by Cass Lennox
Orienteering? Orien-fucking-teering? Weren’t there better options for partying than tromping around nature with a compass and no dignity?
Mom’s mouth twitched. “Read your emails, Tobias, then hop to it. We need to clean this place up.” She topped up her coffee, then walked out, leaving Gigi with his jaw open and a smoothie in hand.
Bachelor party?
Bachelor party?
Since when were he and Brock invited to straight bachelor parties? Gigi set his smoothie down, afraid he’d drop it. Oh fuck no. What was it going to involve? Strippers? Pinky’s, the dive bar? What did straight guys do on bachelor nights besides bellow at each other and drink shots? Would he have to bellow at them too?
Fuck. Damn it. Fuck. Hell in a handbasket.
“I think he might want those eggs now, Grandma,” Ed remarked.
“If you’re not going to be helpful, go away,” Gigi snapped.
What he wanted was advice on how to deal with a straight bachelor party. Seeing as his family would be useless on principle, that left Gigi with only one person he trusted to give him the real deal on straight dude herd behaviour. Gigi downed his smoothie in one go, washed up, then returned to his bedroom and his phone.
There were a few texts from friends, which he ignored in favour of finding Mark’s number and calling it. Mark was straight. Mark would have the answers to everything. Mark would also take Gigi seriously, unlike certain cousins downstairs or Gigi’s friend Tyler, who’d just laugh at him. Mark had let Gigi whip him into shape for the dance routine last summer—not literally whip, though Gigi had been tempted at times—and Gigi figured if anyone could help him in this, his hour of need, it would be the Most Hetero of Heteros, Mark.
“Bro!” Mark cried. “Nice to hear from you! But, dude, is your sister’s wedding a slow burn or something?”
“Huh?”
“Why are you calling me?” There was a rustle like Mark had settled against something soft. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, bro, but I totally thought you’d be, like, blasted the entire weekend.”
“That part’s coming.” Gigi paced around his room. “The bachelor party is the rest of today. I had no idea it was happening or that I’d be invited to it.”
“Didn’t read the emails, eh?”
Gigi huffed. What the hell was with everyone and this email-reading thing? “I’ve never been to a straight bachelor party and I don’t know what to do. Help me out, Marky Mark.”
“Dude. Dude.” Gigi could tell Mark had a huge grin on his face. “I’m like legit touched. I don’t think anyone’s called me for advice before. Except for Cal, when he was trying to write an economics paper this one time.”
Cal being Mark’s little brother. Gigi snapped his fingers. “Stay on track, sweetie, I don’t have much time. What do straight guys do? Do they do hetero versions of gay stuff or what?”
“I have like no idea what gay bachelor parties are like, so what am I supposed to compare against?”
“Mark. Focus.”
Mark chuckled. “Sometimes we go do manly things together, like paintball or hockey or go-karting. Mostly we get drunk and hit up bars or clubs and talk about girls.”
Gigi shut his eyes. “Hnnn. No. I mean, okay, I figured about the drinking and girl talk, but what else? Do straight guys fight?”
“Not unless there’s an asshole in the group.”
“Is there always a stripper?”
“Dude, there is never a stripper. That’s, like, a total stereotype.”
“What do I do if there is a stripper?”
“Uh. Watch, then tip her?”
“Do straight guys bellow?”
“What?”
A door opened below, and Sophie shouted, “We’re baaack!”
Gigi winced. Shit. The walls were thin here. Maybe it was just as well sex hadn’t happened last night.
“Duuude,” Mark said excitedly, “was that your sister? She sounds hot.”
Gigi gasped. “Oh. My. God. You didn’t just say that.”
“I totally did.”
“My sister, dude!” Gigi was hissing now. “You can’t say that about my very happily engaged sister! The one whose wedding I’m here for! Take it back!”
“Tell her congrats. Relax, Gi, you’ll be fine. I mean, I wouldn’t go all drag queen on them and start talking about tucking—actually, yeah, totally nix any talk about that unless they, like, ask—but hey, maybe they’d be cool with that anyway? Feel them out. You’re a dude too, you know. Dudes can be dudes together, even if they’re different kinds of dude. And if anyone gets, like, homophobic or starts shit, text me their names and I’ll take care of it.”
Oh, what could Mark do from Toronto? Absolutely sweet nothing, that was what. But the gesture did make Gigi feel better. Mark was right after all. He was a man, and straight guys were men too. And if he could squeeze into a glittery minidress and dance on stage in heels, he could do this. “Okay. Okay. Thanks, Marky Mark.”
“No probs, Gi. You got Brock as your plus one, bud?”
Gigi froze. “Yeah.”
“See, you’re golden. He’s got your back. Good talk, bro. Go drink.” Mark hung up on him. Gigi stared at his phone, then took a deep breath and went downstairs.
He found Sophie, Alan, and Brock unpacking groceries in the kitchen, food littered around the kitchen and their coats still on. Their faces were slightly pink from the exercise and they all looked happy, the traitors. They stopped short, eyes uniformly wide.
“Hey, bro,” Sophie said after a beat. “Nice shirt.”
“Bachelor party?”
Brock sighed deeply while Sophie victory-punched the air and Alan cursed.
“I told you to read the emails,” Brock told him.
Gigi’s jaw dropped. “You did not, you big fat liar.”
“I did. Multiple times.”
When? When had Brock told him that? Was it when he was plotting to not come at all or when he’d decided to deny his boyfriend baby pics? Oooh, Gigi was going to—
Wait. Alan had been digging in his wallet; he now handed a ten-dollar note to Sophie. What the hell? “You bet on me?” Gigi heard his voice squeak. Oh, ugh.
Sophie grinned. “Yup.”
“Have you had breakfast?” Alan asked. “Your grandma made the awesome eggs.”
Brock was frowning. “Aren’t you cold like that?”
Gigi flung his hands wide. “Maybe one of you could tell me why the hell someone invited me to a straight bachelor party?”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “See, babe, this is what I was talking about. I can put him in time-out if you don’t want him to go.”
Alan shook his head. “Nah. All the men in our families are going.” He smiled at Gigi. “I want you there too. It’s just orienteering, food, and drinking. Nothing crazy. No stress.”
But that sounded like it was the rest of the day. This was so unfair. He hadn’t signed up for this. Gigi thought he’d get his boyfriend alone and talk out last night, then shower and eat and be fussed over by his parents and hide from Maney until the actual wedding. He’d imagined walking in the woods a little with Brock and bitching about people they both knew. He’d imagined having time for a few quickies when there weren’t people in the house. Now it sounded like he wasn’t going to get any downtime at all. This was unreal.
He still had to talk to Brock, family and bachelor shenanigans or not.
“We need to get this food put away.” Brock held up two large bags of milk, his big arms lifting them easily. Gigi glared at him; how dare he remind Gigi of his sexiness right now? Gigi grabbed them from him and headed to the fridge.
“I’m looking forward to lunch,” Sophie chattered as she gathered their reusable bags. She shared a sickeningly sweet smile with Alan. “Our families eating together for the first time.”
Ugh. Spare him. Like this place needed more people in it.
Gigi somehow found space for the milk bags, then returned to Brock. “I need to talk to you.”
Brock kept his eyes on the groceries he was unpacking. “In a minute.”
The landline phone rang, and Sophie pounced on it. “Hello?”
“How about now?”
Brock tightened his jaw. “In a minute.”
Sophie turned around. “Brock, it’s for you.”
Brock went white. He stared at Sophie like she’d spoken in an alien language, then walked over to the phone and took it. “Hi?”
Gigi glared at him. Talk about fortunate timing. He turned around and began stacking vegetables, totally listening in on his boyfriend’s side of the conversation.
“Good.” Pause. “Yeah. Last-minute trip. Um. For a wedding?” Pause. “It’s good.” Pause. “Good.” Pause. “Uh, with a friend.” Pause. “Sorry, it’s been—” Long pause. “I can’t really—” Another long pause. “No, that’s not what— Dad, come on—” Pause. “Sure. No, I’ll come to you. See you soon.”
He hung up, gave a sigh, then said, “I’m going to my parents’ for lunch.”
Gigi turned around. “What?”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” Sophie was standing with a bag of onions in hand. “We’ll miss you here.”
Brock looked tired. All the flushed happiness that had been there when he’d walked into the kitchen was now gone.
God, what was the big deal? Gigi walked over to him. “I thought you didn’t speak to your parents.”
“I . . .”
“Uh-huh. I’m coming with you.”
Sophie made a noise of protest but was totally drowned out by Brock’s firm, “No.”
“Excuse me?”
There was a beat where no one said anything. Gigi stared at him, waiting, and when Brock cursed quietly, Sophie and Alan left the kitchen with some excuse that Gigi didn’t bother listening to.
“It’s complicated.” Brock’s voice was quiet.
“You never talk about them, and you don’t speak to them, and suddenly you’re dropping our stuff to see them? And you don’t want me to come. Explain it to me.”
Brock dragged his hand through his hair. “Look, they’re not nice people, okay?”
Gigi glanced out the kitchen door, certain his mom and half his family was there eavesdropping. “So what? They’re still your parents. That’s like a thing. You’ve met mine, why can’t I meet yours? If you want to have lunch with them, can’t they come here?”
“No!” Brock’s eyes were wide. He shut them and took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was lower. “No. They can’t.”
What the fuck? “Why not?”
Brock’s fingers tightened around two cans of chopped tomatoes. “Because they’re really not nice people. You should be here with your family. You’ll have more fun.”
“What the literal fuck? Don’t I get a say in this? How about I don’t listen to this crap and come along anyway?”
Brock glared at him, letting go of the cans. “This is lunch, Gi, not the end of the world.”
Gigi leaned in so they were face-to-face. “You are staying in my parents’ house. You have met my family multiple times. You have met my entire family now. And you’re telling me that I can’t meet your parents?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Brock’s mouth twisted. “Seriously, this is not a big deal, and it’s better if you—”
“Fuck you. It is a big deal. What is it? Is it me?” Gigi gestured to himself, aware his T-shirt was maybe not the best choice for a conversation like this. “Are you ashamed of me? Don’t want to introduce a flaming queen as your boyfriend? Am I too queer for your parents? You are at least out to them, right?”
“Shut up,” Brock snarled, making Gigi take a step back. “Have you ever thought that maybe not everything is about you? I want to see my parents by myself. This is my business. There is nothing more to it than that. Why the fuck is that so difficult for you? Get your head out your ass, Gi, and leave me the fuck alone.” He turned around and stomped out.
Gigi stood in his boxers, T-shirt, and bare feet, abruptly cold.
What the fuck.
Where had that come from?
Was he that pissed off at being here that he’d be this harsh?
Because he had another think coming if he thought this was the end of it.
Gigi went after him, only to be brought up short at the door by Mom stepping in his way. She was frowning, and her hand was firm as she gripped Gigi’s shoulder to stop him ducking around her. “Honey, I couldn’t help overhearing—”
“Mom, I need to—”
“Stop, Toby.”
He stopped, focusing on her now.
She put both her hands on his shoulders. “Listen to me. I know you’re upset. And I get why. But you need to calm down.”
Calm down? Calm down? “My so-called boyfriend—”
“Is also very upset. You won’t reach any kind of understanding if you’re both this angry.” Mom looked sad and worried. Last night Gigi had noticed grey in her hair and how there seemed to be more lines around her face, but right now she resembled the mom he remembered from high school, the one who told him he’d get through all the bad times and be better for them.
“But I haven’t even spoken to his parents, Mom!”
“I know. It sounds like you have a lot to talk about. But you have to talk about it, not hiss at each other in the kitchen.” Her hands came off his shoulders. “I think Brock has a lot on his plate. When you speak to him, be the kind young man I know you can be, all right?” She brushed her fingers through his hair. “You’re all bedhead. It’s like you’re a teenager again.”
Gigi rolled his eyes. “You think Brock has a lot on his plate? Mom, he’s not the one who has to balance like three jobs and is perpetually broke and whose hometown remembers him as the fat gay kid. He wasn’t even out when he was here.”
“Toby, everyone has problems. And you have to move on from all that. It’s in the past.” She smiled. “Remember, this weekend is about your sister and your new brother-in-law.”
Oh. Oh. Was that so? Gigi glared. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll make sure my gay drama doesn’t interrupt the straights’ happy day.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Toby. No. That’s not what I meant and you know it. We’re your family. Alan is your family. We love you and we’ll help both of you through this if you want us to. But Brock did have a point: this weekend is not about you.”
Yup, that was the mother he remembered from his teen years. She was right—of course she was right—but now he felt like Toby again. Pissed off and frustrated. Guilt sunk in, and he felt himself finally calm down.
Well, Toby might be surfacing, but there was still a fully-bloomed Gigi in control. He could be pissed off and frustrated, but gracefully.
“Mom, I’ll be lucky to age as well as you have,” he informed her.
She scoffed. “Is that a compliment? I’ve had better.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
She stroked his hair back. “Anything for my favourite son.”
“I’m your only son.”
“Not for much longer.” She smiled as he began spluttering. “Go shower, and if you see Brock, tell him it’s safe to help me prepare food before he goes.”
Free to move now, Gigi went looking for his boyfriend. He wasn’t in the dining room, rec room, laundry room, or in Gigi’s old room. He didn’t seem to be in the house at all. Gigi glanced out the front door to see their rental car missing from the driveway.
What.
The.
Actual.
Shit.
He’d just skipped out? Without telling anyone?
What was going on with him? That wasn’t like him. Seriously, he was turning into someone Gigi barely recognized. The Brock of their first six months wouldn’t have just left like that or pushed him away last night or flipped out on him in the kitchen just now.
Though, that Brock was also the quiet one who hadn’t ever mentioned his parents. What he had said was he didn’t talk to them much and they weren’t nice peopl
e, but that didn’t seem true if he was going to their place for lunch.
So what was going on? Now that Gigi was staring at an empty driveway instead of his boyfriend’s face, it all seemed totally weird. Especially since Brock didn’t do things he didn’t want to.
Well. Except come here. That was kind of a big one.
What if he didn’t want to introduce Gigi to his parents? The prejudice against loud campy guys was real. Thing was, he hadn’t actually meant it when he’d said that just now. It just didn’t make sense with him and Brock. Brock had never been ashamed of him before. He’d been to LaMore’s shows, which totally epitomized gayness, and never said a word when Rosenberg felt the need to throw on some makeup or nail polish or a glittery scarf or frilly top. He seemed to like it, actually. Especially when Gigi wore lacy lingerie.
Mmm. He really liked that.
Argh, thoughts like this weren’t helpful. No, Gigi didn’t think Brock was ashamed of him. He didn’t think so. But if his parents weren’t nice people, then maybe it would be too difficult to bring an effeminate queen to their front door.
But Brock didn’t strike him as the kind of guy who’d completely back down from doing that. Like, Brock was out. He’d made a point of it, sometimes really uncomfortably so. Like, even to the point where Gigi was standing there thinking, Dude, come on. Which wasn’t often, or even something Gigi had thought would ever happen, but it had. So even if it had been uncomfortable to introduce him to his parents, Brock would’ve done that by now anyway.
So. Something else was wrong here.
“My family isn’t like yours.”
A suspicion wormed its way to the front of his mind. A memory. The first time he and Brock had spent the night together.
Gigi closed the front door and went up the stairs, frowning.
Brock had cornered him in a nightclub, helped by Tyler and Evie, the reprobates Gigi deigned to call friends. Gigi had spent the entire week avoiding him due to, well, feelings, and suddenly he’d found himself in Brock’s muscly arms and staring into Brock’s puppy-dog brown eyes. It would’ve been a crime against gaykind if Gigi hadn’t taken him home and fucked him speechless. So he had.
But the morning after had delivered a surprise. He’d woken up, aware that Brock Stubbs—the Brock Stubbs—was in his bed, and Gigi had turned to watch him.