by N. R. Walker
I really wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Andrew, I had no idea.”
Just then, we saw headlights of a car through the kitchen window. Andrew craned his neck to see who it was. “It’s my dad.”
Oh. In what had been a head-spinning day, I wasn’t sure I was up for meeting Andrew’s father.
“Hey,” Andrew whispered. He took hold of my hand and waited until I looked in his eyes. “I know it’s probably too soon to be meeting my dad, but I think today’s been a little out of the ordinary, right? And you’ve already met my mom twice, and that went okay.”
“But he’s your father.”
“So?”
“It’s different,” I admitted. I don’t know why meeting his father was any different to meeting his mother. It just was.
Andrew knew, apparently. He put his hand to my cheek and spoke with a reverence, a surety I didn’t even know I needed. “He’s my father, not yours. He will accept you because you’re in my life. That’s the only reason he needs.”
I didn’t have time to respond, even if I could have made my stupid brain come up with something remotely worthy. A door closed not too far away, and someone was whistling a happy tune. “Andrew?” a man called out, and he stopped when he walked into the kitchen through a different door we’d come through. Clearly Andrew’s father, he was almost identical to him, albeit some twenty-odd years older. Blond, handsome, with kind blue eyes. “Saw your car out front,” he said, putting his wallet and keys in the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter.
“Hey, Dad,” Andrew said. “Dad, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is my dad, Allan.”
Allan Landon extended his hand and a warm smile. “Ah, the one I’ve heard all about,” he said, shaking my hand firmly.
“Spencer Cohen,” I offered, thankful I seemed to hide my nerves in front of him.
He turned back to Andrew, then clearly knowing his son very well, he frowned. “What’s up?”
“We brought someone here with us,” Andrew said. “He’s in the lounge room with Mom. He’s in a bit of trouble, Dad. He needed somewhere safe to stay, so I brought him here.”
Allan’s expression softened. “Explains the coffee, huh? Better make me a cup. Bring it in for us, won’t you?”
Andrew smiled at him. “Sure thing.”
I watched Andrew’s father leave via the door we’d come through, stunned at his total acceptance and ability to not bat an eyelid at the news there was a troubled stranger in the front room. Let alone his son’s new boyfriend in his kitchen. “Just like that, huh?” I whispered.
Andrew put his hand on my chest and stared at me for a long second. “Just like that.”
A sudden ache in my heart, like an axe through my chest, made me think of my own father. Of how simple total acceptance was assumed in Andrew’s life, and how I had struggled and fought for―and was denied―the same thing. His parents rolled with it, took it in stride, and even went out of their way to help a young gay man in need, where my family had done the exact opposite. Except my parents hadn’t turned away a gay stranger. They’d turned away their own son.
Andrew’s hand crept up to my neck, and he pulled me into a kiss. “Just like that,” he said again. “Just like it should be.”
When the coffee was done, Andrew balked at pouring the fifth cup. “Shit,” he mumbled. “There’s no tea. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Coffee’s fine,” I told him. “I’m sure I’ll survive.”
He fixed the cups on a tray with sugar and cream and carried it in to the front sitting room. Mrs Landon still sat beside Yanni, and Mr Landon sat across from him, elbows on his knees, listening intently to what Yanni was telling them. I sat on the single seat sofa, and Andrew sat on the arm rest at my side, and we listened to Yanni talk.
“It’s so cliché,” Yanni said softly. “But he really was charming in the beginning. I didn’t even realise he’d isolated me. In the six months I was living with him, I had no friends, no one but him.” Yanni shook his head. “I really was so naïve.”
Mrs Landon put her hand on his arm. “No you weren’t,” she said. Her voice was soft but determined. “The fault is his, not yours.”
Yanni’s eyes welled with tears. “Then he started to get possessive and mad if I was late.” He swallowed hard. “The first time he hit me, he’d been stressed at work, and he was so sorry, and I believed him.” He scrubbed at his tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Mr Landon said gently. “You’re allowed to cry. You’ve lost a lot. You need to grieve for that.”
Yanni stared at him. Like stared. And he was right, Yanni had lost a lot. Not material things, but emotionally and psychologically, Yanni had lost it all. And something about that realisation, and how Mr Landon spoke something so profound, like it was the easiest thing in the world to say, made my chest hurt.
Somehow, like he knew what I was thinking and feeling, Andrew took my hand and gave it a squeeze. He didn’t let it go.
“He paid for me to go to college, something I could never do on my own. I lived in his expensive apartment. And at first it was exciting, that I could do these things because I had no money, no family,” Yanni said. He looked right at me and I nodded. I had told him I’d lost my family, and I’d thought he hadn’t heard me. He obviously had. It was a look that Andrew’s parents didn’t miss, and they both saw how Andrew was holding my hand.
“It took him less than twelve months to completely own me,” Yanni said. He swallowed hard. His voice shook but he spoke anyway. “The last time he hit me, I swore it was the last time. I left with nothing. I had nothing. Everything I thought I had, was his. It was always his. I quit my job, I left school. I left my cell phone that he’d given me on the kitchen table and never went back. I stayed at a homeless shelter with my backpack and one change of clothes.” He nodded at the bag at his feet. “I never thought I was a materialistic person until I had nothing.”
I cleared my throat. “But those few things mean a lot. They’re your worldly possessions, and they’re everything.”
Yanni nodded, and I knew all eyes were on me. Andrew squeezed my hand again. His thumb skimmed across my knuckles, such a reassuring gesture that kept me tethered to him. Without a word, he kept me afloat beside him instead of drowning in memories.
“Then you found me,” Yanni said, still looking at me.
“I had no idea,” I told him again. “Well, I knew something was off with him, but I didn’t realise, and I’m so sorry to drag you back through this.” I looked at Andrew’s parents and explained, “Yanni’s ex-boyfriend contacted me to find him. It’s not what I usually do, but he lied so convincingly.” I shook my head.
Yanni almost laughed. “He’s a piece of work.”
“But you went back to college?” Mrs Landon asked Yanni.
He nodded sadly. “He took everything, but I couldn’t let him take that from me. Acting is what I do. It’s the only good thing in my life. I left the Actors Academy and started at Pol’s.” He looked down at his hands. “It’s not as revered or exclusive, but I’m doing it on my own, and that’s more than he gave me.”
Mrs Landon raised her chin and her eyes were glassy. She rubbed his arm. “Yanni, that is the sign of a true actor. One who fails to give up on his craft when he has nothing. That is a sure sign of strength and drive, and believe me, to make it in this industry you need both in spades.”
“I can’t go back to Pol’s,” he said. He shrugged again. “If he knows I went there.”
“I never told him,” I said adamantly. “I told him nothing. Actually, when I had a feeling he wasn’t what he seemed, I told him you had a job in a bookstore in the city. We went to see if he turned up there looking for you.”
“Did he?”
Andrew and I both nodded. “Yeah.”
Yanni nodded knowingly, and his eyes welled with fresh tears. “He won’t ever stop.”
“Did you tell the police?” Andrew asked.
“Yes. I filed a restraining order, but it doesn’t mean any
thing.”
So, that made sense. “That’s why he asked me and not the police or a detective agency.”
Yanni put his untouched coffee back on the tray and sagged back into the sofa, and for a while no one spoke. Mr Landon broke the silence. “Yanni, when did you eat last?”
He shook his head and tried to recall, which was answer enough. Andrew’s father stood. “I’ll go see what I can find,” he said as he walked toward the kitchen.
After a moment, Yanni shook his head and laughed in disbelief. He looked at Mrs Landon, and his hands started to shake as he wiped his face. “This is so surreal. I can’t believe I’m here sitting beside you, and the Allan Landon just offered to get me food. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, or is there a Punk’d camera hidden somewhere?”
Andrew snorted. “No cameras. They’re just my parents. Spencer said you needed help, so I helped.”
Mrs Landon smiled at Andrew lovingly. She put her hand on Yanni’s arm. “Yanni, I want to tell you something. I have been where you are. It was a long time ago before I met Allan. Actually, it was Allan who helped me leave my first husband.”
Yanni stared at her.
She smiled at him. “I’ve known the fear and hopelessness you feel. That exhaustion you feel in your bones, I’ve felt that. You will get through it, if you let us help you.”
He started to cry again, those silent, heartbreaking tears.
Mrs Landon kept on talking, “I’m on the board of directors at Acacia Foundation. It’s a centre for men and women who are going through the same thing. We help people understand their legal rights and help them with police proceedings. We help them get back on their feet, find them somewhere to live, and employment placement.”
Mr Landon came back into the room carrying another tray. Something on it smelled good. “It’s just leftovers,” he declared, putting the tray in front of Yanni. I doubted Yanni had seen that much food in days. It looked like a fajita mix of beef, rice, and vegetables with flat breads, and Yanni practically inhaled it. When he was done, he sagged back into his seat and closed his eyes.
“Come,” Mr Landon said, standing up, waiting for Yanni to do the same. “You can sleep in the guest room, and we’ll deal with tomorrow after breakfast.”
Yanni picked up his backpack and followed Mr Landon obediently out of the room, and me, Andrew, and his mother watched in silence as they left.
I waited for Mrs Landon to look at me, and I said, “Thank you.”
“You did the right thing,” she said to the both of us. “We’ll work out what he wants to do tomorrow.” She looked at Andrew for a long moment, whether it was because he was still holding my hand, I wasn’t sure. But it seemed to me she wanted a minute alone with him.
“I’ll just take these trays back to the kitchen,” I said, stacking cups and plates, then finally leaving them.
I placed all the dishes in the sink, then set about rinsing everything. Then I thought fuck it and filled the sink with hot water and detergent from under the sink and washed everything, and when that was done, I set about it drying it too. By then I’d run out of excuses for heading back in there, but I stopped at the door when I heard they were talking about me.
Mrs Landon said, “…you never mentioned his tattoos.” My heart dropped.
“They’re not just tattoos,” Andrew told her. “They’re scars. Scars made from ink. He wears them for the world to see as daily reminders of who he is. And anyway, I like them. His skin doesn’t define him any more than mine defines me.”
His mother was quiet for a moment, and I contemplated walking in there. Then she said, “He’s a good man. If he was worried enough about a complete stranger to take him in, then that tells me all I need to know.”
“He is, Mom. And he just gets me. He knew more about me in two days than Eli ever did.”
“What’s wrong then? Why are you so troubled over him?”
I almost put my fingertips through the drywall, waiting for him to answer.
“I’m trying to not rush this one, Mom. You know how I was with Eli.”
“Spencer’s different,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“He is.
“You’re in love with him.”
Andrew didn’t answer. There was only silence. Loud, deafening, heart-thumping silence. My stupid heart almost stopped in my chest. My stupid feet were bolted to the floor.
“It’s written all over your face, Andrew,” his mother said.
After the longest second, he answered. “I do.”
And I finally breathed, relief and excitement and even a little nervous dread filled my entire body. My blood warmed and coursed erratically through my veins, and those foolish butterflies swarmed my throat. But the sound of a door closing nearby set my feet in motion, and I went back into the lounge room the same time Mr Landon did. “I think he’s asleep already,” he said.
I felt pale and clammy after hearing Andrew’s admission—insecurities in my own worth manifested in physical traits—but if Andrew noticed, he didn’t say. He stood and smiled at me. I wasn’t sure what I should say or do now that we were alone with his parents, but I didn’t have time to wonder for long. Andrew put his arm around my waist. “We’ll get going, yes?”
“Yes, I’ll make some phone calls,” Mrs Landon said. “Pre-empt his needs, if he should decide to let us help him. The Foundation will find a spot for him.”
“And if he doesn’t want help?” I asked, without really meaning to.
“We can’t help him if he doesn’t want it,” she said. “But he’s safe tonight, and that’s more than he had yesterday.”
“I really am thankful,” I told them. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Andrew rubbed his hand on my back. “You did the right thing, Spencer.”
His mother smiled kindly. “Can I get you boys something to eat?”
“No, Mom,” Andrew said. “We’ll get going. But I’ll call you tomorrow to see how he’s getting on.”
She put her hand to Andrew’s face. “Thank you for bringing him here. We’ll look after him.” Then she looked at me. “He said you wouldn’t leave him.”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t. He’s got no one, and I know what that’s like.”
She glanced at Andrew but smiled back at me. “You’re a good one. I think it speaks volumes about character when one behaves in such a manner. But when you do such a kindness when no one is looking and there is no reward, it says even more.” She kissed Andrew’s cheek and whispered, “He’s a keeper.”
I almost died of blushing and swallowing my tongue, which only made her smile even more fondly at me. Mr Landon shook my hand again, then hugged Andrew before walking back into the kitchen.
Andrew’s mother walked us to the door with her usual grace and elegance and waited until we were in the car. She waved as we drove down the drive, and only when we were through the security gates, did he hold out his free hand for me to hold. “You okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
“What a day.”
He smiled sadly at me. “A weird one, huh?”
“Just a little. Um, your parents…”
“My parents, what?”
“They’re famous, or something.”
He gave me a quiet laugh. “Or something. I told you they were in theatre.”
“You didn’t say they were famous.”
“Well, they’re not that famous. You didn’t recognise them.”
I groaned and put my free hand to cover my eyes. “They must think I’m some uncultured heathen. Were those like Oscars or Emmys on their mantel? I think I’ll die if they are.”
He laughed again. “Tonys. Well, one Tony among others.”
I whined. I knew next to nothing about theatre acting, but even I knew what a Tony was. “Oh God.”
Andrew squeezed my hand. “Poor Yanni thought he was on some episode of Punk’d.”
“He recognised them straight away.”
<
br /> “He’s studying stage acting, so I’m not surprised.”
“Ugh. I’ll have to apologise.”
He laughed again. “No you won’t. They liked you Spencer. In fact, I think they liked that you didn’t have a clue who they were. Proof that you didn’t want to be with me because of family connections. This is LA after all, where every second person is a next-big-thing wannabe.”
I snorted. “Believe me, I can’t act or sing.”
He smiled at me as he drove. “They liked you just the way you are.”
“They’re remarkable people.”
“They are. They do a fair bit of charity work and fundraising. The Acacia Foundation is my mother’s brainchild.”
I sighed and leaned back in my seat. My head was still swimming. This day had been a dozen emotions on repeat. Andrew went to a drive-thru and got us burgers and fries, and seeing Emilio’s shop was shut and the lights were turned off, we went straight up to my flat. We fell on the couch and devoured our burgers. I moaned after the first bite. “Oh my God, this is soul food.”
He laughed. “Saturated fats have healing properties,” he said, shoving some fries in his mouth.
When I was done, as I cleaned up my flat, my safe haven, and had a belly full of food, my thoughts went back to Yanni. Andrew brought his empty drink into the kitchen. “Why the frown?” he asked softly.
“Just thinking.”
“About Yanni?”
I nodded.
Andrew put his arms around me and held me tight. How he knew what I needed the moment I needed it, I’ll never know, but I buried my face in his neck. “I’ve never seen someone so scared,” I mumbled. “He was petrified.”
Andrew pulled back and traced his thumb down the side of my face. “You saw yourself in him, didn’t you?”
I stared at him. I felt stripped raw, skinless, and without any defences. But I nodded. “Yes.”
He kissed me then, hard and soft at the same time, with a fierce but gentle fervour. He tasted of salt from the fries he’d eaten, but there was emotion on his tongue, in his hands, in the way he kissed me. And when he pulled back for a breath, his eyes were dark, and there was no mistake—no mistake at all—what he wanted.