Chapter 8 #3
But Oliver surprises me by shaking his head and laughing as well.
“If I told her it was from my sugar Daddy, she’d actually be more likely to accept it.
She’d be thrilled for me.” He laughs again, louder, then covers his mouth with his hand and blinks a couple of times.
That’s how I know he’s really processing what we’re suggesting and not just panicking anymore.
“Do you realize how much that would help her?” he asks us weakly.
“I think we can guess,” August tells him softly. “That’s why we’d like to do it.”
Oliver thinks some more, nibbling on his lip. I reach onto the table for a napkin and he mops up his face before taking a shuddering breath.
“Thank you,” he says eventually, his voice trembling but his expression firm.
“I’m sorry. My knee-jerk reaction was to think I wasn’t worth that.
But if this is what you want to do…then I am.
I must be. So that’s that. And I’ll be honored to help my mom and the people that saved her.
She’ll—” His voice catches and he takes a second to compose himself with a cough.
“She’ll be beside herself with gratitude. ”
“That’s decided then,” I say with a grin, my hands still resting on his thighs, grounding him. “And the honor is all ours.”
He sniffs and looks around, giving himself a bit of a shake, like he’s coming back to reality. “Wow. That was unexpected.” He laughs and blinks again. “Your moms must be really proud of you both. You’re incredibly generous guys.”
August snorts. “I could cure cancer and I’d probably still not quite be good enough for my folks,” he says with a resigned roll of his eyes. “But Tallis has a super mom.”
He nods at the wedding photo that’s printed onto a reasonable sized canvas hanging on one of the walls.
Oliver tilts his head and I watch with pride as he absorbs the details of the picture.
Perhaps what he’s seeing first is my mother’s sparkly hijab because I recognize the questions that flash behind his eyes.
“Coming out was very hard for me,” I explain, still kneeling at Oliver’s feet to help him feel less overwhelmed.
“Growing up Muslim in a post 9/11 world was hard, and my father in particular was determined not to give anyone a reason to doubt that we should be in this country. But my mother could tell something was wrong. I’d realized I was gay as a child and tried to hide it well into my late teen years.
She was relentless until I confessed. I’d spent so long thinking my life would be over if I ever did, but she was so worried, I felt I didn’t have a choice in the end.
” I look up at the photo, the side of my mouth quirking at the memories.
“So she came around eventually?” Oliver prompts.
I scoff. “No. She was on my side from the moment the words left my mouth. From then on, she became my fiercest protector, like a tiger. I think she’s where I get my bossy side from.
” I wink at him, relieved to see him giggle.
“My dad took a lot longer, but my mother wouldn’t give in until it finally clicked for him.
He realized he was just frightened for me.
But so long as I was happy, he didn’t care who I loved. They were so proud on our wedding day.”
“And they’re better parents to me than mine ever are,” August adds ruefully. I reach around and squeeze his leg. This isn’t new for us, but it’s always painful to remember that his family isn’t very caring.
My personal theory is that he’s the one who got all the compassion and empathy from the gene pool. But it’s okay. I wouldn’t have him any other way.
So fuck them.
Oliver takes another shaky breath and nods to himself. “So supporting women and moms is a cause you’d support anyway,” he guesses.
“Absolutely,” I assure him. “So thank you for helping us do that.” He giggles again and shakes his head at me. “What?” I ask.
“I love the way you make me feel like I’m the one doing you guys a favor,” he says, laughing harder. “This whole experience has been ridiculous and nothing like I imagined.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say with an arched eyebrow, challenging him to tell me otherwise.
“Oh, it is,” he says, calming down once more. “It just…takes some getting used to.”
“But you’re having a good time, baby boy?” August asks him. My heart contracts hearing the touch of anxiety in his words. Ever the Daddy, his primary focus is on his boy’s well-being at all times.
Oliver twists in his chair to wrap his arms around August’s waist and press the side of his face against the soft robe. “I’m having the best time any boy has ever had ever before, Daddy,” he says thickly. “Thank you.”
I exhale and decide that’s the moment to stand and return some normalcy to the day. That starts by re-heating our breakfasts and making sure everyone is well fed before we go shopping. I knew that conversation would be intense, but that was about a thousand percent more so than I was expecting.
That’s been the case with everything since Oliver came into our lives, though. Nothing about him is fake. It’s all painfully real and earnest.
At what point do we admit that this is already so much more than a casual weekend fling?