The Moore the Merrier

by Alex Miska

  “How about we all get ready for bed? I’m beat!” Chance said with a yawn. The boys said goodnight and ran upstairs. Although Roger wasn’t the best racer, she had no trouble keeping up with them, but Luna whimpered pathetically at the bottom of the stairs until Roger went back down and helped her up each step. When they finally reached the top, the boys had turned to go back down.

  “Maybe we can sleep up here?” Jackson asked.

  “What if Luna needs something and can’t get back down?” Dean asked, lifting Luna and tucking her under his arm. “We can sleep downstairs until the carpet’s installed.”

  With the help of Chance and Logan, the boys moved all the furniture in the living room, much to the consternation of the cats, and installed two beds in the center of the room. Everyone said goodnight and each boy snuggled into his own bed. Roger snuggled up next to Jackson, who seemed to need him more, while the cats and Luna slept on Dean’s bed. But just as Roger began to doze, Dean got up and snuck into the bed with them.

  ‘Two boys for me, none for you!’ Roger gloated, but it was a hollow victory. Her boys were talking quietly about grandparents and their father and Gigi and Chance and Logan and they started crying. Roger didn’t know how to fix this, but she wiggled now and then to remind them that they had her, and licked their chins and noses and hands and whatever else was in close proximity to her head until, eventually, her boys’ breathing evened out and they fell asleep.

  Character Guide

  “Quinn!” Julian shouted as he threw himself at the man that was probably his friend.

  Quinn stumbled and half fell onto the conveyor belt before righting himself and grumbling, “I thought you’d stopped doing that.”

  “Nope. But at least this time I yelled your name,” Julian said with a grin. The last time Julian picked Quinn up at the airport, he’d ‘hilariously’ stepped behind his friend, whispered something obscene in his ear, and poked him in the behind with a bottle of water. Well, Quinn had thought it was hilarious as he watched Julian accost some poor, exhausted geek who was just trying to grab his luggage and get the fuck home after a seven-hour flight. But what were the odds he’d make the same mistake twice? Okay, yes, there were a ton of people in t-shirts and jeans with brown hair and glasses but… shut up. He was right this time, and that was what really mattered.

  “Whatcha bring me? Whatcha bring me?” Julian asked, dancing around Quinn as his exhausted friend waited for his suitcase.

  Quinn tried to hide his smile as he rummaged around in his carry-on. He always brought something interesting home with him from LA, some odd little gay trinket he found in West Hollywood that he knew would crack Julian up. Quinn handed Julian a gift bag and Julian squealed, pushing aside the tissue paper to unearth a box with a picture of a mug on the cover. “When you fill it with coffee or tea or something, the mug changes from solid black, to that,” he told Julian. ‘That’ was a cartoon dachshund and the phrase ‘When I get hot, my wiener comes out.’

  Julian hugged Quinn and told him it was the perfect mug to keep at work. Quinn grabbed his giddy friend and gave him a half-hearted noogie. “You’re getting married and adopting two teenagers. Aren’t you supposed to be all mature and stuff, now?”

  “Never!” Julian cried, startling people around them, so he repeated in a stage-whisper, “Nehhh-verrr.”

  Julian took Quinn’s glasses off and took a good long look at his friend. He looked horrible. Julian could say that because Quinn was his best friend and that’s what best friends did to each other. But really, he looked so bad that Julian couldn’t even bring himself to tease him; his skin was a greyish-green (or greenish-grey) and he had deep purple rings under his eyes.

  His poor friend had been working twelve-plus hour days, seven days a week for the past eight months because his game studio had a habit of going into ‘crunch time’ a few months before their game dropped. Two years ago, crunch had only lasted three months. But this time they were extremely behind, and Quinn was one of the many programmers who had to pay the price because the lead designer, Vaughn, kept changing his mind.

  Julian cleaned the lenses with his t-shirt and gently put the wire-framed glasses back on his friend’s face. “I think they broke you, Quinnie.”

  “I’m not going back,” Quinn said bluntly. “I mean, I have to go back. I have an apartment and a life and those fucking golden handcuffs.”

  This was an argument Quinn had with himself more and more often these days, but it all boiled down to money. A large portion of his salary was in investments that he wouldn’t be able to touch for another three years and, if he left, he would lose that money (thus, the term ‘golden handcuffs’). Luckily, programmers got a massive bonus if their game was successful (and Call to Arms was always successful), so if Quinn left now he’d still have earned an assload of money. Quinn had been tossing around the idea of leaving with a friend or two and making a game of their own. Julian knew his friend would be insanely successful and that this studio was sucking the life out of him, but Quinn was going to have to rest, recharge, and then come to that realization on his own.

  “How much did you pack?” Julian asked, shocked as Quinn pulled two large suitcases off the conveyor belt. “I know you’re staying a month, but you know we have a washing machine, right?”

  “I know. This is all laundry. I wasn’t entirely sure what was in the pile, so I just tossed it all in. I figure I have a month to get it all done.” Despite his casual tone, Quinn couldn’t hold back a little smirk.

  “You know it’s all going to be done by the time you come out of hibernation, don’t you?” Julian accused.

  “If the elves wind up doing their magic while I’m asleep, I really can’t stop them.” Quinn’s grin belied his innocent tone. He had pulled the packing-laundry trick once before, since he didn’t have a washing machine at his place and Julian’s parents did. That time, Julian had washed one load for him during Quinn’s twenty-four-hour recuperative nap. But they both knew that Xander was going to take one look at these suitcases and probably wouldn’t be able to sleep at the idea of all that clothing sitting around, wrinkling.

  Julian grabbed a suitcase and led Quinn to his SUV, which Xander had idling at the curb. Quinn gave the requisite, “Ooooo your new car’s so pretty!” and was asleep before Xander had merged onto the highway.

  Julian’s phone chirped and he groaned. He had reached his emotional limit. Wedding decisions, the interminable wait for the adoption paperwork, yesterday’s Blevins Family Reunion, Quinn’s new zombiesque look…

  “I swear, Iceman, if Amelia texted me that the store is out of her favorite shade of nail polish, I’m going to burst into tears.”

  “Just look at it. Maybe it’s a cute dog picture,” Xander said.

  It wasn’t a cute dog picture.

  Well, it was, if you thought Frankie looking smug next to a ruined garment cute. “What happened?! I loved that jacket! I left it all the way on top of my dresser!” Julian shrieked. He immediately felt guilty and looked back at Quinn, but his friend hadn’t even twitched at the noise.

  “You know Cassius is an enabler,” Xander said in that far-too-calm tone he used whenever Julian was on the brink of losing it completely.

  But it was too late.

  Julian burst into tears. Not pretty tears, the way a starlet releases a single drop from the corner of her eye. Big, ugly sobs that had Xander pulling to the side of the road and dragging him onto his lap. Julian knew everyone was going to be fine, but there was no good reason for them to be not-fine right now, goddammit. There was no point in saying that, though. Julian was pretty sure Xander was just as upset as he was, so he just held on to his fiancé and let the storm wash over them.

  “I love you so much,” he told Xander when his sobs had turned to hiccups.

  “And I love you, Moore.”

  Julian groaned, “That pun is getting sooo old. Please tell me you’re not going to be saying that nonstop for the rest of our
lives.”

  “Want me to put that promise in my vows?” Xander asked, and Julian blanched. “What?”

  “I’d prefer to use the traditional vows,” Julian said. He had tried to write personalized vows, but he just couldn’t. Julian’s feelings for Xander were far too powerful to boil down to tiny little words. One look at his fiancé told Julian that there was no way he’d get his way without explaining himself ad infinitum. So he gave Xander great big puppy dog eyes and simply said, “Please. It’s very important to me.”

  “Okay, Brat.” Xander kissed him on the temple and Julian slid back onto his own seat, buckling his belt before he was warned, “But don’t think you’re getting out of discussing this. I’m just too wrung-out and I have to get to work.”

  Julian woke Quinn up enough to get him and his bags up to the condo before he promptly fell back into a near-comatose state. Julian opened up the suitcases and got to work sorting laundry. The quiet morning was interrupted by a flurry of chimes that didn’t stop for a solid twenty minutes; Logan had started a group text.

  LOGAN: We’re all fine. Nobody assaulted anyone. We’re enjoying a family day alone just the 8 of us. Roger is settling in well. Gigi is buying a giant package of the wrong brand of pads.

  DANI: Dammit Chester!

  CHANCE: Blame Greg. He told Logan.

  TRIP: Blame Logan. Now everybody knows.

  JACKSON: Now somebody has to come up with a guy version.

  GREG: We did. But we’re not telling you until you’re older.

  DEAN: If they tell us here everyone will know.

  CHANCE: Won’t work. We’re all men in this house.

  AMELIA: Are you Moore-Blevinses texting from the same house?

  LOGAN: We’re all in the same room.

  JULIAN: Cassius wants to meet Roger. We’re coming over.

  LOGAN: No. It’s just us today. Besides don’t you have some laundry to do?

  LOGAN: I’m turning off my phone now.

  DEAN: He’s not turning off his phone.

  JACKSON: Text him more. This is fun.

  JACKSON: Dammit. Now he’s making us build a snowman.

  GREG: There isn’t enough snow to make a snowman.

  LOGAN: IT WILL BE A MINI SNOWMAN ARMY TO RIVAL ANY OTHER!!!

  GREG: Sorry kids. Mom dropped him on his head when he was little.

  SARA: Why do you keep saying that? Everyone knows you were the one I dropped, Greg.

  LOGAN: Yeah Greg. You were the practice baby before she got to the awesome ones.

  The rest of the day passed in relative silence. Julian made a few phone calls and made wedding-related appointments based on the few things he and Xander had agreed upon, which actually added up to a lot more than it had felt like they had. Quinn emerged from the guest room twice to grunt a hello, eat a sandwich, and begin to fall asleep while telling a story. Otherwise, it was just Julian and Cassius and a mountain of laundry.

  The moment Xander arrived home from work, Julian shouted “Baby koala!” as quietly as possible and pounced on him, knocking Xander backward and out the door. It was possible that Julian was a bit over-caffeinated; since his fiancé hadn’t gotten the chance to nap after their early morning, he didn’t either.

  The moment Julian came up for breath, Xander suggested, “How about I go get changed and then we pick this back up where we started? I assume Quinn’s taking a nap?”

  “He’ll be dead to the world for another three hours, so we’ll have to make it a quickie.” Julian disentangled his legs from around Xander’s waist, allowing his fiancé (he loved that word) to greet their eager dog. When they arrived in the bedroom, he told Xander everything he’d gotten done that day.

  “Wait wait wait wait wait. You already booked the hall, musicians, party supply company, and florist?”

  “I’ll drop the deposits off in the morning.” Julian knew Xander was upset, but he couldn’t understand why. “Oh, and the tailor. Your tailor. We have appointments tomorrow evening if that works for you.”

  “Of course it does, I already made that appointment yesterday.” That explained why the guy had been confused. “So, if you haven’t put in the deposits, you just tentatively booked them.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I can’t believe you called them without me,” Xander said, sitting down hard on the edge of the bed.

  “Well, they had to be called during the workday, and we’d already agreed on them.” He still couldn’t see the problem. “Should I have come to you during lunch and put them on speakerphone?”

  “Stop it, I’m being serious.” Xander wiped his palm down his face.

  “So am I. I didn’t choose songs or flowers or linens. I asked them to hold the date.”

  “You chose the hall.”

  “From the list you made. Cass and I drove over there to take a look at them. One place got booked earlier this week, another didn’t allow pets and you know we can’t get married without Cassius, and three were functional but boring. It was only that last place, that conference center I’d never heard of, that seemed to fit what we wanted. And I thought you liked that place the best, anyway.”

  “What about the castles?”

  “I loved those castles.” They did make him feel like a princess, but they hadn’t been practical. “Unfortunately, as I said, one was booked, and the other was run by a fascist dog-hater. Oh, and the third only did outdoor weddings, which didn’t seem practical for New Years.”

  “Okay.” Xander seemed so disappointed. “Which party supply company, then?”

  “The one that had the dark amethyst purple we both liked.”

  “But I didn’t like their chairs.”

  “Which is more important?” Julian asked, fed up. The purple argument had been far more heated than the chair conversation.

  “Fine.”

  And so went the worst non-argument they’d had since Julian had moved into Xander’s condo. Every decision they had struggled to make days before, Xander now questioned. “Goddammit, Iceman! You’re in charge of the photographer. You’re the one who made the lists and initial calls in the first place. You’re the one wh-”

  The dryer chimed.

  Julian was done with this conversation. “I’m going to go fold some laundry, transfer the wash into the dryer, and then we can have dinner.”

  “Linens?” Xander asked because, yes, they had a laundry schedule and today was linens day.

  “Nope, did those already. These are Quinn’s. Just… whatever you do, don’t look in his room.” Julian said. Of course, Xander then had to peek inside, and the laundry freakout commenced. Thank God Julian had thought to hide two loads inside the second suitcase. “Iceman, dry time was my limiting factor here. And I got most of it done before you got home so it wouldn’t keep you up all night. Do you want to help me fold?”

  “You’re not supposed to fold these pants,” Xander grumbled. “And they need to be pressed. What did he do to them?”

  “Can you do that for me?” Julian asked, hoping this would soothe his man.

  “Did he crumple these up in a ball and then have a five hundred pound man sit on them the entire flight here?” his fiancé continued to mumble as he walked down the hall. “Your friend is fucked up.”

  They had a quiet evening in, full of laundry and grumbling and Thai food, capped off with a surprisingly successful attempt to have athletic yet noiseless sex. When Julian stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, Quinn was talking animatedly with Xander while giving Cassius the last bite of his bagel. “Why aren’t you dressed?” he asked Julian, who looked around as though his friend might be talking to someone else. “Come on, Julie, get it together! We’re going to be late!”

  “What am I dressing for?” Julian asked.

  “You’re going to be spending a lot of time on your knees.”

  “That’s what he said,” Xander muttered into his coffee.

  “Go!” Quinn ordered.

&n
bsp; Once Julian emerged from his closet, Quinn tilted his head, clucked his tongue, and told him to wear something a little nicer. He changed and returned, at which point Quinn said what he was wearing might get too dirty. He turned to leave again when Xander snickered. Julian narrowed his eyes at his best friend and asked, “You’re just fucking with me, aren’t you?”

  “I wanted to finish my coffee. I don’t think anyone will care what you’re wearing, but what you’ve got on works. Let’s go!”

  Quinn didn’t often have the urge to leave the house and meet people, so Julian just rolled with it. The last time he and Quinn got bored together, they’d created an elaborate humane trap for the mouse that kept sneaking into the living room (which wound up being at least 6 mice). He wasn’t sure what they were going to do today, but time with his best friend was always entertaining.

  Once in the car, Quinn asked the question Julian had been waiting to hear: “Why is there a giant, wrapped box under my bed?”

  “Because… Christmas?”

  “Already? Aren’t you the guy who’s still getting packages on Christmas Eve?” Quinn asked.

  “Listen, I saw it on TV and I couldn’t resist. It’s a large box, but it’s nothing huge,” Julian insisted. “Just wait. You’ll love it.”

  Quinn feigned frustration, but Julian knew his friend was excited at the idea that it might be something cool. Quinn had been sending packages to his place for over a week now, to wrap for friends and family once he arrived, so it wasn’t like Quinn hadn’t gotten him anything. Besides, this was perfect for him. For reasons beyond his comprehension, Julian’s best friend was petrified of insects, spiders, and all other creepy-crawlies, so Julian had found a big plastic gun with which Quinn could shoot bugs with sprays of salt. Xander had been so excited by the find, that he bought one for Max, too. He said it was just for fun, but Julian recognized that glint in his fiancé’s eyes, and he was delighted at the possibility that his boss had a fatal flaw he could leverage one day.

  Julian and Quinn wound up taking Cassius to Chance’s, where Greg and Tommy were hanging out with the twins and a zoo’s-worth of pets. Julian and Cassius were excited to meet Roger for the first time, but the greyhound was curled up in a ball under the Christmas tree, unimpressed by their enthusiasm. They socialized for a bit and then Quinn grabbed the red-shirted twin and announced it was time to get started. Everyone else knew what he was talking about, so Julian finally gave in and asked, “If I’m the one driving, I need to know where we are going!”