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Chapter 10:  Meeting Megan

 

Justin

I guess I shouldn't be surprised – you'd think I'd be past being surprised by anything Brian could do – but I have to admit the fact that he's so relaxed and jovial with the whole of my family, plus his mother on the boat is kind of unexpected. But it's a nice kind of unexpected and everyone winds up having a good afternoon. Mom is thrilled. Says in all the years she's lived in Pittsburgh she's never been out on the river before. I guess it's the same for Joan, although she doesn't say anything (she doesn't say anything much all afternoon). But we go down nearly to the triangle and the view is … well, I guess it's really pretty good for Pittsburgh. We even find somewhere we can tie up and have coffee before we turn around and come back.

It's all calm and pleasant and everyone is very polite and gets along okay. Gus has a blast with all these women to spoil him and I stop waiting for the thunderstorm to break. When Brian even lets me take the controls of the boat for a while I know he really is feeling relaxed, so I kind of relax myself and just enjoy the water and the light and the way the sun catches all the auburn hints in his hair, and how his eyes are sparkling and much more greeny-hazel than usual, and wonder exactly what paint combinations would capture that exactly and think about how much alike he and Gus are and …

Well, basically I stop worrying about all the usual crap and just feel … happy.

Of course, as it turns out, that's pretty much because he doesn't tell me about Lindsay's call till after everyone has left and Gus has gone to bed.

To say I'm pissed is a complete understatement. Seriously, that fucking center is supposed to be this top of the line facility and they can't even prevent Lindsay from conning someone into letting her use their phone?

They're the psych experts, right? Hasn’t the work they've done with her so far taught them anything about how fucking manipulative she is?

Fuck!

He lets me rant for a bit then gets the Beam and pours us both a glass. Then he gives one of those deep fucking sighs that signal the feelings of desperation, not to say despair, that overwhelm him every time he actually has to "talk" about something. I let him go through the whole production number – the sucked in lips, the repeat sigh (not quite so deep this time, more exasperation than desperation), the fidgets, the shuffles, the gulping down of the glass of Beam, the glare at the glass because it's empty, the sigh again (even more exasperated).

Trying to hurry him through the routine would just send him back to the beginning or de-rail it completely and he'd decide not to fucking speak at all.

Finally, when I'm about ready to reach for the pliers and start ripping out his fingernails, he says, "This might kind of change things."

What? What the fuck?

I force myself to stay calm. "Like how?"

Another fucking sigh.

Seriously. Pliers.

"It probably means Gus is going to be with us longer than we thought."

I stop and think about that. I kind of hadn't really put any kind of mental time limit on how long Gus was going to be with us. I mean, it's not like I pictured him living with us till he went off to college or anything; but, on the other hand, I hadn't thought about him leaving us any time soon either.

I shrug.

So what? I've got enough sense not to say that out loud, though. It would just trigger another sighing session, or shut the retard up completely.

"Well," I say slowly, trying to work out what this discussion is really about. Surely he's not fucking expecting me to bail or some shit. If he goes into one of his fucking 'you didn't sign up for this shit' speeches, I swear I'm going to fucking eviscerate him. Asshole! "I think we're doing alright. I mean, we've got Daph now and things are going pretty much okay. Gus is happy. We're finding enough time to fuck."

He shrugs that off, but also gives me a little grin. We took advantage of the fact that Gus had a whole bevy of admirers to keep an eye on him this afternoon to fuck in the restroom of the place along the river where we went for coffee with the boat tied up at their little dock. It was great – the coffee place, I mean; so was the fuck.

After the grin, though, the lips pull back in so I know there's more he wants to talk about. He's silent for so long though that I almost crack and start trying to guess, but then …

"I just don't want …"

I swear to fucking God, if he tells me he doesn't want me to feel tied down I'll kill him. There's not a court in the country wouldn't recognize it as justifiable homicide.

"If you get the opportunity to do something somewhere … I want you to promise … I need you to swear you won't let Gus being here hold you back."

I just stare at him.

He's so fucking convinced I'm going to be like some instant success. It will be years before I get the sort of invitations he's talking about. If I ever do. But telling him that won't help.

I know how important to him this is; I know he'd literally find it unendurable for me to have to shape my life to suit Gus's needs.

Fuckwit!

But he's learning. Once he would have built a mountain of snark and indifference, just to create a cliff to throw me off. And I'm learning too, because once I would have just dismissed his concerns as if I hadn't heard them, or as if they didn't matter.

So I shrug again.

"Like I said, we've got a good support network. If I have to go away for a short time, you'll cope."

He looks like he wants to say something, but he really just can't find the words this time, so I jump in.

"If it's long term," I tell him, "we'll all go. You can drum up business in a new market and Gus can go to a different school for a few months. He's a smart kid. He'll cope."

He lets out a little huff of air that's the nearest he will come to showing he's relieved.

We both know that if something does come along, dealing with it is probably not going to be that simple. But we also both know that we'll figure it out.

Together.

The days of Kinney cliffs and walk outs and generally dicking around about whether we're together for the long term or not are over.

Not that we won't find ways to fuck up occasionally. Everyone does. Us more than most, probably. But the basics we've worked out now. And they have nothing to do with the fact that Gus is living with us (for the foreseeable future apparently).

They've got to do with the fact that both of us have pulled our heads out of our asses and faced up to the fact that a life together is really the only viable option. Everything else is just too fucking painful. So … we'll work it out.

 

*****
 

Brian

Looks like I'm finally actually getting the hang of this talking shit, because we come to some kind of agreement without any fucking drama. It's not like we spend hours going over all the fucking possibilities. But he knows I need him to be free to follow whatever opportunities come along; and I know he's not going to pull some fucking idiotic martyr act, but he's not just going to go haring off leaving me hanging either, like he did with LA. We'll – Christ! – "talk" about it, and figure it out.

So now I can breathe again – deeply enough to fuck him soundly before we fall asleep early enough to get a good start on another fucking week of being Daddy and Dus, anyway.

We're running late in the morning, but he takes on getting Gus to school, so I can get to the office and finish reviewing the shit I never got to go over yesterday thanks to Lindsay's call. Theodore's a fucking slave driver; I don't know what's worse – his patent disapproval and 'these are important, Bri' speeches, or the smug little grins he gives if he thinks the reason I haven't done something is because Justin and I were fucking all day and all night.

I get through the meeting with him with my dignity more or less intact and am reviewing our overall strategy for pursuing two new clients when my latest PA buzzes to tell me there's a woman at the front desk wanting to see me. I'm about to tell the lame brain that I don't have fucking time to see anyone and to get her to make an appointment when she lowers her voice and says, "She says she's from Child Services".

Fuck!

The heart I'm not supposed to have starts thumping against my ribs and I feel slightly sick. What the fuck now?

She comes in looking around like there's a bad smell under her nose and when she smiles I think of sharks and 'gators. She's at least sixty I'd guess, and for some reason kind of reminds me of Debbie. Except without the warmth. But she's got that same 'don't mess with me, and don't expect me to put up with any bullshit' air. I feel like I'm about to be screwed, and not in any way I'll enjoy.

"Mr. Kinney," she says, "I'm Megan Davies. I've been appointed by Pittsburgh Child Services as Gus's case worker."

She scores reluctant points with me because she doesn't hesitate with Gus's name and she doesn't have to refer to some file to look for it.

I think I've got my poker face in place, but she must see something because she says, "You were advised that Child Services would be doing regular checks on Gus's welfare, weren't you?"

I vaguely remember whatshisname? … Sam … mentioning it. But that was weeks ago.

"We'd kind of given up expecting you," I tell her sourly.

She brushes that aside. "We find it's more helpful to allow a child to settle in to a new situation before we risk destabilizing things by getting too involved right away."

I wave her belatedly to a seat and, conscious of a voice in my head that might be conscience, or good sense, but either way sounds a lot like the little twat I live with, I ask if she'd like coffee. Or tea, I add. She looks like a tea drinker.

"If you have any chamomile or peppermint …" she says, letting it trail off like it's outside the realms of possibility that I'd have anything so "civilized" available in any office of mine.

Fucking figures. But I have enough dykes as clients to be prepared for all that sort of shit. Not that I think she's a dyke, exactly. Though maybe … My gaydar's not anywhere near reliable where munchers are concerned. I'm not looking to fuck them, so who cares?

I let my PA know that we want coffee and chamomile tea, and Ms. Davies gives me a look over the glasses she's pulled out and put on the end of her nose. I fucking hate it when people do that."

"I want to assure you, Mr. Kinney, that we have not been neglecting Gus. I have reviewed all the judge's reports and recommendations. I have also been in touch with Gus's school to introduce myself."

For the first time the stick up her ass seems to unbend a little and says with what might actually be a hint of fucking warmth, "They report that Gus seems to be settling in very well and gives every evidence of being well looked after and cared for."

My coffee and the piss-water she's asked for arrive then so I don't have to answer. For some reason my throat feels kind of closed up. And suddenly the old bat opposite me seems a lot less … threatening or some shit. I hear that voice again telling me that while the whole situation is fucked up, we need her as an ally not an enemy, and that she might make a damned good one.

I suck my lips in and wait, letting her call the shots.

"Now, Mr. Kinney, I will be making visits every few weeks to see that everything is working well for you, as well as for Gus. Some of those visits will be unscheduled, but I've found that for the first visit it's more helpful to agree on a time beforehand. Would this evening be alright with you?"

I shrug. Why the fuck not? Might as well get it over with.

"Sure," I say.

We're still a little short on furniture in some rooms, but at least the inside renovations are finally fucking finished.

"Very well. Shall we say six-thirty? I would like to make it early enough to catch up with Gus before he goes to bed."

I nod. "That would be fine," I force myself to say. I can hear that voice again telling me that I've done okay so far and not to rock the boat, to play nice.

"We usually have dinner with Gus around that time," I hear myself saying. "Would you care to join us?"

She looks fucking surprised, but then she gives one of those purse-mouthed smiles that's meant to tell me she can't be influenced by my charm and says, "Perhaps another time."

I nod. "Okay," I say. "We'll try to eat a little earlier tonight."

"Will your partner Mr. … ah … Taylor be available this evening."

"Yes," I say. "Justin and I are both home for dinner most nights – unless work intervenes. He's an artist," I find myself adding. And then I have to stop myself before I started babbling away about the fucking Warhol show. Fuck! I am becoming more of a lesbian every fucking day.

It's a good thing he gives the most stellar blow jobs on the fucking planet. It makes it almost worth it.

 

*****
 

Justin

I almost don't answer the phone because I'm kind of in the zone, but after yesterday I figure that Linds might have pulled some more bullshit so I do. He tells me about the social worker's visit and that she'll be joining us tonight.

I take a deep breath, feeling almost like I'm going to totally freak out.

Brian must pick up on it – the fact that I'm pretty much hyper-ventilating into the phone might be a clue.

"Calm the fuck down!" he orders. "We'll be fine. Hell, the fucking place has been inspected by your mother, and by mine, and even Joanie couldn't find anything to bitch about."

I giggle. I can't help it. That's true enough. After the boat ride my Mom took Brian's Mom all over the house; they both had a great time critiquing our taste in décor and furnishings.

Then something occurs to me.

"Brian, isn't Marty coming over tonight with the suggestions for the furniture for the main room?"

"Fuck!" he says. Guess he'd forgotten. I mean, this woman might not be a homophobe, but that doesn't mean she's ready for Marty. He might even turn up as Marilyn if he's on his way to a Tarot-reading gig or whatever she … he does with that stuff.

"Do you want me to call him and make it another night?"

"No – who knows how long it's going to take to get anything we order delivered? I'll call and ask him to just make it later."

"Okay," I say.

I'm sure I should say something else, something reassuring, but I can't think of anything and even if I could he'd think any reassurance is bullshit, which is true. Neither of us have a clue about all this stuff.

"What about Daphne?" he asks. "Is she going to be okay with this? Do you want to give her a heads up?"

I hesitate. "Should I ask her not to come over?" I ask. "I mean, do we have to tell them that we're out so often we need a night nanny? Shouldn't we just …"

"Lie?" he asks. "Won't work, Sunshine. She's going to be doing surprise visits, remember?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's probably better we're honest."

"Yep," he says crisply. "Plus young Daphne's not exactly chopped liver, you know? She's a graduate with a degree in psychology who's studying for post-grad qualifications. It's not like we're leaving Gus with some gum-sucking teenager who's going to be too busy sucking off her dumb-as-fuck boyfriend to look after Gus properly."

That's true. In fact, Daphne could be a plus.

Maybe.

Or maybe the fact that we need Daph or anyone else to look after Gus so often at night will be some kind of major flag that we're neglecting him or something.

 

*****
 

Brian

I have no fucking idea how this inspection shit is going to go. Who the fuck knows what they're looking for, right?

She arrives right on time, just as we're finishing dinner. Justin and I meet her at the door. We take her into my study first while Daphne and Gus clear the table. As we go into the study we can hear him chattering away to Daph about some shit that happened at school. He sounds … happy.

My kid is fucking happy and I am not going to let anyone fuck that up for him.

We sit down around the desk with Ms. Davies between us. I have to bite my tongue and try to just listen as she explains what her "role" is. I know what her fucking role is; it's to rip my fucking family apart if we don't meet whatever fucked up set of standards she's set for how we should live.

Fuck, I hate this shit!

Fortunately, little Sunshine is on form tonight. He's listening closely and although I can tell he's as pissed off as I am by this whole situation, his innocent WASP-blond thing disguises it pretty damned well from anyone who doesn't really know him.

He's just finished explaining about Daphne and her role in our household when Ms. Davies drops the bombshell.

Seems like the Petersons have finally remembered they have a grandson.

Justin snorts and I'm about to tell her what I think of Lindsay's asshole parents, when she gives me one of those over the top of the glasses looks again.

"Mr. Kinney, please don't be misled. Just because Mr. and Mrs. Petersen have expressed an interest in seeing Gus, does not mean that anyone will force such a visit on him. A great deal will depend on what you have to say about the matter, and also on whether Gus would like to see them. Does he know them well?"

Justin snorts again and she turns the look on him this time. Doesn't work the same on little Sunshine of course.

"They've seen him maybe three times in his life," Justin says. "They didn't even come to his bris. Or to Mel and Lindsay's wedding."

She gives him another look at that, but doesn't interrupt.

"I'm not sure they'd ever seen Gus at all, or wanted to, until Mel and Linds split up for a while when they were still living here. Then they were all over Linds to get her to move in with them. Those few weeks were pretty much the only time they ever spent with Gus. Once they realized that no matter whether she was with Mel or not, Linds was still a dyke and they weren't going to marry her off to some suitable guy, they lost interest again. She moved out and that was it. They never made any attempt to see their precious grandson then."

He gives her one of his steely eyed looks and the edge in his voice could cut diamonds as he says, "Probably the only reason they want to now is to "rescue" him from growing up with the homos and the perverts."

She gives a little smile and says, "Well, if that is the case, Mr. Taylor, you can rest assured that they will be disappointed."

She gives him another look and then fixes those beady eyes on me. "I need you to understand something. I'm not here to champion the rights of gay fathers, I'm certainly not here to champion the bigots and the narrow-minded assholes who believe that gays should never be allowed to raise children. My only concern, the only cause I'm here to fight for, is Gus's right to grow up happy and well cared for and loved."

Then she stands up and goes on, "As long as you can show me that's how things are for Gus while he's living with you, I don't think you and I are going to have any problem. Now, I'd like to see Gus's room, if I may, and have a little chat with him."

Well-trained WASP that he is, Justin jumps up and opens the door for her. From the media room we can hear Daphne groan and Gus giggling as he shouts "Snap!".

Behind Megan's back, our eyes meet and the little twat mouths something about Debbie.

It takes me a moment, then I get it. He was asking if Deb has some long lost sister. In spite of the situation, I find myself grinning.

I know just what he means.

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