CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gabriel Entertains the Smiths
Gabriel was happier than he should have been, faced as he was with the prospect of Joel continuing to stay with him. He was all too aware that every day that went by without being honest with Joel was also one day closer to the inevitable end. The relationship developing between them was delicate and tentative. If the truth of Gabriel's omissions were to come out without his own orchestration, it would be catastrophic.
There were a lot of things Joel needed to know. First and foremost, that his stepfather was Gabriel's brother. Gabriel was hopeful he could justify his dedication to pursuing Joel from the sidelines–that he could explain away the puppeteering. He didn’t think, though, that he could wipe away their familial relations as easily.
He ran the conversation through his head at least three times a day.
“Remember how I told you my younger brother outed me to our father, and I got thrown out? Well, your stepdad is my younger brother.”
“Joel, I need to tell you something. I tried to reconcile with my younger brother a few years ago. But I got there and saw him yelling at you, so I decided to keep tabs on you to make sure you were safe instead of approaching my asshole brother to call him out on his behavior.”
“Would it be a problem if I was your uncle?”
Fuck.
Gabriel dropped his head against his desk, banging it repeatedly. The motion was so aggressive, it jostled one of his drawers loose. Rotating his neck so his cheek was lying across the smooth wood, he pulled the drawer open, reaching inside for the stack of mail he kept there. He dropped it unceremoniously in front of his face, closing his eyes in an attempt to avoid the physical proof of his deception.
The stack of mail was festive in its coloring. Lots of red, gold, and green envelopes, and a handful in burgundy and silver, all addressed to Gabriel Russell. Gabriel reached over to the string that tied the bundle together, loosening the knot and sending a pile of Christmas cards and letters sliding against his nose. Begrudgingly, he opened his eyes, grabbed a handful of cards, and sat back in his chair.
The one on top was the last one he received. One of those picture Christmas cards, from four Christmases prior, postmarked Whittier, CA. He took a steadying breath, reaching out a finger to trace it over the thumbnail of Joel's face, before flicking it against the smiling face of his asshole of alittle brother and his conniving wife. He flipped the card over to see Madeline’s flourished and elegant cursive.
“He’s your fucking nephew, and the least you can do is help your FAMILY out, Gabriel. We need money and you have money. Why won’t you help? Thomas was right, all these years, when he told me what a selfish piece of shit you are.”
Based off the address, Madeline had made the assumption that Gabriel and Thomas had the same last name, which demonstrated how little Thomas actually talked about him. Gabriel sighed and set the card aside, flipping to the next one. A younger Joel, not smiling, sitting on a familiar-looking porch, eyes looking beyond the camera. Thomas and Madeline stood beside him, fake smiles plastered on. He flipped it over and was faced again with his annual note from his sister-in-law.
“Your nephew is out of control, Gabriel. Your brother is sure he’s queer, so we need money to send him to one of those conversion camps out of state. Don't let your nephew ruin your brother's life like you already have. You can choose an eternity in hell, but don’t force that on my son, too.”
Gabriel shuffled through the pile, going to when the cards first started. Before his silence showed him what kind of woman his brother married.
“Gabriel, I know that you and Thomas are not speaking, but this is my son, your nephew, Joel. He’s only twelve, but he’s already such a troubled little child. I want the best for him, and while I know there's no hope of you and Thomas reconciling, maybe you can send us some money to help financially? It would ease the stress on our family more than you know. Please don’t tell Thomas I’ve reached out, he would be furious. But you should know your nephew, and we could use the help. That’s what family does, right? Always, Madeline.”
He laughed, putting all the cards back into a pile, ready to slide them back into the drawer when the TV across the room flashed on, indicating someone had triggered the camera at the front door of the condo. He lifted his eyes to the screen to see Joel coming in and closing the door behind him.
“Gabriel, are you home?” The voice echoed, in person and from the monitor.
Footstep, echo, louder footstep, echo.
Fuck.
Gabriel reached inside the center drawer to feel out the remote control, clicking the TV off as Joel knocked on the door.
As shy as he’d been when he’d first showed up, Joel was proving not to be one of those “knock and wait” types. He was more of a “this knock is a warning” type. When the door pushed open, Gabriel used his arm to swipe the cards into a drawer, slamming it shut. He looked up at Joel and smiled.
“Joel. You’re home early?” Gabriel pushed back from his desk, standing up and crossing the room to usher Joel out the door.
“No, it’s nearly seven. I got off at six today. I spent a little time with Athena and Donny after I got off, though, so I’m actually home late. I mean, here late. At your home, late. Not my home. I’m actually getting to your home late.” Joel flushed bright red and stammered through his failed attempt to correct himself on the slip-up, turning to leave.
Gabriel placed his hand reassuringly between Joel's shoulder blades.
“Donny seems like a rather bland name to be related to someone as extravagant as Athena,” Gabriel observed, pulling the door closed behind them.
“It’s a nickname. Athena Marie and Adonis Matthew. Children of Jim and Sarah Smith.” Joel snorted as he made his way into the kitchen, heading toward the fridge so he could start cooking dinner.It had become Joel's little habit, and Gabriel loved the sign of domesticity. “I guess their names were so ordinary they wanted something exotic for their kids.”
Gabriel leaned against the counter to watch Joel cook. “It’s as good a theory as any.”
“Hey, Gabriel, do you think it would be okay for them to come over for dinner?” Joel asked, spending a little more time than necessary lining up some zucchini on the counter.
