by Tara Lain
“Well, sir, I certainly want to be Micah’s boyfriend, so I guess Isaiah it is.”
Xaviera came bouncing into the room and tossed a hug around Bobby’s neck. “I’m so glad you two got together. See, Mom, didn’t I tell you he was gorgeous?”
“Already duly noted, dear.”
They all trooped into a large living room with attractive furniture that looked well loved and much used. Two men sat on the couch, one older with a shaved head and glasses, and the other a handsome young man who slightly resembled Micah but with darker eyes and a stockier build.
Micah set down a tote bag he must have taken from the trunk of his car. He said, “Bobby, this is my Uncle Amos and my brother Shawn.”
Amos gave Bobby a smile. “Pleased to meet you. Any friend of Micah’s. You’ll meet my wife in a bit. She’s quite the cook.”
Bobby smiled. “I look forward to meeting her, sir. Her reputation for extraordinary food precedes her.” He turned to Shawn with his grin still in place only to find an appraising gaze. Not unpleasant, exactly, but not nearly as welcoming as the rest. “I’m glad to meet you, Shawn.” Bobby extended his hand and Shawn shook it, but his eyes never quite warmed. And this isn’t the brother Micah warned me about.
Micah slid an arm around Bobby and walked him to the love seat, ignoring his brother. They sat side by side, and Tessa jumped up and, as advertised by Micah, carried in a tray of some kind of puffy-looking morsel, shiny with oil. “Please have some, Bobby.” She extended the tray and a small stack of napkins.
He piled a puff on top of a napkin. “Thank you.”
Micah accepted one also, and when his mom turned toward Amos, he nudged Bobby, who gave him a look. One bite proved Micah hadn’t lied. The object, probably intended to be a pig in a blanket, was oily on the outside, and the dough surrounding the little wiener was barely cooked, so it sat in the mouth like a lump of warm paste. Bobby chewed enthusiastically and got a grimace from Micah.
Fortunately Tessa set the tray down and plopped to sit cross-legged on the floor. “So you’re an identical twin?”
Isaiah laughed. “While you receive the third degree from my wife, what can I get you to drink?”
Micah said, “I brought a few bottles of champagne, Dad. Bobby likes it, and I thought everyone might enjoy it.” He pointed to the tote he’d left near the entry.
Tessa clapped her hands. “A true celebration.”
Isaiah grabbed the tote and left the room. Bobby looked back at Tessa. “Yes, I have a twin. His name’s Robin.”
“So Robin and Robert.”
“Yes. Robin is my business partner, my roommate, and my best friend.”
“How lovely.” She wrapped her arms around her bent knees, the picture of fascination. “Do you find what they say about identical twins to be true? Do you intuit what the other is thinking and feeling?”
He smiled and shrugged. “Honestly, our relationship is so ingrained, we don’t know what we don’t know. Are we different from other people? Other siblings? Probably, but I don’t think I could say for sure. I certainly know when Robin is hurt or distressed, but then I’m sure Shawn and Micah feel the same way.”
Shawn’s head snapped up, and Micah tightened his grip on Bobby’s hand where he held it between them.
Tessa glanced at Shawn and plunged forward. “What are you working on now?”
Bobby smiled and rubbed his thumb over Micah’s hand. “We’ve had a great summer so far. Robin completed a big art-in-public-spaces project, and I’ve been manning the booths at the Festival of the Arts and the Sawdust.”
Xaviera came in with Isaiah, carrying glasses of champagne on a tray. “You should see their work, Mom. They’re so talented.”
“I’d love to.”
Shawn shifted in his seat, like he was bored or uneasy, and glanced at his watch.
A female voice called from the direction of the dining room. “Dinner, everyone.”
Micah squired him to the dining room, where a big table commanded a not-quite-big-enough space. He pulled out a chair, but Bobby scooted past and walked into the kitchen. “Hi. I’m Bobby. Can I help you serve?”
Micah followed him, and the woman who must be Aunt LaShawnda gave Micah a look. “I see your boyfriend has the manners the men of this family lack.” She smiled at Bobby. “Thank you, dear. I’d love your help.” She proceeded to present him with a large bowl of mashed potatoes dripping butter. “Just put this anywhere there’s a hot pad.” She grabbed another bowl of asparagus. “And here’s one for you.” She thrust it at Micah.
Bobby carried the bowl into the crowded space and, despite the protestations of Tessa and Isaiah, went back for more. LaShawnda turned when he came in. She glanced at the kitchen door. Voices came from beyond it, but Micah didn’t walk back in. “I just wanted to tell you, dear, that we’re so happy you and Micah met. Despite all his incredible accomplishments, Micah hasn’t had an easy time. Finding someone he cares about who nurtures his creativity and sense of playfulness is mighty important.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I’m just LaShawnda. Or Aunt LaShawnda is fine. Now get on out there and get some food in your stomach.”
“I look forward to it.” He grinned, but raised voices from the dining room turned them both around.
LaShawnda looked worried.
Bobby said, “Is anything wrong?”
“Why don’t you stay here for a minute, dear?” She pushed through the swinging door into the dining room.
Bobby walked closer to the door. An angry voice was saying, “So me and my family aren’t a part of you guys anymore? We don’t even get invited?”
Isaiah said, “That’s ridiculous. You were here two days ago.”
Bobby sighed. So this was the other brother. Oh, what the flaming fuck? He glanced around the kitchen, saw a basket of rolls LaShawnda had forgotten in her haste, grabbed them, took a deep breath, and pushed through the door into a tableau of frustration and anger.
With a little smile, he placed the rolls on the table, scooted behind the chairs, and slipped in next to Micah. Damned if he was leaving Micah to face whatever tune was playing by himself. As he sat, Bobby looked across the table into the storm-cloud face of a very tall man with hair cut close to his skull. The guy stared at Bobby like he’d seen a pornographic film, half appalled and half fascinated. Bobby nodded. “You must be Micah’s big brother. I’m Bobby McMillan.”
The man’s mouth opened and the words “Fuck me” emerged.
Tessa frowned. “Jeremy, watch your mouth and your attitude.”
“So this”—Jeremy pointed at Bobby—“is the reason I’m not welcome in my own house?”
Isaiah spoke softly but lethally. “You are always welcome here. What isn’t welcome is your disrespect of your brother.”
“Disrespect!” He took a couple of steps and wound up behind Shawn’s chair. He gripped his brother’s shoulders, and Shawn looked torn in some kind of existential crisis. “Micah disrespects this entire family with his lifestyle choices and expects me and Shawn to go along with him just because that’s what he wants.”
Xaviera stood. “Jeremy, when did it become ‘you and Shawn’ against the rest of us? I’ve never noticed Shawn sharing your opinions. And I don’t understand where your ideas come from. You weren’t raised that way. None of us were. You’re not some nutcase religious fanatic trying to prove you’re right.”
“Why do I have to be wrong just because I’m homophobic?”
Micah spoke softly. “You’re not homophobic.”
“What? How would you know?”
“A phobia implies that you’re afraid of something. You’re not afraid of me or Bobby or homosexuality.”
Isaiah nodded. “No, you’re not. Rather, as Morgan Freeman said, you’re just being an asshole.”
Micah nodded. “Yeah. That’s the end of the quote. The thing is, Jeremy, we’re brothers. The fact that we have different moms doesn’t change that one particle. If I want to juggle
cucumbers on my buttcheeks while singing the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ or you want to balance plates on your head during the next performance of Wicked, I think we ought to be the first to say hooray. Remember when I wanted to give up medicine to paint, and you sat up with me half the night weighing whether I should go to art school or medical school? I was just as gay then as I am now. The only difference was, you didn’t know it. Or when I hitchhiked to summer camp so I could see you win the baseball tournament? I was gay then too. I’ve spent a lot of years trying not to disappoint you or Shawn—but I’m done. I figure if you actually love me, you won’t be disappointed. You’ll be glad, just like I am for whatever you guys do that makes you happy.” He stood. “But here’s the bottom line. If I have to spend the rest of my life bringing Bobby to see Mom and Dad when you two aren’t here, I will. I’m done with your temper tantrums and African macho bullshit. You can shove it—if you want me as a brother, that is.” Micah sat back down and looked at Bobby, who was wiping his eyes. “What? What’s wrong, dear?”
“You—you want to bring me to see your folks for the rest of your—your life?”
Micah grinned. “Well, of course. Do you think I’d drag you into this nest of drama queens if it wasn’t a question of forever?”
Bobby threw his arms around Micah’s neck. Tessa leaped to her feet, squealing and trying to reach down two people to hug Bobby, while LaShawnda got in the way with hugs of her own.
Isaiah smiled. “I think I better open the last of the champagne—and I think you better join us, Jeremy, since it seems likely that you could find yourself best man in the near future.”
Bobby looked over from his comfy spot in Micah’s arms.
Shawn cleared his throat and glanced up at Jeremy, who still loomed above him wearing a dark but unreadable expression. Shawn shifted forward so he wasn’t leaning against Jeremy’s hands—a literal distancing. “I-I’m really happy for you, Micah. And, uh, I just don’t like having Jeremy excluded, that’s all.”
Micah nodded. “I don’t either. But as I say, I’m done with the crap. I’m gay. Get over it. I’m not going to apologize for who I am anymore. This is too important to me. If you honestly feel that I should compromise my happiness to make you feel more comfortable with your bros, then you’re whacked.”
LaShawnda conspicuously picked up a platter of carved turkey. “Bobby, can I serve you some?” She started dishing meat onto his plate. While his appetite might be short, it was more from the thrill of Micah’s declaration than from Jeremy’s anger. Jeremy could do what he wanted.
Isaiah stood and moved another chair to the table. He slid his plate to it and then walked into the kitchen. When he reemerged, he carried a new plate and a place setting, which he laid out by the empty chair. Food was served, and no one even looked at Jeremy.
“So, Shawn,” Micah asked, “got any juicy details regarding national security you want to reveal?”
Shawn snorted champagne, and the mood lightened a little.
Micah said, “One of these days, we’ll have to ask Jeremy to cook one of his signature dishes like pecan-crusted tilapia.”
Bobby smiled and chewed—best act of his life. “You know who’d love that? Robin.” He looked around the table like he was making idle conversation. “My brother’s a wonderful cook. Our grandmother taught him when we were boys. Boys weren’t usually taught to cook in our neighborhood, but, well—” He shrugged grandly.
Tessa said, “Where are you and your brother from, Bobby?”
“We’re from this blue-collar family in Redwood Valley near Ukiah. Can you imagine two of us growing up there? It was so hard on my parents knowing they had two sons who were, well, euphemistically speaking, ‘different.’ But they tried hard. Still do. It’s not easy being gay, but then, it’s not easy on anyone around you either.” He looked down the table. “May I have some more mashed potatoes?”
No one remarked as Jeremy pulled out the chair and sat down.
Chapter Twenty-Six
HIS MOM’S eyes were so wide they consumed her thin face, but she still smiled at Paolo, who stood on her front porch. “Well, hell, what a surprise.”
“Mom, are you sober?” Paolo crossed his arms over his chest.
She glanced at his car in her driveway, then back at him. “Yep. I was on the wagon a long time. When I fell off, it wasn’t such a big climb back on. Your friend really got me thinking.”
“He got me thinking too. Can I talk to you?”
“You want to talk to me?” A sheen came over her eyes.
He nodded.
“Hell, yes. Come on in.” She stepped aside. In the living room, the TV played softly, but a laptop computer sat on the coffee table, poised as if in use. Sounds from the kitchen suggested Ida was cooking. Paolo sat in the easy chair across from the couch. She said, “Want some iced tea?”
“Sure.”
She walked through the open dining room toward the kitchen, and he sat back and noticed that the room felt almost comfortable. Not a characteristic he’d have ascribed to it for a while. An album like ones he remembered girls having when he was in high school sat on the under part of the coffee table. He flipped back the cover—and stopped. The clipping read Paolo Lind Architecture Captures Top Prize at AIA Conference. Where in the hell did she get that? He turned one more page where she’d tucked three printouts of stories about him and his business.
Her returning footsteps made him close the cover quickly and sit back. His mom carried two glasses filled with ice and tea. “I put some sugar in yours. You still like it that way?”
“Yes, still do.” He sipped and gestured to the computer. “What you working on?”
“Looking for a job.”
He spit tea back into his glass, then tried to cover the gaffe. “Uh, really? What kind of work are you looking for?”
She shrugged. “I was pretty good with hair, if you remember.” He barely did. “I know I can’t work as a stylist, but maybe I could get an assistant’s job and go back to school. Of course, I could try waitressing. I sure would love to waitress someplace they have music.” She drank some tea. “I’m just starting to look, and I found this site that helps you write a résumé even when you haven’t worked for a while. I mean, I don’t need to make much to start since you support me, but I could work up, right? Get to where I was making a real salary. Like Robin said, I’m a grown-up and I should act like one.”
His heart slammed, but he tried to not act so amazed. “That sounds great. Let me know if I can help you.”
“I will, but I want to try on my own and see how far I can get.” She gave him a studying glance. “You wouldn’t mind me working as a waitress or a hair washer, would you? You wouldn’t be embarrassed?”
“No. I wouldn’t be at all embarrassed to say my mom works.” Shit, that was nearly true.
“Good. Good. So what did you want to talk about? Robin?”
He barked a laugh. “How did you know that?”
“You and me haven’t exactly been chatty for a long time, but I never get the idea you have many guys you really like or get close to.” She shrugged and sipped. “Him you like.”
“Yeah.” He stared at the sugar crystals still floating in his glass of tea. “I don’t exactly know why that is.”
“You mean aside from his being pretty as a picture and hot as hell?” She grinned.
“Aside from that.” He smiled back.
“I expect he doesn’t like or trust many people. Probably hurt too much. Like you, ya know? But he recognizes your heart because it’s like his own. Buried under a pile of shrapnel but still beating.” She hunched up her shoulders again like she hadn’t just unlocked the mysteries of the fucking universe.
“How come you never told me what happened to your throat?”
“I’ve never believed in whining about shit you can’t change.”
“But the booze, Mom. You might not have been whining, but you were sure as fuck wining.” He made a drinking motion with his thumb.
/> She flopped back on the cushions. “Yeah. I used to have so much fun singing. Hell, I’d have done it for free. Then when I couldn’t do it anymore, I guess I figured I needed to have fun some other way. After that, I’d keep drinking to forget I still wasn’t having fun.” She looked up at him. “And neither were you, and I’m sorry about that, Paul. I think you still aren’t.”
He frowned.
“Look, honey, I’m really proud of you. What you did to get where you are is amazing. But with all you’ve done, I sure would love to see you having some fun.” She held up a hand. “I don’t mean like me, Paul. But I’d hate to think you have to live your life proving you’re not me.”
He stared at her, trying to catch his breath. How many times had he thought those exact words?
She nodded. “I know, honey. We all try to not be somebody. The real trick is figuring out who we actually are.”
He wiped a hand over his face.
“What would make you happy, Paul?”
“I barely know.”
“But you’ve got an idea, right?”
He nodded slowly.
SHIT. KILL me now.
Robin sipped his French 75 and tried very hard not to glower at his best friends. Every one of them had gathered at the Rose to show their support for poor, pitiable Robin, lost and alone. They were doing everything except actually raising their glasses and declaring “All for one and one for all!” But it was a near thing.
This grand display was intended, no doubt, to show Robin he wasn’t alone, that he had friends who loved him. But since every pal was arranged around one end of the club in tight proximity to his lover—Rod to Hunter, Jerry and Mick, Adam beside Sky, Theodore and Snake, JJ with Ryan, David hugging both his boys, Gareth and Edge, and, of course, now Bobby and Micah, who were about to move in together and change Robin’s life totally. They’d even included Howard and Eldon. All told, they’d only managed to demonstrate how totally solitary Robin was. Shit, he couldn’t even get up and leave since they’d pretty much gathered only because of him—a fact they weren’t admitting.