Father/Son

Brian’s POV

OK, I admit it. I never wanted him and even after I knew he was on the way I sure as Hell didn’t think he would be so—fuck, I don’t know—so real. I just flat out didn’t think about it. I know, we all know the story about the cup and all of that, sure we do, and it’s true as far as it goes.

The thing that even I didn’t think would happen was that I’d care about him.

Him.

Gus.

My son.

My—son.

I’ve wondered now and then if I’d have felt the same if he had been a girl—another lez in training.

And you want to know the truth? I don’t think I would. OK, fine. I know that sounds sexist and shit, but that’s the fact of the matter. A son is different than a daughter, beyond the obvious. Let’s just say that I’ve just never really related to women—fuck me, growing up with Joanie and Claire, who the fuck would? But guys? Them I can talk to. Well, as much as I talk to anyone.

The first time I held him—Jesus.

He was so Goddamned perfect. His fingers gripped mine—hard—I didn’t expect that and then he opened his eyes and looked up at me and, Jesus, it was like looking at eternity.

Until the day I die, I’ll never forget that, the first time he looked at me with my eyes.

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Gus’ POV

I’ve heard the stories about my Dad. My mother made a point of telling me whenever she decided that she was pissed off at him about something or other, and that happened with pretty good regularity.

I know he screwed around. I know he can be a cold prick and self centered and that he wasn’t what anyone could call the poster child for responsibility—at least that’s what I was told.

I know that.

I also know the other side.

I know that anytime I called him he’d listen or come over or get me or let me spend the night.

I know that I could talk to him about things that would squik my Moms and that he wouldn’t pass judgment.

I knew that, no matter what, he loved me, loves me—even though he’d sell a kidney before he’d tell me in so many words.

And I know that if I needed that kidney, it was mine and I wouldn’t even have to ask. He’d just be there in the next bed, headphones on or phone in one ear making another deal or schmoozing another client while he waited for the knife. Then he’d be there after with a snotty remark and steady as the fucking Rock of Gibraltar.

He’s what I want to become, well, most of him is. I’m not blind to all of his supposed charms.

He can be pretty fucking obnoxious when he’s in the mood and he drinks and smokes too much. He used to do too many drugs, but he seems to have cut down, not that I’m under any illusions that he’s stopped.

He works too hard and he parties too hard and he can cut you off like a hot knife can cut butter.

But he’s smart, maybe even smarter than I am and I’m pretty damn smart.

He’s honest—not always with himself, but he tries harder than most of the people I know to be honest. He has his own rules and he sticks with them and he doesn’t give a rat’s ass whether you agree with him or not. He just goes his own way.

He’s the toughest damn survivor I know. He’s been through his family, I mean the biological one and the other one, too. Hell, I’m not so sure I’m going to make it through that one—with Deb and Michael and the rest. God.

But Dad? He’s OK. Most people don’t think so, but he is.

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Brian’s POV

I was amazed watching him, as he got older. I know that sounds like—well, you know damn well what it sounds like, but it’s the truth.

He’d come over to the loft and at first it was like having this sort of pet there you had to make sure didn’t spill or trip or something. And it was easy then, there were only a limited number of things he wanted—food, drink, a clean diaper, a Disney DVD in the machine—you give him those things, maybe sit and watch with him and life was good for Gus.

They he started getting older, wanting more, needing more from me. He wanted to be read to and taken places; the park, the zoo, the movies, McDonald’s. He developed opinions, too and God knows he came by them honestly. He liked this, he didn’t like that.

I blame a lot of that on Justin, if you want to know the truth. Justin could be such a fucking princess. I think Gus learned it from him.

I believe Gus was witness to all of the following conversations: “Put the damn sauce on the side, if you don’t mind.” “You’re not actually going to sit there and tell me that you believe Raphael was the equal of Michelangelo, do you?” “Purple sheets? You bought purple sheets?” “This is domestic wine. Brian…”

It was shortly after that when I started getting, “You expect me to watch Sleeping Beauty? That sexist propaganda?” “Dad, if we’re going to eat pasta, can’t we at least get the spinach kind?” “Right, like you know anything about soccer.”

OK, I had him on that one. Soccer I know.

He was on his school’s team, the lezzie’s had told me about some big regional game he was in and I told them I’d fucking be there, so fucking lay off.

There he was, playing center, wearing number seventeen. I wondered if he even knew that was my old number? He was doing well, scored a goal and an assist and during the break he looked over and saw me sitting there with Linds. He trotted over.

“You’re doing great, just watch their good player, the blonde—he’s fast but he fakes to the right. Use that against him, go to his left. And he’s afraid to use his head, go at him high.”

He finally looked at me like I knew something beside cigarettes and ads.

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Gus’s POV

I was fifteen years old and in ninth grade the day I met her. She was sitting inside the office when I went down. They’d called me out of class.

I’d never met her before, but I knew who she was. She has my Dad’s eyes and so do I. I knew who she was. It's not like it was hard to figure out.

The secretary, Mrs. Tenson, told me that my grandmother was there to pick me up.

God, she looks like what Dad would look like if he were a constipated, frigid, postmenopausal bitch. She signed me out without a word.

"How come you're here?"

We walked out to her car. “I was asked to pick you up this afternoon. Your father is indisposed.”

Shit. “Is he alright?” I got this cold feeling and I think my knees were actually shaking.

“There was a minor accident, but from what I gather that he’ll be fine.”

Fuck. Dad. “What kind of an accident? Where is he?”

“From what I understand his car was sideswiped or cut off and he was forced into a tree. He was being examined when his, when that young man, Justin? Is that his name?”

I nodded.

“He was being examined so Justin asked me to come get you.” Just like that, cold as ice. Bitch.

Jesus. Dad.

“Is he alright?” I heard my voice go up about an octave and it was cracking. My hands were shaking. God, my Dad.

“He was taken to Allegheny General, we’ll go there if you’d like.”

Gosh, no, maybe we should stop for lunch, you think? I nodded. Jesus she drove like an old lady and then she swung off the main road to some—Christ, she actually stopped at some Catholic church, parked and got out, staring at me to join her.

“We’ll pray first and light candles.”

“Yeah, well don’t they have chapels in hospitals?” I think I was almost crying.

“The Lord’s will be done. Your father is a sinner, Gus, and he needs all the help he can get. The sooner we go in, the sooner we’ll be on our way. Unless you don’t think our Lord can be of assistance?

God, she was worse than Debbie and Michael had told me and they’d told me a lot.

“I’d rather just see my father.” She gave me this stare. Now I know where Dad got it from. “Fine, whatever.”

God—she’s this total bitch, you know? She was serious about the whole church thing. She knelt in the front row, lit a candle, made a point of stopping to talk to the priest and the whole nine yards. It was almost half an hour before she’d pry her ass out of the pew and I was going nuts. Finally I just called Justin from my cel and got the word that Dad was going to be OK, but—damnit, I almost shit waiting for the word and that bitch, that fucking bitch, just sat there fucking praying. Then on the way, finally, to the hospital she went on about what a shit Dad was, how he was such a disappointment to her and how maybe it was her fault how he'd turned out so crummy. I mean, Jesus. She even had the balls to add that she hoped that I turned out better, that I wasn’t as much as a disappointment to my mother as Dad had been to her.

Christ.

Give me a fucking break.

Dad was still in the ER when we got there and Justin talked to me first. He ignored my grandmother other than to give her a quick nod, which she didn’t acknowledge. He was going to be OK. He had broken his wrist and had a head wound, but he’d been taken to surgery to have his arm set and they’d sew up his head at the same time. He’d probably be out of the OR in an hour and might even be released after they made sure he was good to go.

Granny Kinney listened to this; turned on her heel and left.

And if I never see her again, that’s fine with me.

And then I got thinking about my Dad. I mean, shit, if that’s what he grew up with I think he did pretty damn well for himself. He did just fine. In fact I think he did great.

The bitch.

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Brian’s POV

Gus graduated high school today and it made me feel so fucking old I thought I'd embarrass myself before the thing was over. There had been a party for him over at the munchers the night before which Justin and I had gone to and it was odd. I'd somehow never really thought about how it would be when he was officially an adult. I'm proud of him, of course, but the reality of having a son who is as old as he is now isn't something I thought would happen.

He’s older now than Justin was when we first met and—OK—I know it’s a long shot that Gus is saving himself for true love, in fact I know he hasn’t done anything that stupid, even if Lindsay still thinks he’s pure as the fucking driven snow—it still makes me feel like fucking Methuselah to picture my kid getting laid. I can’t help it. On one hand I hope he’s getting it six times a day, but on the other, well, shit, you know what I mean?

I know how lame ass that sounds, but it's true. I mean, you can deal with the kid being an infant or a toddler or even starting to drive, but seeing him up on that stage in the cheap graduation gown with the Honor Society cords around his neck, looking like a carbon copy of me thirty years ago and it was like deja vu all over again.

God knows I didn’t waste any time. Alright, Gus knows it, too. He asked and I told him about the gym teacher when I was fourteen and a lot of shit that went down after that as well. He seemed OK with it. In fact, he seemed impressed, if you want to know the truth.

The next night, the night after the actual ceremony when I thought that he had gone to Virginia Beach with some of his friends, I looked up to see the loft door sliding open and he walked towards me with his girlfriend.

Jesus, that's something else that I had to get used to but you do what you have to do, as they say.

So he and Marilee came over to where I was working and Gus sort of tells me that he just wanted to thank me for everything. I asked him what the fuck he was talking about and he knew enough to ignore my bullshit and just keep talking. He thanked me for the money for college and the money for his car then he got past the obvious shit and thanked me for letting him have a place to talk whenever he needed it and a place to crash when his mothers got on his case about this or that. He even, with some blushing, thanked me for not giving him shit about being the family's only straight member—which made Marilee giggle.

Christ, I hate giggling.

About then Justin came back from wherever the fuck he’d been, walked over, said hi to Gus and the girl and laid one on me, tongue and everything. Gus had seen it a thousand times, conservatively speaking but Marilee seemed a dab taken aback by two (God help me) middle-aged men swapping spit.

I looked up at her since she was still standing and I was sitting at the computer, smiled—I think—and said something like ‘deal with it’. Justin laughed and started putting groceries away and Gus actually blushed.

What the fuck?

They made some dumb ass excuse about having to get going and that was that. It was abrupt, but screw it. If the girl wanted to hang with my son, she had to get over what happens in my house if she walks in unannounced.

A week or so later he called me, had the balls to tell me that Justin and I had been rude for flaunting ourselves like that in front of them.

Fucking excuse me?

So I told him the obvious—my house, my lover, my rules.

He thinks that she may break up with him over him have a bunch of gay parents around.

Sounds like it wouldn’t be a major loss to me. That was when he slammed down the phone.

Little shit.

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Gus’ POV

I couldn’t believe he’d do that in front of Marilee. I mean I couldn’t fucking believe it.

Now don’t get me wrong. I know Dad’s a queer. It’s not like it was any secret when I was growing up or anything. It was hardly a big revelation or any of that shit. I knew from day one that he liked men and I knew that he and Justin were a major item. I know that, OK?

I do. It’s not like I haven’t seen them going at it all my life.

But he could have cut me just a little damn slack here. I mean—Jesus.

I bring my girlfriend over to meet him for the first time and it’s going just fine when he and Justin start dueling tonsils.

Goddamnit.

They couldn’t wait til we were gone? They couldn’t have just said ‘excuse us for a minute’ and gone up to the bedroom or something?

Now don’t start on me. I know—it’s their house and they have nothing to be ashamed of and it perfectly normal and all that shit. I know that. I do. OK? I’m fine with it. Christ—this is the kid who was raised as the poster child for the GLC, remember? Gay is fine. I’m fine with fags.

It’s Marilee who needs to get used to the idea.

I mean, shit—she’s a Baptist, for God’s sake. You know what I mean? Her parents are, well, conservative doesn’t begin to cover it but she’s not like that. She’s OK; she just could have used a minute to get used to it before they started sucking face.

You know that old movie, ‘The Birdcage’? The one with the gay parents and the really straight parents and their kids want to get married and it’s supposed to be funny? Yeah, well you fucking try living it and see how much you laugh.

And I point out that I even lived through my village virgin Holy Roller grandmother and survived—and better than my father did, I add. Of course I didn’t have to deal with her quite as much, thank God.

Jesus. I talked to Dad and he was pissed. Well, of course he was pissed, but he said that if I wanted, he and Justin would be willing to take us out to dinner and Marilee could see that they’re not pervs or anything, that they’re just a couple of guys who happen to love each other and there’s nothing against God’s green earth in that.

Well, he actually said that they’re a couple of fags, but that’s just part of Dad’s charm. I guess.

You know? I love my Dad. I really do. I love Justin, too, but sometimes I wish my life were, I don’t know.

Easier.

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Brian’s POV

How true is the cliché that you hit a point with your kids when you become an idiot?

Put a pointed hat on my head and call me ‘dummy’.

It simply never occurred to me that Gus would be embarrassed by me and Justin kissing. It’s not like we were fucking for Christ’s sake, though I’d have loved to see the look on that professional virgin’s face if we were.

Gus, my son.

Get the fuck over yourself.

You were raised by lesbians. Your father is gay.

That’s the way your cookie crumbled.

This is your life.

Deal with it.

Do you honestly believe that you’re going to be happy spending your life—or some percentage of it—with a woman who’s a member of the Young Republicans?

Have I taught you nothing?

So two weeks later I get the knock on the door and there he is, woebegone and lovelorn. Thank God the bitch dumped him. Hell, she was probably frigid anyway.

He can do better. I didn’t tell him that, of course, but he can. And he will.

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Gus POV

Justin was a mess. God, you should have seen him. And Debbie, too. I knew Emmett would be, but somehow I thought that Michael would keep his shit together but I guess when you get that many drama queens in one place it was inevitable.

Dad, of course, was solid as a rock and just as impassive, but I knew that he would be. That’s just Dad.

He sat down by me afterwards, though, at the reception, leaned close, put his hand on my shoulder and told me—with a straight face—that he thought I’d done the right thing, that Laura and I were a good match then added that if we made him a grandfather anytime soon he’d have my nuts.

Justin had joined us by then and I glanced over at him, expecting to see him laugh or smile or something but he wasn’t. He looked dead serious. “He means it.”

Jesus, guys. Thanks.

But you want to know something? I saw the look on Dad’s face when he was dancing with Laura. He was happy. He was happy for me and for us and I think he was even happy for himself. Then Justin cut in and danced with the bride and Dad just stood back and watched with this small smile on his face—the real one, not the one that’s snarky and snotty—the real one, the one where he’s not even aware that he’s smiling. And when he finally went back to the dance floor when a new song started and took Justin away so they could dance together and Laura started dancing with me again—God, it was just fucking perfect.

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Brian’s POV

They held off almost five years but then she dropped twins.

Holyfuckingchrist.

All I could think was to thank God, or whoever that they lived in San Francisco and I wouldn’t have to deal with them. I did alright with Gus when he was little so long as I didn’t have to see him more than every couple of weeks for an hour or so, but this is just bullshit.

You know the thing that really bites, though?

Sure, fine, this whole rights of passage/things change and we grow along with them is fine as long as you’re maybe twenty or thirty but by the time you hit fifty-five it wears thin. Sure, you gain some experience along the road—you’d have to be a damn corpse if you didn’t—but you get old and that’s, well, we know how I feel about that.

Glasses, do you want to talk about that? Or bad knees or any of that crap? I always used to look at men who were the age I am now—say, Vic for one—and think that I’d never be like that. I’d never get that old; I’d die young and beautiful and be remembered like Princess Di (but smarter and less nuts) for how I was at my peak and not as some old guy.

Then Justin made the cliché comment—I almost tore him a new one—that getting old might suck but it beat the alternative. He went on about how I had this successful business, good friends, family, him, a great home and money to burn.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.

And who cares if you have trouble getting up the damn stairs at night?

But then Gus called that night, excited, out of breath and told me that the twins had been born and they were naming one after me and the other after Laura’s father.

Damn.

You know something? He made me happy when he told me that. He really did. He made me fucking happy and proud and I couldn’t figure out why that would be. I mean, it’s not like I did anything, but then I thought that—fuck it all—yes, I did.

I let Lindsay talk to me when I was high and drunk and tripping and I agreed to this favor she needed.

And we had this kid.

And I didn’t give him any thought until the night he was born and I held him and I realized that—fuck me—I was a father. I have a son.

And even though I’d give my last ball before I’d actually admit it—he’s amazing.

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