“She was nineteen when she had me. Married to a man who worked ninety hours a week. She said she was star struck by my father and his money and position. Then they tried reconciling a few years ago. She said he just wanted her half of the business.” I told him about my uncle.
“That explains her being okay with your being gay.” He was smiling, but the way he pushed his French fries around the plate, I knew the smile was for show.
Looking down at my plate of lasagna, I felt queasy. “Which of us is going to address the elephant in the room?”
“Which one? I see a dozen elephants.”
I picked the first one to come. “We can still…”
“There it is.” He shoved his plate away roughly and picked up his phone. I blocked his screen with my hand.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Be angry you’re breaking up with me? Think I’m going to beg you, Austin?”
“I’m not breaking up with you. I— Jesus Christ, I found out an hour ago that I have a six-year-old brother and ten minutes after that I was getting custody. Can you cut me some slack if I don’t want you to feel obligated to—”
“I don’t feel obligated to be with you, Austin Glass. How many times do I have to say it, you fucking moron!”
The hush that fell over the restaurant had me looking sideways and lowering my voice. “You’re twenty years old. I can’t expect you to be prepared to raise a six-year-old boy with me.”
“Yes, absolutely. Because my track record proves that I have a problem parenting, and I so dislike the idea of children altogether. By any chance was that degree you keep bragging about honorary?”
“Touché and ouch.”
“You can break up with me because you think we won’t last and you don’t want to subject a six-year-old to that. Or you can break up with me because you can’t handle being gay and raising a six-year-old. Or that you can’t handle a relationship at all. But don’t blame me! I’m twenty, Austin, but I’ve lived more in my twenty years than you have in your thirty.”
“Twenty-six! I’m twenty-fucking-six.”
“You’re exhausting me. I’m worn out fighting for this relationship. You need to fight for it. It’s your turn.”
“I worry we won’t last, and I have no idea what being gay means or raising a kid or if two men can do it—or should. I feel selfish for even thinking of trying to make a relationship work with all that.”
He looked everywhere but at me. Then he pulled his fingernails into his palms and stared at his fists. “Be selfish, Austin. That’s the only begging I can do. Be selfish.”
There was a stutter of my breath as my heart sped up. The noise around us seemed to dim as I asked the one question that was vital to my decision. “Can you tell me you love me, Peter?”
He spread his fingers. His hands shook so hard they drummed against the table, vibrating the silverware. “Do you think I’d be this terrified if I didn’t?”
I put my hands over his. It wasn’t much of a help, mine were shaking just as much. “Wanna raise a six-year-old with me?”
He exhaled slowly, each second marked by the tick in his breath. “I think I owe it to humanity to undo whatever influence you have on him.”
“Hey, Peter Rabbit.”
“What?” He looked up, his hands flipping to take mine.
“Don’t you want to ask?”
“If you’re ready for anal?”
Maybe we would make it after all.
Epilogue
Ass Hair Spawns the Weirdest Discussions
Peter sat on the bed, leaning back on his hands provocatively. I ignored him as best I could. I needed to get out of the house, and sometimes that wasn’t feasible when Peter looked like he did. “I can do it for you really fast before you go,” he offered when I turned my back.
“No you can’t.”
“I’ve done it before.”
“No. You shaved half of my ass before. Then you buried your tongue in it for twenty minutes and your cock for another half hour. After that, you fell asleep. I walked around with ass itch for a week from having stubble on one side and hair on the other.”
He bit his lip which did nothing to hide the grin. “You weren’t complaining at the time.”
I finished buttoning my shirt and began tucking it in. I was doing my best not to focus on his lips or the way his jeans molded against his legs. “Your ‘come hither’ thing,” I pointed at the way he’d leaned back on his elbows and spread his thighs, “isn’t going to work.”
“No?”
Yes. “No.”