Work Text:
Present, February 2013
Brian shifted his weight from one leg to another and adjusted the strap of the black leather travelling bag slung over his right shoulder. He was holding his passport and flight ticket in one hand, his other was occupied by pale, tiny fingers playing with the digits of the darker and considerably bigger hand. Brian occasionally smoothed his palm over the soft blond strands, caressing the little girl that refused to leave his side or let go of his fingers. Each time Brian stroked across her head, the girl would look up at him and send such a radiant smile, Brian couldn’t help but forget the long hours of tiring traveling already behind them and the one or two more that still lay ahead and simply smiled back. He glanced again ahead the unmoving waiting line, silently bitching at the sign that claimed he was standing in the priority lane, allegedly. Brian leaned forward and rested his chin on his husband’s shoulder, whispering quietly in his ear, “You okay there? Want me to take her?”
Justin turned his head as far as he could to meet Brian’s. He adjusted the weight on his left arm – the sleeping form of Emma, totally unresponsive as, due to Justin’s movement, her head lolled deeper into Justin’s neck curve. “No, I’m okay for another couple minutes.”
They still had to pass through passport control before they could claim their baggage and the twins’ stroller. After that there was customs and then, finally, they’d be home, well… almost home. Their flight had landed over half an hour ago, but security took forever and somewhere in the hassle, Emma had fallen asleep on Justin’s arm. It was only 11 o’clock in the morning, but after two layover stops, almost 24 hours of travelling time and a time difference of 12 hours, Brian and Justin were just as exhausted as their daughter and were looking forward to collapsing into their bed at home.
Low on energy reserves and cautious not to wake Emma, Justin lowered his voice as he asked, “How’s Alex?”
Brian looked down at the little girl whose tiny hand completely disappeared inside his bigger one. “She says she’s not tired. And,” he added with another glance downwards, “still enamored with the shiny.”
Justin chuckled and turned his head some more so he could kiss Brian’s lips softly.
“Daddy?” Alex asked, while still holding onto Brian’s fingers.
“What’s up, Precious?”
“It’s the password check and then we’re home?” She was whispering because Emma was asleep, even though in the loud airport hall it was really not necessary.
“It’s passport control,” Brian corrected gently. “Then a car ride and then we’ll be back home.”
“Home home or Aunt Molly’s home?” Alex asked.
“Home home,” Brian confirmed, knowing she meant Britin. Even though they had spent almost two years in New York, ‘home’, by some unvoiced agreement, was strictly reserved for Britin so as not to confuse the twins who, especially in the beginning, had been having some problems adapting to their new surroundings as it were. Everywhere else was dubbed ‘Grandma Deb’s’ or ‘Nana’s’ for Jen’s and Tucker’s house, ‘Uncle Mikey’s’ or ‘Auntie Em’s’. So their penthouse apartment in New York had become ‘Aunt Molly’s’ who’d continued to live there even after Brian and Justin and the kids returned to Pittsburgh. They’d decided that, seeing that Brian as well as Justin would have to travel to New York City on a regular basis, it was easier to keep the apartment instead of staying in a hotel each time. It also made travelling much more relaxed as they didn’t have to pack too much or bring additional stuff for the girls.
“That’s good, Daddy,” Alex agreed with a decisive nod.
“Don’t you like Aunt Molly’s home?”
“You’re silly, Daddy,” Alex answered and giggled. “Aunt Molly’s home is pretty, but she doesn’t have a garden and nowhere we can swim.”
Brian smiled and crouched down to explain, “I know you and Emma spent a lot of time in the pool and at the beach, but that was just a holiday and we had to go very far away, to a place where it was already warm. When we get home, it’ll be still too cold to go swimming.”
As Brian and Alex got into a conversation about the seasons and other activities that elevated Britin above the New York apartment, the line moved forward and soon they were out of the airport and in the limousine that Brian had called for as soon as they had been able to use cell phones again.
Emma briefly awoke from her slumber when they climbed into the car, but then spread out on the seat across from them and fell asleep again while Alex sat sandwiched between Brian and Justin. She pulled Justin’s hand into her lap and, just as she’d done with Brian’s during the flight and the subsequent waiting in line, she began playing with it.
They had used the rings that Brian had bought so many years ago. But Justin felt they lacked a statement, something that would reflect both - their personalities and the road that had gotten them there. So he’d taken the rings to a jeweler and asked him to mold an outer ring of white gold around the silky black titanium. The concave form of the original rings held the simple white gold band in place, while still allowing it some slack so it could spin freely around the black titanium base. Brian wasn’t sure if there was a message behind it and hadn’t asked Justin what message that would be. He simply appreciated the visually pleasing contrast of the smooth, satined black and the shiny polished white.
Ever since Brian and Justin put the rings on each other three weeks ago, Alex perpetually tried to pull the outer ring off. Justin watched her for a few minutes with a lopsided grin before telling her, “It’s not going anywhere, Sweetie.”
“Is it stuck?” she asked, looking up at Justin with big innocent eyes.
Justin chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it is. It’s stuck there forever.”
Brian rolled his eyes and Justin grinned and flipped him off over Alex’s head.
Well, Brian was one to lecture on the finesse of subtlety, Justin thought with a mental headshake. Even so, it had started out innocently enough.
November 2012
It was one of their first evenings back at Britin after their New York adventure. Settling back into the life and routine in the big house had been surprisingly easy. Maybe it was because they made sure to frequently return there for extended weekend visits during their almost two years living in New York, or maybe it had been easy because that’s where they’d started out as a family and were feeling most comfortable at. Whatever the case, Justin felt like no time at all had passed since the last time he and Brian spent a quiet evening at home.
Justin was immersed in his new tablet drawing board computer that Brian had gotten him as an early Christmas present while Brian was busy leafing through high gloss magazines, checking out the competition.
“You’re 29 years old,” Brian suddenly said.
Justin, not bothering to look up, answered distractedly, “Yeah, I know.” The software on this thing was amazing.
“You’re 29. And that means I’m 41.”
“Yeah?” Still distracted by the many brush choices his new computer featured.
“Forty-one.”
“Okay?” Justin replied very slowly, irritated at being disturbed in his technical possibilities heaven.
“Forty. One.”
“Why do you keep repeating it like it should mean something to me?”
Brian’s eyes bulged. “Are you being dense on purpose?”
Justin now was completely confused and leaned back a little, contemplating Brian and trying to remember if maybe he’d forgotten something essential. Not knowing what it might be and not knowing what to reply, he opted for what he thought was a relatively safe, “Uhmm…”
Brian rolled his eyes at him in frustration and explained, “Forty-one’s old. I’m old.”
“Uh-huh,” Justin answered vaguely.
“Of course you don’t understand. You’re in your twenties.”
Brian was right – Justin did not understand, though he wasn’t sure it had something to do with the age difference. He was still somewhat amused by the newest queen-out. “Brian,” he began, carefully choosing his words, “I feel like we could really shorten the process if you just told me what the fuck you’re trying to say.”
When Brian answered him, he spoke slowly, as if talking to a retarded person, “I am trying to say that I am old. You’re a 29-year-old male homosexual and your partner is old.”
Justin furrowed his brow again, this time in concentration from the effort of trying to follow. “Are you trying to justify spending an exorbitant amount of money for some new anti-aging cream or something like that? Because I’m not sure what you think I’m supposed to do about our age difference. Dou you want me to go out and find someone who’s less old? Or stop mentioning it? But,” Justin paused, realizing, “I’m not the one who started this to begin with. So I guess the real question here is: What the fuck brought this on? Your birthday was months ago and you didn’t seem to have any problems turning 40. So what’s with the drama now? And just for the record, I’m still completely in the dark about what it is that we’re talking about.” Justin took a gulp of air after he finished his speech and waited.
Brian looked at him without saying anything. “It’s your birthday in a month and a half.”
“So?”
“You’ll understand once you turn 30.”
“What will change when I turn 30?” Justin asked.
“You’ll feel old. And then you’ll understand.”
Justin really doubted that in a month’s time he’d feel differently than he felt now, but he humored Brian. “If you say so,” he replied, wanting to close the topic despite still not comprehending, but the skepticism that colored his voice seemed to challenge Brian.
“Aren’t you the least bit concerned about turning 30?” Brian asked in disbelief.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I?”
“Okay,” Brian said, “you asked me this question a while back, now I’m asking you: Don’t you feel like there’s something still missing from your life? Something you should have accomplished but haven’t yet?”
That got Justin’s attention and he tensed slightly. “Do you feel like that?” Justin asked back with a hint of dread in his voice.
“No,” Brian dismissed the question impatiently with a wave of his hand and the annoyed way in which he did it made Justin relax a little and resume his breathing again. “This is not psychology 101 and I’m not projecting. But didn’t you have plans when you were a teenager?”
“Plans like what?”
“Oh, forget it,” Brian gave up, frustrated to hell.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to forget.”
“Listen, if you don’t want to get fucking married, just fucking say so,” Brian suddenly exploded and picked up his magazine again, hiding behind it.
Justin sat and stared dumbly for a moment before regaining the power of speech. “Married?! When did this start being about marriage?”
“Fucking pay attention,” Brian exclaimed with both hands in the face of Justin’s apparent thickheadedness.
Justin bit down on his lower lip in an effort not to laugh. God, Brian was infuriating sometimes and at the same time so completely helpless when it came to discussing the important things. “Brian,” Justin started in an even voice, “do you want to marry me? Is this what it’s all about?”
“I thought you didn’t want to be married to an old guy,” Brian replied and his sullen expression reminded Justin so much of Gus, he almost broke out in giggles.
“I never said that.”
“Maybe not with words. But no matter how often I ask you, and no matter how many times you say yes, there’s still no ring on your finger, Sunshine.”
Justin involuntarily held up his left hand and looked at it. He’d spent many a school lesson imagining what his hand would look like with Brian’s ring on it. But that was back when he was still so unsure about his and Brian’s relationship that he wanted something of substance that would visibly tie them together. Ever since Brian committed himself to their relationship, the need for a ring had gone out the window. He didn’t need it anymore to feel secure. But did he still want one? Justin pondered the question and searched his mind for the answer. “I do want to marry you,” he finally replied with a dreamy voice, his mind still dwelling on a long forgotten fantasy he used to indulge in during cold and lonely nights in New York. Then, firmer, he repeated, “I want to be married to you and I want a ring on my finger.”
“You sure?” Brian asked. “The last time I asked you to pick a destination for the honeymoon and you never did.”
“So you just assumed…” Justin trailed off, a few things suddenly becoming very clear. “New York got in the way once again, huh?” At Brian’s answering shrug, Justin added, “But I’ll get right on it, I promise. No delays this time.”
“Don’t bother,” Brian said. Justin’s face fell at the words and Brian hurried to explain, “Who knows what else will get in the way if I leave it up to you. This time, I’m going to take care of it.”
“You are?” Justin asked surprised. “On your own?”
“Sure. Did you think I’ll let Emmett or Debbie or your Mom join forces and turn our tasteful gathering into a raucous and garish affair?”
“I’m not sure you’ll have a choice. You have met them, right? Do you remember their reactions when they cornered us about our wedding invitations?” Justin reminded him. “Besides, no matter how tasteful or refined the event you have in mind, the mere presence of our family will counteract all your careful planning.”
“Maybe they shouldn’t be present then,” Brian mused.
Justin had to pause for a second to connect the dots but eventually he laughed. “You planning a secret wedding party?”
“Wedding – yes. Party – not so much. But definitely secret, so don’t tell anyone.”
Justin shrugged. Easily done since he didn’t know any details. “Just the two of us?”
“Just the four of us,” Brian corrected. “Or five, if you want to bring Gus along.”
“Bring Gus along?” Justin repeated. “We’re going away for the wedding?”
“I’m not telling you anything. You’re gonna gossip to Daphne, Daphne is going to call… someone, and this someone will surely know someone who’ll squeal to Debbie. From now on my lips are sealed and you will receive information only if and when I absolutely cannot help including you.”
“Am I allowed to come to the actual ceremony?” Justin joked at Brian’s secretive behavior.
“Maybe. I’ve not decided yet whether I let you join or not. But in case I graciously decide to allow you to be present, I’ll definitely reserve veto rights to your outfit, that’s for sure.”
Justin didn’t reply, thinking Brian’s say on his outfit would extend far wider than just a veto right, but he pushed away his tablet computer and walked over to straddle Brian. “So,” he drawled while kissing along Brian’s jaw, “let’s see if I got this right. You thought that because, by your definition, I’m not old yet, I wouldn’t want to be married to a guy who was old?” He unbuttoned Brian’s shirt. “And that once I turned thirty, I’d see my life flash in front of my inner eye, and I’d suddenly remember that there were things I had not yet accomplished – like marrying you. You thought we weren’t married yet because I didn’t really want to, even though I said yes every single time?”
“Not every single—” Brian contradicted, but Justin cut him off.
He continued as though Brian hadn’t spoken at all, “And since thirty means entering the state of old age, conveniently, you’d be suitable again. What a brilliant plan,” Justin’s voice dripped false admiration. His hands reached down between their bodies to unclasp Brian’s belt and open his jeans. “Brian, and I say that with all the love I have for you, I will never – for as long as I live – never ever understand the way your mind works.”
“As long as you don’t forget how the other parts of my anatomy function, I’m fine with that,” Brian replied in a breathy voice and pulled Justin in by his neck, effectively cutting off all further communication that involved the use of vocal cords.
A month and a half later, January 2013
In the end, it was nothing what Brian had feared it to be: the matching Vera Wangs were replaced by matching Versaces – a white casual suit for Brian and breezy linen beach wear in light beige for Justin. The stiff walk down the aisle was upgraded to a leisurely, barefooted stroll to a bank on the beach, flanked by white sand and crystal-clear azure water on one side and the sporadic palm and green cliff on the other. There were no flower-draped chairs for invited guests; just three kids sitting on an old, storm-beaten and weathered beach log in a shadowy spot provided by a lone tilted palm tree, burying their toes into the cool sand. The traditional music orchestra usually accompanying such an event was substituted for the sound of crushing waves and Gus’s quiet voice running a constant commentary on the proceedings in an attempt to explain to Emma and Alex what was happening.
No minister bored them with a monologue about the sanctity of marriage or lectured them on the importance and gravity of the step they were about to take. There was a dark-skinned woman with a kind smile and a gold sash around her neck who reminded them that marriage was a union that should be based on deep mutual respect for each other and that, more than anything, it was a partnership of equals. There were no vows, simply a, “We do,” that pledged to strive for harmony and equanimity and to transform all up and downs in life into a path of love, patience, and joy.
No photographer arranged the subjects into carefully coordinated spontaneous snapshots; instead there were a few captured moments from Gus’ camera, more out of a habit to snap a picture of everything that he deemed worthy of one than for posterity’s sake. There was no stuffy celebratory dinner or the obligatory choice between chicken or fish and there was no party; just a walk along the beach, all kids holding hands and the grown-ups doing the same behind them while the retreating waves swirled around their ankles. There was lunch on the terrace of their cabana, just like there had been every day before that. And there were long, passionate, sweaty nights, just like there had been for years before that. In the end, it had been a very ordinary, quiet day with a touch of ridiculously romantic which Brian didn’t object to, and not at all the gaudy, loud, excessive affair Brian and Justin had dreaded.
The gaudy, the loud, and the excessive would come later.
Present, February 2013
Though they had both known better, the hope had survived that the family would moderate their excitement upon hearing the news of their secret wedding far away from anyone who felt very strongly they had earned the right to be present for such a historical event. Once the news had reached Debbie however, there was no stopping her. Not that anyone was so foolish to try. “You decide to elope with no respect to your friends and family and mothers,” she emphasized the word, “who stood by you two all this time and who spent so many sleepless nights watching you break up, get together again, break up, move, come back, move again… For fuck’s sake, I lost count on the many dramas of your life. But if you go through all that and then just… elope… not giving us a chance to see it finally happen, well, then you take the responsibility for it. And everything else we come up with for retribution. And you’re gonna smile and nod at everything and not complain once. Have I made myself clear?”
There had been embarrassed nods after she delivered her speech. For a moment there, it looked as though Brian was about to protest; he’d already opened his mouth to say something, but a well-placed elbow from Justin and an increase of the voltage of his smile, made Brian rethink his reaction. Backpedaling, he also nodded and smiled, though his looked a bit pained and forced. Debbie didn’t care. Her mind was already on the ton of things to do and plan and coordinate. She was jutting down notes on the pad in her hand, while exchanging ideas and yelling orders into the phone squeezed between ear and shoulder. Brian’s shoulders fell when he realized she was talking to Emmett.
While Debbie supplied the gaudy part, Emmett made sure nobody would miss out on the loud, and Brian’s only hope remained Jen. She was responsible for the excessive (i.e. open bar), and Brian sincerely hoped she would be able to save at least a trace of good taste and carry it over to the party Brian and Justin were pressured into attending for the family who felt cheated out of one. He relaxed very slightly when Jennifer stopped by one morning to ask if he could pull some strings to make sure there would be an open slot on the reservation table at the location they’d selected.
“What place did you choose?” Brian asked with a detectable dread in his voice. He was prepared for anything between the GLC Center and the closest school gymnasium.
“Fallingwater,” Jennifer replied and watched Brian’s reaction. She didn’t have it in her to torture him with made up destinations. She smiled when she saw the pleasantly surprised expression on his face, she added, “Oh, Brian, please give us some credit. Contrary to what you seem to believe, we have not forgotten that it’s about you and Justin and we do know what you two like and I do still have the invitation from your first attempt at a wedding. I just thought, before I sent my request to the Committee, I’d make sure the reply I receive will be in all our favor. Since it’s sort of short notice.”
“I know one of the directors from the Committee. I’ll see what I can do,” Brian answered instead of a thank you.
Despite all offered help and support, Brian insisted on choosing his own wardrobe as well as the clothes that Justin, Gus, and the girls would be wearing. If he’d left it up to Debbie, she’d wrap them all in rainbow colored flags, but Brian preferred charcoal. Needless to say he was a little surprised himself when the wedding planners, or Trio Infernale, as Brian had started to call them privately, relinquished that task to him without too much of a fuss.
Coming back home from an appointment with his outfitter, Brian stopped dead in his tracks at the sight that presented itself in the living room.
Brian pointed a finger to the two girls, but directed his question at Justin. “What’s this?”
“What?”
“This,” Brian specified, pointing more fervently. “And don’t play dumb.”
“It’s a dress,” Justin relented with a sigh, knowing where this was going. “Actually, those are two dresses. You know, for the ceremony.”
“They’re pink,” Brian stated the obvious, resurrecting the old bone of contention.
The truth was, it was all very funny and Justin would have been hilariously amused if it wasn’t for the fact that Brian had a near paranoid aversion to the girls wearing pink. If someone from their extended family made a gift to the girls that consisted of pink clothing, Brian would allow Alex and Emma to wear those garments exactly once. He then took pictures of them and made sure the present giver saw the photographs. He’d actually gotten very good at subtly sneaking those into the vantage point of whoever it was that needed to see them. After that the clothes were never seen again. Justin wasn’t too sure about what happened to them and on occasion, usually after one or two glasses too many, dreamed about an assortment of pink skirts, shirts, pantyhose, and scarfs escaping their chest prison in the basement and attacking him. He sort of accepted that Brian despised all parents who dressed their girls in pink. In fact, only last week Alex and Emma, separately from each other, had met and befriended two girls, also twins, whose mother never failed to put at least one piece of clothing on their kids that was pink. Justin and Brian had met the parents of those two girls one afternoon when they brought their daughters over to Britin for a play date and Brian came up with a lot of reasons why he didn’t like Mrs. Finnigan, but secretly Justin suspected that it was all because of her daughters constantly wearing pink.
“Briaaaaan,” Justin replied, somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Can we not have this discussion? Again?”
“Sure,” Brian amiably gave in, “if you can give me a plausible reason why they are wearing pink.”
“Because a bunch of fashion victims broke into our house while you were at the tailor’s and forced us all to dress into our most hideous clothes. You know, they had stun guns and everything,” Justin deadpanned.
“Justin,” Brian growled, “this is not a joking matter.”
“Actually, it kinda is,” Justin replied, a smile playing on his lips. “Brian, your refusal to have the girls wear anything that would comply with stereotypical gender ideas, is ridiculous.”
“Sunshine, did we not have an agreement about this?” Brian asked very calmly, reminding him of the absolutely-no-pink-for-the-girls rule that wasn’t so much of an arrangement, really; more like a set in stone law.
“You mean that promise you forced me into giving under threats of no fu—” With a glance towards the girls who were watching them attentively, Justin paraphrased in the last moment, “—physical relief?” He smiled brightly and carefree and shrugged. “I thought that one was no longer valid.”
“Why?”
“Because you bought them those pink hats our first day on the beach.”
“Those weren’t pink; they were rosé,” Brian stressed the ‘é’, accentuating the French sound of the word.
“And that’s different how? Sorry to bust your bubble, but it’s basically the same color.”
“It’s not.”
“Sure it is. Just a lighter shade, but nevertheless of the same color,” Justin set him right.
Brian shook his head sadly. “You have no grasp of colors,” he exclaimed.
Justin bit his lip and frowned. “I’m an artist.”
“And that makes you some kind of an expert?” Brian fired back.
Justin, realizing that Brian had maneuvered himself into an argumentative dead-end that he wouldn’t back away from all the same, grinned. “It kinda does,” he said, nodding to underline his point.
“Says who?”
Justin thought the whole discussion was headed towards ridiculous, but his amusement kept him carrying on. “The many, many zeros after those many, many digits in our bank account do.”
Brian glared at Justin for a minute then sagged. It was quiet for some time before Emma’s voice interrupted the silence.
“I like pink, Daddy.” She spun around her axis to emphasize the statement, which made her hair and the skirt of her dress fly.
Brian deflated as he watched her and muttered, “Of course you do, Princess.” Turning to Justin, he quietly whispered, so the girls wouldn’t be able to hear him, “Because one of your Daddies is a fashion doofus if there ever lived one.” Turning back to his daughter, he said, louder, “And you look beautiful in it too.”
Emma beamed and spun again. Justin smiled and returned to the page he was reading.
Cynthia’s POV
The first time I met Brian, I was… perplexed. I’m sure he’d have preferred it if I was terrified, but the most prominent memory of that first meeting really is confused puzzlement. And of course I never expected that one day in the future, he’d call me family.
He was still fairly new in the advertising business at the time, and even newer at the Ryder Agency, but I’d already heard stories about him – not all of them about his talent. He’d worked up some sort of a reputation for being blatant about sex and how to use it to sell a product; also for his total disregard of a company’s conservative, sometimes political, affiliations when it came to analyzing problem areas in their marketing strategy, and for always speaking his mind – sometimes very loudly so. I can admit that I was somewhat apprehensive, but I’d long ago learned to hide it under a well-fitted business suit and perfect make-up. Advertising was an expensive business; it was also men’s business and showing weakness or even fear would have never gotten me very far in it.
I knew from the gossip around the water cooler that most of the employees were terrified of him, but I’d been working on a different floor and had not yet had the pleasure to meet him. I was determined that he would not be the one to scare me away. I’d had enough experience to know how to deal with sexist superiors and, quite frankly, this job needed me more than I needed it. So when I received the memo to introduce myself to Mr. Brian A. Kinney, recently promoted to senior account manager and in desperate need of an assistant – the memo conveniently left out what happened to his previous one – I knocked on his office door and entered, my outward appearance cool and collected. To say that he didn’t meet the expectations I’d had of him, would be an understatement.
What struck me most and confused the hell out of me was that, aside from an appraising head-to-toe glance, he didn’t pay any attention to any of my womanly attributes. I’d been fully prepared to meet any leering gazes with a lecture about sexual harassment in the workplace, spiced with an addendum of my very personal viewpoint on what I’d be willing to tolerate and what not. When he went straight to business, outlining what he expected from an assistant, I was gradually becoming miffed with his total lack of interest and tried very hard not to feel hurt in my female pride. Eventually I consoled my offended ego with the thought that he probably just wasn’t into blonds that much. It would take years before I had to revise that basic assumption about him. This major blunder notwithstanding, it still gives me pleasure that I was, from the beginning, spot on about certain other aspects. I knew people like Brian liked to bullshit. You don’t get as far in this business as he has in such short a time when you don’t know how to bullshit. So I knew not to buy most of the things he said and that’s why it took longer for the fog to thin out and to see who he really was under the form-fitted Armanis.
I remember well the first time the Brian Kinney picture started to get clearer around the edges. I was just signing for an express delivery when Brian came around the corner and eyed the courier in that sultry, suggestive way that had the directions to the nearest bathroom written all over his pupils. I remember Brian re-emerging from said bathroom less than 20 minutes later and presenting his very first draft of what would later become his life’s credo of, “I believe in fucking, not love.” Only, at the time, he might have phrased it, “If you have an opinion about that, fucking deal with it or don’t. Either way, I don’t care to hear it. That’s part of my life and if you’re gonna stay on as my assistant, you’re going to be seeing a lot more of that.” He turned and walked away without waiting for my reaction and I know that I smiled and sat a little straighter, my ego miraculously healed by this bit of information. I realized that day that this job was gonna get pretty interesting. He didn’t disappoint.
Still, even after years of knowing him - years in which I learned a definition of ‘tricks’ that was not covered by the Oxford English Dictionary, in which he became a father and then grew to be one, in which I received post-it notes that told me the calls of one Mr. Justin Taylor were always to be put through, in which I learned that he’s a person worthy of my respect even outside the working relationship and in which I understood to read a memo that told me to make it an early evening or take a long weekend as a sign of the same feeling being returned, years in which I followed him into a new company without him having to ask me and without any guarantee that he’d succeed in his undertaking but with the unwavering knowledge that he would, and in which I became the aunt of his daughters - I am still surprised to hear ‘forsaking all others’ to be included in their vows.
Debbie’s POV
I knew Brian meant trouble before I even met him; since the day, actually, that Michael came home unable to shut up about this new kid in his school. For weeks after that every sentence began with, “Brian said…” or “Brian thinks…” or “Brian did this…” and I wondered whether they spent any time in classes at all. I was raised traditionally, daughter of Italian immigrants, Catholic. Growing up, going to church was part of my Sunday routine and even when it was for me to decide whether I wanted to go, church remained a part of my life. Still, I never pushed Michael into any form of religion. But it seemed worship and reverence were inherited traits, since to Michael Brian was pope.
The thing about religion is that it comes in as many different colors as there are people. It’s not about what’s written down in a book. Though God knows there’s too many bigoted dimwits out there who take the written word a bit too literal. To me, religion has always been about the existence of something that is bigger than me, something that fills our lives with meaning and gives us a purpose, something that we can turn to because it’s always there to listen. I don’t need to call it God. It goes by many names – natural genius, retributive justice, electric spark, the power that drives us, inspiration.
My boys, they’re not believers. At least that’s the front they’re putting up. That’s alright; some things don’t have to be talked out. But when fate brought Justin into all our lives, I knew he was a believer also. Maybe because he’s an artist and he sees things we others don’t. Those paintings, they talk to him and he has the ability to listen. Maybe because he’s driven by inspiration and learned that it’s a force beyond his control.
I knew he’d be good for Brian if only Brian would let him. Justin was the link Brian so desperately needed to hold on to life. He’d been slipping slowly away for a couple of years before Justin came along. Every year a little more, losing touch with that voice inside him that told him what he wanted out of life and instead honing his skills in blocking out everything and everyone who might remind him of his mortal human existence. He’d slipped away so far that he’d begun to believe the lies that made up his defensive walls.
But Justin… Justin wielded power because he was so different from him. Justin still had his illusions, and beliefs, and hopes, and dreams of a perfect future. People may say it’s because he was still so young, unspoiled by life, unmarred by reality. But he’s 30 now – the same age that Brian has been when they met. And he still dreams. He didn’t smash Brian’s walls. He planted a seed inside Brian that grew roots and destroyed the walls from within. A far more effective method.
When I look at Brian now, I’m happy and relieved. But most of all I’m grateful. Grateful that I no longer see the tough kid, the lonely bastard, the self-proclaimed asshole. Most of those images are mere memories now and that’s good too. The Brian I see is not exactly new; he’s simply smoother around the edges, with no haunted look in his eyes, and no big dark blob in his near future.
But Justin – he’s still the same as he was when he first walked into the diner with Michael. He’s gone through a few metamorphoses himself; he may have lost some of his illusions and adjusted a few of his visions of the future, but he managed to come out on the other side with his beliefs still fully intact. And what’s more important: He somehow managed to infect Brian with them as well.
I’m sure it was Justin’s idea to extend the pledge in their vows, but it speaks volumes that Brian has gone through with it. Tears run down my cheeks as I listen to Brian repeat after Justin, though not without a suffering eye roll, “Till death do us part, and beyond.” Justin’s responding self-satisfied grin earns him a scowl from Brian, but it only makes Sunshine’s smile brighter. Besides, Brian can’t fool anyone. And he’s given up to try.
Michael’s POV
Brian told me he loved me many times during our almost two decades of friendship. A long time I prided myself on being the only one to ever hear those words from his mouth. And I’m not sure what exactly I expected. I guess, I’ve never thought about it before. Had I, I’d probably have come to the conclusion that, on occasion, Brian must tell Justin that he loves him.
I just know that when he says those words in front of the whole crowd without hesitating or flinching, like he’s said them to him a thousand times before, they feel different. He makes them sound different. They do not sound like a promise; they sound like surrender. An acceptance of the laws of nature that no human has control over; like gravity, and friction, and chance, and magnetism. I love you. Some things just are.
Of all the hundreds of photos taken by some of the best professional photographers money could buy, the one that made it onto Kinnetik’s premises and into Brian’s office was a slightly tilted snapshot taken by Alex under guidance of Gus. It depicted none of the major scenes of the event. Not the exchange of vows, not the subsequent kiss, not the cutting of the cake, nor the first dance as an officially married couple. It was a very unspectacular moment at the wedding banquet towards the end of the festivities, when people grew slowly tired from the good food and the dancing, where neckties were being loosened and couples slumped together, nursing their last drinks. It was a shot of Brian and Justin, leaning towards each other, Justin looking into the camera and Brian looking at him, both smiling.
The End.