped the page.

  “Haunting,” Millie said, the giggle all gone.

  “Indeed.”

  Crispin looked over their shoulder and winced. “I hate this picture.”

  “Me too,” Millie said. “And I don’t even remember it.”

  “What happened?” Luka asked, concerned.

  Well, he should have been. Crispin was seven in this one—that age where kids lost all their front teeth—and he was in a hospital bed with a cast around his arm and a bruise on his eye and a bandage on his forehead.

  “I wrecked my bike,” Crispin told him, although that was obvious from the injury. Those things alone wouldn’t have been awful—kids wrecked their bikes or fell off horses or tripped over curbs on a regular basis.

  “But who is this woman here? You look terrified!”

  “See, the adoption hadn’t gone through yet—Carmen and James were waiting for the last little bit of paperwork. Anyway, I ended up in the hospital, and the social worker showed up and took pictures. I mean, on the one hand, she was just trying to make sure I wasn’t getting beaten, which is sort of reassuring. But on the other….” He bit his lip.

  “She was threatening to take you away,” Luka said, meeting his eyes.

  “Well, yeah. I cried and cried, and then she changed her mind and I cried some more. They had to have Millie’s mom and dad come in to calm me down—I was going to make myself sick. I think Carmen and James kept the picture there in case it ever happened again. They wanted proof that threatening to take me away would just really freak me the hell out.”

  “But you went to Munich,” Luka said, like this was no small thing.

  “And San Diego and Vegas,” Millie said soberly, looking for a laugh to break the sadness that had fallen over the cluttered little living room.

  Luka took her cue, and his smile made another magical appearance. “Vegas? Crispin? With the boys, I assume.”

  “Oh God, yes,” Crispin muttered. “And I wasn’t out—I mean, they knew, but I didn’t know they knew, and they kept dragging me to shows. Ray and Link were the only ones with wives, and ugh! It was just all so desperately uncomfortable. If I wasn’t supposed to be looking at naked showgirls, I was supposed to be gambling, and I hate gambling, and….” He paused then and remembered the airport on the way to Munich. “I guess all things considered, I probably should have come out then.”

  Luka bit his lip and looked away. “But then you might not have been available when you came to Germany,” he reasoned. “And that would have been my loss.”

  Millie looked from one to the other and suddenly had an epiphany. “Wait—Crispin, you never did tell me how you came out to your friends.”

  Crispin glared at her. “Millie, you obnoxious little shit, you couldn’t have planned it better if you’d tried.” He launched into the story of the condoms in the shaving kit, and by the time everybody was done laughing, dinner was ready.

  By the time the evening was done, Luka had gone through all the photo albums in the house, Todd had laughed four times, and Millie had forced them all to keep up with her in the eating dessert department. Luka and Crispin waved them goodbye at the door before feeding the animals and rolling off to bed, too full to even think about sex.

  They lay there in the dark, stroking each other’s skin instead, talking desultorily of nothing.

  “You seem very… sad,” Crispin said as they got closer to sleep.

  “I ca
n’t get that picture out of my mind,” Luka said. “You were devastated.”

  “The social worker? Yeah. I have to say, the whole thing sort of scared the shit out of me. No more bicycles, no skates, I damned near made them get me padding and a helmet for T-ball. It was just… you know. Getting hurt had too many consequences?”

  “Ja,” Luka said softly. Then, his voice cracking, he said, “What if I hurt you?”

  Crispin rolled to his side to study his face. He was lying on his back, staring through the window to the tree outside. The birds had left, and last year’s nest sat, bare and skeletal, a few wisps of brightly colored wool flapping in the bitter wind outside.

  “That could happen,” he admitted. “But I could hurt you too. Millie told me once that Todd’s parents weren’t very… supportive, I guess. They didn’t think he could get through college, mocked him for even trying. She said she felt bad one night, because the two of us… you know. We talk.”

  “You talk like a brother and sister who know how important it is to have someone,” Luka said, pushing Crispin’s hair back from his eyes.

  “Yeah. Like that. Anyway, she told him she didn’t want to hurt him, and he said there’s pain and there’s ache. He said the two of us made him ache—we made his heart hurt, because we had something he hadn’t. But he loved us both, so he was happy with the ache. The pain was when he goes to see his parents and his father calls him a liberal snowflake and says mean shit about me. He doesn’t go home very often, and Millie and I… we’re really, really careful only to make him ache. Not to cause him pain. You know?”

  “So what are you saying?” Luka sounded… fragile again. In need of guidance. Crispin could only hope he had some to give.

  “You could never be deliberately cruel to me,” Crispin said, hoping this was true. “And so far you’ve never lied. However… however we turn out, as long as you never lie to me, never be cruel, even if you leave someday, I’ll feel an ache when I think about you. But not a pain.”

  Luka shook his head, his eyes glittering in the light from the front porch. “Crispin, now you are lying.”

  Crispin’s breath caught, and he pressed his cheek against Luka’s palm. “Okay. Sure. I’m lying. But let me lie to you about this, okay? If you think about hurting me, you’ll only leave sooner. Think about how happy you make me, right here, by my side. Maybe that will be what lets you stay.”

  Luka stroked his cheek and leaned forward, capturing his mouth. Crispin responded, and they kissed, mouth to mouth, hands tracing lazy patterns on each other’s skin, until they fell asleep.

  LUKA AND Jamie’s agreement was that Luka work Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evening—but Link managed to convince him to let Luka have the Kings game off anyway.

  “It’s weird,” Luka confessed to Crispin after that discussion happened on Thursday night. “It’s like your boss is sort of the godfather, and my boss owes him fealty. If I were the type to invest in office politics at all, I’d put money down that Link would win pretty much whatever game he set his mind to.”

  “I know, right?” Crispin asked, going through his closet. “It’s like we can only be grateful he uses his powers for good. Here, wear this.”

  “Who is Fox?” Luka wanted to know, even as he slid the purple jersey over his head and his tattered hooded sweatshirt.

  “Wait. Take the hoodie off. I have one for you tonight.” Crispin pulled up one of his four hooded Kings shirts and handed it to him. Luka looked at the jersey and the hoodie and grimaced.

  “I did not know there would be a costume requirement. Even my lederhosen is borrowed. My friend Oskar keeps it for when I return.”

  “Well, you’re borrowing this from me,” Crispin said practically. “You don’t understand. The godfather requires total loyalty, and that means being balls-out dressed for our team. It’s a thing. Link and Ray even went all-out for the leather jackets last year. It’s amazing.”

  “Okay, but you did not answer. Who is Fox?”

  “De’Aaron Fox,” Crispin said promptly. “He’s got good stats, but when you see him play, it goes beyond that. He’s amazingly quick. It’s astounding. Also he’s really involved in his community and public causes. He just has this real sweet presence in the area. So I got his jersey.”

  “That’s nice,” Luka said, smiling. “Who are you wearing?”

  Crispin shrugged. “Karcek. He could have been their greatest player, but he came out right before a championship game, and they benched him. Happened about two years ago—I think he’s been training to come back, though. We can only hope.” Crispin stopped to grimace. “You know, come to think about it, I think picking this jersey might have been a good signal to the guys that I wasn’t as straight as they seemed to think I was.”

  Luka frowned. “Why does it matter, how they thought of you? They seem… attached, no matter what.”

  Crispin frowned back. “I guess I feel bad for not trusting them, you know? We were friends for a lot of years.”

  “Mm… well, those things take time.” Luka bit his lip. “I… I have no reference for you, Crispin. My parents died before I was sexually active. I… there was no coming out. My first time with a girl was at university. My first time with a boy, the same. They were both lovely. I have no complaints—but no accountability either.”

  Crispin blinked at him and felt it again. Luka’s incredible self-reliance also masked an incredible vulnerability. He was, in all ways, alone.

  “My foster parents knew,” he said, wondering if this would create a pain or an ache. “They asked me who I wanted to take to a school dance. I told them the high school quarterback, but I was pretty sure he was dating a cheerleader. They looked at each other, shrugged, and said, ‘Okay, Crispin, maybe aim at someone who likes boys too.’”

  Luka’s smile made Crispin’s chest hurt. “Did you?”

  “Ask someone else? No.” Crispin stepped into his arms, needing to touch. Luka was just enough taller than he was to make his shoulder damned convenient. “But it was enough that they knew.”

  Luka wrapped his arms around Crispin and shuddered, hard. “You were testing them?”

  “They were my second set of parents. I had to make sure, you know?”

  “Unconditional love,” Luka said, getting it. “There was nothing you could do to make them go away.”

  “Yeah.”

  When Luka spoke next, he ripped a hole in Crispin’s world. “I stayed home. They said, ‘Come with us!’ and I said, ‘School.’ And then they went away.”

  Crispin pulled back, stunned. “Baby—”

  “No.” Luka shook his head and took a step back. “It was a good lesson. You must always answer when the gods are calling, yes?”

  And at that moment Cam knocked on the door, because they were carpooling to the light rail station and it was time to go. By the time Crispin found his footing again, he and Ray were jammed in the back of Cam’s SUV, and Nick and Cam were in the middle, where Cam was whining mightily that Crispin didn’t have an SUV too. Luka was sitting in the front, telling them they were lucky they weren’t in Delhi, where Crispin could put seats on the roof of his Toyota and call himself a cab.

  No time to talk about unconditional love and lost birds, but Crispin resolved to find the time.

  When do you find the time to tell your lover that the thing he thinks is his greatest lesson is the lie that will destroy the two of you in the end?

  THE KINGS lost, and the guys went out to a bar to whine, per tradition. Luka ordered wine for Crispin and nursed a beer for himself and spent the evening immersed in Link and Ray, dissecting the finer points of the game as though he were studying for an exam. Midway through the night, Cam leaned over into Crispin’s space and whispered, “Is everything all right?”

  Crispin nodded and took a thoughtful sip of his wine.

  “You guys fighting?”

  Crispin shook his head, half smiling. “Not about anything. It’s weird. After hanging out with you bozos for so long, I tho
ught that’s how men communicated. Even gay men.”

  Cam laughed like he was supposed to, but his speculation wasn’t going away.

  “Lunch Monday?” he asked.

  Crispin thought about it and nodded. “Friends?”

  “Of course.”

  And he didn’t say anything for the rest of the night.

  Monday was the week before Thanksgiving and all the restaurants were teeming, so essentially lunch was going to Del Taco to pick up food for the rest of the guys—but it was time to talk, and Crispin appreciated the hell out of it.

  “So…?” Cam asked, as soon as they got into the car.

  “So it’s fine. I mean, it’s great. I mean, it’s wonderful. I… I never imagined having this much fun with anyone, much less someone who….” Crispin blushed.

  “Rocks your world?” Cam asked dryly.

  “Yeah. That. So it’s not anything he’s done. He’s kind. And funny. And he seems… he’s interested in me, which I would have told you was impossible, because… I mean, you know.”

  “I’m an accountant too,” Cam said, rolling his eyes. “I know. It’s not like we jump out of airplanes for a living.”

  They both shuddered.

  “We don’t even take the fast setting on the treadmill,” Crispin confessed. They worked out with Link after work three days a week. Link would be running some sort of gym marathon, and Crispin would be dragging his ass up the electronic kiddie hill.

  “I cheat sometimes,” Cam admitted. “I set it on slow and then alternate whenever Link looks over at me.”

  Crispin had actually seen him do this. “It’s genius. If I hadn’t already proven what a wimpling I am, I’d do that too.”

  They both shared a sigh of exasperation, and Cam moved his hands encouragingly. “So… he’s interested in you—”

  “And my family.”