Another Manhattan Morning
“Justin!”
I groan and roll my eyes, not bothering with a response other than my usual. Why tamper with perfection?
“Justin, where the fuck are you?”
Where I said I would be; short term memory apparently is first to go with age. The volume increases and I sigh, turning to face my idiot. Yes, my idiot. Still. As ever, will always be. Fuck them all, we’re still here.
With a kid and a dog. Which really wasn’t in the plans but there you go. Linds and Mel die suddenly and we inherit Gus and Henri. Or Hank, as I call him when Gus really does need to remember that it’s still possible to laugh. Or how to wind up his father who inevitably bitches about things being called “Hank” belonging in a Tractor Supply catalogue and not in his life. I’m holding back on asking him just exactly how he knows that such a thing as a Tractor Supply catalogue exists…
We’re a fairly normal little urban tribe and diagram out quite nicely: gay advertising mogul here (and if I am not fuck me proud that he said to all and sundry look out for the oncoming storm then I have issues with our lifestyle and you know that ain’t happening),
artistic younger partner cum fairy stepmother here. Granted, the artistic part has had a few shows and fast track teaches most of the time…
“I’ve been calling you,” Brian stomps in. Cat like gliding is replaced by stomping from time to time, not sure when that happened. Maybe it’s the dog’s influence - that’s an uneasy truce. A cat would never have lasted; the competition would have been unbearable for both.
“Yes, my liege,” I smile and tug him in for a kiss. “Gus and dog watering the grass?” I ask.
“And hopefully fertilizing,” Brian mutters as he drops onto the chair and snatches up his coffee.
“Better the grass than the hardwoods. Now here.” I turn the laptop toward him and he scans the display.
“Too expensive,” he dismisses. “I told you -“
“Shut up, Brian, there isn’t a price listed here and with the market, you know there’s a hangar's worth of room to talk.” I’m just getting started when Brian’s berry dances against his side. I recognize the sound.
It’s Philip and I’m guessing he wants to take us all out for the evening. Cat’s back in town and old torches sputter up from time to time. I nod before Brian quirks a brow in question and laugh when he moans, “Oh, christ, do we have to? With them? “
The call is ended, eyes are, once again, rolled, and pronouncements are made.
“Apparently, every fag and every hag in our little circle is expected this evening at Philip’s so as to distract him from you know what.”
“Dad.” Gus and Henri bound into my office, Gus sticking a hand out for the apple pieces I’d cut and Hank headbutting Brian’s arm for anything he might get. Brian is Hank’s food enabler.
“Gus. No.”
“But I didn’t ask you anything yet!”
“Whatever it is, no.” Gus grabs the bb still sitting on the table and answers the just arrived message.
“”The answer is YES!” Gus pumps one arm in the air and thumps Henry’s ass with the other. “We’re gonna go too!”