Crossing Borders

by Z. A. Maxfield

  Randy chimed in, “Never going to get used to it, and I miss Viper the goth chick.”

  “Me too,” sighed Devon. “She was going to show me a spell to make my enemies itch in uncomfortable places.”

  “Devon,” said Julia sharply. “It’s time to come to the table. Rock paper scissors Randy for grace.”

  The boys played three times, each time ending in a draw. The fourth time Randy won. “Gotcha,” he said, waving his paper hand around. “Paper always wins in the end.”

  “Like you actually wanted to say the prayer,” said Devon.

  “Actually, I did,” said Randy, with a grin. When everyone was seated at the table, they joined hands.

  “Dear Lord,” began Randy, who paused for long enough that Tristan sneaked an eye open to look at him. His saw his mother’s cheek twitch with what he thought might be apprehension. “We are so grateful to be gathered here today with our family, and the family of our brother’s homosexual boyfriend, and our new little goth friend who has a gay dad, whatever the heck that is all about. We’d like to say we’re grateful this year for condoms, lube, and Ellen Degeneres, and for those guys on Queer Eye…”

  “Randall Evan Phillips!” his mother shouted.

  Chapter Twenty

  Michael and Tristan sat companionably on the roof of Tristan’s house as they waited for Devon and Randy to plug in the Christmas lights they’d tacked into place. Tristan was pleased, because with the four of them working on it, they’d completed it in record time and had even added a little extra panache, thanks to Michael’s creative use of the existing light fixtures and a couple of extra extension cords.

  The sky was a rich auburn, puffy with ribbons of clouds that he thought looked like a painted backdrop in a film. Tristan was enjoying the silence between himself and Michael. He wanted to sit like this, completely content to watch the darkening sky paint different colors on his lover’s light hair forever.

  Dinner went well, once everyone realized that Randy and Devon were going to do everything they could to mess it up. Then, oddly enough, it became the Randy and Devon comedy show, and it was hard to say who laughed the most. They were merciless in their humor, and no one was exempt. Even Michael’s vegetarian dish came under their scrutiny when Lily prodded it for the first time.

  “What is this?” she asked, not too rudely, looking at Michael.

  “It’s a meat substitute.”

  “Like tofurkey? I have a lot of friends who are eating tofurkey today.”

  “Well, yes, but since we were already having turkey, I thought I’d try something with a tofu substitute for duck instead.”

  “Oh,” said Lily. “It’s actually very good.”

  “Um, you know,” said Randy. “If tofu turkey is tofurkey, then this would be…”

  “Tofuck,” said Devon. “Definitely.”

  “Ah, yup,” said Randy. “This would definitely be tofuck.”

  “Tofuck á l’orange,” said Emma, shamelessly. “Isn’t that what it is? With the orange sauce?” She looked at Michael keenly.

  “You people are heartless,” said Lily throwing her napkin on the table. She glared at her brothers. “Shame on you, you’re like…barbarians. I’m getting myself some juice.”

  “Oh, shoot,” sighed Emma after she’d gone. “I’m probably sorry.”

  Michael laughed into his napkin. “I didn’t go to a lot of trouble.”

  “I should go talk to her,” said Julia, swirling another glass of chardonnay. “But to be honest, I can’t seem to dredge up the sincerity.” She and Emma burst out laughing.

  “Honey, we have to get you a motorcycle,” said Emma.

  “If she gets one, I get one too,” said Randy.

  “Me too. I’m not riding in anyone’s bitch seat,” said Devon.

  Tristan colored faintly. “That’s hardly a nice thing to call…”

  “Ha!” said Devon. “That’s where you ride, isn’t it?”

  “What did I tell you?” said Randy. “You owe me five bucks.”

  “Of course, he rides behind Michael,” said Devon. “Where do you expect him to ride; he doesn’t have a motorcycle license. That doesn’t make him Michael’s bitch.”

  “Devon!” his mother hissed. “You watch your language.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” he said, with an exaggerated look of innocence that everyone at the table knew to be wary of. “But really, Michael, between you and Tristan, which one of you is the girl?”

  “Jeez, what do they teach in school these days?” said Emma, disgusted. “Neither one of them is a girl, Devon, that’s why it’s called homosexuality, ‘homo’ from the Greek word meaning same.”

  “Greek…” said Randy. “Figures.

  “No, it’s just a prefix,” said Julia. “It’s like homophone and homogenize.”

  “What’s a homophone?” asked Randy.

  “That’s easy,” said Devon. “That’s what Michael uses to call Tristan.”

  “Are you finished?” asked Julia in a deadly voice. “Because I am.”

  Lily entered the room at that exact moment with her eyes all red from crying. “So am I. I can’t believe you’re being so hateful. I, for one, will support Tristan in his new lifestyle, even if he is a total jerk.”

  “I’m a what?” asked Tristan.

  “I think it’s romantic,” she said, mostly to Edward. “Cursed to live their lives in the shadows, to be together only under the cover of darkness…hiding their love from the sunlight.”

  “They’re gay, honey,” said Emma. “Not vampires.”

  “Oh, but wouldn’t it be cool if we were gay vampires?” said Michael, obviously enjoying himself more and more by the minute.

  “Oh,” moaned Julia, almost accidentally. “Okay. I just had a Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise moment.”

  “Yeah,” said Lily. “But better. There’s definitely more chemistry right here at the dinner table than in that whole movie.”

  “You got that right,” said Julia, her face washing red like her son’s. “May I be struck dead for even thinking such a thought.”

  “This is so freaking weird,” said Devon.

  “But the food is good,” replied Randy. “Although I can’t bring myself to eat anything called tofuck, can you?”

  “Nope,” said Devon, looking at Michael. “No can do, buddy. Sorry.”

  They both gazed contritely at Michael, who gave up and laughed.

  “Okay, you men get to put up the Christmas lights, and then maybe” ‑‑ said Julia, giving them the evil eye ‑‑ “maybe I’ll allow you to eat dessert.”

  “Okay,” said Tristan, anxious to be out of there. “Michael?”

  “Sure,” said Michael. “I’m going to put ours up tomorrow. You going to help me?” He gave Tristan a look that said, You’d better.

  “Sure,” said Tristan.

  Michael looked at Randy and Devon, then at Julia, and winked. “I don’t suppose your mom lets you do this yet? Are they old enough to help out?”

  “Of course we can. Right, Mom?” Devon gave her a pleading look. Julia looked like she wanted to high-five Michael.

  “I guess…as long as you’re careful,” she said.

  “I will be,” said Devon. “Hey, Tristan, Mom said I could help.” He ran out the door, leaving Tristan and Randy staring after him.

  “That idiot has no idea he’s just been played.” Randy walked out after Devon.

  Tristan met Michael’s eyes and sighed. He went after his brothers, consciously delighted as he imagined Michael’s hot gaze behind him, fastening on his ass.

  Michael took Tristan’s hand in his. “Thanks for today, Sparky. Your family is crazy.”

  “Yeah, well, about that,” said Tristan, turning red even without the sun’s setting glow. “I’m sorry. They’re really just trying to adjust.”

  “What are you sorry for? I’ve found kids living on the streets whose family just tossed them out like so much garbage for being gay. I’m delighted all I had to do was field a few pr
obing questions over dinner. Although I don’t expect we’ve seen the last of that.”

  “Probably not,” agreed Tristan. “You’re right, though, good-natured teasing is better than anger or silence.” The lights came on, and Tristan held his hand up for a high five. “Looks great; thanks for all your help.”

  “My pleasure,” said Michael. “I’m sorry I have to work tonight. It’s probably pretty quiet right now, but on my shift people will be starting to drive home with a little too much holiday cheer in them. Plus, I want to check the park, see if Mary’s out tonight. It’s going to get cold, even though it was warm today.”

  “Who’s Mary?”

  “That’s right, I haven’t told you about my gang,” said Michael. “Mary is one of my homeless people. Sometimes she sleeps in the park. I try to talk them into going to the shelter when it’s really cold. They can be…recalcitrant.”

  “Why?” Tristan asked. “Doesn’t it get cold in the park this time of year?”

  “Some of my guys aren’t rational anymore,” said Michael quietly. “They think they can take care of themselves, and they don’t like people trying to tell them what to do. Sometimes they’re off meds they should be taking.”

  “But if it gets too cold, don’t they stand a good chance of getting hypothermia?”

  “Yes,” said Michael grimly. “So that’s why I try to find them if they’re in the park on a night like tonight. As soon as the sun goes down, the temperature goes down with it, and I just feel better when I get the chance to check things out.”

  “You’re my hero, did you know that?”

  “Thank you, Tristan,” he said thickly. “You don’t think I’m a hyper-vigilant pain in the ass?”

  “No. I think you’re one of the good guys.”

  “I’ll have to go in a few minutes; my shift gets out there before the drunks and sleepers hit the road,” said Michael.

  “Could be another bad night,” said Tristan. “Michael, do you see things on the job that you don’t tell me about? Bad things?”

  Michael looked at Tristan for a long time in the dying light. “There’s some stuff I don’t tell you, if that’s what you mean. No point in carrying it home, is there?”

  “Yeah, but you carry it, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess I always thought your job was, you know, chasing down upper middle-class white kids like me who were violating safety laws.”

  “Really?” asked Michael. “That’s what you thought? I wish my mom thought that. She sees me doing the road show of Serpico every night.”

  “What’s the truth, Michael?”

  “We live in a dangerous world, Sparky.” Michael put his arms around Tristan. “People hurt each other, they want things they can’t have, they steal, they lie…they kill. At the best of times, I get to run after a fast kid who needs to put on a helmet. At the worst… I don’t bring that home.”

  “But you do.”

  “Yes. I do,” said Michael. “But not to you. Where’s this coming from?”

  “The other day was my dad’s birthday.” Tristan wondered if Michael would understand. “I lost the most important man in my life two years ago. I don’t know…”

  He heard the boys come out with Julia and Emma. “I think we’d better go down.”

  “Wait, Sparky,” said Michael, concerned. “What did you mean?”

  “Look,” Randy was saying. “I’ll bet that’s the fastest we ever put up the lights.”

  “It’s awesome,” said Edward, looking up.

  Michael took the opportunity to brush Tristan’s lips with his, deepening the kiss when Tristan sank into it. “We’ll talk later,” he whispered against Tristan’s lips. Tristan nodded.

  “Yeah,” said Devon. “And ours is the only house on the block that has gay guys kissing on the roof. Won’t we be the envy of the whole neighborhood?”

  “I’ll go down first, and then you can arrest me for fratricide when you get there, ’kay?” said Tristan, heading down the ladder, rung by careful rung.

  “Take your time,” said Michael. “I’m not on duty yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tristan and Lily were putting the finishing touches on the glassware as they replaced it in the china hutch in the dining room. They worked in relative silence, since Devon and Randy were sound asleep in the living room a few feet away. Julia was in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to squeeze thirty days’ worth of leftovers into one relatively small refrigerator.

  “I thought Michael was nice,” said Lily tentatively. “He doesn’t seem like the Officer Helmet you always complained about.”

  “I’ve made my peace with Officer Helmet,” said Tristan lightly, putting in the last of the white wine glasses and getting started on the china.

  “He’s younger than I thought,” she said. “I mean, you know, to be a cop and all.”

  “Yeah,” said Tristan. “He’s only twenty-seven.”

  “And he said he went to school at CSUF?” asked Lily.

  “He majored in communications,” said Tristan.

  “Why on earth did he become a cop?”

  “I don’t know. He said that’s what he wanted to do.”

  “But…”

  “But what?”

  “The hours are long, and people use you for target practice. That’s what.”

  “Lily!” said Tristan.

  “I guess Fullerton isn’t so bad, though. Not like L.A.”

  “I’m sure Fullerton is nowhere near as bad as L.A.”

  “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just…”

  “Michael is smart and strong, and he plays it safe.” He threw down the towel.

  “I’m sure he does.”

  “And it’s not like anyone is perfectly safe, is it?”

  “Tristan, what’s…?”

  “I have to go.” Tristan said good-bye to his mother and caught up his keys. “I have my cell, if you need anything.”

  “Mom,” said Lily. “When I’m Tristan’s age can I spend the night with my boyfriend too?”

  “Oh, hell no, honey,” said Julia, giving Tristan a hard stare. “Tristan’s ship sailed a long time ago. Yours? Isn’t going to get out of the harbor. Ever.”

  Tristan practically ran out the door before he could be subjected to Lily’s eruption. He could hear her as he ran toward his car. Good thing he’d placed a change of clothes and a toiletry kit in the back earlier. He started the car, listening to the engine rev as the cool night air sank into his skin.

  Tristan started the short drive across town, still dazed by his good fortune. Michael loved him. They’d kissed on the roof. Their families had met, and it hadn’t sucked. He drove down Chapman carefully, thinking the last thing he needed was to get a ticket from one of Michael’s coworkers, or worse, Michael himself. The man would never let him live it down. He pulled into Michael’s driveway and could tell that Emma was still up watching television. The blue light glowed from her windows, and she frankly had it on way too loud. She was watching a ball game, or the highlights of one, because he could hear marching bands and cheering every so often as he walked to the front door of Michael’s house.

  As soon as Tristan entered, he turned off the alarm using the code Michael had given him. He switched on lights, feeling a little easier in his mind every time he did it. As he came to this house more often, usually in the night without Michael, he became more comfortable and familiar with it. It seemed less like someone else’s home and more like a place he belonged. The first time he came here to surprise Michael, he’d hardly dared to heat up water for tea. Lately, Michael had taken to leaving things around that made him feel welcome, a note here, a photograph there. Things that made the place seem more like theirs, rather than simply Michael’s.

  Today, in plain sight, was a note from Michael, welcoming him home and telling him there was pie in the fridge if he wanted it. Earlier in the day he’d told his mother he wasn’t ready for something like this, but that wasn’t
strictly true. He was torn by his love for Michael and the love he felt for his family. He felt that his mom still needed him to be there for her. At least the next day he didn’t have to drive his brothers to school, so that meant a whole lot of snuggling and whatever else came to mind.

  The heavy futon made a dragging sound on the floor as Tristan tugged it into place in front of the fireplace. It wasn’t long before he lit a fire, added another log, and had the chill off the room.

  This close to the college and downtown, Tristan could hear the emergency vehicles racing up and down busy Harbor Boulevard. He found himself holding his breath, waiting for sirens to get closer or farther away. He had to tell himself to breathe again, even if it was Michael’s siren, and even if Michael’s job was a dangerous one, because it wasn’t helping Michael any for Tristan to be lying in front of the fireplace holding his breath.

  On nights when fear churned in his stomach, he tried to remember that a policeman’s job was dangerous, and an architect could die talking on the phone to his wife. He worried that loving his family and Michael as much as he realized he did and thinking about it consciously was going to make him a nervous wreck. He drifted off into the first beginnings of an uneasy sleep, realizing that if anything, happiness was a damned double-edged sword.

  * * * * *

  Driving his patrol car up Harbor by Hillcrest Park, Michael gave a last look around to see if any of the homeless people he knew were camped out there. It was chilly out ‑‑ he could see his breath, and when all was said and done, he hoped most of the folks he was looking for would have tried the shelter on a night like this. Ever since he’d taken this job, he’d had a particular affinity for the small, constantly changing group of homeless men and women that regularly wound up in Hillcrest Park. Mostly they were just lost, damaged people who didn’t have anywhere else to go. Recently, he’d had a talk with some of them, and they’d agreed that they needed to be indoors when the temperature got cool like this. One of the older women, Mary, came from San Francisco and always laughed at the idea of what she called “LA cold.” Even if the climate was temperate, he reminded her, there were things out there worse than the cold. Better to be safe. It was one of the things he charged himself with, checking on these people. His gang.