The New Normal

by L. J. Hayward

  “Fine. I’ll keep working. Wouldn’t want the architect’s hands to get dirty.”

  “What the hell?” Andrew glanced at him, not wanting to look away from the panels for too long in case they tipped.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Sam sounded bitter. “You’re an architect, slumming with the bricks and nails guys.”

  “I’m not an architect.” Andrew was pissed that this had come up again.

  Sam snorted and fitted the next panel in with a click. “Ron said you were. That’s why Sheridan keeps coming by and dragging you into the office.”

  Ignoring him, Andrew concentrated on getting the load of panels safely onto the scaffolding. He was nearly done when Sam got the next jab in.

  “Or are you in there sucking him off?”

  Andrew jerked and the load tipped. “Fuck! Watch out!”

  On the ground, Terri looked up and then sprinted away as the top couple of panels slid off and tumbled down. They cracked as they hit and Andrew winced.

  “Maybe you should leave the hard labour to the real workers,” Sam snapped.

  “And maybe you should shut the fuck up.” Andrew surprised himself with how vicious he sounded. He normally was not a confrontational person and would have walked away calmly if Sam had carried on with the architect nonsense, but this?

  “He’s a bloody poof and you’re in there with him, looking all pleased as punch when you come out. What else are you doing, if you’re not an architect?”

  “You fellas okay up there?” Terri called, shading her eyes from the sun as she peered up at them.

  “Time for a shift swap,” Sam called back down, glaring at Andrew. “Smarty pants here is dropping panels.” In a lower voice he added, “Wouldn’t want you perving on my bum either.”

  “I’d pity anyone who’d perv on a bigot like you.” Andrew didn’t hang around. He loved this part of the build but he wasn’t dealing with this just to do it.

  He climbed down the scaffold and stalked past a concerned Terri. At the side of the office, he grabbed his drink and slammed down half a bottle in one go.

  Fuck Sam. Andrew had liked him. He was rough but a good man, or so he’d thought. Perhaps Sam was only voicing what everyone was thinking, though. Ever since Vaughn had started up their chats a couple of times a week, the rest of the crew had observed with less and less patience. At first, they seemingly hadn’t minded letting Andrew go talk in the office while they cleaned up, but the pretend grumbling had turned into real grumbling during the second week. Even Terri was sending him off with a curt wave now, not a cheerful “We got this.” Ron was making comments about docking him those ten minutes. Vaughn had overheard Ron one day and offered to go to the owner of the company on Andrew’s behalf. Andrew had asked him not to and Vaughn had started showing up in his lunch break.

  And sure enough, the red Tesla pulled up right then and Vaughn got out.

  “Andrew,” he called and waved. “I have to talk to Ron for a moment, but I’ll be out shortly.”

  Andrew just nodded and when the door closed behind the architect, there was a sing-song “Wooo” from the scaffolding. A couple of the other guys laughed and Andrew wondered if Sam had been talking to them, spreading his prejudice. Or maybe they were all just natural arseholes.

  “Everything okay?” Terri asked as she came over.

  “Sam’s a fucking dickhead. Did we know that before or is he a late bloomer?”

  She did a doubletake at his language. Andrew wasn’t a big swearer, but when he got pissed off enough, he didn’t care.

  “I knew. He doesn’t let it show that often, though. Only when it’s something he’s got a real grudge against.” Terri sighed. “Let me guess. He said something about Sheridan being homosexual.” It wasn’t a question.

  Andrew grunted a positive. Everyone on the crew knew Vaughn was gay. After he got picked up by his husband the day he and Andrew had first chatted, the older members of the crew had mentioned seeing him with a couple of different men over the years. Which stood with Vaughn’s statement that he’d never thought he’d settle down with one person. Until today, however, no one had been outright hostile about it.

  “Are you going to report him?” she asked quietly.

  He could kiss his job goodbye if he did that. McGregor wouldn’t fire Andrew, but the other guys would probably side with the man they’d known longer—and agreed with—and make his life so miserable he’d want to quit. But to leave Sam’s attitude unchecked was just as aggravating.

  “I should,” Andrew muttered. “He accused me of being in there . . . with him.”

  Thankfully Terri caught on without any more hints. “Oh shit. That’s pretty bad.”

  “Everything he said is pretty bad. And don’t tell me he’s from another generation. His brain still works, he can learn new things if he wanted. He’s a fucking bigot.”

  Terri sighed. “I know.”

  Before Andrew could get anymore worked up, Vaughn came out of the office. “Andrew, Ron’s got work to do so let’s go off site for lunch. I’ll have you back in an hour.”

  Andrew was steamed enough he didn’t care how it looked. He just needed to get away for a bit, so he got into the car with Vaughn and said, “Whatever,” when the man asked what he wanted for lunch.

  They ended up at the Barefoot Barista, seated outside, and Vaughn ordered them burgers, chips and a coffee each. Andrew didn’t protest. He would need the calories to fuel his resistance to punching Sam.

  “You seem upset,” Vaughn said while they waited. He had a tube resting against his leg. Today’s plans undoubtedly, but he made no move to show them to Andrew.

  “Just one of the guys talking shit. What are we looking at today?”

  Vaughn patted the tube. “I thought we’d do something different today. Not an old design, but something I’m working on at the moment. Thought you might have something of value to add to it. However, I’m not showing you anything until you stop tearing up the napkin. Who knows what you would do to my plans?”

  Andrew looked down and saw shredded bits of paper napkin between his hands. “Shit. Sorry.” He dropped the remains of it on the bread plate and sighed. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?” Vaughn leaned in, honestly concerned.

  This was it. Vaughn wasn’t a real friend, but he wasn’t a stranger either. Andrew could do this.

  “How do you be out, and happy, and not want to punch bigoted pricks all the time?”

  “Wow. Okay, that’s a big question.” He clasped his hands together on the table and caught Andrew’s gaze squarely. “It’s difficult. Very difficult. Everyone has different mechanisms. Some people learn to tune it out, others, well, they do punch the bigoted arseholes.” He smiled. “You just have to work out what’s best for you. What lets you live a healthy, happy life.” His smile faded. “I had to let go of most of my family. They couldn’t accept me as I am. Reid, my husband, his family is amazing but he’s never really been not out and he got bullied horribly as a kid. A guy I was seeing before Reid, he’s out to his friends and family, but not to anyone else. It wasn’t up to me to force him, either.”

  Andrew nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought. I’m really sorry about what your husband went through.”

  “He might not look it, but he’s tough.” There was endless admiration in his tone.

  Their food arrived and Andrew dug in, both hungry and not eager to talk more just yet. The burger was fresh and really good so Andrew didn’t feel guilty about his salad roll back at the build site.

  “Did something happen today?” Vaughn asked gently when they were down to chips and their drinks.

  Andrew shrugged. “Like I said, just the guys talking shit.”

  “About me?” Vaughn chuckled. “It wouldn’t be the first time. For one, I’m the nosy architect who doesn’t know when he’s not needed anymore. And secondly, I’m openly gay with a husband I don’t mind showing off in front of a group of men who are stereotypically homophobes.
It was about me, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. And me, being with you.”

  “Oh.” Vaughn sat back in his chair and looked at the awning over their heads. “Do they know about you?”

  “No. Well, sort of. Ron told them I’m an architect, so that’s not going over well. On top of that, I’m apparently . . . servicing you in the office. I guess they’ll think we’re having wild butt sex today.”

  Vaughn spat the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken.

  Once it was as cleaned up as they could get it, Vaughn paid and they got back in his car. The architect didn’t start it, however.

  “Andrew, not saying something to John McGregor about Ron’s attitude is one thing. Keeping quiet about what that person accused you of is entirely different.”

  “I know. I like my job though.”

  “You said like, not love. Over the past weeks I’ve seen how much you love architecture. I don’t know why you thought it would be better to not pursue it, but I do know you’d be much happier doing what you love, as opposed to what you like. Yes?”

  Andrew stared out the window, heart a mess. Vaughn was right. These past weeks, talking about design and discussing new techniques and materials, had been amazing. Between that and being so happy with Brian, Andrew had almost forgotten just how sad he’d been for so long.

  “Andrew?” Vaughn prompted. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Yeah.” He turned back and gave the older man a small smile. “You are. I love architecture. I want to do it again, but . . .” It was still there, his fears about the cancer coming back and derailing his whole life again. The uncertainty of his prognosis a second time around.

  “No buts.” Vaughn’s voice had dropped into a low, seductive register. His hand landed on Andrew’s knee. He didn’t squeeze or stroke, but Andrew still felt the heat of his palm through the heavy material of his work pants. “You know I can give you every opportunity to finish your qualifications, but I would need you to show me just how much you want the job. I could make it very beneficial for both of us.”

  Then Vaughn shifted his hand away, started the car and drove him back to the site.

  After Vaughn left, Andrew gathered up his gear, told Ron he felt sick and got an Uber home.

  He was still sitting on the couch when Brian drove into the driveway hours later. Brian came into the house already happily chatting about something cool that had happened. It wasn’t until Brian set a beer down on the coffee table, plopped down next Andrew and went to kiss him that he stopped and really looked at him.

  “Andrew? What’s wrong?”

  Andrew shook his head and suddenly he was crying.

  “Oh shit. Come here, beautiful.” Brian pulled him against his chest, arms tight around him. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please. You’re scaring me.”

  He shook his head again and all but crawled into Brian’s lap, unable to stop crying. Brian stroked his head and kissed his temple and soothed him with soft words until Andrew settled.

  “Can you tell me what happened yet?” Brian asked softly, still stroking his head. “I haven’t seen you like this since we got the diagnosis.”

  “Not that bad,” Andrew managed, the words muffled against Brian’s shoulder.

  “Still not reassuring me.” His arms tightened even further.

  However long later, someone knocked on the front door. Andrew clung to Brian but when Terri called, “Hello? Andrew?” he let go so Brian could go tell her to leave. There was a partial wall between the door and living room, so she wouldn’t see him as a pathetic heap on the couch, curled up with his work boots still on.

  “Hey,” Brian said when he opened the door.

  “Is Andrew okay?” She sounded upset.

  “No.” Brian was the blunt he got when protecting Andrew. “He’s a mess. Won’t tell me what happened. Do you know?”

  “He told Ron he was sick, but that was after . . . He should tell you himself. Just let him know I’m on his side and that I hope he’s okay.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  She left and Brian came back and sat down, pulling Andrew’s head into his lap. “You heard?”

  He nodded.

  “So, um, sides?”

  “News to me. Shit must have gone down after I left.”

  “Wanna tell me what happened while you were there?”

  Andrew shook his head but sat up and told him about Sam’s comments and how he was so pissed he went for lunch with Vaughn regardless of how it looked. Brian visibly held in some choice words and kept quiet, letting Andrew finish before his words dried up.

  “Vaughn’s right, though. What he said about me liking construction, but loving architecture. I think working on the builds was the right decision at the time. I needed the stability and the certainty. Too much had been doubtful for so long that trying to get qualified was too much risk.”

  Brian nodded. “Perfectly understandable. So, are you thinking of quitting and taking Vaughn up on his offer?”

  Throat tightening up, Andrew shuddered.

  “What?” Brian’s arm went around him. “It’s okay, beautiful. I just want to help.”

  “He . . .” Andrew took a deep breath. “He offered me anything I needed to finish my qualifications . . . if I slept with him.”

  Brian stiffened. “What the hell? That fucking bastard.”

  “No. I don’t— Maybe he didn’t mean that. He’s married.”

  “So? A prick’s a prick, no matter if he has a ring on his finger or not.”

  “He didn’t have his ring on,” Andrew whispered, suddenly remembering. Looking down at that broad, tanned hand on his knee, there had been no ring. No tan line. It hadn’t fully registered at the time, his mind too shocked to comprehend much past the touch and words.

  Brian growled. “A lying, adultering prick.”

  “He’s right. I want to get my qualification and work as an architect, but I can’t work for him. Not now.”

  Andrew made Brian go to work the next day. It was Thursday and the last of Brian’s four day week. The ten hours dragged out and he called Andrew every chance he got. After the third conversation, Andrew told him not to call again unless it was an emergency. He was okay and Brian needed to concentrate on work.

  It had been two weeks since Brian had “come out” to Michael, and the older doctor was as cool as ever. Nothing changed at work and that made Brian feel better generally. Andrew’s blood results had come back all negative and they’d been slowly working their way towards anal sex. Brian had read a book and shared passages with Andrew, they’d messed around with fingering and Brian was comfortably taking three with a lot of lube and Andrew’s mouth on his cock. This was his four-day weekend and before Vaughn the Prick had shown his true colours, Brian had hoped he would get a dick in his arse at least by Friday night so he could recover by Tuesday, if required. But it was all in Andrew’s hands now. The night before all he’d wanted was to sleep with Brian’s arms around him, which Brian had agreed to unquestionably, silently wishing syphilis on Vaughn the Arsewipe all the while.

  Brian sent off a message. Andrew hadn’t said he couldn’t message. ‘Want anything special for dinner? My treat.’

  The three dots wiggled along, then, ‘Nothing special. Just you please.’

  ‘Done. No need to ask.’

  “Problem at home?” Michael asked, using that supernatural observation of his again. It was a quiet moment in the A&E and he was slouched down in his chair, long legs stretched out under the table, hands clasped together on top of his head.

  “Issue with Andrew’s work. It’s a bit all up in the air.”

  Andrew had called in “sick” again, and Ron hadn’t argued. Had even said head office might give him a call through the day, which was part of the reason Brian was checking in so often. Whatever head office said, he didn’t want Andrew dealing with it alone again.

  “Is it because of his orientation?”

  Brian shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure. There were some words
said, accusations made. But there’s a third party involved too. It’s a mess.”

  “Sounds it. Did I ever tell you I have twin brother?”

  “No.”

  “Identical. Well, I’m handsomer, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s gay. Don’t tell anyone cause he’s only selectively out.”

  “Why tell me then?”

  “I have wisdom to impart. So, he’s out to us and some friends, that’s it, and he’s miserable. Won’t acknowledge it, of course, but he is. I can read his mind. Anyway, part of the reason is his work. They must have got wind of it somehow and, in vague terms, said if he ‘comes out,’ he won’t have a job anymore.”

  “That’s discrimination.”

  “And he knows that. But the dumb bastard loves his job. Insists he’s happy. He has this dropkick boyfriend who won’t live with him until he’s ‘ready to be real.’ Let’s just say, I’m not a fan.”

  Brian squirmed. “Is there actually any wisdom coming or are you just wanting to vent?”

  “The wisdom is this. Don’t waste time on other people’s shortcomings. If you do, you’ll be as miserable as my brother in a job that all but actively discriminates against him and a boyfriend who can’t accept him fully how he is.”

  “I guess that was worth the story. Do you tell your brother that?”

  Michael grunted. “Every time I see him. He doesn’t come around as much anymore.”

  “I wonder why,” Brian said dryly.

  Things got busy again after that and Brian barely had a moment to shoot off a message asking Andrew if the head office had called yet. Then he couldn’t check for an answer until almost home time.

  ‘Yes. Not bad news. Tell you when you get home.’

  Relief buoyed Brian through the rest of his shift and he raced home. Andrew was on the couch again, but thankfully not frozen with shock. He had Schrody on his lap and was messaging with the hand not a slave to the furbaby’s whims.

  “Who you messaging?” Brian asked as he leaned down and kissed the top of his head.