by Nicola Haken
Looking back, I’m not sure how it would’ve worked out without our parents. I doubt very much Lisa would’ve gone on to be a primary school teacher and I’d be living in my cushy house with my nice car and comfortable life. Our parents were amazing from the start, shocked, but amazing. Once my mother had stopped looking like her heart was about to give out and kill her, oh and after she’d called me a stupid sod, she gave me a hug and told me everything would be okay, that they’d support us no matter what. She was right, too. It was more than okay. Scott had been the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me.
By the time I eventually drifted off to sleep, that strange pull in my chest had grown even stronger, dragging me impossibly closer to the man whose head rested soundly over my heart.
“Think it’s food poisoning,” I added. “But here I am, soldiering on.”
“Oh you poor thing.”
Frowning, I nodded slowly. I deserved a Golden Globe or some shit.
“Hmm. You do look a little green.” Clearly, she needed a new glasses prescription, but I kept my gob shut. “Well you can’t go out on the road. You should be in bed.”
“Nah, I’m fine. I’m a trooper. I’ll power through.”
She gave me a stern mother look, ticking her finger from side to side. “You will not, young man. You might be willin’ to put your own life at risk but you’re not the only driver on those roads. Either go home, or I’ll get Steve to put you on warehouse duty for the day.”
Shit. I hadn’t thought this master plan through. I hated the warehouse, and most of the morons who worked in it. “Okay, here’s the deal, June,” I said, leaning against the Perspex partition above her station after scanning the office for eavesdroppers. “I’m not sick. I’m seeing someone, and we didn’t hear the alarm. You know how it is when it’s all new and exciting, right? But shhh, I don’t want the guys to know yet.”
She pushed her thick glasses up her nose, her weathered lips forming an ‘O’. “Ooo, it’s not that Penny off nights is it? I was only sayin’ to Zoe t’other day I think she’s got ‘er eye on you.”
You had to love June, almost as much as she loved to gossip. I’d miss the old bird when she retired next year.
“No, not Penny.” We are who we are, and that’s okay. Oliver’s words fresh in my mind, I dragged in a deep breath and spoke before I chickened out. “His name’s Oliver.”
If her jaw had fallen open any wider her teeth would’ve dropped out. It was no secret that June had false gnashers. She popped them out every lunchtime and set them on a napkin next to her keyboard while she ate her dinner.
“D’you know my friend Marjory’s first husband was one o’ them whatdyamacallits…a transvestite.”
Um…okaaaaay.
“She comes home from bingo one night and there he is in her best knickers and the underskirt she bought specially for her Karen’s weddin’. Took the shine right off winnin’ sixty smackers at the bingo, I can tell ya. His name was Frank. Do you know him?”
I bit down on my tongue to stop myself from laughing. “Um, nope. Don’t think I know a Frank.”
“Hmm. Thought you might now you’re mixin’ in the same circles.”
Yep, because every bisexual knows every cross-dresser. Oh, June. I did love her.
“Well, good luck to you. Live and let live, that’s what I say,” she said, squinting at the computer screen as she tapped the keyboard.
I smiled even though she wasn’t looking at me. It was a grateful smile, a relieved smile…a proud smile, and in that moment, life felt pretty damn perfect.
“Thanks, June. That means a lot to me.”
“Don’t thank me yet, darlin’. I gave your run to Rod because you weren’t here, which was goin’ to leave us in the crapper for Glasgow but…” she trailed off, rose from her chair and grabbed a set of keys from the cabinet on the wall. “But now you’re on that, and there’s been an accident on the M6.”
“Great,” I said, saturating the word in sarcasm. It seemed I had a longarse day ahead, one that could possibly turn into an overnighter, and all because I’d missed my stupid alarm. Still it was worth every second of the extra minutes I got to spend in bed with Oliver, and absolutely nothing could dampen my day when my phone pinged with a Facebook notification as I made my way through the warehouse to my wagon.
Facebook: Oliver Clayton accepted your friend request.
Yep, today was a perfect day.
* * *
Three weeks later…
Fluffing the cushions on the sofa, I arranged them into a neat row.
“Dad?”
Next, I grabbed the furniture polish from the cupboard in the kitchen and wiped down the bookcase, coffee table, and windowsills before dashing to the cubbyhole under the stairs for the vacuum cleaner.
“Dad!”
“What?” I snapped at Scott, unwinding the long, grey cord from the vacuum.
“Whoa!” He shrank back a step, raising his hands.
“Sorry,” I relented, cracking my tense neck from side to side. “What is it?”
“It’s you! You’re acting crazy. You do like your boyfriend, right?”
“What? Yes, of course I do!”
“Then why are you getting all stressed out about him coming for tea?”
Shoulders sagging, I let out a sigh. “It’s not Oliver, it’s your nanna. You know she can’t walk past a piece of furniture without giving it the dust test with her finger.” It was only a half-lie. My mum did do that, but it wasn’t really the cause of my ‘stressing out’. Oliver was meeting my son and my parents today and that felt like a huge deal. I wanted him to like them. I wanted them to like him. I also wanted Scott to get along with Oliver’s brother who was coming too because, so far, I’d been given the impression he thought Tyler was a dick.
They’ll like him, I told myself. How could they not? He was beautiful, kind affectionate, different, interesting, funny, cute, loving…everything. They’d take one look into those piercing blue eyes and fall in love with him just like I did. Well, maybe not quite like I did, but…
Wait…love? Did I love Oliver Clayton?
“Dad?”
Whoa…
“Dad!”
“S-sorry, what?” I shook my head back into reality.
“Nanna and Grandad have just pulled up outside, and, uh, they’ve brought Auntie Gemma and Uncle Rob.”
“What!” Tossing the vacuum cord aside, I rushed over to the small window in the hall and saw my mother’s sister, Gemma, and her husband, Rob, getting out of the back of my parents’ car. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I muttered under my breath.
My Auntie Gemma was like a hyper hyena on whizz on a down day; annoying, exhausting, but harmless. Uncle Rob, however, was a grumpy old sod who shuddered at the word ‘gay’. He thought he hid it well, of course. He would’ve denied an allegation of being homophobic, the kind of bigot who began any sentences regarding homosexuality with, “I’ve nothing against the gays, but…”
When there’s a ‘but’ there’s a problem.
With an inward groan, I opened my front door and stretched out my arms ready to hug my mum…or strangle her. I hadn’t quite decided.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered in my ear, standing on her tiptoes as she tightened her arms around my waist. “They just turned up at our house and I couldn’t get rid of them.”
I’d barely released my mum when Auntie Gemma pounced, grabbing my cheek with one hand and rubbing my hair with the other like I was six years old. “You get more handsome every time I see y-” With the attention span of a gnat, her gaze darted to something behind me. “Oh look at you! You’re so grown up!”
“Hey, Aunt Gemma,” Scott greeted with the enthusiasm of a robot running out of power.
Rob nodded as he walked past, so I nodded back and then I went to see what my dad was doing behind the open boot of their car.
“Here,” he said, his deep voice breathless as he passed me a stereo system the size of a small wardrobe. “Ta
ke that.”
“Hello to you too-whoa…” My knees buckled a little as I took the full weight of the stereo. I hadn’t expected him to let go so soon. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“We’ve been having a clear out. You know what your mother’s like – won’t throw anything away.”
Great. That meant I’d have to throw it away instead and hope she never found out.
“She thought Scott might like it,” Dad added.
Scott wouldn’t have had a clue how to work this monstrosity. He had his whole music, or rather noise, collection on his phone.
“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, carrying the giant hunk of crap into the house. “Thanks, Dad.”
Inside, I lowered it onto the floor in the hall, planning to load it straight into my car when my parents left ready to take to the rubbish tip on my way to work on Monday. Sat on the stairs, playing with his phone, Scott took one glance at the stereo, then a questioning one at me, before standing up to join me.
“Act grateful,” I warned him. “After today you’ll never have to see it again.”
He nodded in understanding and went straight back to texting, or whatever he was doing before the interruption.
“Something smells good!” my mum called from the lounge, just as I was about to shove the vacuum cleaner back under the stairs.
“Shit!” I muttered, dashing down the hall towards the kitchen. I’d meant to check on the lasagnes twenty minutes ago.
“Chillax, Dad,” Scott said, coming up behind me. “I took them out while you were helping Grandad with the CD player.”
“Did you cover them up?”
Scott’s face twisted into a grimace. “Erm…”
“Dammit, Scott!” I whisper-shouted when I opened the kitchen door and found a very happy Marv licking the melted cheese off one of the lasagnes. Running over, I picked him up and shoved the little shit into Scott’s chest. “Go lock him in your bedroom until after dinner.”
“What are we gonna eat now?”
“Lasagne,” I said, shrugging. “He’s only licked one of ‘em. I’ll serve Uncle Rob’s from that one. We’ll eat the other. And if you tell anyone I’ll cancel your Xbox Live subscription.”
Scott offered a wicked smirk, happy to comply with my evil plan. I had no choice. I didn’t have time to make anything else and I wasn’t all that great at cooking. Lasagne was easy. At least it was when you bought a jar of sauce and dried pasta sheets and all you had to do was fry off some minced beef.
I chose to make lasagne because I knew Oliver liked it. We’d been out for dinner several times over the last three weeks, nothing fancy – just pub grub, and twice he picked the lasagne on the menu. We’d also had more lunches in my truck, been bowling – which he was monumentally crap at, and he’d spent a few nights at my house. Two weeks ago I’d visited his salon to get my hair cut, arriving purposely early so I could watch him work. Only it wasn’t work. I witnessed passion and talent as skilled fingers transformed people’s hair. He worked with a smile on his face and fire in his eyes, much like when I saw him on stage, and he used more than just his hands, especially when it came to using the hairdryer. His whole body stretched and twisted as he dragged the brush from root to tip. I never realised how much skill was actually involved before. Naively, I always thought hairdressing was pretty much cutting in a straight line and blowing some hot air over a brush.
I was wrong.
I was falling, scrap that, I’d fallen for him so frigging hard. He was with me all the time, even when he wasn’t. In my head, in my heart. I’d discovered over the last few weeks that he had this funny little habit of tapping on his nose when he was bored, and that he drew imaginary patterns on his thigh when he was nervous. He had the kindest heart, the warmest smile. I’d learned that he couldn’t sleep with more than one pillow, that he loved apples but hated bananas – which prompted a slew of innuendos from my end because I had the maturity of a twelve-year-old – and that he’d never seen The Little Mermaid.
The last one kinda broke my heart a little.
My most important discovery had been about myself. I was changing. Or rather, I’d stopped trying to change. Stopped hiding. I didn’t need to pretend anymore. I was enough for him. I was enough, full stop. Oliver gave me that. He’d given me pride in myself, and who I was, simply by acknowledging me. For the first time in my life I felt free. I felt like I could yell about it from the top of my street, walk in a pride parade, waving my flag above my head. I probably wouldn’t have, but I could.
“So, where’s this man of yours?” my mum asked, startling me a little as I covered the lasagnes with tinfoil. Thankfully, she didn’t catch me inspecting them for cat hairs.
Good question. He should’ve been here half an hour ago. I tried not to overthink it. If he wasn’t coming he’d have let me know. “He should be here any time,” I said, turning to the freezer to grab the garlic baguettes.
“Scott tells me he goes to school with his brother.”
“Oh yeah? What else has Scott been telling you?”
“That he makes you happy.”
I looked at my mum and smiled. “Yeah. He does.”
“Good. You deserve that after what that Angela woman did to you.”
Sighing, I rolled my eyes and placed the baguettes on the oven tray. “Her name was Anna.” Mum knew that, too. “And she didn’t do anything to me.”
“She made you sad.”
“I made myself sad. Anna was a good woman. We just…didn’t work out.”
“And things are working out with you and Oliver?”
“So far, yes.”
“Is he handsome?”
“He’s beautiful.”
“Is he good at DIY?”
“I don’t-” My eyebrows knitted together. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“You need someone who’s good at DIY. That shelf in your hall has been crooked for months.”
Narrowing my eyes, I glowered at her. “Because I haven’t got around to fixing it, not because I can’t.”
As I put the baguettes in the oven, I wondered if Oliver was any good at DIY. I had no idea, and suddenly I wanted to know…because I wanted to know everything about him. I decided I’d ask him later. Maybe we could fix my shelf together.
Right then, the doorbell rang, and my mum rubbed her hands together and started scurrying off into the hall to answer it. “Oh, no you don’t,” I said.
“What? I’m excited to meet him!”
“Go wait in the lounge with the others. I’ll bring him through in a minute.”
Tutting, she waved me off with her hand. “I wasn’t planning to eat him, Sebastian,” she grumbled, before doing as she was told and wandering in the opposite direction.
A smile appeared on my face before I’d even opened the door, just from the knowledge that Oliver was on the other side of it. At least, I hoped it was him…and I was right. My smile grew bigger when I saw him, standing before me with his head tilted a little to the side, dressed in tight black jeans and an off-the-shoulder white tee that had a giant pair of glittery blue lips painted on the front.
I flipped my gaze away from those eyes I’d become addicted to, the ones that were currently rimmed with black eyeliner and vivid blue shadow, to look at his brother who stood awkwardly beside him with his hands stuffed into the pocket on the front of his hoody. “Hey,” I said, proffering my hand. “I’m Seb.”
Removing one hand from his pocket, he gave me a weak shake. “Ty.”
Stepping aside, I let them in. Tyler strolled over to the stair banister while Oliver began apologising. “I’m so sorry we’re late. One of my regulars came in with her little girl just as we were closing. She’d taken a pair of scissors to her hair and the mother was almost in tears. I couldn’t just send her away. So I got Ty to meet me at the salon and we came straight here. I was going to call on my way but my phone died, and I wanted to go home and change first but we were already late, and I wanted to make a good impression,
and now I look-”
“Oliver,” I interrupted, placing my finger over his lips. “You look perfect.”
“I was going to wear what I had on for parent conference,” he countered, pouting.
“It’s a family dinner, Oliver. Not an interview for an office job.”
He pulled a face.
“You look like you, and I like you, and my parents will like you, too. Come on,” I said, cocking my head for him and Tyler to follow me into the lounge.
I wondered if this was how pop stars felt walking out on stage as all eyes landed on me as I made my grand entrance. It didn’t last long though. Oliver became the centre of attention a second later and I was cast aside like a supporting act.
“Everyone, this is Oliver and Tyler,” I announced. “Oliver, Tyler, these are my parents – Liz and Andrew.” I pointed across the room. “That’s my auntie and uncle – Gemma and Rob, and Tyler, you already know Scott.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Scott replied with a brief nod.
There was a look of distaste on Uncle Rob’s face as his gaze roamed up and down Oliver’s body and I hoped Oliver didn’t notice it as well. I don’t think he did. He seemed more preoccupied with my mother bounding towards him with her arms outstretched. She gave him a tight hug, leaving Oliver looking quietly terrified as he returned the gesture, before releasing him with her hands kept firmly on his shoulders.
“Look at that make-up!” she said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “It’s marvellous! I’ve never been able to wear it. Can’t get the bloody stuff to stay on more than an hour.”
