It hadn’t been tense, exactly, but it hadn’t been the casual, easy dinners they’d had with Jeff’s family, or even with Grace’s parents.
The girls caught up with him a few minutes later, carrying meat, buns, and even a half-pound of the good cheddar, freshly sliced for them by the deli counter. By the time they got out of there, Jeff was openly glad to have their help.
He felt exhausted.
Emma noticed and handed him the keys. “You sit in there with the air on. We’ll handle this.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” He collapsed into the passenger seat and cranked the engine, pointing one of the dash vents at his face. Today it was in the mid-eighties out, and humid, whereas this time last week, it’d been cold and drizzling.
Welcome to Florida winters.
At least he wasn’t in massive pain on top of exhaustion. Not pain any worse than he dealt with on a daily basis, at least.
When they arrived home, Emma and Grace shooed him inside, ordering him to the couch under threat of calling Brandon and snitching on him.
Jeff complied after taking his meds.
Including a Xanax.
What felt like minutes later, he heard Stuart talking with Emma in the kitchen, the smell of burgers on the grill, and realized nearly two hours had passed.
Shit.
Stuart had already showered and everything, and Jeff had slept right through his arrival. Through the sliders, he spotted Grace out on the lanai, manning the grill—their designated expert on everything cooked outdoors—poking at a burger with the barbecue fork they kept hanging out there on the side of the grill, along with the grill spatula.
He walked into the kitchen and kissed Stuart. “Sorry I crapped out on you guys. Is Brandon home yet?”
“Will be shortly. Got caught at work with a personnel situation. He told us to go ahead and eat.” He pulled out a chair at the table with a smile. “Sit.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Stuart grinned, shaking his head after tossing him an adorable little eye roll.
Grace stuck her head inside. “Jeff, you want yours rare or medium rare?”
“Rare, please.”
She gave him a thumbs-up before closing the sliders again.
Emma and Stuart set the table and had everything ready when Brandon managed to walk in just as they were starting to eat.
“Couldn’t have timed that any better if you tried,” Jeff told him.
Brandon leaned in and kissed him, then Stuart. “How’d shopping go?”
“We are happy to report that he obeyed us, sir,” Grace said.
Jeff had been taking a drink of water and nearly choked on it.
Grace continued, clueless. “He let us get stuff for him at the store, we loaded everything into the car, and back here he came inside, took his meds, and fell asleep on the couch while we unloaded everything and put it away.”
“Yeah,” Emma said. “He didn’t even try to argue with us.”
“Good.” Brandon dropped him a playful wink. “See? When you listen to us and don’t overdo things, you spend more time vertical.”
Later, cuddled in bed, Jeff had to say it. “Either Grace has really freaky luck at what she says, or she damn well knows what kind of dynamic we have and is a sadist in training.”
Brandon nodded. “I already thought of that. But is that really a conversation you want to have with her right now?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Question answered.”
* * * *
The closer they drew to Thanksgiving, the more nervous Stuart felt. Legally, he wasn’t Brandon and Jeff’s husband, even though Jeff and Brandon both referred to him as that.
He knew Jeff’s family accepted him.
How would Brandon’s family really feel about him?
The date of the men’s wedding had been rushed out of necessity because of Jeff’s health. This was a far less stressful situation—supposedly—but that meant more time available to talk with Brandon’s brothers and parents.
Stuart desperately wanted to put forward a good impression.
His boss, Cedro Luzon, gave them Thursday and Friday off, paid, in addition to the weekend. So at least he’d have three days to emotionally recover if Thanksgiving dinner went badly. The girls were going with Tracey to Disney for the whole weekend, an early Christmas gift, leaving from Brandon’s after Thanksgiving dinner and driving to Orlando.
That would work out perfectly, actually. Because once everyone had cleared out after Thanksgiving dinner, Stuart planned on trying to call his parents. His mom usually served lunch at one, so even with the time difference, if he called in the evening, hopefully the bulk of their guests would be gone, his dad and brothers would be engrossed in football games, and his mom would have retreated to the bedroom to relax and read while her daughter and daughters-in-law headed out to try to grab early Black Friday deals.
That was, usually, the pattern.
Stuart still left the option on the table to cancel the wedding trip at the last minute if he felt he’d be too much of a disturbance. He didn’t want to disrupt Eileen’s big day.
The Thanksgiving phone call would be his barometer.
By Thursday, he’d talked to Eileen a couple more times over Messenger, and she still assured Stuart he was welcomed to attend the wedding. She actually wouldn’t be spending much of Thanksgiving Day with their parents, only stopping by long enough to say hi before they drove over an hour away to her fiancé’s parents’ house.
Lucky her.
Thursday morning, Stuart was the first one awake and started prepping the turkey for the oven.
Their first Thanksgiving together.
Tracey’s family all lived out of state, and rather than spend the money to go travel to see them, she’d opted to spend it on making memories with her daughter and Grace with the Disney trip. She’d also volunteered to come over early in the day and help them prepare, which would take some of the stress off Stuart and Brandon and give them an extra person to corral Jeff back to the couch when he tried to do too much.
Which, of course, he tried to do from the moment he crawled out of bed after Brandon got up. Most of the guests were scheduled to assemble around one. Grace and Emma spent the night over at Grace’s house the night before and would be home before then.
At one point that morning, not long after Emma and Grace arrived, Brandon pulled Stuart aside and forced him to take a deep breath.
“This is okay. Today is fine. Don’t let your stress about later ruin today for you.”
“I’m an adult. I should be able to deal with my parents. Why can’t I deal with them?”
Brandon pulled him in for a long, strong hug. “Because you’ve felt what it’s like having a ‘normal’ family, and you wish you could have that with your parents, and you can’t.”
Stuart blinked as he realized that was exactly how he felt. “How—”
“While not as extreme as your case, ditto me and my family.” He smirked. “Living well is the best revenge, they say. Forget about tonight. Let’s have a good first Thanksgiving.”
Stuart knew he had to trust Brandon.
Correction, he did trust him.
“Yes, Sir.”
Chapter Eight
Jeff ended up appointed the photographer for the day, since they wouldn’t let him do anything else. His pain levels weren’t even that bad.
But when no one was looking that morning, Brandon leaned in and bit the side of his neck, hard, almost sinking Jeff deep into subspace.
“I have plans for you later tonight, boy,” he murmured into Jeff’s ear. “Why do you think I want you taking it easy and saving your energy?”
“Oh. Oh!”
Brandon dropped him a wink before returning to the kitchen to help.
All right, so that helped boost his mood.
A lot.
It also kept him from sinking into a funk when Brandon’s family arrived and were about as interesting to talk to as a piece of dryer li
nt stuck to a sweater.
He even gave Tracey all due credit for hamming it up and doing her level best to put on a good show for Brandon’s family with him and Stuart. He guessed her thought process was that if she showed that she was good with the men’s relationship, maybe it would help her ex-in-laws loosen up.
She got an A for effort, but it didn’t do a whole heck of a lot.
Brandon’s family—the adults, since the kids behaved like normal kids—still acted stiff and polite, but not necessarily eager to reach out and be more…friendly.
Jeff had wondered how they’d react to Calvin and already had agreement from Brandon that they’d kick them out if they so much as blinked wrong at Iris’ black boyfriend. But if anything, they acted a little warmer to Calvin than they did toward Jeff and Stuart.
Hell, they acted friendlier toward Tracey than they did to him and Stuart, despite Tracey going out of her way to try to smooth things over and show how close she was to the two men.
Jeff silently fumed, understanding it wasn’t a problem with him and Stu, it was a problem with Brandon’s family.
Still, it stung.
It also provided valuable insight into why Brandon had felt such immense pressure to not come out sooner.
Jeff now understood why Brandon had suggested to Emma and Grace they not come out to his family quite yet, unless they were absolutely prepared to face the potential fallout.
When everyone else had left, and it was down to Emma, Grace, and Tracey preparing for their drive over to Orlando, Emma hugged him, holding back so she didn’t hurt him.
“I get it,” she mumbled against Jeff’s shoulder.
“Get what?”
“Why Dad and Mom said it would be better to not tell Grandma and Grandpa Z and all of them about me and Grace.” She looked up at him. “I really feel bad for Stu now,” she whispered. “I wish I could go with them and punch anyone who picks on Stu.”
He smiled. “That’s sweet, kiddo, but let them handle it. They’re adults.”
“Did I tell you I love your mom and dad? I mean love them. I’m not just calling them Grandma and Grandpa for fun.”
“I could tell. They love you, too. And I love you.”
“Thanks for being my dad.”
Jeff blinked back tears. “Thanks for accepting me. And Stu.” He nodded toward the kitchen, where Stuart and Tracey were playing Tetris with plastic leftover containers in the fridge. “Maybe make sure you tell him that, too, huh? He tends to forget how much he’s loved.”
She gave him a peck on the cheek and headed into the kitchen to do just that.
Grace stepped over, leaning in conspiratorially. “You know I’m running out of names for you guys, right?”
“What?”
“Well, my own is Dad. Then Mr. Ziegler is Pop. I can’t call him Brandon. I don’t feel right calling you and Stu by your first names, and if I call you all Pop, or Dad, or whatever, no one will know who the heck I mean. And I love all three of you like dads.”
He opened his arms for a hug. “I love you, too, kiddo. Even if you do scare me a little.”
“Was it the growling that day at the swim meet? It was the growling, wasn’t it? It’s always the growling.”
He laughed as a playful smile filled her face. He held up his thumb and index finger, nearly touching. “Just a little. But that’s okay. You fit right in here.”
* * * *
Once it was only the three of them, they locked up the house and retired to the bedroom.
Stuart knew he couldn’t delay the call any longer.
“Can I take one of your Xanax?” Stuart only half-joked to Jeff, who sat on Stuart’s left on the edge of the bed. Brandon flanked Stuart on his right.
Brandon cupped his chin. “You don’t have to make this call if you don’t want to.”
“Yeah, I kinda have to.” He stared at his phone. “I need to learn to stand up to them. I can’t let my emotions about them control my life with the two of you.” He finally called up their house number in his contacts and dialed, putting the phone in speaker mode.
It rang three times before his mom answered. “Hello?”
His throat threatened to lock up. “Hey, Mom. It’s me.”
A slightly awkward pause followed. “Hi, Stuart.”
He took a deep breath and plunged in with the feel of Brandon and Jeff’s arms around him. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”
It immediately became painfully obvious to Stuart that he had nothing in common with his mother, and he was hesitant to bring up discussions of Emma and her swimming or school, or anything relating to his life there in Florida except maybe his job.
She damn sure wasn’t making it easy on him.
“I talked to Eileen,” he said. “She invited us to the wedding.”
“I know. She told us. We’re okay with it. I told you that I love you. I don’t agree with what you’re doing, or understand why you’re doing it, but my pastor said if you want to go to hell, that’s your business. Love the sinner and hate the sin.”
He could tell Brandon wanted to snatch the phone from his hand and tell her to go to hell, but he somehow resisted.
“Brandon’s coming with me,” Stuart said. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Is that one of those men?”
Stuart closed his eyes. “Yes, he’s one of my husbands.”
“You’re not married to them, so they’re not your husbands.”
What he couldn’t understand, beyond the obvious, was how her tone could remain so steady and even, as if discussing any bland topic.
This bread is stale.
That cat is pretty.
They’re not your husbands.
“I won’t argue semantics with you, Mom. They are my husbands. I’m sorry you don’t agree with me being happy with two men who love me.”
“I’d rather not talk about that, please. You have no idea how upset that has me and your father, that you’ll be going to Hell.”
I already lived through hell once.
But he didn’t say that. “Since I disagree with your religion, I’d rather not talk about that, please.”
Stalemate.
“So why isn’t the other one coming with you?” she finally asked.
“Jeff has Lyme disease.”
“And how did he get that?”
“The same way anyone else gets it—a tick bite. He was helping his sister’s friend move up in New Hampshire, and her dogs had ticks.”
“Oh. Carla Edmonton’s sister has that…”
And Stuart let her ramble for five minutes about people he doubted he’d ever met, or if he had, that he didn’t remember.
At least she wasn’t telling him he was going to Hell.
For now.
Once she’d run that conversational weasel through the wringer, Stuart hoped they’d taken a turn for the better, until she veered onto the topic of grandchildren.
“Kevin started playing high school football this year. We go to every game.” That was Jake’s older son, and an obnoxious bully of younger kids last time Stuart had seen him.
“That’s…nice. Emma is a fantastic swimmer. She’s on her high school team and it looks like she might earn herself a scholarship to college for it.”
“Who’s that?”
“My step-daughter.”
“She’s not your step-daug—”
“Yes, Mom, she is. I’m one of her dads, and that’s what she calls me and Jeff, okay?”
“I think it’s horrible you’re exposing a child to that lifestyle, but my opinion doesn’t matter. Hopefully her mother has her in a good church. Why would she want to play a sport to get into college? How will she find a husband like that?”
A few things hit Stuart at the same time. A mixed bag of revelations and memories that nearly took his breath away.
Of remembering the way their parents basically ridiculed Eileen when she’d talked about trying to get financial aid
to go to college. How they told her if she wanted to go to trade school to be a hairstylist or nail tech or something, fine, but they weren’t putting her through college.
What boy would want a girl smarter than him?
Then how would she get married?
How Eileen had retreated to her room in tears.
How he’d heard his parents derisively talking about a cousin who’d graduated college with a doctorate in mathematics, acting as if she were some sort of traitor to the family.
Their own relief when he’d mentioned going to school after high school, and he’d told them he wanted to be an electrician.
How they’d said they were glad he wasn’t wanting to waste money on college.
The word almost spat, as if it was something dirty, unclean.
How neither of his parents had high-school diplomas.
How he’d overheard an argument between his cousin, Mark, and Mark’s wife one night when she’d talked about her maybe taking some accounting classes at the community college so she could apply for a different position at the warehouse she worked at. Mark had been against her spending the time and money to do it, even though it would mean she could make more money later.
And how Stuart realized most of his family’s circle of friends thought exactly the same way, their lives centered around working, usually agriculture-based jobs, family, and church.
How anything outside those spheres was belittled as a waste of time, energy, money, or all of the above. Trying to better oneself meant you didn’t think they were good enough.
You were seen as “elitist.”
This all flashed through his mind in an instant.
“Because she’s smart, mom. She’s literally a genius. They gave her an IQ test and she was able to join Mensa.”
“What’s that?”
“An international society for really smart people. She’s going to be a criminal profiler.”
“What’s that?”
“Someone who studies and catches criminals.”
“So she wants to be a policeman? You don’t need some fancy degree to do that. I don’t even think Sheriff Jackson has more than a high school diploma. He was a year ahead of me in school, and he’s been elected to four terms now. Plus he ran a farm for years.”
A Case of You Page 7
