by K-lee Klein
“That's not a very polite way to answer the phone, Scott.”
He hung his head, silently cursing his absence of clarity in answering without looking. He involuntarily glued on the same fake smile he brought out when he had to deal with these things, even though it couldn't be seen over the line. “Hello Mother. I apologize but you don't usually call me on my cell.” He cleared his throat to loosen the animosity lodged there.
A huff of breath echoed through the phone. “Well, I tried you at work and they said you weren't in today. You don't sound sick?”
Scott thought, “How about already sick of this conversation? Does that count?” But he said, “And if I was, would you be worried?” He wasn't proud of his tone or the accusation, but his mother had the distinction of bringing out the bad in him.
“You're a grown man, Scott. I'm sure you can handle a case of the sniffles,” she said indignantly.
Had Scott truly been sick with some disease or even at death's door, she'd be the last person he'd call for care or even empathy. It was a horrible way to feel about the woman who gave birth to him, yet sometimes history was a strong detractor. But her obvious lack of caring still made his heart hurt sometimes. “Yes, I can. Is there something you needed me for?”
“I called your house, but you aren't there either. Are you? You didn't tell me you were off work today. I hear people talking. Do you think it's wise to fake illness then go traipsing around? Where will you be if you lose your job? Have you thought of that?”
Many years of therapy and practice had taught Scott to not engage in his mother's passive aggressive baiting. Of course, some days, the ones where his defences were low, she was less passive and more aggressive. “I'm not at home, I'm not sick, and I’m not traipsing, Mother. I am allowed to take days off without checking with you.”
“You certainly seem to be in a mood. Probably a good thing you didn't take that attitude into your job.”
Devon waved at him. Scott simply tipped his head in acknowledgement and flashed him a thumbs-up before walking further away. He didn't need his boyfriend involved in his own living hell, and his mother certainly didn't need to know about him. “I have to go Mother. I'll call you tomorrow night.”
“We need to talk about my birthday,” she said, ignoring Scott's words. “It's my seventieth, you know? That deserves a party and since my children don't seem to be interested in organizing anything, I've hired an events company from Vancouver to do it.”
Oh, for Jesus' sake. “An events com—” Scott stopped abruptly. He needed to choose his battles more wisely, especially when it came to his mother. Of course, that didn't mean he was any happier with the conversation or where it was being held. “Isn't your birthday in May? Have you talked to Deanna?” He struggled to keep his frustration in check. He was in public and also in the middle of a busy store filled with weird fish accessories and children, not to mention his boyfriend only a few feet away. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“Well it's already February so it needs to be taken seriously and I haven't talked to your sister in months.”
“Which is your own doing,” he thought. “Well I'm sure she'd love to hear from you. Last time I saw Eddie he asked about you.” Lies. It was all lies, and Deanna was going to shove Scott's testicles in a jar to put on the mantel. Desperate times called for desperate measures and his mom always made him feel desperate. “I really have to—” He spotted Devon heading his way, fluffy shark hat askew on his head and goofy sunglasses hanging precariously off his nose. Nevertheless, he looked gorgeous and excitement rolled off him in musical waves.
“Will you be bringing anyone?”
“What?” Scott asked, focusing back on the uncomfortable conversation he needed to end ASAP.
Devon cupped his elbow, startling him as he mouthed, “Everything okay?”
Scott nodded, forced another passive, yet pleasant expression, then pulled the phone away from his face. “I'll only be minute. Maybe you could pick out something for Eddie?” Devon quirked a brow then kissed Scott's cheek and turned toward a rack of less-conspicuous hats. Scott was grateful.
“Scott? Scott? Are you still there?”
With a frustrated sigh, Scott held the phone to his ear again. “Yes, I'm here but I have to go.”
“Who were you talking to? You aren't on an actual date, are you?” She laughed, no hint of real amusement in the noise. “What am I thinking? It's the middle of the day and you haven't had a date in months—years, perhaps? Am I right?”
The level of astonishment and sarcasm in her voice made Scott want to throw the phone into the otter enclosure, but then he'd be subjecting those adorable hand-holding creatures to Scott's hell. “It is Valentine's Day.” He hated the statement as soon as he said it and suspected it would add more ammunition to his mother's armory.
“You say that like it matters.”
Scott squeezed his thigh to ground himself and hold back the rush of expletives coating his tongue. “Valentine's Day is for dates, and as a matter of fact, Mother, I am on one.”
There was blessed silence over the line and Scott entertained the idea that she'd hung up. But that was more wishful thinking than he usually let himself ruminate on. “Well I suppose that's rather sweet then. Never knew you adhered to such a silly tradition. I don't believe it's a good excuse not to go to work though.”
“I suppose it's called a tradition for a reason.” Jesus, he needed to stop baiting her. Devon was waiting, and Scott had no intention of making him do so any longer. “I'm not going to get into this with you.”
She barely let him finish his sentence before using that way too familiar self-righteous tone. “Tell me about your date, Scott. Is she someone you work with? Accountants are very reliable. That might be a good choice for you.”
And with that, Scott knew she was already planning his future wedding with his future bride that neither of them had met yet, as well as imagining all those future children that were not in either of their futures. Had the possibility been viable, Scott would've crawled through the phone to shake her. Not that he'd ever laid a hand on her in violence, and certainly not in adoration, but sometimes she pushed him to a place where he could easily lose control. “He is not someone I work with and I'm having a very good day so how about you let me get on with it?”
“I didn't realize you were still dating in that way—”
“What way, Mother? The gay way?”
“Don't be vulgar. If you'd let me finish, I was going to say I thought you'd given up all your flings with men. Obviously, you've proven you can date whoever you want, Scott, but in the end, you're going to be alone like I always told you. Men do not stay with men. Get this gay phase out of the way and find a woman who will marry you and give you children. That's the way life works. The least you can do before I die is give me some grandchildren to enjoy.” She was in fine form when she pulled out the death card.
But Scott was not going to bite; no way, no how. He followed the crowd who'd pushed their way closer until he ended up outside the gift shop. The misty rain soaked his hair, but he was beyond caring at the moment. He wanted to get back to his day, to his good day with Devon who was probably thinking he'd bailed on their date.
“Mother—” Scott said, only to be immediately spoken over.
“You have good genes, so you don't even need to choose someone attractive or even bright,” she continued, coughing when Scott tried to interrupt again. “You should be settled down by now and God knows you don't like new things so finish sowing your gay oats and then think of more than yourself for a change.”
Barbara Weston wasn’t necessarily homophobic. She seemed perfectly comfortable with Scott’s gay cousin but having a gay son had never been her ideal situation. She tended to use invisible air quotes when she talked about anything gay that had to do with Scott. He could picture the smug look on her face through the phone and it took everything he had to not hang up, or better yet tell her she was a horrible person with no friends
. It wouldn't have been the snappiest of comebacks, more juvenile than anything else, yet it was normal for him to have no comebacks at all.
Instead he impaled his short nails into the thighs of his damp khakis and stood there in the middle of a crowd of children, stressed and quickly becoming distraught. He felt no more out of place than usual because the truth was that he always felt out of place. And to think he'd been having the perfect day with Devon. God knew his mother had been trying to change him his entire life. He took a breath, exhaled slowly then went back to the foul exchange. His mother wouldn't give up until she'd said her piece anyhow.
Despite knowing better, he engaged. “Are you forgetting that you already have a grandchild?”
She'd huffed her disapproval into the receiver. “He's not my biological grandson, though is he?”
“Mother!” Scott shrieked before tamping down the indignation bubbling like lava up his esophagus. He lowered his voice and found himself heading in the direction of Devon's bike. “Deanna is your daughter, adopted or not. How can you even think such a thing?”
His mother ignored his statement and rattled on. “You are my last hope of being a grandmother. That will be an impossibility if you keep up this silly notion that you prefer men. And you don't need to tell me about gays adopting. Children need a mother, not two fathers.”
“I'm not getting into this with you again, Mother.” Scott realized that Devon had no idea where Scott had gone, and panic rose with the thought. He searched the crowd in front of the facility, anxiety skittering along his spine. What was Devon going to think?
“So why won't you tell me who you're dating, Scott? Or do the gays even call it dating?” She paused but Scott wasn’t quick enough to interrupt. “I heard a phrase on television the other night. Let me think. Oh yes, they called it hooking up and talked about it being only that. Is that what you and your dates do, hook up? I'm willing to bet you aren't any more successful with the men than you were with the women, given your failure to handle newness.”
“He's my boyfriend and we do much more than just hooking up!” He didn't say it on purpose, it simply flew out in a tirade of frustration and goddamn anger. An older woman waiting at the curb turned to give him a dirty look, but Scott was beyond giving a goddamn.
And, his reaction had sent him reeling into her trap.
“Really, Scott, such vulgarity.”
He snapped back at her, his exasperation not sated. “You always bring out the best in me, Mother.” Oh, Dev, I need you so much right now.
“If this man is so important to you, or even actually exists, shouldn't you at least introduce him to me? And please don't tell me your father has already met him.”
Scott did his best impression of a goldfish, his lips flapping, sucking air, but no words forming on his tongue, let alone spewing out into the phone. He should have known better after so many years. His mother claimed her victory with the disappointed clicking of her tongue. “Never,” he whispered.
“I thought as much,” his mother answered, her voice emotionless but rife with condescension. “Lying about imaginary boyfriends at your age? Has your desperation finally sunk you that low, Scott? When was the last time you saw your therapist anyhow? Maybe you need your medication changed again. You know how you get when you're not dosed properly.”
“At your birthday,” Scott blurted.
“Pardon me?” his mother said so damn politely that Scott wanted to poke her in the eye right through the phone. “What about my birthday? Have you decided to step up and help—”
“I think Dev…I think my boyfriend might like the island, so I'll bring him to meet you on your birthday.” Oh my god. What am I doing? It was the worst idea in the history of worst ideas and Scott felt physically ill. He bent in half, fingers gripping the bottom of his jacket—the leather jacket Devon had taken so much care to pick out and give him—and willed himself not to throw up all over it. Devon was going to be so disappointed in not only the way Scott had ruined their Valentine's Day, but also, leaving him wide open to the cruel, superior attitude of his mother.
She clucked again. “That's months away, Scott. I suppose you can bring him if he's still around or whoever else you're calling your boyfriend at that time. Please don’t embarrass me in front of the family. What did you say this date of yours did again?”
“I didn't say,” Scott ground out, eyes shut tight.
“Well, maybe you should concentrate on yourself then. I hope you won't have one of your episodes during the party. There will be a lot of people so take whatever precautions you need.”
“Medicate myself to my eyeballs, you mean?” His resolve crumbled when he saw a shark hat above the crowd, making a beeline towards him. “I'm going to hang up now, Mother.”
“Well, I'll have the staff freshen up your room and the guest room in case you bring along this someone.”
Devon reached Scott, but hung back a few feet, a concerned question in his eyes. “I'm thirty-four years old. I don't need a separate room for my boyfriend,” he hissed, helplessly turning his back to Devon.
“Well you're certainly not sleeping in the same bed under my roof.” Scott's mother huffed, and he could hear her heels tap unhappily on her expensive tile floor.
“Then we can stay in a hotel. That might be the better idea anyhow,” Scott said with feigned courage born from abject frustration.
She sighed into the receiver. “Now you're being ridiculous.”
“Happy Valentine's Day, Mother,” Scott said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. He heard a muffled, “Scott,” just before he hung up and quickly turned his phone off. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to gain some modicum of control.
“Hey,” Devon said softly. He kept his distance, possibly worried Scott was having a panic attack or was gearing up to one. “Everything okay?”
And that was a real fear since Scott was highly susceptible to falling into panic after speaking with his mother. He didn't understand, likely never would, why he still let her draw him into her crap after so long, but what was done, was done. For some unfathomable reason, he still cared about what she thought. Or maybe he wanted to throw all her taunting and bullying back in her smug face once and for all.
Now it was left for him to prove to her that he was happy with his life, that he could experience new things, and that he did have a boyfriend who would stick around long enough to come to dinner. And oh yeah, he also had to figure out how to tell Devon that they had a very uncomfortable date in May… if Devon was still around in May.
No!
He refused to think that way. Devon would be around. Devon loved him, and he loved Devon and nothing his mother could do or say would change that. Geez Louise. What the fuck had he done? How could he even think about subjecting someone he felt so strongly about to his mother’s special brand of vitriol.
A warm hand snuck beneath the hem of Scott's jacket, fingers rubbing circles in his lower back.
“Everything okay?” Devon asked close to Scott’s ear.
“I'm good,” he responded too quickly. Devon wasn’t stupid in any sense of the word and Scott knew he wouldn't believe he was good for a second. So, Scott twisted to face him. He didn't bother to cover how he was feeling, simply let Devon in on his discomfort. “All right. I'm not okay but I want to be. And I certainly didn’t want to put a damper—”
“Hey,” Devon interrupted. He tugged Scott into his arms and Scott would've been happy to stay there forever, even right there in the middle of a crowd of excited, over-tired kids and harried adults. “Nothing's ruined or damp. Well, except us because we're standing in the rain.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Scott's head with the added bonus of being bopped on the nose by a fuzzy shark. Devon chuckled before giving Scott a squeeze then easing away.
Scott managed a real smile, or a least one at half-mast. “You look ridiculous,” he replied, following Devon's lead of trying to lighten up the situation. He flicked the shark's nose. “But you're still pretty c
ute.”
“Maisie said the exact same thing,” Devon stated with a teasing smirk. “But I should probably go back inside before they arrest me for shoplifting this beauty of a hat.”
“What?” Scott didn't squeal, or maybe a little. “You didn't pay for that?”
“Gotcha!' Devon cackled. “You were gone a long time, so I was worried.”
“But you still stopped to buy…” Scott flipped the brim of the hat again. “That?”
Not looking the least bit guilty, Devon made the hat flop on his head like it was going to bite Scott. “I had to fulfil my end of the bargain.”
Perhaps the conversation with Scott's mother had fried his brain, but he had no idea what Devon was going on about. “Bargain? With the fish gods or something?”
With a chuckle, Devon explained. “Maisie. I had to buy her penguin candy.”
Scott wanted to change his mood, wanted it more than anything else, and he could because Devon made him brave and capable, and Devon loved him. Screw everything else in Scott's life that pushed those buttons of unhappiness and failure. “You're a good man, Devon DuCaine or Devastation Caine. There aren’t any other aliases I should know about, right?”
He prayed it could be that easy to change the very course of his life when his mother interfered, too. But he settled for focusing on the present because it was Valentine's Day and Devon was wearing a dorky hat, and he was full of excitement, and Scott wanted to rewind the last fifteen minutes. The only way he knew to do that was digging deep to find the strength to shove aside those feelings of inadequacy and failure his mother always brought out in him—to bury them back in their box of dysfunctional family values.
“I bet you say that to all the boys,” Devon quipped. “And nope, no other aliases, but is there anything I can do to help with, you know, whatever's got you upset?”
Scott looked at him in amazement, his brain suddenly wrapping around the sheer luck he’d had that night at the Little Shoppe of Jazz. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.” He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but his thoughts were too overbearing, and Devon's expression of wonder and astonishment made it okay. Scott went with it. He took Devon's hand and tipped his head towards the entrance. “I'd like to see the otters first. That okay with you?”