Fin&Matt

by Charlie Winters

  My God, it was unnerving how much this man looked like my soon-to-be husband. His body was a little softer, his hair a little shorter… but he had the same ice-blue eyes. The same tanned skin. The same chiseled jaw.

  His clothes were blue-collar brawn; a flannel shirt and oil-stained jeans with well-worn steel-toed boots.

  “How did you know where—?”

  “My mom gave me the address. I need to talk to Matt. Is he here?” His eyes looked away from mine in apprehension.

  “No. He’s still at work. He should be home in about forty minutes.” I paused. “Do you want to come in and wait?”

  “Would that be alright?” he asked.

  “Did you drive from Pittsburgh?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Well, you must be tired. Come in. I’m going to cook, but you can sit if you’d like.” I headed back into the kitchen and opened my laptop to the saved browser. He followed behind and rested against one of the barstools at the island. “I opened wine. Would you like some?”

  “Um… no, thank you. Do you have any beer?”

  As I bent to search the refrigerator, I became instantly aware of my more-than-casual clothing. A heather gray fitted Colts t-shirt and matching blue shorts that I was fairly certain came from the other side of the pro shop, fitted tightly across my backside. I definitely wasn’t expecting guests and certainly not any of the homophobic variety.

  I turned back to him holding up two bottles. “Kolsch or porter?”

  “Kolsch… please.”

  I popped the cap off and handed it to him. “Would you like a glass?”

  He shook his head. “No, thank you.” Looking around at our kitchen in obvious admiration, he muttered, “Nice place.”

  “We like it,” I finished, turning back to the refrigerator.

  I pulled out a package of chicken and a bundle of broccoli, setting them on the counter. He watched quietly as I washed, chopped, and diced vegetables, tossing all of the ingredients into a wok full of garlic-infused oil mixed with soy sauce.

  Marc barely spoke, other than the occasional pleasantry. I looked up at him every once in a while, amazed at the physical similarities to Matt.

  “Fin,” he finally spoke, “I wanted to talk to you, too, actually.”

  “Is that right?” I said coldly, turning toward the hot pan.

  “I behaved… well, like—”

  “An asshole?” I finished. “Your brother is broken. You and your father are responsible for that.”

  “I know. I felt badly about that day.”

  I set down my spoon and turned back toward him. “About that day? What about the last two years? He hadn’t heard from you for twenty-six months and when he finally comes all the way to Pittsburgh to try to make things right, you call him a cocksucking fag.” I leaned in close. “Right to his face. I let you into our home tonight against my better judgment. As far as I’m concerned, you could have waited in the car.”

  “I know,” he repeated. “You should have asked me to.”

  “What do you want from us, Marc? Did you come here to judge our life choices? To finish the psychological mind fuck you’ve done on Matt?”

  “I came to apologize,” he said quietly. “To both of you.”

  I turned back to my chicken, scraping the bottom of the wok at a few burnt bits. “I… I don’t know.”

  Reaching into the cabinet for three plates, I absentmindedly started to set the table. Folding napkins, laying out silverware into the perfect formation… basically doing anything to avoid the elephant in the room.

  I finally looked up, determined to get my point across. “Listen, Marc. That man, your brother, is the love of my life. I won’t stand here and let you devastate him. If that’s what you came here to do, I suggest you find yourself gone before he gets home.”

  “Fin, please.” God, his voice was even the same. “I just need to talk to him. I’m not gonna fuck it up again. I need ten minutes. That’s all and then I’ll go. Can you give me ten minutes? I promise.”

  The closing of our heavy door sounded a room away.

  “Baby?” Matt called. “It smells fucking awesome.” He turned the corner, the wide smile on his face quickly evaporating into thin air. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  ♂♂

  I moved toward him quickly, placing a firm palm on his chest. “He’s come here to apologize.” Turning my head, I added, “Haven’t you, Marc?”

  “Matt,” he said quietly. “Can we talk?”

  “Anything you have to say can be said in front of Fin. After all, when you made it your business to humiliate me, you weren’t concerned with the fact that he was in the room. He’s my husband. We don’t have secrets.”

  “You’re married?” Marc asked with a surprised lilt in his voice.

  “In two weeks.” Matt glanced over at me with a tight smile.

  “Oh. Does Mom know? She thought it was gonna be at Christmas or something.” He moved his hand to the back of his neck, kneading the muscles there.

  “She will, but I haven’t called her yet. We just decided to do it now instead. Neither of us wanted to wait. Honestly, what do you care, Marc?”

  “Matt,” I whispered. “Let’s just eat, okay?” I turned to Marc. “I assume you’re staying for dinner.”

  “If that’s okay. Do you mind if I use your restroom first?”

  “Down the hall. First door on your left,” I instructed.

  When Marc was out of earshot, Matt leaned in for a kiss. “I’m so sorry he’s here. I don’t know what to do.”

  “He did apologize to me, actually. I know it doesn’t make up for what he said, but maybe you should hear him out. I think he feels bad.”

  “He should feel bad.”

  “I know. I need to go change really quick. I wasn’t expecting company,” I murmured, pointing down at my indecent shorts.

  He cupped one ass cheek and brushed his lips to my neck. “I love these.”

  “I know, but I’m fairly certain you got them off of one of the cheerleaders. I don’t think your brother appreciates them.” I cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll put on some jeans.”

  “Fuck him.”

  “No thank you. I’ve got a fiancé. Oh, wait… or is it husband now?” I teased.

  “I do consider us married, Fin. And in two weeks, we will be.”

  The door to the bathroom clicked as I disentangled myself from Matt’s arms. “Back in a minute.”

  I slipped out of my shorts and into a pair of loose jeans. I kept the t-shirt on, fitted or not, because, as Matt said, fuck him. When I joined the two brothers at the table, they were both stone-faced, having some sort of staring contest.

  “Music,” I blurted. “We need music.”

  After hitting the remote on the kitchen counter, we were greeted to the (loud) sounds of Mystikal, something I typically listened to while cleaning. Marc smiled, looking down at his empty plate.

  “Shit. Sorry.” I quickly turned down the volume and changed to a different playlist. The first song was Deerhunter’s Revival. I sat next to Matt and carefully placed a napkin on my lap. “If the dinner is cold, I apologize.”

  “I’m sure it’s perfect.” Matt smiled at me politely, picking up the bowl of stir-fry and spooning some onto his plate.

  Marc helped himself to a small amount while I nervously sipped my wine. He took a bite and smiled. “It’s really good,” he mumbled.

  “Will you just get to it, Marc?” Matt clipped. “What are you doing here?”

  “I always knew,” he blurted. “About you. From the time we were kids.”

  “That I was gay? You can say it, you know. You won’t internally combust.” Matt folded his arms over his chest in frustration.

  “Yeah. That you were… gay. I confirmed it when I saw you kissing Sam Fisher in our room. I was desperate to tell you to shut the fuck up… to keep it quiet because I knew how much it upset Dad. Mom too, even if she didn’t say it. She had suspicions about Sam, but then you
go and run off with Becky after graduation? Jesus Christ, Matt. Did you think we were all blind?”

  “I dated Becky because of Dad, Marc.”

  “Why couldn’t you just have gotten through high school and moved away? Why’d you have to follow her? None of this would have happened if you didn’t.”

  “That’s exactly why I’m not sorry for anything that happened. Every single thing I did put me here… with Fin. If I wouldn’t have married her, I never would have moved to St. Louis, so… I guess I don’t care that it took so long to find my way.”

  “I guess that doesn’t matter now.” Marc smiled shyly. “Did Mom tell you that Sam married Liz Dunn? He has a couple of kids. They live in Bethel Park.”

  Matt laughed lightly. “Sam’s gayer than I am so good luck to Liz. I never liked him much anyway. Too much tongue.”

  “Jesus, Matt,” Marc responded with a laugh. “I’m not sure I’m there yet.”

  Matt poked at his food, but I was relieved to see a glimmer of a smile on his lips. “I’m not different now… than I was. I’m the same person. I just choose to spend my life with a man instead of a woman like you.”

  “I know, but Dad put all of this pressure on us and—”

  “And what? You thought it would be easier if you were a bigot?” he barked.

  Marc turned toward me. “I’m sorry, Fin. I mean it. What I said… it was hateful. I’d been drinking and I know that’s no excuse, but sometimes it’s hard to stand up to him.”

  “I won’t say it’s okay, but I accept your apology.” I finished the last of my glass of wine and placed my napkin on top of my barely eaten chicken. “Are you staying the night?”

  Marc turned his attention to his brother. “I figured I would find a hotel somewhere downtown.”

  “You won’t find one. Home game tomorrow,” Matt interjected, glancing over at me. “You’re welcome to stay here with us. Kickoff is at four-twenty-five tomorrow. I’ve got an extra ticket if you want to go with Fin.”

  I swallowed dryly, trying to convey my discomfort telekinetically.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t want to go with me,” he said softly. “I’ll stay tonight, but I’ll be out of your way tomorrow.”

  “It’s fine,” I murmured. “I’d be happy to have the company.”

  “You like football?” he asked, piercing another piece of chicken.

  “I’m learning. Matt’s teaching me.”

  “He was a great fucking player. Tight end.”

  I smiled at Matt. “Is that right? Tight end?”

  “Could’ve gone pro,” he continued. “Instead—”

  “I work with the team instead of on it. I’m okay with that.” Matt reached over to take my hand, lifting it to kiss my knuckles.

  Marc shed a look of discomfort, but smiled nonetheless. “Mom says you play piano.”

  “Mmm hmm. I just accepted a job with a music initiative. I’m pretty excited, actually. I start Monday.”

  “You should hear Fin play,” Matt gushed. “He’s truly amazing.”

  “Maybe after dinner?”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay. You two probably have a lot of catching up to do.” I stood and collected the near-empty plates. “I’ll just watch a little TV in the bedroom or something.”

  “Fin?” Marc called. “Please… stay. I’d like to get to know you, if that’s alright.”

  I dropped the dishes into the sink and turned back to face them with a slow smile. “I hope you like message boards.”

  ♂♂

  “Sure… you lusted after a straight guy, but did he have two penises and let you suck one of them?” I deadpanned in my ever-famous British accent. Switching back to my normal voice, I asked, “What does that even mean?”

  “Stop reading those with the accent, honey. Lose it… now,” Matt teased.

  “Marc likes the accent,” I defended.

  “I do. Continue.”

  “Well,” the British lilt was back, “Ninety-three percent of hetero British guys say they love cuddling with other men.”

  “I call bullshit,” Matt added. “I’ve never cuddled with a straight man.”

  “Sam Fisher,” I teased. “He’s straight, remember? Lives in Bethel Park?”

  “Straight my ass.” His smile was wide as he reclined back into the leather sofa.

  I settled my head on his thigh as he ran his fingers through my hair. “This guy says ‘remember the other study that said that Brits only change their bed linens once a year? How can we trust the Brits to get anything right?’ Seriously, though, once a year?” I shivered involuntarily. “Gross. But it does say here that it has been proven that it’s actually healthier to live the Brit lifestyle. The United States has an unhealthy obsession with being clean. Well, fuck, I guess I have one too if I insist on changing my linens more than once every twelve months.”

  “Aren’t you glad you came to visit?” Matt asked his brother, pulling my body up to readjust the weight on his lap. “This can go on for hours.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve missed this. I mean, maybe not the boards, but you. I miss talking to you.”

  Matt’s fingers stroked through my long strands steadily, combing out the little knots. “You should come to the wedding. I mean, if it’s not too weird. Bring your girl.”

  “Maybe,” he returned. “If she can get off work.”

  “What does she do?”

  “She works at the barber shop.” He pointed to his short hair. “That’s how I met her.”

  “I love the barber shop,” I added. “No one does a shave like the barber shop.”

  “Since when do you need to shave?” Matt asked, scratching under my chin. “You’ve got less hair than a ten year-old girl.”

  “Maybe that’s because I go to the barber shop so often,” I teased. “I do love the hot towels though.”

  “Yeah,” Marc said dreamily, “she’s great.”

  “Yeah?” Matt replied. “What’s her name?”

  “Karen. Her brother’s gay, too.”

  “Nice to know there are more than two of us out there. Well, us and Sam Fisher, of course,” I teased, scrolling down to the bottom of an Out article.

  “She’s another reason I’m here. She said that I’d always regret it if I didn’t fix things with us. Things were kind of fucked up with her brother after he came out. She was the only one that stood by him. They’re even closer now… she just doesn’t want me to make that mistake. Hell, I don’t want to make it either. I already hate myself.”

  “Don’t do that,” Matt retorted. “Don’t say that, okay?” He smacked my stomach and kissed the top of my head. “It’s late. We should go to bed. Big day tomorrow. The bed’s made back there, I think. Do you need anything?” he asked Marc.

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you again, both of you.”

  Matt pulled me up under my arms into a sitting position. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty.” He turned back to Marc. “See you in the morning.”

  “Goodnight, Marc,” I said, nestling into Matt.

  “’Night, Fin. Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For taking care of him when we didn’t.”

  ♂♂

  We sat in the stadium, listening to the deafening crowd around us.

  “These are the best seats I’ve ever had. This is awesome,” Marc said, clapping his hands together once in exaltation.

  “These are the only seats I’ve ever had. It’s my first NFL game.”

  “No shit,” he responded.

  “Yeah, no, I just got here on Friday, so…”

  “I mean, your dad never took you to a Rams game or anything? Matt says you’re close with him.”

  I nervously rubbed my hands together. “No, I can’t say he even brought it up. I’ve always been – well – not so footbally, I guess. He took me all over the world, but never to a football game. It’s kind of exciting, don’t you think?” I replied, looking around.

  “Fuckin’ right. And these seats… come on.” The words he spok
e sounded so much like my Matt; sometimes I had to remind myself that he was just a look-a-like. His phone buzzed in his hand as he swiped over the decline button.

  “Do you need to take that?” I asked.

  “It’s our dad.” He paused for a few seconds before shaking his head. “He knows I’m here.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re thirty years old, Marc. Tell him to fuck off.”

  “Have I mentioned that he’s also my boss?”

  He smiled, but there was tension in his eyes. When I studied him closer, everything about him looked older than Matt. The lines around his mouth. The crow’s feet dusting the corners of his eyes. He was a man full of regret.

  “I can’t get over how much you look like him. It’s strange,” I muttered.

  “We get that from time to time,” he teased. “Being identical and all.”

  “You’re different though.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I can’t say how. You just are.”

  “Probably because you don’t trust me. But you with him? You definitely trust him. You’re a good match.”

  I would take it. He may not have said he approved, but it was likely the closest I would get.

  “Thank you. I think so. He treats me well. He listens to me babble incessantly about everything. I’m sure it drives him nuts, but he never says anything.”

  “My mom says you have money. I mean, I could tell from the house and that car he was driving, but—”

  “I’m sorry,” I interjected, my face flushing with embarrassment, “but I’m not interested in discussing my finances. It’s a privacy thing. I hope you’ll understand.”

  “Oh, yeah. I just… I don’t know. You and I don’t have that much in common. I was just making conversation. I’m sorry for the way that came out. We don’t want any… the money, I mean. That’s not why I’m here.”

  “I should hope not.”

  The conversation was suddenly uncomfortable as I dug my hands into the new team jacket Matt had given me to wear to the games. It was far from my style and he knew it, but appreciated the sentiment regardless.

  “Fin,” Marc said quietly. “I’m fucking this up with you, I know that. I just hope you know it’s not you. You seem like a great guy… I guess I just don’t know how to relate to you yet, but I’m trying.”