Crossing Borders

by Z. A. Maxfield

  “I won’t wake you; if you don’t call, we’ll make it another night.” He grinned. “Good thing I don’t share a room, huh?”

  “Yeah,” said Michael climbing into his cruiser. “Sparky?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you feeling everything I’m doing to you in my head?” he asked, looking around to make sure no one was close enough to hear.

  “Yep, and I’m about to embarrass us both.” Tristan acknowledged his half hard cock.

  “Yeah.” Michael smiled. “See you; glad you’re okay.”

  “Love you,” said Tristan again, meaning it, letting it shine in his eyes.

  “Love you,” said Michael, backing out and driving away.

  * * * * *

  It was eleven when Tristan heard his mother and Randy return from the hospital carrying what smelled like burgers in greasy paper bags.

  “Not broken.” Randy grinned, waving one crutch around. “Just badly sprained and I have to stay off of it.” Tristan saw it still looked swollen. “I’m going to eat in my room, okay? I want to lie down.”

  “Just remember to haul the trash out when you’re done. I don’t want critters.” She rummaged and removed a burger, handing him the rest.

  “You mean besides Devon?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  Tristan followed his mom into the living room.

  “How about you, did you eat?” she asked, holding her food out to him.

  “Yes, thanks, I got burgers for Lily, Devon, and me on the way back from the ER. You know what? I want to put Michael’s phone number on your cell contacts. He worries too much. Apparently I didn’t make it clear I wasn’t part of Randy’s accident. You should have seen him. He came to the hospital thinking I was hurt.”

  “Worried?”

  “Yeah. He’s rather overprotective. I think that’s why he’s a cop.” Tristan sighed. “I put him with my ICE numbers, and I told him I’d give you his cell so you could call him in case anything happens to me.”

  “Yeah? That’s kind of…well…nice, I guess,” said his mother.

  “He does see the worst kinds of things on the job. He said a kid got hit by a car on Halloween. I think that kind of thing takes its toll.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “What do you mean?” Tristan came in to take a seat opposite her.

  “Michael has a dangerous job. He probably sees things every day that people shouldn’t have to see. Have you thought about how that’s going to affect you?”

  Tristan couldn’t say that he had given that any thought. “Yeah…but…Michael ‑‑ he chases kids on skateboards and stuff. Gives tickets for safety violations. He’s not really that kind of cop, you know?”

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “Well, not in so many words…but I can’t see him going all NYPD Blue, you know? Chasing street thugs and mob guys down Harbor Boulevard.” He couldn’t really see it, but did that mean it didn’t happen?

  “Have you thought about how you’d feel if you got a phone call about him?” she asked quietly.

  “Okay, this is going somewhere, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so, yeah,” sighed his mother, unwrapping her burger. “I was just thinking about today.” He stared at her for a second and then realized with a kind of horror that it would have been his father’s birthday.

  “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I forgot.” He rubbed a frustrated hand over his face.

  “The date is not that important, Tris. I was just thinking, though, about your dad and losing him like that. I keep going back to that moment, the last thing we said…”

  Tristan got up and balanced on the arm of the chair she sat in, wrapping an arm around her. When had she gotten so small? “Mom ‑‑” he began, but she cut him off.

  “Hear me out, Tris, I really need to say this. I was with your dad for twenty years, and I probably shouldn’t feel like I was cheated. But I do. Every day I think I’m going to get better, and every day something else reminds me that it can’t ever get better. I didn’t walk into that with open eyes. I married an architect. There was no indication, ever, that he wouldn’t live to be a hundred. And one day we were just talking…”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” A huge, hard lump burned in Tristan’s throat.

  “If you keep dating a cop, you have to go in with your eyes open. You can’t fool yourself about this. If you really love Michael, you need to cherish every second you have with him.” She grabbed the box of Kleenex that was on the end table and yanked out several of them, covering her whole face, which seemed to dissolve before his eyes.

  “That’s just not because he’s a cop, though, is it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s good advice.” He hugged her hard, knowing she’d probably spent the day needing it.

  “My phone’s on the counter in the kitchen, and there’s ice cream for dessert.” She sniffed loudly and went back to her food.

  “They’re coming for Thanksgiving,” said Tristan, hesitating and then rising from the arm of the chair.

  “Good, it will be nice to meet them.”

  Whatever she really thought about Tristan’s choices, Tristan thought, she’d keep quiet until she saw for herself. She was that kind of mom. He worried his tongue bead a little as he got himself a small bowl of ice cream. He could see himself standing in this very same kitchen with his father, working the microwave for popcorn or trading stories at the end of the school day.

  It made him a little sick to think that he’d forgotten his father’s birthday. It had taken months after his father’s death before he could enter the house without expecting to see his face at the desk in his office, waiting to ask him how his day had gone. He imagined sitting in Michael’s kitchen, so alive with everything that was so quintessentially Michael in it, and knowing he’d never see Michael come through the door again.

  Suddenly, he didn’t feel much like eating.

  * * * * *

  Michael slept as soon as his head hit the pillow, and he dreamed of his boy. He dreamed the hospital was an impossible drive away, and when he got there, his Sparky was gone. He woke up sweating at four a.m. and realized he hadn’t called Tristan at midnight. Shit. He was covering a shift again on Thursday, but he could sleep as much as he wanted today, and he needed it. He hoped Tristan didn’t take it personally. He rolled over and went back to sleep. This time, he dreamed of Tristan making his body fly.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The two weeks before Thanksgiving sped by in what seemed like a second for Tristan. His homework load ground him down to nothing, yet he and Michael shared quiet, intimate moments in Michael’s house that still made him tremble with erotic aftershocks whenever he thought about them.

  Thanksgiving Day turned out to be one of those cool but sunny California days when cooking a turkey and making a ton of side dishes appeals not at all. Tristan was trying to take it seriously, peeling potatoes and roasting squash, but his heart wasn’t in it, for more reasons than one. Randy and Devon had been tiptoeing around the house being quiet, a sure sign something big and nasty was up, and Lily went into hysterics the minute Tristan and his mother had removed the bag o’ guts from the turkey.

  “Honestly, I don’t see how you can stand near that thing much less eat it,” she wailed, holding her nose. “It was once a living thing.”

  “More for us,” said their mom, taking the high road.

  “It’s disgusting. I can’t stand to be in the same room.” She turned her back on them.

  “Yet I notice,” said Tristan, “that you aren’t forgoing the pleasure of toasting those Pop-Tarts in here on principle. Don’t they taste good cold?”

  “You? Shut up,” she said, still with her back toward him. “I take it we’re meeting Mr. Magic and his mother tonight?”

  “Yes, and Edward’s coming too,” said Tristan evenly, wrestling the bird out of the sink into the roasting pan. The girl had a point; this was really pretty nasty. “And I would change my tone if I were
you. Michael is bringing something meatless especially for you. He wanted to try out a dish that a friend of his told him about. He won’t say what it is.”

  “Well, that’s nice,” said Julia. “Isn’t it, Lily?” She looked at her over her glasses, and Lily agreed reluctantly.

  “Yes, it’s nice.” She took her Pop-Tarts and fled.

  “How long do you think the whole vegan thing will last?” asked Tristan.

  “Well, vegan will probably last until she discovers that butter and cream are what make mashed potatoes taste good, and vegetarian will last until she meets a cool guy and sees him eating breakfast sausage. That’s the way it was for me anyway. Did I ever tell you I was a vegetarian until I met your dad?”

  “No way. Really?”

  “We went to Denny’s after our first ‑‑ well, for breakfast.” She blushed, and Tristan laughed.

  “Can’t hide it, can you? I never knew it was such a big deal until lately. I light up like a forest fire when I think of Michael. My friends give me all kinds of crap.”

  “You’ve told your friends?”

  “Well…” He couldn’t look her in the eye. “My friends think I have a girlfriend.”

  “That must be an uncomfortable place to be, Tris.”

  “I know. I can’t decide whether I should just…”

  “I never told my mom I was sleeping with your dad before we got married. I know it’s not much of a comparison, but at the time I tried to tell myself it was private. Really, I was just afraid she’d kill me. I guess that made me uncomfortable too. I knew she wouldn’t approve.”

  “My friends are not going to get it at all,” Tristan agreed, sighing. “I don’t think I’m ashamed of it; I tell myself I’m not.”

  His mother said nothing, waiting for him to finish his thought.

  His voice caught a little. “I guess I must be a little, though, huh?”

  “Not necessarily, Tristan. You told me; you told your family. I know you told us because we love you and you could count on that. You’re not so sure of your friends. No harm, no foul. Don’t always second-guess yourself. You have a fully functioning moral compass.”

  “And no filters.” He thought about telling his friends what he did with Michael and went up in a fury of color. “Damn, I’m turning red again.”

  “Get used to it; it doesn’t seem to go away,” she sighed.

  “Mom?” said Tristan. “Don’t you ever want to…well…hasn’t any guy ever asked you out since Dad died?”

  “No. I probably don’t give off an approachable vibe. I’m not interested.” She stuck the probe sensor into the turkey’s thigh and attached it to the thermometer.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” she said. “For now anyway. I don’t want anyone to come into what I have here. I don’t want anything new. If it happens, I’m not averse to it, but I really don’t want to change anything. For now anyway.” She rubbed her hands together as if to say, That’s that.

  “Oh,” said Tristan, reaching for what he wanted to say. “I’ve been feeling more than a little altered lately.”

  “Hey,” she said, turning around with a concerned look on her face. “I don’t want you to think you can’t go forward. It’s true I don’t like change, but if you move on, move out, or whatever because you’ve found something special, I’ll deal. Of course, it’s going to be hard for me, but I know that someday you’ll want something of your own. You know I want that too, right?”

  “Sure, I know that,” he said. “I know that. I’m not ready for anything yet, though, so you’re stuck with me. For now anyway.”

  “Every mom should be stuck with a guy like you, Tris,” she murmured as she shoved the roasting pan in the oven.

  By the time Tristan checked out the table for the twelfth time to see whether all the places were set properly, it was almost time for their guests to arrive. Family holiday OCD kicked in, making him a nervous wreck. He was obsessively checking the food, the table, the house, and his siblings, who resented it. His mom was laughing at him behind a mask of motherly concern.

  The doorbell finally rang, and he answered it, smiling shyly at Michael and inviting him in. “Hey, Michael.”

  “Hey, Sparky.” Michael leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips, establishing the privilege before Tristan gave it any thought.

  “Hello, Mrs. Truax,” Tristan murmured, the usual guilty crimson staining his cheeks and betraying his thoughts.

  “Call me Emma,” she said, handing over a casserole. “Here’s my contribution to dinner, such as it is. Michael’s is probably much better.”

  “Thank you,” said Tristan. “I’m sure it’s great.”

  “Um,” said Julia. “I guess I’d better introduce myself.” She held out her hand. “I’m Julia Phillips, Tristan’s mom, and this is Lily, my daughter.” She pushed Lily forward, giving Emma a pleasant smile. “And those” ‑‑ she indicated the two boys who sat on the couch in the living room playing a video game ‑‑ “are Randy and Devon, my younger sons. Devon is the one on the right.” Devon took a minute out to wave.

  “Come in and make yourselves at home,” said Tristan, noticing Michael was carrying some sort of hot pack for food. “Michael, come with me, I’ll show you where to put that.” He led Michael into the kitchen.

  Michael casually glanced around the house. “This is nice. I’ve always liked this neighborhood. The trees overhang the streets.” He put his package down on the counter. “This will probably stay warm until dinnertime, so you don’t need to worry about it. It’s totally meat-free, and if I do say so myself, probably tastes better than the vinyl bag I brought it in.”

  Tristan put Emma’s casserole down. “Do I need to heat this?” he asked, lifting foil and looking under to see the food inside.

  “Yeah, probably. That’s Mom’s famous sweet potato, tropical fruit, nut, and marshmallow bake. Just when you thought it was safe,” he sighed.

  “I heard that, Michael,” said Emma from the living room.

  “No offense, Mom, but dessert is supposed to come after the meal,” said Michael.

  “Who says?” asked Emma. “Anyway, I eat it, and you did too before you went and got all epicurious on us.”

  “Just because you can put everything into a casserole doesn’t mean you should.”

  “I have been making that since before you were born, and you remain unharmed.”

  “Yeah, but who knows, if you hadn’t made it, maybe I’d have turned out straight,” he teased, coming up behind her and kissing her cheek lightly. Randy and Devon gaped at them.

  “Lily,” said Julia. “Maybe you could put on some music for us?” She looked at Devon and Randy, who exchanged excited glances.

  “We could choose the music,” Devon said, smiling.

  “No, thank you,” said Julia. “I’d rather Thanksgiving come and go without screaming EMO music or techno dance tunes. Lily will play what she knows I want to hear.”

  “Or maybe the boys would like show tunes?” asked Lily sweetly. “I think I have some Barbara Streisand…” Michael chuckled lightly, but Tristan flushed.

  “Lily,” her mother warned.

  “Oh, all right, what good is having a gay brother if I can’t make fun of him?”

  “You just wish the last ten guys who asked you out were as hot as Michael,” said Tristan.

  “Oh, hey,” said Michael, flushing.

  “This is like Thanksgiving on Jerry Springer,” said Emma, smiling. “Cool.”

  Randy and Devon looked at each other and smirked. “Maybe it’s time to start getting dinner on,” said Julia.

  “Sure, that sounds great,” said Emma. “Can I help you in the kitchen?”

  Tristan led Michael out to the backyard, thinking it might be the only place they could talk without being stared at. “I feel like a panda on a first date at the zoo.” He rubbed his face with both hands.

  “It’s new. They’ll get used to it.” Michael put a hand on Tristan’s shoulder, cupping it and g
iving it a reassuring squeeze. “You didn’t think this would be a slam dunk, did you?”

  “I don’t see how it could be. But still, I just want everyone to go back to looking at me normally, and not like I’m about to…”

  “Tell them something shocking that in a million years they never imagined? Something that would change how they saw you overnight?”

  “Okay, you’re right; they have reason to be twitchy.” Absently, Tristan stroked Michael’s arm.

  “Put yourself in their shoes. Say Lily brings home an older woman.”

  “Oh, just yuck,” said Tristan.

  Michael raised his eyebrows.

  “Okay, you’ve made your point, and I’m scarred for life.” Tristan heard the doorbell ring and started for the house with Michael right behind him, meeting Edward, wearing his usual all black, at the door. “Hey, Edward,” he greeted him warmly.

  “Hello,” said Julia coming out from the kitchen. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  “Thanks so much for inviting me. Really, why did you?” he said, waving to his ride. He looked around at everyone. “It’s not like you even know me.”

  “We always like to have a crowd.” She indicated Edward should enter the living room. “Have a seat; we’re getting dinner ready now.”

  “The excruciating staring-at-each-other part won’t last long, I promise, and then we can eat. Edward, can I get you something to drink?” said Tristan.

  “Water would be great,” Edward replied, looking Tristan’s family over. “Dude!” Edward said, staring shamelessly at a mark beneath Tristan’s left ear.

  “What?” asked Tristan.

  Edward pointed to his neck.

  “Oh.” Tristan’s face caught fire. “Thanks a lot, Mr. Hoover.”

  “What did you call me?” asked Michael. Edward suddenly seemed to find the video game Devon and Randy played fascinating.

  Devon spared Edward a glance. “Get used to it,” he said. “One minute, hot chicks are coming through this house like it’s Grand Central Station, which kind of rocked for us, you know? And the next, he’s Officer Helmet’s boy-toy.” He shook his head and went back to his game.