by Lynn VanDorn
“What are you two whispering about over there?” asked Tyler’s mother.
She sat across from him and Josh’s parents sat next to her, Josh’s mother gushing excitedly to Rachel about flowers or something. Josh’s father divided his time between looking at his food with suspicion and looking at Tyler and Josh with barely concealed irritation. That man was not happy about how close Tyler was sitting to his son. Not happy at all. It made Tyler want to cuddle closer, which he knew was petty, but he couldn't help it. Tyler looked back at Dan Rosen and smiled. So. I see you and you see me, and neither of us likes the other. Tyler raised an eyebrow at him, just to show he wasn't cowed, then turned back toward his mother.
“Nothing, really. Just talking about the restaurant. Josh thinks it's a bit much.” Josh smacked his leg under the table.
Cynthia rolled her eyes in a way that made Tyler grin. “Typical Peter,” she said, and went back to studying her own sheet of glass before trying something squishy and green. She hummed in pleasure. “That one was really good.”
To accommodate the size of their party, the restaurant had put a few tables together, half of the party on banquette seating and the other half in chairs across from them. Tyler and Josh were on the banquette side, with Tyler on the end and snuggled into Josh very close so they could talk without being overheard. Much. The entire party consisted of the bride and groom, both sets of parents, the three groomsmen, and the three bridesmaids. There was no Stephanie, but Ryan didn't seem particularly put out about it.
“Speaking of your father, he doesn't look well,” Josh pointed out.
“No,” Tyler said. “He looks like shit on toast.” He ate the purple crystalline thing, which tasted of bacon and chilies and sugar. Tyler wondered if his dad was sick, then decided he didn't particularly care. He just needed to make it through tonight and tomorrow, and then he wouldn't have to be in the same room as his father until it was time for Ryan to get married.
Tyler glanced at his watch. Ryan said the limo he'd arranged to drive them and several of Brad’s friends around for his bachelor's party was picking them up at the restaurant at nine. It was eight thirty. Tyler ate a few more things and drank more wine. He checked his phone and saw Purvi had sent another message. She was relentless tonight, damn her.
Purvi: Are you upset because you're still not sure if Dr. McDreamy is in love with you?
Tyler blanked his phone’s screen and hoped Josh hadn't read that last text over his shoulder. In New York things had seemed so clear, but over the past week Tyler had become less certain. Josh was fond of him, yes. He desired Tyler, no doubt about that. But beyond that, he didn't know, maybe because Josh seemed far too serene and calm to be in love. Whatever he felt for Tyler, it wasn’t the maelstrom that Tyler was currently experiencing. He wanted to stick his feelings for Josh back in the box he'd stuffed them into years ago, when he'd given up his crush as a bad idea. His emotions weren't cooperating, though, and it was making him grumpy.
Tyler: No. I don't think that's a problem. I think I might have been wrong there. You should cancel your ticket. You don't need to come.
Purvi: Fuck that. You're in dire need of my services. I want the old Tyler back. This new version is irritating. More irritating, I mean.
Tyler: I know you can't see it but I'm flipping you off so hard right now.
Tyler felt Josh’s hand on his thigh, giving his leg a quick squeeze then rubbing back and forth. “It'll be time to leave soon,” Josh said. “It's almost nine.” He laced his fingers with Tyler’s.
“Okay,” Tyler said and looked up. Both of their fathers were staring at them. Tyler’s father looked disgusted. He started to say something, but Ryan distracted him. Josh’s father had a harder to read expression. He wasn’t pleased, though, that much was clear. He frowned, and Tyler thought there was a warning in his eyes. A warning about what, though, was anyone's guess. Tyler imagined it was something along the lines of “stop corrupting my son, you little faggot.” Or maybe he was projecting again.
Tyler: About to head out for Brad’s bachelor's party. Maybe obscene amounts of alcohol will improve my mood.
Purvi: At this point I will take drunk Tyler over whatever the hell you are now.
Purvi: And that's saying something because drunk Tyler is a huge pain in the ass.
Tyler: I hate you
Purvi: You’re just saying that to make me feel better.
–—
Friday, September 30th, 10:30 p.m.
The Admiral Theater
Chicago, IL
Purvi: What’s your damage? You’re still all Eeyore mopey and shit. You don't seem to be having fun yet.
Tyler: Thanks for noticing.
Purvi: Cute.
Purvi: You need to drink more.
Tyler: I need to drink, period. This place doesn't serve alcohol.
Purvi: Titties and no alcohol. You poor boy.
Tyler: Tell me about it. If we don't leave to go to a bar soon, I may take a human life. Probably a stripper’s.
Purvi: I'm pretty sure even Ryan and Dr. McDreamy couldn't save you from a stripper murder charge. Please refrain.
Tyler: We’ll see.
Tyler glanced up from his phone and saw yet another stripper slink up to Josh, looking to give him a lap dance. Tyler caught her eye and shook his head. She frowned and moved like she was going to go for it anyway. She probably thought he was trying to cockblock her mark, which he sort of was, because her mark’s cock belonged to him.
Wait. That didn't sound right, even in his head.
Okay, so it didn't belong to him, per se, but Tyler did have a proprietary interest in it. Not that any of the women here had a chance, Tyler did know that. Still. It was the principle of the thing.
It occurred to Tyler that once one started justifying one's actions with the phrase “it’s the principle of the thing” that things had gone seriously sideways.
It wouldn't even be a problem except Sir Chivalry didn't have it in him to scowl at the girls to make them go away, and unlike Tyler, it wasn’t screamingly obvious that he was gay and thus not up, so to speak, for a rather expensive and entirely unnecessary personal performance. The girls at the strip club had avoided Tyler like the plague the whole miserable time they'd been in the place. Josh, not so much. They also were avoiding Ryan, although in his case it was probably because of the dark and forbidding look on his face, like he was some sort of highly repressed Puritan minister bent on burning slutty witches at the stake, rather than him setting off any gaydar alarm bells.
At least the rest of the guys at Brad’s bachelor party, including the groom-to-be, seemed to be having a great time. It wasn't their fault that two of the groomsmen batted for the other team and the third seemed to be leaning heavily in that direction as well. Tyler just wished the girls would leave Josh alone. For Josh’s sake, of course, because he was way too nice to tell them they were barking up the wrong tree and was leaving it to Tyler to chase them away.
Tyler slanted another look Josh’s way. He sat there, looking politely bored, but there was an underlying tension there that Tyler, if no one else, could sense. His body was in the club but his mind was a million miles away, thinking God-knew-what. For all Tyler could tell, Josh was cataloging skin diseases alphabetically in his head to pass the time. He seemed unaware of the woman stalking him.
This latest one was either bolder or more desperate than the rest, and ignored Tyler. She slithered closer to Josh, and Tyler had to restrain himself from doing something mental like scratching her eyes out. Instead he stood, and, being very careful to keep his hands clasped behind his back, leaned close enough to her so she could hear him over the loud music playing in the club. “Go away. Now.”
She swiveled to look at him. It didn't help Tyler’s temper any that in her occupationally appropriate stripper heels she was at least three inches taller than he was. There must have been something in his expression that was convincing, though, because she scuttled off without another backward
glance like her shitty extensions were on fire.
Josh yanked on him and Tyler fell into his lap. “You need to stop scaring the young ladies,” he said in Tyler’s ear. “You’re going to get us thrown out.”
Good, he thought. Brad was going to owe him big time for making him come to see a bunch of female strippers. If it had only been that, it would have been fine. Not his thing, obviously, but he could tolerate it for a few hours. No, he drew the line at them all trying to mack on his boyfriend.
No, not my boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. Only pretend. I keep forgetting that, somehow.
Yes, because of that statue in the Met. Yes, because Josh had called Tyler amazing and brave. Yes, because he said, “I see you” and maybe, just maybe, he did. Tyler felt there had to be something more than pretense between them.
There doesn't have to be jack shit. Wanting something doesn't make it so. I know that. I've known that my whole fucking life.
There on Josh’s lap in the middle of a strip club, Tyler felt paralyzed with indecision. He wanted to be a star, to win awards and make movies that were so good people still wanted to watch them fifty years from now, even if he knew the chances of that coming true were slim in the extreme. In reality, he’d be lucky to land a string of small supporting roles long enough to justifiably call it a career, and he wouldn't even have Josh by his side, his biggest fan no matter how insignificant he was. At the same time, he wanted to chuck it all and be Josh’s stupid little disgustingly domestic house husband, even if he would end up bitter and miserable and always wonder “what if.”
It was fucked-up and wrong any way he looked at it. He wanted too many conflicting things: fame, obscurity, legitimacy, anonymity, recognition, love. He wanted that last one most of all and despised how much he wanted it.
I need a do-over. One fucking ginormous do-over. Maybe starting from birth.
Tyler started to slide off Josh’s lap but Josh stopped him. “Wait. Why do you keep chasing off the dancers?” Josh asked the question so only Tyler could hear it, his lips skimming the shell of Tyler’s ear.
“Oh, I'm sorry. Did you decide that maybe you do like girls after all? Your parents will be thrilled when you bring home Chrystal.” Tyler tried to wiggle out of the arms holding him and got nowhere. Part of Tyler clamored to thrash free, throwing sharp elbows and balled fists into Josh to escape. The other part relished being right where he was and wanted to melt into the man holding him. Unable to choose a course of action, Tyler held himself rigidly still. “You should let me go.”
“Not until I get my answer.”
Tyler stared straight ahead and said nothing. Josh had to know, he just wanted Tyler to say it, although Tyler was fucked if he knew why. He was also fucked before he'd sit here, on Josh’s lap, and confess out loud that he was feeling jealous of a bunch of strippers that weren't even the right gender.
“It's not like they're allowed to touch,” Josh’s lips caressed his ear, then bit it. “It's all harmless, Ty. You have to know that.”
Josh’s condescending tone rubbed Tyler raw. “I'm sorry I spoiled your fun,” he snarled. He tried again to wriggle free, but not hard enough because he remained on Josh’s lap. “You should’ve stopped me sooner.”
Josh’s lips traced the ridges of his ear. “But watching you defend me from the scary girls is so hot,” Josh breathed. “My hero. My knight in shining armor. If we look around, we might find a dragon you can murder.”
“You are an asshole,” Tyler said, not caring who heard him. “A gigantic, hemorrhoid-covered asshole.”
Tyler didn't hear Josh laugh so much as he felt it. “Okay, let's stop playing, then. This should do the trick.” Josh cupped Tyler’s face and kissed him, his lips and tongue saying what Tyler had been telling the girls all night: “hands off, this one is mine.”
Josh lifted his head and released Tyler. Dismissed, he went and sat back in his chair next to Josh with what even he recognized was a dramatic and petulant flounce. Ryan shot him a disapproving frown. Josh reached over and rubbed the back of Tyler’s neck. The hand seemed to say, “Stop worrying, calm down, chill out, feel my hand, I'm here. Everything’s fine. Just fine.”
Doubtful. Really fucking doubtful.
Tyler picked up his phone and saw there were more texts from Purvi.
Purvi: Well?
Purvi: Do I need to come early and stage some sort of intervention?
Tyler: Go away and bother your latest project. Is he still straight? You could work on that.
Purvi: Tsk tsk. That was a pretty low blow. You're in a bad way, aren't you?
Josh’s thumb caressed along his nape. Tyler tried not to shiver and failed.
Purvi: This isn't like you.
Tyler: I KNOW!
Purvi: OK
Tyler: OK, what?
Purvi: OK, you have two choices.
Tyler: Go on...
Purvi: Either you tell him or I will.
Tyler: YOU WOULDN'T
Purvi: Just try me
Tyler: I am firing your ass. Effective immediately.
Purvi: Right.
Tyler: I'm not kidding
Purvi: Right
Tyler: What if this is David all over again? The last time I was this messed up was when I was falling for his psycho ass.
There was a significant pause, then Ryan’s phone rang. He stood up and walked away, the phone held to his ear.
Tyler: Purvi?
Tyler: Did you just call my brother, you traitor?
Ryan came back several minutes later, looking harassed. He tapped Tyler’s shoulder and indicated he wanted Tyler to go with him. He stood up then glanced back to Josh. Josh smiled at him and flapped his hand, shooing Tyler away. Tyler hesitated a second, then followed his brother outside.
Ryan leaned against the side of the building. “I ordered a cab for you and Josh,” he said.
“Why?”
“Your PA called me and asked what was going on because you are, in her words, acting all crazy pants. Also, you and Josh have got this ‘get a room’ vibe going on. It's hard to watch. Go back to Josh’s place. Fix whatever’s wrong with you, and fix it tonight. I won't have you and your big gay drama disrupting the wedding tomorrow.”
“I swear to God I'm going to fire Purvi’s ass.”
“No, you won't,” Ryan said.
“The hell I won't. And you have some nerve to bitch at me about my big gay drama since you're engaged to a woman and fucking a man.”
“This isn't about me,” Ryan said through gritted teeth. “This is about you and Josh making out in a strip club because you're so jealous of anyone who even looks at him that you can barely see straight!”
Tyler felt like he'd been slapped. He rocked backward. “You are not going to stand there and lecture me about Josh. You, of all people.”
“Yeah, I think I am.”
“Don't.” Tyler started to walk back into the club. “You lost that right fifteen years ago.”
“You should tell him how you feel,” said Ryan so softly Tyler barely heard him. He swiveled to stare at his brother.
“What?” It came out sounding breathless, like Tyler had fallen and knocked the air out of his lungs. “Oh, that is rich coming from you, Ryan. Please, do go on about discussing my feelings, because that's something you know so much about.”
Ryan winced and it made Tyler viciously glad.
“I'll admit that I may have handled things badly with Josh,” Ryan said. He looked away. “You know how Dad was. Is. And Josh was so convenient for me. He kept our secret. He let me…” Ryan cleared his throat. “I took advantage of him. For a long time.”
“You do know you're saying this to the wrong person, right?”
Ryan ignored that. Typical, Ryan. Ignore what you don't want to hear or see. It was the Chadwick way.
“Take Josh and go and make up your mind what you want,” Ryan said.
“I want the impossible,” Tyler said flatly, “so what's the fucking point?”
“
God, stop being so dramatic. Have an actual conversation with him.”
Tyler put his hands on his hips. “And what, exactly, should we talk about? Since you're apparently an expert now. Do tell.”
Ryan eyed him coolly. “You’re not stupid and I'm not blind. You know. You've known since you came back from New York, but this has been a long time coming. A hell of a long time.”
Tyler opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Ryan couldn't know. It wasn't possible. He shook his head in denial.
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “Ten years long, I think, and so does Brad.”
Brad. Of course, Brad had blabbed about his little teenaged crush to Ryan. That made so much more sense than Ryan figuring it out on his own, but it didn't make Tyler one bit less angry, and so he lashed out.
“Chadwicks don't discuss things, or have you forgotten? How are things going with you and that kid you're fucking? You want to discuss that?”
Ryan threw up his hands in disgust. “Fine. I tried to help, but never mind. Don't show up at the wedding tomorrow acting like you are right now. I don't care what you have to do, but this ends tonight one way or the other.”
“Or?”
“Or we'll just see if I could get Josh back.” Ryan smiled at him like a shark.
“No, you wouldn't. You’re just saying that to piss me off.” Tyler wished his voice sounded more certain.
Ryan shrugged. “Or you could stop acting like a little baby.”
“Fuck you,” Tyler said, but absently. I'm afraid, he thought, and that was the lowering truth. Chadwicks didn't talk about things and the real reason, deep down, was that they were cowards.
And, fuck me, I am so afraid.