First Year
December
“Justin, you’re back up in the same room you were in last year. Jen, Molly, you’re in the second bedroom. Now why don’t you all get settled and lunch will be ready in about half an hour.”
The three Taylor’s took their bags upstairs, Justin forcing a smile as he went. After telling him that he would try to make it to the grandparents, Brian had been forced to cancel at the last minute, having to fly to LA for some client or other. Why the fuck he was going on the twenty-third of December when everyone knew that the world stopped for a few days around Christmas, was beyond Justin, but he’d heard the call from Gardner himself—Brian had the speaker set on the phone while he was on the computer and Vance had insisted that Brian had to go as the client’s preferred working with him and the account was too fucking big to jeopardize.
Brian had come as close as he ever would to an apology and Justin knew he would rather that they were together but instead of telling Vance to fuck off for a week or even a few days, he had agreed to the trip. Vance had felt so guilty—or so it seemed to Justin—that he had sprung for first class, an unheard of extravagance for him. The next morning when the obviously obscenely large flower arrangement had arrived for Justin from Vance with a note apologizing for taking his husband away for the holidays, Justin ranted that he was being treated like a ‘fucking housewife twat.’
Brian bursting out laughing hadn’t helped any.
Shit.
Brian had left that morning and would be there at least until December twenty-seventh.
With no other plans and not wanting to spend the week with Debbie or alone, Justin had driven to Long Island with Jen and Molly for the annual family Christmas gathering there.
Their first married Christmas and they were apart.
Shit.
Oh, sure, he could have gone out to LA with Brian and spent all day being a tourist by himself while Brian was in meetings. He could have had room service while Brian took the clients out to dinner—fuck that. He went to his grandparents, knowing that the holiday would suck and that he’d have to pretend that everything was fine when, in fact everything was falling to shit.
Brian was still working twelve to fourteen hours a day, six days a week, Ethan had died after eating lunch with him a few weeks ago—shit if he’s just looked back or stayed another couple of minutes he could have done something. OK, they weren’t the best of friends anymore, but it wasn’t like he wanted the fucker to actually die. He had been sort of surprised at how few people were upset by his death—there was almost a kind of glee about it. Weird.
Michael was a whining mess and was leaving like five calls a day on the fucking answering machine and Craig was trying to patch up the gulf between them while pretending that Brian didn’t exist and that this whole little romp through gayville was just a phase he was going through.
The one bright spot was his relationship with Fred at the gallery in New York. The stuff he was doing for the upcoming show was the best he’d ever done and Fred was pressing him to produce more than he had originally asked for—he was hoping for a sell out based on the reception he’d gotten at the group show in October.
Shit. Putting his clothes in the bureau, he headed down to the kitchen, mentally singing “Gray skies are gonna clear up...put on a happy face…”
“So, Justin, we’re disappointed that Brian can’t join us this year.”
No shit, me, too. “He has to talk to some clients on the West Coast and the only time they had available was the 24th through the 26th. He’s disappointed, too.”
“He’s working on Christmas?” His grandmother put a bowl of soup in front of him. “The poor thing. He’s Catholic, too. That’s not right.”
“He’s not religious.”
His mother passed the chips to go along with the soup and the plate of sandwiches on the middle of the table. “His mother told me that he’d taken her to Mass a couple of times.”
“God, is she a bitch, or what?”
“Molly! I’ve had enough of that kind of talk. You can do better than that.”
“That was better. Brian calls her a cunt.”
“Upstairs now and I’ll speak to Brian when I see him.” With absolutely no remorse, Molly headed up the stairs. The four adults left in the kitchen sat down to their meal.
Bill, Justin’s grandfather offered beers to everyone, Jennifer opting for soda and Claudia, Jen’s mother, for apple juice. “Did you ever meet his father, Justin?”
“No. He died a couple of years ago. From what I’ve heard from people, he was pretty awful. I know he used to beat Brian up a lot and DYFS was called in a few times when he was a minor.”
“Because Brian is gay?”
Justin took a drink of his beer. “Brian only told him that a couple of months before he died. He just didn’t want kids. He hated Brian.”
“What would his mother do, did she try to help him?”
“No, she didn’t do anything, to hear Debbie and Michael and Lindsay tell it—they’re friends of Brian’s. I think she used to pray a lot. She still does.”
His mother passed the plate of sandwiches. “It not hard to understand why Brian is the way he is.”
“Excuse me?” Justin always quick to defend Brian, a trait he shared with Michael.
“I just mean that he tends to be closed off emotionally. If his family was as dysfunctional as it seems, he’s done a remarkable job coping the way he does.”
“God, Grandma, you’re not going to go psychological on me, are you? Brian is fine, he just works hard, that’s all—and his family is screwed up. A lot of families are screwed up.”
His grandfather diffused the conversation before it became a problem. “Except ours, of course.”
His mother looked at her father. “Right, Dad.”
The rest of the day was spent in getting the house ready for the rest of the relatives on Christmas; the tree was brought in from the garage where it had been waiting in a bucket of water, the ornaments brought down from the attic. Jen and her mother went out for some last minute shopping and the others started on the tree.
By the time the tree was finished, the women were home, the dinner was started and Justin was fighting to make the others think he was OK. At eight he called Brian’s hotel room only to be told that Mr. Kinney wasn’t picking up. Would he care to leave a message? Just that he had called and please call back when he got in. He was hesitant to call the cel, not wanting to interrupt a meeting.
He waited the entire evening, jumping when the phone rang, but Brian didn’t call. Depressed, he finally went to bed around one.
The next morning he woke up to snow. An early season storm had started during the night. Though only about four or five inches were expected, it made everything look like a Currier and Ives print and helped slightly. He went out to shovel the walk, ending up helping Molly make a snowman and both of them laughing at the finished product.
Going back in, he tried Brian again from the phone in the study. It was eight AM in LA. No answer. Shit.
“He’s in an early meeting?” Bill walked in, saw his face and guessed what was going on. Justin nodded without saying anything. “All this work, all these hours he puts in—what does he hope to gain?”
“His own agency or a senior partnership at the least. A lot more money. Bigger clients.” He shrugged. “More perks. Proving he’s the best.”
“He wants to be the richest bastard in he cemetery?”
“I guess. Something like that.” He was unconsciously turning the gold ring on his finger. His grandfather noticed that it wasn’t quite as shiny as it had been when it was new. It had wear on it, a few scratches and a scar or two where it had taken a couple of hard hits. It was getting broken in.
Bill sat down in one of the wing chairs. “What do you want?”
“To paint. For us to be together. That would make me happy.”
“Justin, have you talked to him about this? When we saw him over Thanksgiving he looked exhausted. And if he does get the agency or the partnership he wants, he won’t slow down then, you know that don’t you?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Justin…”
He stood up, “Grandpa? Could we not talk about this right now, please?” He went upstairs, closing the door behind him. Down in the study Bill looked at the piece of paper he’d left sitting on the desk. Seeing the numbers written there, he picked up the phone and dialed. Fuck the meetings.
Out in L.A., Brian took the call, actually glad for the interruption. The trip was more boring than he would have thought possible and the weather was managing to annoy him. He couldn’t help it. He was an Eastern boy. Christmas, if not actually white, sure as shit should be cold enough to freeze the proverbial witch’s tit. Eighty-five and sunny was fine for July. In December it was pathetic.
The deal was coming along just fine, as he knew it would. The deal was fine last week and would have been fine next week—the asshole clients just wanted some handholding and some ego-stoking before they signed for fifteen million dollars over the next three years. Vance would be happy and Brian would insist that this be made up not just to him, but to Justin as well and with more than just fucking flowers.
He listened to what Bill had to say to him, agreed and knew that he would have to do something. Going back into the conference room, he addressed the other seven people who were there and who had been there for what was now the third day. There wasn’t an eye in the room that wasn’t glazing over and there wasn’t a brain in the room concentrating on the long-term sales figures based on projected earnings.
Fuck it.
With suppressed relief, they all agreed—in so many words—that this was bullshit, it was Goddamned Christmas Eve and, screw it.
It was the easiest sell he’d ever had. No one wanted to be there.
Shaking hands, they walked out, promising that the contracts would be over nighted to Vanguard on the twenty-sixth. The CEO offered to drop Brian at LAX and the man’s secretary booked his flight—the client even agreeing to pick up the tab. Stopping at the Beverly Wiltshire for fifteen minutes, he got his things, checked out and they were gone.
Eight hours later he let himself in the Breslin’s home, knowing where the key was kept from last year. It was two in the morning. The house was dark, no sounds.
He made his way up to the room they had shared last year, assuming, hoping that’s where Justin had been put again. Opening the door as silently as he could, he entered the dark room, feeling his way to the bed. Sitting carefully—with no light and a moonless night, it was like pitch in the room—he was surprised to feel no one there. The spread was smooth, the bed unused.
Shit. Where was the twat?
He went back downstairs. The kitchen? No. The study, maybe on the computer or the phone? No.
He went down the hall to the living room.
Pay dirt.
The fire was burning low, the only light in the room. Justin was sitting in front of the fireplace on the couch, his legs crossed Indian style in front of him, hugging a throw pillow. He was just sitting, staring; Brian could hear his allergies acting up from the doorway.
Brian came up behind him, his arms sneaking around from the back, embracing and kissing his neck.
“And what did you want for Christmas, little boy?”
Justin jumped about ten feet. “Fuck me, Brian, you gave me a heart attack, asshole.”
“Nice to see you, too.”
Pulling the arms that were still around his neck, Justin flipped Brian over the back of the sofa, catching him, sort of, as he came over. Somehow, he landed so that their mouths were together, kissing hard, missing one another. “Why the fuck aren’t you in California?”
“Because I thought that you might miss me.” He was untying the robe Justin was wearing, slipping his hands inside. He seemed to have nothing else on.
“Bullshit. What are you doing here?” He was pulling Brian’s sweater over his head, running his hands up and down his back and sides.
“Families should be together for the holidays.” Justin was removing Brian’s jeans, his hands sliding in, pushing them down, the underwear following. He started gripping Brian’s ass, kneading the two cheeks and rubbing the flesh there.
“Crap. How come you’re in New York?” Brian was suckling on the side of his neck, undoubtedly leaving a mark. He’d be teased for it when everyone saw tomorrow. “Brian?” He was starting down, pausing at his nipples, knowing how much Justin loved the feeling of his mouth there.
“The meetings ended early.” He was still on the left tit.
“You are so completely full of shit. What made you fly back in the middle of the night?”
He paused for just a moment before moving down further. “I missed you.”
“Yeah, sure you did—did I tell you to stop?” He was nuzzling in Justin’s pubes. Yes, he was a true blond. “Why are you here?”
Just as he was poised to engulf Justin’s rather needy and prominent cock, he looked up for just a long second. “Your grandfather called me out of a meeting this afternoon and told me that if I didn’t get my ass back here, he’d cut my balls off with a dull knife and I believed him.”
In response, Justin groaned.
Upstairs Bill had gotten up to check when he had heard the front door open and close. It was right below the master bedroom and he had always known when Jen and her sister got home from dates. He heard footsteps going through the quiet house and, after a few minutes, went down to make sure it was who he thought.
He saw them in the study, pausing, watching for a very little while before leaving them alone.
When he had called Brian, he wasn’t sure the man would come, he had half expected to be told to fuck off, to mind his own business, but after seeing Justin and Brian together and having to get to know the older man a bit over the last year or so, he hoped he’d do the right thing for his grandson.
He heard and saw them on the sofa, hoping they’d have the presence of mind to not fall asleep there after they were finished. It wasn’t the sort of Christmas morning surprise Claudia would appreciate.
The next morning at breakfast everyone except Bill was surprised to see Brian and Justin walk into the living room, holding hands, Molly shrieking and throwing herself around Brian’s middle. After the hugs and kisses and welcomes the presents were handed out, opened and exclaimed over, Justin and Brian sitting on the floor, Justin between Brian’s long legs. There were a couple of things from the grandparents for him, but everything else—both for and from Brian were in Pittsburgh. A box would be sent next week.
An hour later the eggs and bacon and muffins were eaten, the women made everyone leave except for Justin—the only one besides his grandmother who could cook. Jennifer peeled the vegetables.
Bill pulled Brian into his study.
“I want to talk to you and you sit there and listen. If you want to tell me to go to Hell, keep it to yourself.”
The two men sat in the two big leather wing chairs. Brian had a pretty good idea what was coming. He figured he could tune it out.
“Now we both know that grandson of mine is in love with you. I have to admit that last year I wasn’t all that happy about the whole situation with you and him—don’t give me any of that homophobic crap—and I’m not talking about the fact that you’re older and richer, either.
“We both know you’ve been around the block a few more times than anyone should be. You drink too much and you likely do a few other things that aren’t all that good for you and the way that boy looks up to you I was worried that you’d have him doing things that would bring him to grief.”
Brian looked bored. “And you still think I’m an asshole and I’m hurting Justin because I work too many hours and I travel too much for my job and I’ll probably screw him over one way or another, right?”
“I couldn’t argue with you.”
“It’s nice to be right, I guess.” Brian rolled his eyes just a bit.
“But the problems you’re having aren’t because of all that shit—and that’s all it is. Justin knows you’re doing a lot of it for him and he knows that you’ll slow down in a couple of years.”
Brian was surprised by that. It wasn’t what he expected. “Oh? So what are the problems?”
“That you don’t notice when he’s worried about you. That boy loves you and what you’re doing to yourself is tearing him up.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”
This was not what he had expected. “Shit, Bill, I slept on the plane and I don’t need all that much.”
“Crap. How much underweight are you?”
“I’m not. I’m the exact right weight for my height and body type.”
“You know that’s a load as much as I do. You think about what that boy will do if you drop dead from a heart attack when you’re thirty-five. He’s already pretty much lost his father and I’m not going to be here forever. You’re the rock he leans on. Make sure you’re around for what he really needs you for.”
“You’re being a drama queen, Bill.”
He smiled, stood up. He was about done talking. “First time anyone ever called me that.” He paused as he walked to the door. “You think about it—you slow down. I don’t want to have to watch him bury you and that’s where you’re headed the way you’re going. I like you Brian, and I respect you, but I’ve seen too many smart guys like you who seem to think they’re invincible. You’re not.”
“Bill…”
“You listen to me, son. I’m right.”
After he left, Brian sat in the study for a while, thinking. An hour or so later Justin came looking for him, he hadn’t moved since the talk a while ago.
“Bri? You OK?”
“Yeah, just a little tired.”
Justin leaned over, kissed him. “Go on up, take a nap. The others won’t be here for a couple of hours.”
“Yeah, I think I might. I’ve been thinking—it’s our anniversary in a few days. Want to go somewhere warm and sit on a beach with me and not do anything for a couple of weeks?”
Justin’s face lit up with that smile. “Yeah, I would.” He looked closely at his husband. “Are you sure? You’d take time off? Vance will freak.”
“Fuck ‘em.”
“…What did my grandfather say to you?”
“Nothing I didn’t know.”
The End