“Some things can be expressed more subtly.” Trevor put a hand on G.G.’s shoulder as he bent over G.G. to nuzzle his hair, one nice use for his big nose. “My grandma loves her family and takes care of them in a thousand ways they never notice, though I’ve learned to spot them. But,” Trevor paused thoughtfully, “we don’t say what we do to get it back from you. I think that would be fucking fantastic, personally. We adore you. But you aren’t required to adore us the same. Or, if you do, to express it how we do. At least, not how Sky does.”
“Hey,” Sky objected.
G.G. put a hand over the one Trevor had left on his shoulder, lifting it to bring it to his mouth. He held it there, his lips to Trevor’s palm, and then exhaled before moving Trevor’s hand to his throat. He kept it above his collarbone, right where a pet tag might have rested.
“We’ll take turns.” Trevor picked up the previous conversation there, his voice hoarse.
“It’s surprisingly addictive, making G.G. feel good,” Sky observed, clearly enthusiastic about these new weekend plans. “Is this how you feel with us, Trevor? I’d never want to stop.”
“Yeah,” Trevor said lightly. Not lightly. “I don’t.”
Sky went silent for several seconds except for heavier breathing. G.G. tipped his head up. Trevor gave him another nuzzle. To Sky he said, “Only a few more days until I can kiss you again.”
Sky muttered something, probably complaining that Trevor made things difficult for him, which meant he was pleased.
With a sigh for how long it was until the weekend, Trevor took his attention from his incredible subs and glanced over the invitation to the party one final time. In a little bit, he and G.G. would take Ellie on a walk and stop to drop the invitation in Nancy’s mailbox.
Trevor had designed it in the style of the game he’d seen on a t-shirt Bobert had worn more than once, with bushes and trees made of squares and blocks behind an equally block-shaped Ellie. It read,You are invited to a BLOCK party this Saturday! It will be held outdoors in our garden. Attendees are vaxed and masks are welcome! Snacks and drinks will be provided but feel free to bring something.His grandmother had insisted that was important for events like this, as it gave people a chance to bring their own food if they were picky or had food restrictions, and because it allowed people to show off their kitchen skills, even if they didn’t have any.(If there are allergy concerns, knock on our door any time this week to let us know.)was a small postscript at the bottom, and then it listed the time above where Trevor and his grandma had signed it.
Nancy would be worried, but Trevor thought she’d come. It was something to do, and she loved his grandmother, and she probably had more lemon curd to give away. Anyway, she already liked G.G., and Sky and the Princess of Darkness could discuss hair dye.
It was… a very good thought. All of them together in the garden, eating food Trevor had helped make. That said something about him, though he didn’t know what. More than the grandma lifestyle, it made him warm all over. Proud too. Like the whole street was his.
Which was ridiculous.
But he had Sky, and he was close to having G.G. He got to make them beg, and several times now he had been privileged enough to wake up next to them, and that alone was the sort of experience to make him feel like he could have a whole street if he wanted.
Or write and draw a novel.
Or make an awesome lasagna from scratch.
He considered the rush of pride and the stinging pleasure of possessiveness while Sky went back to talking about artichokes with G.G., and his grandma’s voice was quiet but steady from inside the house.
It might have been greedy. Trevor was going to reach for it anyway.
And he didn’t think he’d feel like letting go.
Epilogue
Trevor filled another cup with coffee, mixed in half a teaspoon of honey, and went to get some almond milk to splash into it. The almond milk was a recent addition, but G.G.’s doctor seemed to think G.G. needed something to counter the acid from the coffee and be kinder to his stomach.
G.G. accepted the mug and took a sip without seeming to taste it, sweeping his gaze over the counter over and over again as if worried he’d forgotten something. Trevor nudged the cup back up toward his mouth and then pressed a kiss to his cheek once G.G. seemed to realize it was coffee in front of him and had some more.
Trevor had anticipated nerves from G.G. today and tomorrow, but clearly, he should have remembered the additional pressure G.G. put on himself when cooking or baking for others. Trevor was going to have to redo his plans for tonight, but luckily, he’d already had that revelation after this morning’s incident and he had plenty of time for revision.
Well, notplentyof time. He was assisting G.G. in the kitchen now, and then going over to his grandma’s to help her prep the dishes that would get made tomorrow morning to bring to Thanksgiving dinner at his parents’ house. ‘Help,’ in this instance, meaning to do most of the work under her supervision. His grandma had insisted the year before had been training only. This year, Trevor had to do it himself.
There wassomeanxiety making Trevor’s stomach churn, but didn’t think he was nearly as tightly wound as G.G. right now at the thought of something turning out slightly less than perfect.
Trevor allowed G.G. a few moments of peace with his sweetened coffee, then gave him another kiss and took the mug away.
The counter was already partially wrecked. That was from the no-yeast cinnamon rolls he and G.G. had made for breakfast and all-day snacking. The island behind them was full of apples and rolls of parchment paper and backup bags of flour—in case G.G. wasn’t satisfied with his baking results and wanted to remake something.
Trevor had told him he was allowed one do-over if he truly felt it was necessary but he wasn’t allowed to stress himself out over this. He’d met Trevor’s family before. As a friend, but he’d met them. Several times now, in fact. Though Trevor suspected his siblings had figured out G.G. was more than that, and his parents probably would as well now that Trevor was bringing him to all the family events.
To G.G., this meant needing to offer them his best, more than his best. As if G.G.’s best wasn’t a hundred times better than most people’s. G.G. had assured Trevor this was normal for him and what he did for his own family’s Thanksgiving.
Trevor thought it was overkill to prepare two desserts for people who would only make G.G. watch football and then send him home with his barely touched, or untouched, desserts because they were “Too rich” or “We’re all stuffed with pie.” Which apparently G.G.’s family regularly did. But this year, this year and every year from now on if Trevor had his way, G.G. wouldn’t be with his relatives. He was going to be with Trevor’s family. And if Trevor’s family decided to be dicks, then G.G. would be here with him and their little family.
