Dean
“Leo,bebe, stop that!” Mom’s trying to sound stern, but she can’t help cracking up at how Leo keeps stealing spoonfuls of her chilli, bubbling away on his stove top. Giving her a cheeky look, maintaining eye contact, he picks up another spoon and slowly inches it towards the pot. Mom takes her ladle and gently raps him on the knuckles, laughing as she chases him away. He narrowly avoids a whap on the ass as he licks the smear from the ladle off his hand.
They’ve always been close. Leo always picks my parents up from the airport when they visit for Mom’s birthday every year. I can’t do airports because of the crowds; I had a panic attack of epic proportions the first time they flew over, and it cast a shadow over the entire visit. Because he has more room than I do in my flat, they always stay with him.
Mom and Dad arrived two nights ago, and it’s been so good to have that ‘Mom’ feeling, like you’re home and you’re safe and everything in your life will be sorted. It’s always them coming to visit me. I haven’t been back to New Orleans once since I left.I feel bad about that, but I just can’t be there anymore, so I’m grateful that they do this once or twice a year, and it’s so good to see them. It's so good to smell my mom's perfume again, that gardenia scent that always helps bring me out of nightmares.
It alsosucksthat they’re here, because in spending my time with them, I haven’t been able to have sex with Liaden in days. I feel genuinely deprived, edgy, irritable. I need that feeling I only get when I’m inside her: that everything else no longer matters, not the hideous scars on my throat, not my enforced mutism, not my barely-held-together-with-duct-tape mental health. Just her, and that staggering, unforgettable pleasure that wipes everything clean for a few precious seconds.
I haven’t had her since her tattoo appointment the day before Mom and Dad arrived, when I pounced on her the moment the door closed. My whole body tightens hard at the memory. I might even be able to sneak her off to one of Leo’s spare rooms, or even a coat closet, I don’t give a shit anymore as long as I get inside her.
And at least she’ll be here for the family chilli dinner. We’d booked a table at a Brazilian restaurant for Mom’s birthday today, but, typical her, she just wanted to do some home cooking, so she asked us to cancel. We’re all trying to help - well, except for Leo, who keeps stealing more and more - but she’s determined we won’t lift a finger.
“So, what time is Liaden coming over?” Mom asks, psychic as ever. She’s the sweetest little hippie in existence, with her eternal uniform of cheesecloth dress, dangly earrings, the chunky bohemian necklace I gave her for her birthday, and homemade honeysuckle perfume. Her hair was neon purple the last time I saw her, and is now a swirl of peach, lavender, and forget-me-not blue. She smiles up at me, and I really feel terrible for wishing she wasn’t here so I could fuck my girlfriend. I’m the one who left, and she always spends the first few hoursof her visit hugging me every few minutes, “soaking in the Dean cuddles like a greedy mama sponge”, as she puts it.
In about a half hour, I reply with a chuckle.Chill, she’ll love you.
“Well, of course she will,” she grins, “once she’s had a bowl full of this.” Her chilli is every bit as good as Leo says; the whole family always has second and third helpings. She insists that her cooking is half the reason Dad proposed to her.
I know she’s feeling a bit fluttery about my girlfriend coming over. I overheard her asking small questions about Liaden to the gang. What she’s like, what they think of her. They’ve all been singing her praises, the women especially, because she’s one of us now, and Mom seems happy with what they say. But she’s a mama bear, after all, and I know she won’t be satisfied until she’s met her herself.
And, given that Liaden is the first woman I’ve even mentioned since moving here, I know Mom wants to be liked by her in turn. I’m not worried. Everyone loves Mom, and I can’t imagine anyone not finding Liaden instantly adorable.
Dad is outside helping Eli set up the table while charming the shit out of Em and Sadie. He’s got long silver hair, a whole shit ton of tattoos (mostly by me), and the Gastright charm that Leo got a larger share of than I did. Em is giggling like a schoolgirl, and even Sadie, pale and drawn and pissed off as she is these days, can’t quite smother a grin at him. He and Mom are still like teenagers in love, which grossed me out when I was younger, but now just makes me glad. Even right now, they’re sharing some serious eye contact through the kitchen window, and Dad’s winking at her and making her giggle. How many other people who’ve been together nearly forty years have that?
I wonder how Liaden and I would look at each other after that long.
My heart pangs when I realize that I’ll probably never find out.
Focus. I push that thought away, and think of the way she groaned when I bent her over the table in my studio and took her from behind instead. The wet heat. The tightness. The rush of euphoria.Yes. That. I need that. I need it now.
God damn dinner.
When Leo’s doorbell rings,I dive for it.
Liaden’s carrying a large, red tin cake box with an envelope resting on top, and wearing the cutest rockabilly dress, pale green with pink dots. Her smile has been made even bigger by her apparent nervousness, her eyes all big and her voice breathy.
"Hey, you,” she says, and pecks me on the lips. I pull her closer and give her a more thorough kissing than she was expecting, because she giggles and squirms.
“Whoah, PDA,” Leo says, holding up a hand to shield his innocent eyes as he passes through. “Hey, Tinkerbell,” he grins at my girl, before calling through to the kitchen. “Auntie Woowoo! Liaden’s here.”
“Auntie Woowoo?” Liaden’s nose wrinkles as she gives us both questioning looks.
“Called her that since I was a kid. Couldn’t say ‘Wendy’, butcouldsay Woowoo.” He shrugs, and I point to Leo as if to say, ‘that’.
“Hiiiiiiiii!” Mom looks so excited at Liaden’s arrival, and with a big grin she reaches to give her a quick hug. She knocks against the cake tin with one finger. “Ooh, what’s that?”
“Oh, I made a King cake. I’m sure you’ve already got a birthday cake, but there’s no such thing as too much cake, am I right? Oh, lord, I’ve said ‘cake’ too many times. Sorry, I’m babbling because I’m nervous, and I want to make a good impression on you. I hope it’s alright. The cake, I mean. I scoured the internet for a good recipe, but please bear in mind it’s my first attempt.” She takes the lid off, and it looks pretty good - thick, round, and well iced. The envelope falls to the floor. “Shit. I mean, shoot. That’s your birthday card.”
“How kind of you, sweetheart,” Mom says, smoothly cutting across Liaden’s word vomit. It’s making me want to cuddle them both, Liaden for being adorable and Mom for being kind to her. She opens the card, and it’s an ornate, delicate paper cut-out art card, white paper on pink backing. “Oh, that’sbeautiful,” she gushes.
“I’m glad you like it. I made that, too.” I stare at her. So, not only is she an expert at everything else, but she also makes cards. She’s artistic, like me.God, I want to see her on her knees in front of me…
“And King cake, too!” Mom winks at me. “You got yourself a fine woman here, my boy. I can’t wait to try some. We can have it for dessert!” I know full well that Dad bought Mom a birthday cake from a bakery just across the street, and she also made enough tiramisu to feed a small country, but I guess that’s Mom being kind. We can have it for breakfast tomorrow or something.
“Just so you know, I know it’s tradition, but I left out the baby on top of the cake, and it’s not in it, either. I thought that might appear to be a little forward, like I’m announcing my intention to have your grandchild or something. And I’m not in the least religious, either, so I hope I haven’t offended anyone’s spiritual sensibilities. I just read it’s a traditional Louisiana cake, forMardi Gras, and thought I’d give it a try, but without the small plastic toy baby. So…no baby, just cake, to sum up!”
There’s a pause, and then Mom laughs. “Kit!” she calls. “Come meet this angel our son has been seeing.”
