You Get What You Paid For Ch. 05

He sighs softly, looking at me for a few moments. Then, he reaches up to hold the back of my head as he leans in and kisses me. We just hold that position for a few moments, my hand gingerly caressing his wrist until he pulls back. "I don't want you to stress about this."

"I stress," I say with a smile. "That's what I do best."

He grins a bit before taking several seconds to think. "What if," he suggests, "I introduce you as... my very good friend?"

I smile, a little relieved. "Okay." This lie I can condone. Plus, it's not necessarily a lie, is it? Underneath it all, we're still friends on some level.

"Okay," he says with a decided nod, pulling away from me to take his seatbelt off. "Good friend, it is."

We grab our overnight bags from the trunk before heading up to the front door. Without even knocking, Adam just turns the knob and waltzes right in. As soon as we step inside, we find ourselves in an unsurprisingly quaint living room, nearly overrun with bric-à-brac and photos, all surrounding an older woman who's knitting in her rocking chair while something black-and-white plays on the television.

She turns her head towards us, looking polished and done-up, and the first thing she says is: "You're early!" She gives Adam a disdainful look, as if he couldn't have done a worse thing.

Adam just laughs. "And that's a problem why?" he asks, shutting the door behind me.

"I wanted to have dinner ready for when you arrived," she says, hoisting herself up from her rocking chair and waddling over with her arms outstretched. It's sort of amusing watching a woman practically half Adam's height impatiently gesturing for her grandson to hug her, but it's heartwarming to see the way she smiles when they embrace. She's quite pretty, Adam was right. She must dye her shoulder-length hair that not-quite-blonde color, and she wears a minimal amount of makeup, but she looks damn good for being in her late 80s.

"We can help with dinner, then," Adam says, giving her an extra squeeze. "Also, hi," he adds with a laugh.

"Yes, hi, hello," his grandmother says, patting his back before her eyes shift towards me. "You must be Teddy."

"That's me," I say, wondering how we should handle this introduction. Thankfully, she's a take-charge sort of woman and shuffles over to me next, opening her arms for a hug and a warm smile.

"It's lovely to meet you," she says as she presses the side of her face against my chest.

I smile, already feeling welcomed. "You too," I say back. Then I hit her with something that's cliché but never fails to touch the hearts of the elderly: "You have a lovely home."

"Oh, this old place?" she asks. "It's nothing." But I can tell by her smile that she appreciates my compliment.

"Where's Pop and Simon?" Adam asks, glancing around for his grandfather and older brother as we set our bags aside.

"Your grandfather's buying the fish for tonight. And Simon's chopping wood still," she says, gesturing vaguely to the backyard. Adam told me about how the most recent storm had knocked a couple trees down, so Adam's brother took it upon himself to handle the clean-up.

"Might go say hi," Adam says, only glancing at me for a second. "I wanna introduce him to Teddy."

"Well, then, here," Mrs. Sullivan says, having us follow her into the kitchen. She grabs a tall glass from the cupboard before dropping in a few ice cubes from the freezer and then filling it up with water. "Give this to him," she says, handing Adam the glass. "He's probably parched. Been out there all day."

"Sure thing."

The backyard is surprisingly immense, since it was hard to tell from the front of the house whether or not the Sullivans even had a backyard. But there are gardens upon gardens stretched out over their open lawn, and Adam points them out to me individually: the fruit garden, the vegetable garden, the herb garden, the mystery garden... Seems the Sullivans mostly live off the land, but in a very upper-middle-class white-elderly way.

Towards the back edge of their property, where the woods begin, is Adam's older brother, Simon, hacking away at a fallen tree with an axe. The closer we get, the more I feel like Simon doesn't look like the type who'd be living with his grandparents in his mid-thirties. From the side, he's just as pretty as Adam is, but with less polish and more muscle. "Grizzly" is the word that comes to mind. His body hair is evident, peeking out of that sweat-stained tank top he's sporting.

"Simooon!" Adam calls out, and at the sound of his brother's voice, Simon turns his head in confusion before smiling. Now that I'm done being distracted by his lumberjack-jock hybrid of a body, I take in the features of his face more - and immediately, I know I'd be far more than willing to be used by these two brothers. Hell, throw in the grandpa too. I've seen a picture of him. Why are the Sullivan men all so damn handsome?

"Well, well, look who it is," Simon says with a grin, his deep voice perfectly matching his physique. He runs his fingers over his dark stubble as his eyes trail down to the glass of water in Adam's hand. "That for me?"

"Yup. I came bearing gifts," Adam says, extending the glass to Simon.

"Fuck, thanks," he says, dropping the axe and taking the glass. He practically guzzles the entire thing down, water dripping down his angular chin before he sighs happily and then smiles again. "I'd hug you, but-"

"Maybe later," Adam says with a laugh.

"So how you been, little brother?" he asks, and they both fall into some brotherly conversation. I don't mind that I'm being completely ignored. I get to take a moment to soak in the sight of them, fleshing out the similarities and differences. Simon definitely *looks* like a matured version of his brother, reminding me of that "emotionless strength" category of some confident, masculine men. Adam's much brighter in his expressions and, although he's not as ripped as his older brother, he has a charming ease about his confidence that can't be matched.

"So, you're the boyfriend?" Simon asks me suddenly, extending his hand. He laughs during the handshake - probably because I look shocked. "Adam told me."

I glance at Adam. "I didn't know you knew," I say to Simon, and Adam just pretends to be occupied with the plane flying overhead.

"Don't worry," Simon says to Adam, "I'm not gonna tell Ma 'n Pop."

"I knew you wouldn't," Adam says with a smile, but I interject.

"What do you think they'd say?" I ask Simon, wanting a second opinion on the matter.

Simon shrugs, giving it some thought for a second. "I'm not sure if they'd say anything," Simon comments. "At least, not to your face," he adds while grinning at his brother. "They hate arguing with you."

"Yeah, because I always win," Adam says with a laugh. Adam has such a light, playful air about him when he disagrees with someone, even if it's a serious debate.

"Well this is one of those discussions that's not really about winning," Simon says, scratching his head a bit. "It'll be a lot for them to take in." Then he glances at me and starts mumbling. "I always warned him he'd fall in love with one of his clients one day."

Adam hits him, but it's too late. I heard it. Guess he really *did* tell Simon everything. "Yeah," I murmur, and even though Simon seems to not be bothered by that detail, I'm still embarrassed.

We chat with Simon for a few minutes before leaving him to his self-appointed task. We offered to help with dinner, anyway, so we start to head back towards the house. Before we get back to the backdoor, though, I stop Adam. "Why'd you tell Simon?"

He looks at me, confused. "He's my brother."

Considering I don't have a brother that I'm close with, I don't understand his point. "So?"

"He doesn't care what I do," Adam says.

That doesn't seem like a good reason to tell him what he told him. "What about *me*?" I ask. "It's more embarrassing for me than it is for you."

"How?"

"I'm the one who paid!" I say, slightly frustrated. Does he not see how this whole situation could make me feel uncomfortable?

But of course, he just smiles. "Well, you wouldn't be the one who paid if you'd just cash that damn check."

I roll my eyes. That fucking check. "I don't want it. I've told you that a million times."

"Then you're still officially my client," he says, all coy until he sees my very-unplayful expression. He reaches out and strokes my arm. "I'm sorry, babe, I'm just teasing."

I shrug his hand off and sigh. "Just stop bringing it up," I mumble. He just tugs on the hem of my shirt distractedly before, suddenly, a thought sparks in his head. I can see the way it lights up his face, and he smiles at me in an open-mouthed way. "What?" I ask hesitantly.

"I just had a brilliant idea."

"*What*?"

"What if," he says, stepping closer so that he's right in front of me, hands on my sides, "we used that money for a little getaway vacation?"

I blink, taking pause. "A vacation?"

"Yeah," he says, smiling warmly. "Just you 'n me. Anywhere you wanna go. We'll blow three grand on it."

"That's..." Dumb? Irresponsible? "Not a bad idea," I say, a smile forming on my lips. Just the thought of going somewhere warm and sunny and relaxing with Adam is making me feel less tense. If he doesn't want the money for himself, we might as well use it for something together.

"Told you I'm brilliant," he says cheekily.

"You said the idea was brilliant, not you," I point out.

"Ouch," he says with a grin before leaning down to my face.

Playfully, I turn my lips away. "No."

"What?"

"I don't wanna kiss you," I lie.

He smirks. "*You* don't wanna kiss *me*?"

"Especially not when you say it like that," I say, poking him in the chest.

"Please?" he asks, laughing softly as he puts his forehead on mine. "Just one little kiss."

I pretend like it's the last thing I want to do right now. "Fine. But one is all you're gonna-" But he cuts me off, planting his lips firmly on mine, holding the back of my head to keep us close. I melt into the kiss, sighing, pleased, floating, lightly aroused. When our lips pull back, my face feels warm, and I can't reel in my smile no matter how hard I try.

Before I can speak, Adam chuckles and slides his hand down to mine, locking our fingers together just to give my hand a gentle squeeze. "C'mon," he says, and, feeling completely brightened, I head inside with my boyfriend.

~ ~ ~

The rest of the night goes by fairly smoothly - mostly because Adam's grandmother seems to take quite a liking to me. I think it's because I lack Adam's quickness to start playful fights. I'm much more of a keep-the-peace-with-new-people kind of guy, and she appreciates it every time I take her side on things (even though it's mostly just to teasingly gang up on Adam). She seems particularly surprised to find that I'm "single", too. First, she asks if I'm married, to which I tell her I'm not. Then, she asks if I have a girlfriend. I hear Adam snickering behind me as I say no again, and she just gives me a baffled look. "But you're so cute!" she says, reaching a flour-coated hand to pinch my cheek. I just blush and laugh.

That's when her husband shows up. My first impression of him is "fisherman" - half because of the rounded head shape, receded hairline, and the scraggly grey beard that completely frames his face, and half because of the giant cod wrapped in paper he's holding. He just has that weathered look of a sailor, like some elderly chap whose first love was the sea. I almost wish he looked like he was scowling to top off the caricature, but he just has a permanent, gentle smile on his lips as he waltzes in and peers at us through his tiny glasses, asking "Did anyone order fishes?"

Considering that eclectic sort of vibe he gave off right off the bat, I would have thought he'd say more at dinner, but he's quieter than I am. It's a bit amusing to see him sitting at the head of the table, smiling like he just got some particularly nice news, eating his fish and rice and bread slowly and carefully. Mrs. Sullivan is clearly the talker of the two, serving as his headstrong, opinionated counterpoint. She's extremely entertaining, has plenty of relevant and humorous anecdotes, and is quick to deflect Adam's charm and jibes with witty retorts. Simon's more like his grandfather only in the sense that he doesn't say much, but everything he says has purpose, which I respect.

They all balance each other well, but what strikes me the most is how much they love each other. It's evident in the looks they give each other, how they anticipate when someone wants extra servings, in the soft, natural expressions of physical contact... It's a very warm environment, so I'm conflicted in my feelings. It's hard being engaged by and privy to this dynamic. I always used to tell Miguel that being around his family, as lovely as they are, always made me anxious as all hell. Even after he died, they still tried to keep in contact with me, still tried to include me, but it never felt right. I don't know if it was just a matter of me feeling like I was unworthy or overstepping, but I always kept my distance from anything with the word "family" attached: family cookouts, family dinners, random, non-holiday excuses to get the family together... It just makes me think of my own family.

What are they doing right now, I wonder? Are my parents sitting around a similar table, chastising my little brother for eating more than his fair share of bread, or my sister for texting at the table? She has probably moved out by now, but some things don't change, and I'm sure she's always on her phone even to this day. Why did she, at least, never reach out to me? And what about my grandparents? Are they even alive still? Nana was quite old. For all I know, she's probably buried six feet deep in that shitty cemetery the rest of her family is in. Hell, *they* all probably think that *I'm* dead, that "the AIDS" got to me. At the lowest points of my addiction, I'm sure I imagined my death via overdose the same way they pictured it: me in some nameless gutter of a perpetually rainy, rat-infested alleyway, body lifeless but soul full of sin.

Their reaction to me coming out is what makes me uncomfortable with families. It still scares me - all of it. I'm scared by how much I like the Sullivans already, scared by how invited they make me feel, and I'm terrified that I'll get too roped into this feeling of inclusivity, that I'll revel too much in the family dynamic, only to have it snatched away from me.

I want to tell this all to Adam, as things wind down for the night and we start getting ready for bed. I'm thinking about it deeply as I brush my teeth in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror, already having changed into sleep shorts and an old t-shirt. It'd be nice to talk it out with Adam, because I'm far too in my head, and I know it. All I'm doing is asking myself one thing: is it too risky to hope that this will all work out for me and that I won't ruin something special?

Someone knocks on the bathroom door, and after I mumble "Come in" mid-brush, I see that it's Adam. He smiles softly as he enters shirtless, only wearing sweatpants and that little gold chain that dangles from his neck at all times.

"Okay, so here's the deal," he says, keeping his voice low. His grandparents are just down the hall and have been asleep for an hour, so we have to keep quiet. "I don't want you sleeping on the couch. I could whip out the air mattress, but honestly? It's super old and extra-super uncomfortable."

I'm grateful he's figuring out a way to avoid me sleeping on the couch, because it's far too small for a grown man to make a bed out of it. I spit into the sink, quickly rinsing the toothpaste out of my mouth. "So...?"

"So," he says, crossing his arms, "just sleep with me."

I stuff my toothbrush back into its Ziploc bag, eyeing him. "You want me to sleep in your tiny ass childhood bed with you?"

"It's not that tiny," he says with a grin.

"We're gonna be on top of each other."

"Since when have you complained about that before?" he asks, looking me up and down.

I just roll my eyes. "Well, what about your grandparents?" I add, gesturing down the hall. "What are they gonna say?"

"They're not gonna say anything," he says, "becaaause, we can set up the air mattress and pretend you slept on it."

I arch my eyebrow, but honestly, I see no fault in that plan - unless, of course, his grandmother is the type to barge in on us in the wee hours of the morning. The last thing I need to do is be caught in the arms of her beloved grandson. We'd have some serious explaining to do. "I guess..." I say hesitantly.

He just laughs as I follow him out of the bathroom, heading to the room he grew up in. It still has hints of boyish high-schooler, including the cheesy movie posters hanging up on his wall and the soccer-ball patterned duvet. It's cute though - and I find it interesting that there isn't a hint of jazz here. It's like I'm getting insight into the old Adam.

We pull out the air mattress from its case, unfolding it and laying it out flat on the floor beside his bed. While I make sure the tape (which is being used to plug a hole at the end of the mattress) is still sticking, Adam attempts to plug the inflator in - but he looks at the plug in confusion. "Where the hell does this go?" he murmurs to himself, and I chuckle. I glance at him as he studies the device before I clear my throat.

"Not to be that guy," I say, scratching my head, "but does your family like me?"

He snorts a bit. "Well my grandma fuckin' loves you," he says, smiling so far. "Simon thinks you're easy-going, which is Simon-talk for 'I like him', and my grandfather doesn't have many opinions, so the jury's still out on him," he adds with a teasing grin towards me. "Why?"

"I just..." I trail off a bit, fidgeting with the end of the mattress.

He pauses with the task at hand, and I can feel his eyes on me. "What's up?"

"I'm just... worried," I say quietly.

"About my grandparents still?"

I shrug a little, looking at him. "I just really want this to work out, you know?" I say. "Us. And I don't want to come in between you and your family, if it comes to that, and then there's the whole family thing, just as a concept, and seeing you guys all together only reminds me of everything I don't have and everything I wish I still had, and then I feel fucking awful for complaining because you lost your parents, and-"

"Hey hey hey," Adam says, dropping the tool and coming over to me when he sees that I'm crying. I realize I said everything very fast, stream-of-consciousness style, vomiting my worries out onto him and getting myself worked up in the process. Now Adam has to console me, which only makes me feel sillier. He comes over to my side of the deflated air mattress, kneels down next to me, and puts his arm around me. "I'm sorry, Teddy, I didn't know this would be so hard for you."

"I'm just being stupid," I say, doing my best to suck in my tears.

"You're not being stupid," he says in a level voice, rubbing my back. "I get it. Family is a sore spot for you. And rightfully so." He leans in and kisses my cheek, and I respond by putting my forehead on his shoulder, letting him hold me. "And as for the other thing... You know I'm in this, right?" he says in my ear. "I'm in it for you, *because* of you."

"But what if your grandparents-"

"We'll figure it out, Teddy," he says insistently. "*I'll* figure it out. I don't want you worrying about this. It's not your fight."

I sigh heavily. "I know," I say - but I'll still feel guilty anyway. Fearing the worst, I'm already wondering, if I had chosen Jackson instead, this would be a nonissue.

I feel him kiss the side of my head before he pulls away. "C'mon," he says, standing up, shutting the lights off, and offering his hand. "Let's just get into bed. Forget the mattress. You need some cuddles."