Only for the Weekend

by Jen FitzGerald

  “Hey, Cole, hey, Tucker,” calls Pammy in a knowing, sing-song voice, eying their joined hands. “You boys have a bit of a lie in?” She grins widely.

  They didn’t, but they’re supposed to be putting on a show. Cole could let them think what they want, should let them think what they want, but before he can think up a witty non-denial denial, Tucker speaks.

  “Unfortunately not,” says Tucker with a wink. “Cole got a call from a client, so I got to see Doctor Cole in action. That was amazing, sugar.”

  He leans in to press a kiss to Cole’s cheek; in a split-second decision, Cole turns into it and presses their mouths together, and it’s like a lit match in the tinder of Cole’s gut. His eyes slide shut and Tucker’s lips impel against his own. The kiss doesn’t deepen, but their lips stay connected and they’re breathing each other’s air for one heartbeat, two, three… Cole’s blood rushes in his ears. Sparks dance along his skin like fireflies at dusk, pretty and faint, but raising the hairs along his arms anyway. He could stand there forever and enjoy the kiss. His insides spark and he wants more, but now is neither the time nor the place.

  Someone whistles; it sounds far away. But it’s enough to pop the bubble he’d been surrounded by and the volume of the room and the thirty-some-odd people returns full force.

  “Get it,” Pammy yells, and Cole comes back to himself.

  There’s a sound couched as a cough that Cole suspects is Doug followed by what sounds like a smack. Hopefully like someone slapped him quiet. But Cole doesn’t look and he refuses to feel embarrassed. He has just as much right to kiss his significant other as anyone else here.

  The kiss dissipates more than it ends as Tucker rests his forehead against Cole’s. The kiss may be over, but they’re still close enough to share the same air. When Cole opens his eyes, Tucker’s baby blues are right there, big and sparkly like the summer sky.

  Tucker smiles. “Zero to a hundred in ten hours. Nice,” he says softly enough that only Cole can hear.

  “Shut up,” says Cole, but he can’t help the twitch of his lips. Tucker’s assessment hits closer to home than he wants to admit. Now that he’s being forced to be affectionate, it’s like a switch has been flipped. His body has realized the lack of this kind of physical contact, and like a three-year-old, is screaming “gimme, gimme, gimme” with arms extended and hands flashing open and closed.

  “Let’s get a drink,” Cole says. Lacing his fingers through Tucker’s again, he leads his boyfriend, quote-unquote, by the hand to the bar setup in a corner. “Two mimosas, please.”

  They get a few additional looks when they reach the table, but aside from Doug’s scowl, they’re more along the lines of benevolent smiles or outright grinning. There’s some shuffling of bodies so Cole and Tucker can sit next to one another. Conversations pick up, continue on, shift, end. New ones begin.

  Tucker’s drawn into conversation with Ben’s sister, Leah, to his right. Cole takes a moment to look around the table, to regard each and every person seated there, from his young niece Patty to Granny Evie.

  Patty clings to her father’s back as he settles two plates on the table and lowers her to a chair. Thommy is a great single dad. The divorce is barely final, but they seem to be doing all right. Thommy’s smiling and laughing more than he’s done in a long time and Patty is just as sweet and engaged in her world as she’s always been.

  Pammy and Rafe sit so close they could share a chair, murmuring to and grinning at each other in a private exchange. Young love.

  Tim leans in to whisper at Rachel. Rachel smiles and rubs a hand across her baby bump. Tim covers her hand with his. Cole envies them that joy and their deep abiding love.

  Ben and Scott share a quick peck above Misty’s head.

  “Hey,” Misty says, tilting her face upward and pursing her lips. They each kiss her in turn, laughing.

  Thom lifts Cole’s mom’s hand and kisses it. His mother smiles up into her husband’s face. Cole lips turn up again in automatic reaction at seeing his mother’s happiness. He’s glad she found love again.

  Granny sips her coffee, face serene and eyes bright as they too scan the faces of her family. Her gaze catches Cole’s and she smiles. Cole smiles back.

  A sense of yearning settles in Cole’s chest. He’d been young and happy once. And then Michael had died. His loss had sucked all the brightness out of the world. For years, there’s been a constant layer of clouds between him and the sun. It’s been light out, and his life has had no sparkle, no luminescence. Somehow in the span of a single day, the clouds are thinning, breaking apart. He has no idea what to think about the who or the why or what he’s supposed to do about it.

  Chapter Ten

  Cole and Tucker get roped into helping with post-brunch cleanup while everyone else heads out onto the patio. Once the tables have been separated and put back into place, the cotton tablecloths replaced with plastic picnic cloths, and the trashcans emptied, they join the fun already in progress.

  Country music drifts softly from the sound system. Dominoes and card games are in progress at the picnic tables. Wanda and Marva have lured Uncle Jed and Aunt Helen into a game of horseshoes. Conversations rise and fall, are punctuated by laughter.

  The teens and tweens are congregated at the shoreline under the supervision of Leah Thompson and Morgan somebody , a fellow nurse from the hospital in Big Spring where Leah works and who’s her date for the weekend. The fact that he’s black seems to have garnered less fuss than Tucker’s queerness. Doug and Morgan had apparently bonded over love of football. Cole has no problem with interracial relationships. They live in Texas for goodness sake. Black, brown, white, gay, straight. It shouldn’t matter who you love. Loving is better than hating, right? Cole sighs.

  Under the lone willow, Patty and Misty have set up an elaborate village of Barbie dolls, dinosaurs, and other random toys.

  Tucker squats next to the girls and asks questions about their play. His care for their feelings about their importance as members of the family and as people in general is endearing. It’s also a little sad, because the motive must stem from Tucker’s own childhood.

  That’s a story Cole only has a vague allusion to. Nothing concrete, no details. Only Granny’s nebulous comment upon meeting Tucker and Tucker’s own occasional shift into wistfulness when faced with certain family scenarios—like Patty and the tea party or the various father and son pairs sharing conversation and laughter, sharing camaraderie and familial closeness. Aside from those random bouts of melancholy, though, Tucker seems to have moved past whatever happened. Cole’s curious, of course, but he doesn’t have the right to ask.

  “Let’s get our chairs from the truck and stake out a shady spot,” says Cole once Tucker rises from his conversation with the girls.

  “Yeah, sounds good.”

  Cole takes Tucker’s hand and they head for the truck. Another spark of electricity shoots through Cole, as well as something more comfortable and warmer. A wave of longing settles in too. Holding Tucker’s hand makes him feel connected and like he belongs to someone. How can he miss something he’d never had?

  “Patty and Misty are so precious,” says Tucker. “It was all I could do not to plop right down next to them and play too.”

  Cole hears that yearning again. “Why didn’t you?”

  Tucker sighs, shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to embarrass you or call attention to myself or look stupid.”

  “You wouldn’t have embarrassed me. I love how much you empathize with those girls. I can’t help but think that having an adult show interest in what they’re doing or want to join them isn’t a bad thing. Christ. I should be that uncle. Instead, I bring some stranger to the family gathering and he upstages me.” He squeezes Tucker’s hand and bumps his shoulder to show he’s joking.

  Tucker nods, his smile sporting a hint of sadness. “Sorry?”

  “Hey, no. What’s this really about?” He may not have the right to ask, but it looks like he’s asking nonet
heless.

  “Patty and Misty remind me of my cousins. They’re a couple years younger than Maggie and Susannah were when I was ki—when I left home. We used to do exactly that, though. Drag a random array of toys outside—whatever we were into at the time—and play under some trees that had been completely taken over by kudzu. It looked like, I don’t know, some pergola covered in foliage. It was our not-so-secret spot and we’d play there for hours every day in the summer.

  “Seeing Patty and Misty—” Tucker leans against the side of Cole’s truck. “I miss my cousins. At least, I miss the little girls they used to be. The fun times we had together. Having family that actually cares about me.” His head thumps against the window and he closes his eyes. “They didn’t care that I liked playing dress up and Barbie or house or tea party. They loved me for exactly who I was.

  “It’s been a long time since anyone cared about me unconditionally like that. But your family—” Tucker flaps an arm toward the pavilion and the grounds. “—they just welcomed me into the fold. I mean little girls are one thing, but your sister, your mom, your granny. Pammy. Even Nathan, from whom one might have expected some high school no homo bravado…

  “Oh, listen to me.” His chest rises and falls with a huge breath. “I’m just a little verklempt is all. But grateful. Really. I guess I got a little more nostalgia than I bargained for.”

  Cole hems Tucker in with his hands on either side of his shoulders. He stares into Tucker’s blue eyes and hates the sadness reflected there. “I’m glad you came. I like you exactly the way you are.” His gaze flitters between Tucker’s eyes and his lips. His pulse immediately kicks into overdrive. The desire to kiss away Tucker’s heartache, in as much as he has that power, drives him to close the distance between them.

  Cole’s lips are on Tucker’s then, soft and questing, Tucker’s body is warm and firm beneath Cole’s. Tucker clutches at Cole’s waist and tilts his head just a hair so their mouths slot together more fully. Lips part in tandem and there’s the barest reach of Cole’s tongue. The kiss goes soft and intimate. It’s an easy give and take. One kiss leads to another and then another. Soft, slow, sweet.

  “So we’re kissing now, huh?” Tucker asks when they pull apart.

  The kiss earlier could be chalked up to the heat of the moment or some bullshit. This one, not so much. “Yeah.”

  “Good. I like kissing in general. I like kissing you.”

  Pleasure buzzes under Cole’s skin. “I like kissing you too.”

  The crunch of gravel warns them of an incoming vehicle. Cole couldn’t care less at this point who it is. The only people he’d be worried about are Patty and Misty, and he knows where they are at the moment.

  Tucker’s hands slide up his chest to clasp around his neck. Their gazes connect and the buzz turns into simmering desire.

  Cole leans in and Tucker meets him halfway. Mouths are already open as they make contact. Electricity sparks through Cole at the slip and slide of their tongues. An extra shiver runs down his spine at the scratch of Tucker’s fingers at his scalp.

  An extremely powerful but smooth engine rumbles right next to them.

  Tucker backs off the kiss, but doesn’t end it. Neither does Cole. Whoever it is can just keep on going.

  The vehicle revs.

  “What the hell, Cole? There are children present.” The comment is sharp and just this side of rude.

  Doug. Of course.

  Cole drops his head to Tucker’s shoulder and huffs.

  “What a douche canoe,” Tucker mumbles for Cole’s ears only.

  Cole chuckles.

  Doug and Nathan ride in Doug’s black Mustang convertible. Doug must have left to pick Nathan up from somewhere, since, now that Cole thinks about it, Nathan wasn’t at brunch this morning.

  “There were no children here when we started, so kiss my ass.”

  Doug’s mouth drops open and Tucker stifles a snort.

  “Besides, Nathan’s sixteen years old. I’m sure he’s seen worse. I’m sure he’s done worse.”

  Nathan covers his face. Whether he’s laughing or embarrassed, Cole can’t tell, but Doug looks as though he just swallowed a mouthful of vinegar. He guns the engine and the car zooms forward. Good riddance.

  The moment is lost. With a sigh, Cole steps back. “We should go back.”

  “Yes.”

  They get the camping chairs and return to the festivities.

  With a wink, Tucker hands Cole his chair and sneaks below the willow tree.

  Cole finds a shady spot and sets up the chairs. He goes in search of something to drink and makes his way around to the various clusters of his family, chatting for a few minutes with folks he hasn’t seen in a while.

  Every once in a while, shrieks of laughter pull his gaze to the tree and elicit a smile. He hates that Tucker missed out on growing up with his cousins, whose loss he obviously still feels deeply. If spending a little time with Patty and Misty fills that void, then Cole’s glad. Once he’s said hello to everyone, he gets comfy in his chair and just soaks in the atmosphere. With Tucker around, Cole feels less strung out and much more unfettered than he has at previous family gatherings.

  “You mind if we sit?” asks Rachel.

  “Of course not.”

  Tim pops open Rachel’s patio recliner and helps her settle into it. Rachel rubs her rounded belly again, looking supremely happy with life in general.

  Cole’s thrilled that they’re finally going to have the baby they’ve been trying to conceive for a couple of years now. “I don’t think I heard when you’re due,” he says.

  “December seventeenth,” Rachel replies.

  “That’s quite a Christmas present.”

  “The best,” says Tim, a huge grin on his face.

  The three urchins crawl out from their tree fort. Tucker and the girls, each clinging to one of Tucker’s hands, go in search of first Thommy and then Ben. Cole can’t hear specifics, but eventually the trio disappears inside the building just to emerge a few minutes later with a can of soda and a plate of goodies each. The girls slip between the drooping willow branches and Tucker veers toward Rachel, Tim, and Cole.

  “You mind if I join you?”

  Cole rolls his eyes and pats the arm of Tucker’s empty seat.

  The plate of brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and a cupcake settles on Cole’s lap. A kiss lands on his lips.

  “Hi, sugar,” murmurs Tucker. “God, that was fun.” After sitting next to Cole, he pops the top of his root beer and takes a long swig.

  Cole’s mesmerized by the rhythmic bob of his Adam’s apple as he does so. A low buzz stirs deep in his being.

  Rachel’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat when he drags his eyes away and catches her eyes on him. Cole groans quietly as heat flashes up his neck and cheeks.

  “So, Tim, what do you do?” Tucker asks, nabbing a brownie.

  Cole offers the plate to Rachel and Tim. Rachel shakes her head, but Tim nods and swipes a couple of cookies.

  “I’m the principal up at the middle school.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Tim nods, and off they go.

  How Tim puts up with young teenagers all day, every day, Cole has no idea. Of course, as the principal, he probably spends less time with the students than Aunt Helen does as a high school math teacher.

  “I get what you’re saying,” say Tucker to Tim, “but I think acceptance and understanding needs to start at a younger age. It seems like the worst of the bullying begins in middle school and if we want kids to not be so afraid to be themselves in high school, we need to start that in middle school.”

  “Yeah, but for all that kids watch and hear a lot of stuff at home that they shouldn’t, parents are really against this kind of discussion in the middle schools,” Tim replies. “I agree that there should be discussion at that level, but I think it’ll fly better if it’s not targeting homosexuality and, instead, focuses on acceptance of everything—disabilities, skin color, cultural heritages, e
conomic disparities. There’s a lot more students grappling with those issues than there are kids struggling with their sexualities.”

  Tucker opens his mouth to speak, but Tim hold up his hands.

  “I’m not saying sexuality can’t be part of the discussion, just that it should focus more on those other things, and that’ll pave the way for specifics in high school when it becomes more of an issue.”

  Nathan is grabbing a soda out of a nearby cooler.

  “Nathan, honey, c’mere for a sec,” Tucker calls.

  Nathan steps closer, nods, and smiles at everyone.

  “Do you have any friends you know or suspect are homosexual who might have benefited from a GSA in middle school?”

  His eyes get big and he swallows, but takes a knee. “Um…” He’s quiet for a moment as he’s clearly contemplating Tucker’s question. Ultimately, he shakes his head. “I have one friend who I know for sure is gay, but he didn’t really realize it until last year when he was a sophomore.” He shrugs.

  “Nathan,” Doug snaps.

  Nathan starts in surprise and looks for his dad as he rises, confusion making his mouth twist.

  Cole’s hackles rise. He’s never seen Doug behave like this toward Nathan.

  “Don’t insert yourself into adult conversations. That’s rude.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Through the press of their arms along the camping chairs, Cole feels Tucker bristle.

  “Hey, Doug, chill,” says Tim with a nod. “We had a question for him, don’t worry about it. Nathan’s never been rude.”

  The “unlike you” seems to go without saying.

  “As long as you’re sure,” Doug says, like the ass that he is.

  “Thank you, Nathan,” says Tucker reaching out and waving his hand in thanks and dismissal.

  Doug’s eyes narrow at the gesture. Cole’s stomach lurches.

  Nathan takes off down the slope back to the water and his own cousins, shoulders visibly slumping as he goes. Doug wanders off. Tim and Tucker keep talking.