Chapter Twenty-Seven #3
Linda squeezed his hand. “It’s a reasonable boundary, you know. Not pretending he means less to you than he does. If you don’t think you can talk about it, you could just stop pretending and see what happens.”
Blinking, Austin considered that. What if he stopped holding back in front of people?
What if he kissed Joe whenever the urge struck instead of only when he was trying to start something in bed?
What if, when Joe was making dinner to the standards he’d returned to, postpneumonia, Austin stopped biting back things like I love how intense you get about Parmigiano Reggiano versus Romano cheese just because they had the L-word in them?
Joe didn’t have to reciprocate now. Austin could wait—as long as he knew Joe wanted to one day.
That they wouldn’t remain stuck in this weird limbo place forever.
That meant more to him than the house. And if Austin practiced that, he could ease into the words thing.
Maybe he could even casually drop into conversation that he’d sold the garage. He couldn’t go backward.
He could only move toward a future and hope it had room in it for him and Joe together.
JOE SAT in the Timmies parking lot with his engine off and the cabin slowly cooling. Hopefully Will would be let off shift soon, because Joe was all for not idling to save the planet, but he didn’t want to freeze his balls off to do it.
Maybe he should have gone inside, but he was trying to give the kid some space. He’d shown up once to do the teasing proud dad thing, making a big deal out of Will taking his order—just enough to be embarrassing but not enough to make Will quit and refuse to speak to him again.
But as much as Joe didn’t want to embarrass Will further, it was fucking cold and the kid’s shift ended five minutes ago, according to his dashboard clock.
Joe sipped his drive-through coffee to warm up and pondered the best way to entertain himself.
He could text Austin, but the guy was still at work for at least another thirty minutes, and given that he’d apparently permanently cut back on his hours—a fact Joe felt guilty about and that Austin wouldn’t talk about, thus ramping up his guilt—Joe didn’t want to distract him and take away any more working minutes.
Maybe he could call Starling?
“Ugh, it’s almost as cold in here as it is outside,” Will griped before he was all the way in the cab.
Joe rolled his eyes and said cheerfully, “Well, if you didn’t leave me waiting out here for ten minutes, it wouldn’t be an issue.”
Will glared as he buckled his seat belt. “It’s not my fault that I have to change and shit after my shift is done.”
Joe turned on the engine. “Note to self: Show up fifteen minutes late from now on unless the weather is nice.”
“You’re such a dad,” Will groaned. Then, before Joe could say anything to prove or disprove that statement, he asked, “What’s for dinner?”
Teenagers. “Too tired for fancy. Austin’s picking up a roast chicken and fresh bread, and we’re making a salad.”
“I can’t believe I ever thought Austin was cool,” Will said. “You two are the most boring married couple I know and it’s barely been six months since you met.”
Hands tightening on the steering wheel, Joe flushed. His mouth went dry. He and Austin were not “married.” “We’re not—” he started.
Will flapped a hand. “Whatever. Legal paperwork. You’re good as. Though Gavin’s gonna be super pissed if you don’t have a summer wedding. He wants to throw wildflowers when he’s flower girl.”
“Wildflowers—girl—what?” Thank God Joe was stopped at a red light and could check his ersatz child for signs of insanity.
Will looked like his usual sassy self. He rolled his eyes. “He called dibs. The rest of us are holding out for groomspeople, but you know Gav. I think he just wants to throw shit.”
“Will—” A horn honked behind them. Joe jumped, checked the light, and hit the gas. “Austin and I are not getting married. We haven’t even—we’re taking things slow.”
A long, echoing pause filled the truck. Joe didn’t take his eyes off the road, but he could feel Will’s gaze.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“We’re taking—”
“I heard you,” Will sassed, “I just can’t believe you.”
Joe didn’t want to know. He didn’t want the answer. He should run away from this conversation right now.
Instead he asked, “Why not?”
“Joe. You live together with five dependents, four of which are ten-to-fifteen-year commitments. Austin is the emergency contact in your phone, which everyone knows now because that’s who Greg called when you had pneumonia.
” Will kind of sounded like he was trying not to laugh.
Joe steadfastly kept his eyes on the road and tried to breathe.
“He has your mom’s phone number. You took him to meet Nonna.
” Will was definitely trying not to laugh.
“That was…. He didn’t have anywhere else to go at Christmas. I’d do that for anyone.”
“Right, sure,” Will said distractedly.
Another red light. Joe blinked and risked a look over. “Who are you texting?”
“Like I’m going to keep this to myself.”
In the cupholder, Joe’s phone lit up, and lit up, and lit up.
And lit up.
Oh Jesus. They had another five minutes of drive to go. Five minutes during which Joe couldn’t defend himself and the kids could roast him unchecked until he was nothing more than charcoal smoldering in the grate.
It wasn’t that Joe was unaware of the fact that he and Austin had skipped past a few relationship milestones on the cohabitation and joint-property-ownership fronts. But he hadn’t thought about what that meant for their relationship and its level of seriousness.
No, scratch that—he hadn’t let himself think about it.
Because after Paul, Joe was gun-shy. No one would have accused Joe of having had good luck in relationships.
In fact, Starling would tell anyone, Joe included, that his taste in people sucked.
Mostly because Joe had a tendency to read people wrong—crush on the lesbian, be serious with those who wanted one-night stands, fail to see the interest of those who were genuine.
But Paul had been a truly spectacularly bad choice.
Looking back, Joe could see he’d invested too much, held on too long.
Will kept his peace for the rest of the drive home, and Joe was almost grateful for that until he parked and realised Will’s nose had been buried in his phone the past five minutes. He left the truck without saying anything, and that fact had Joe reaching immediately for his own phone.
The chat was still firing—the kids typing so fast he could hardly catch up.
Gang, folks, siblings. Joe says he and Austin are taking things slow
What?
Huh?
More info, doesn’t compute
That is what he told me! No summer wedding because they’re quote taking things slow
….
What?
You told him that makes no sense right?
Joe, you know you shouldn’t smoke while at work right? Or before driving?
Or after having pneumonia?
He’s not high, just dumb
You own pets together!
More importantly
They own a house!
They adopted Will!
Austin came to my swim meet.
It’s like not wanting to get married 6 months after meeting a guy isn’t a valid life choice, Joe wrote back. Seriously, he’d think the kids would be happy he wasn’t rushing into anything.
He headed into the house and found Will in the kitchen, typing on his phone, a carrot stick poking out of his mouth like a parody of a cigar. Joe probably should have been more afraid to look at the chat.
He’s talking to your uncle Marco about redoing the en suite in your bedroom, you absolute buffoon
Home reno and collaboration with extended family
Your boring homelife is nauseating
What was nauseating was this conversation. The evidence was damning, and Joe couldn’t ignore what it all added up to. Not that it kept him from trying.
He just doesn’t like sharing a bathroom with a teenager.
Will tore his eyes away from his phone to give Joe a Look. Then he typed out, Every time you talk about home staging, he looks like you kicked Pepa in front of him.
More laughter and mocking followed in the chat.
Joe slumped into a kitchen chair and rested his head against the table.
“I’m in love,” he whispered to himself. His phone stopped vibrating. “I’m in love with Austin.”
“Uh, yeah?” Will said, taking the seat opposite him. “Did you seriously not know this?”
Joe groaned. His phone had gone suspiciously quiet. Desperate for the distraction, he asked about it.
“I told them you were having a breakdown because apparently this was somehow news to you, so they should cut out the teasing in the group chat until I could figure out what level of breakdown we were talking about.”
Jesus Christ. At least he’d done something right.
“Should I get you a drink? What’s the protocol?” He paused. “Or, like, I could call Starling?”
“Jesus Christ,” Joe said out loud this time. “Don’t put me on the news. You guys already sunk my battleship, okay?” Nobody else needed to use him for target practice today.
Will frowned. “Sure, whatever. But… I don’t get it. Like… ‘Oh no, I’m in love with my husband who wants to build me an expensive luxury bathroom.’ Boo hoo.”
Husband. That word again. Joe was going to start tearing his hair out.
“Uh,” Will went on before Joe could get further into his breakdown, “that came out meaner than I meant it to. But, like… love is good, right? Like, the dream? Please don’t make me talk to you about how hot Austin is. That would be so awkward.”
“Oh God.”
“Right?” Will said. “So like… beer? Is that the move? Or is that the first step on the path to alcoholism?”
“No beer,” Joe decided. Nothing foamy should touch his stomach right now. His digestive system was already throwing a rager. He needed to take a minute.
When the moment had passed, Will got up anyway and went to the fridge. He returned a moment later with a glass of water, which he put in front of Joe, and then he started taking vegetables out of the fridge. “I still don’t get what’s so bad about this.”
“I’m not good at it,” Joe blurted.
There was a loud clatter. Joe looked up to see Will had dropped the knife he’d been using to chop up a cucumber. “What?”
Fuck, he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Now he had to explain, or—or he’d end up with Will trying to make him feel better. Will was his kid. Will had just gotten disowned. Joe couldn’t put his own bullshit trauma on his kid.
“Joe.” Will looked like he’d been gutted. “You are really, horrifyingly good at love, okay? You’re the reason we know what that is.”
“I’m good at loving people,” Joe corrected. “I’m not good at keeping someone in love with me.”
He didn’t look up from the table.
Will picked up the knife and put it in the sink before sitting down across from him again. “This is about Paul?”
He said it so incredulously Joe had to look at him. Will was looking at him like he’d grown a second head and then punched it in the face. “People who don’t learn from their mistakes repeat them.”
And Joe had tried so hard not to repeat the mistakes he’d made with Paul.
He’d tried to keep his hands and his heart to himself.
With Paul everything had moved so fast. He’d gotten swept up in it.
And at the end of it all he’d lost Paul, had to leave his job, walked away from the house where he was already envisioning their future.
“Austin and Paul aren’t even the same species.”
“Maybe not now,” Joe allowed. “But their closets look kind of the same.”
Will frowned again. “Is that, like, a—what are they called? Euphemism? What does that mean?”
“No, it’s not gay code, it’s—I mean they both liked to go to the clubs a lot. So they had lots of clubbing clothes.”
Now Will was just flat-out staring. “I have literally never seen Austin wear anything other than coveralls and flannel unless it was something he obviously stole out of your closet. Or DeeDee’s.” He paused. “Do you think he’d let me borrow some shirts?”
“I think I’ll definitely need that beer if he does.” God, soon Will wouldn’t even need a fake ID to get into clubs. Joe might as well have become a grandfather after all. He could feel arthritis settling in. He had the sudden urge to check the backs of his hands for liver spots.
Will rolled his eyes. “Okay, but the point is, obviously Austin’s not going out clubbing at the moment.
He’s picking up dinner. Just like he picked up dinner when you were sick.
Like he washed your sheets every day and missed work and shit taking care of you.
Because he loves you. And he’s not like Paul. ”
Once when Joe got strep throat, Paul moved back in with his parents for a week.
Joe took a deep breath and forced the residual panic from his brain just as Pepa perked up in the dining room and started barking.
Austin was home.
Will stood up and went back to the counter to finish with the vegetables. “This conversation isn’t over,” he warned.
“It definitely is.”
Before Will could protest, the door opened, admitting a gust of cold wind, the scent of roasted chicken, and Austin, dressed in ancient jeans and one of Joe’s sweatshirts. He set the grocery bags on the table and then bent to give Pepa her due attention. “Hey, pretty girl. Did you miss me?”
Pepa wagged her tail so hard it made a repeated thunking noise against the leg of the dining table, echoing the thud of Joe’s heart.
God, he was dumb.
Apparently having guessed that Joe had not recovered from his trauma, Will piped up, “Hey, Austin.”
“Hey, Will.” There was a double thwack of boots hitting the mat, and then Austin entered the kitchen. He ruffled Will’s hair, set the chicken down on the counter, and made a beeline for Joe. “Hey, sweet thing.”
Joe tilted his face up automatically for the soft kiss Austin planted at the corner of his eye. “Hi.”
“Brought you some dessert.”
The plain white box Austin slid onto the table smelled like butter and chocolate and pastry. Joe eased open the flap with his thumb and tried to devour the contents with his eyes. “Are these from—”
“That place you like on Erie Street, yeah.” So Austin had driven forty minutes out of his way to get Joe’s favorite cannoli.
No—longer than that, if he left from the garage to pick them up; that drive would take at least a half an hour at this time of day.
“I still think Nutella is disgusting, but it’s cool, I can eat the ricotta or lemon one. ”
Joe felt Will’s eyes on the side of his face like a laser, practically etching I told you so into Joe’s skin.
“Thank you,” Joe said, a credible imitation of a normal person despite the emotions crowding his chest.
“You’re welcome. So—are we spoiling our dinner, or are we going to pretend we’re adults?”