Bi-Partisan, page 20
“Yeah?” I say, chuckling slightly as I comb my fingers through his hair.
“That was really hot.” His lips graze my shoulder. “Although, now I definitely need a shower.”
“You need a shower?” I say, a little incredulously.
He lifts his head to give me a questioning look, then lowers his gaze to my chest and laughs. “I’ll go get the water started.”
Smile softening, he brushes his lips on my forehead. Then he rolls off me and heads across the living area to the bathroom, leaving me to bask in the warm afterglow for a few more minutes before I need to get up and follow him.
Chapter 22
Jamie
Song: Home – Good Neighbours
Adrian is silent the entire drive to my childhood home for breakfast. He hasn’t said anything, but I know his anxiety is through the roof. I can practically feel it radiating off him in waves. He practically woke up like that, and I hate that there isn’t much I can do for him to make it better. I’ve tried, of course—pulled him into the shower with me to try to get him out of his head, made him a cup of chamomile tea, asked if talking would help. And while he appreciated all of it, it didn’t seem to do that much to ease the hard set of his jaw or the little crease right between his eyebrows.
But honestly, I don’t know that I’m doing much better. I don’t remember being this nervous when I introduced my last significant other to my parents, but I also wasn’t dating a guy. My parents were supportive when I came out to them, of course. I’d been more worried about how they felt about the article than anything else. But knowing your son is bisexual in theory and meeting his same gendered partner are two different things.
I pull into the driveway and park behind the white pick up truck my dad has driven for as long as I can remember. Cutting off the engine, I turn to Adrian and smile gently. “Ready, darlin’?”
He takes a deep breath, staring at the house, and nods once.
“Hey,” I say, putting my hand on top of his clenched fist. I gently pry it open so we can lace our fingers together. “Look at me.”
With a sigh, he turns his head.
“They’re gonna adore you,” I tell him.
“How do you know?”
“Because there’s nothing about you not to like,” I say, smiling gently.
He scoffs.
“Would I lie?”
He raises an eyebrow, as if to say, “You’re a politician,” or “you literally lied to your parents and the entire internet about us dating.” And, okay, yes, he has a point, but I roll my eyes anyway.
“Fine, I’ll rephrase: would I lie to you?”
He takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “No, I don’t think you would.”
“Correct,” I say with a gentle smile. “They’re going to love you, okay? And I won’t leave your side, I promise. And if you get overwhelmed, I’ll use showing you my childhood bedroom as an excuse for you to duck out.”
He nods and offers a tentative smile. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“Are you okay?” he asks, squeezing my hand.
Just the fact that he asks already has some of the tension leaving my body. “I’m a little nervous, but I’m also excited.”
With my free hand, I cup his chin and lean in to give him a chaste, but lingering kiss on the lips. When I pull away, his eyes dart to the front porch, and his cheeks go pink.
“My mom is standing on the porch, isn’t she?” I say dryly.
“If your mom has blue hair and wears what looks like long kimonos, then yes,” he says with a grimace.
“Blue hair?” I whip my head toward the house to find my mother standing on the porch.
She’s wearing a floral kimono over a T-shirt and leggings, and sure enough, her usually gray hair is tinted blue. She waves, and I smile and unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Come on.” I squeeze his hand one more time before climbing out of the car. “Hey Mom,” I shout as I wait for Adrian.
“Hey, baby,” she shouts back.
As he rounds the hood of the car, I hold my hand out to him, then lead him up to the porch.
“How was the drive down yesterday?” my mom asks as she gives me a one armed hug since I’m still holding Adrian’s hand.
“Good. We hit some traffic coming out of the city, but what else is new?” I say with a laugh. Then I look at Adrian with a soft smile. “Mom, this is Adrian. Adrian, this is my mom, Shelia.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, sticking his free hand out to shake.
“Oh, none of that,” she says, waving off his hand. She holds out her arms. “I’m sure Jamie’s told you we’re a hugging family.”
I smile at him encouragingly, then let go of his hand so he can step into her hug. He bends slightly to tentatively wrap his arms around her shoulders as she hooks her chin over his shoulder and squeezes him tight.
“It’s so good to finally meet you, sweetheart. Jamie’s told us all about you,” she says warmly. She pats his back once, then lets him go with a grin. “Well, come on in. We’ve got coffee and mimosas, and Dad’s making eggs and bacon.”
“Mimosas? Really, Mom, it’s 9:30 a.m. on a Friday.” I laugh and rest a hand on Adrian’s lower back to guide him inside after my mom.
She scoffs and waves a hand dismissively. “What? Your dad is still on summer break, I have the day off, and you’re on vacation. Besides, it’s not every day my only child brings home his boyfriend for a visit,” she says before heading down the hall toward the kitchen and shouting after my dad. “Paul, the boys are here!”
I chuckle again and kick off my shoes onto the mat by the front door. I watch as Adrian follows suit, then hold out my hand for him.
He lets out a sharp exhale and forces his shoulders to relax. Then he slips his hand into mine. “I’m okay,” he murmurs, answering the question I hadn’t asked aloud.
I nod, then we follow my mom toward the kitchen. Bluegrass music plays faintly from the smart home speaker on the kitchen island, where my mom is arranging fruit on a platter. My dad stands at the stove, flipping bacon on a massive cast iron skillet.
“Hey Dad.”
“Give me a second to finish flipping this bacon, and I’ll come give you a hug. Mimosas are on the island,” he says over his shoulder.
“Okay.” I drop Adrian’s hand and reach for the pitcher and glasses on the counter because I am technically on vacation, so why not? I pour myself a drink, then glance over my shoulder at Adrian. “You want one, darlin’?”
“Uh, sure,” he says. “Thanks.”
I pour him a glass and hand it to him just as my dad turns away from the stove.
He rounds the island and gives me a hug. “Hey, kiddo.”
When we part, I turn and gesture at Adrian. “This is Adrian.”
“Paul,” my dad says as he sticks out his hand.
Adrian takes it and shakes. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too. Jamie hasn’t been able to stop talking about you.”
“Dad,” I say in warning as I watch Adrian’s cheeks go a little pink.
My dad holds his hands up defensively. “What? You haven’t.”
“Ignore him, please,” I murmur. “So, Mom, is there a story to go with the blue hair?” I ask, trying to take the attention off Adrian.
She heaves a heavy sigh. “It wasn’t supposed to be blue.”
“What color was it supposed to be?” Adrian asks, stealing the question right out of my mouth.
“Purple—and before you ask, no, I don’t know what happened, and neither does my hair dresser,” she replies.
“Well, it looks cool,” I say before taking a sip of my mimosa.
“That’s what I told her,” my dad says as he turns his attention back to the bacon.
“So, what are y’all getting up to over the next few days?” my mom asks.
“Well, I’m taking Adrian around the capitol building today, and tomorrow we’re going to the flea market. We might do the natural science museum on Sunday,” I rattle off. “Oh, at some point, we’re getting barbecue because he’s never had Carolina barbecue before, which is a travesty.”
“What?” my parents say dramatically and in unison.
“I probably did when we were stationed here, I just don’t remember it,” Adrian says defensively.
“I’m just teasing you, darlin’,” I say, sliding my arm around his waist as I press a quick kiss to his cheek.
“Well, you’re in for a treat,” my dad says over his shoulder. “North Carolina has the best pulled pork in the country.”
Adrian is tense for a moment, but then he relaxes and drapes his arm around my shoulder. “That’s what Jamie says.”
After that, we slip into easy conversation about the merits of Carolina barbecue versus the rest of the country and the list of sights I should try to take Adrian to while he’s here. Thankfully, my parents don’t bombard him with questions like his did with me—probably because I have, in fact, talked about him a fair bit. By the time we’re done with breakfast and it’s time for us to leave, his anxiety seems to have almost completely dissipated, which I can’t help being completely giddy about. My parents also seem to adore him exactly like I predicted, which also has me on cloud nine.
“Don’t forget to get the name of that crochet blog from your friend,” my mom tells him as we’re saying our goodbyes on our front porch.
Unsurprisingly, the conversation had at some point moved to crafts, during which he mentioned Sophie’s obsession with crochet stuffed animals. My mother absolutely doesn’t need another hobby, but that doesn’t stop me from loving that they found something to at least tangentially bond over.
“I’ll have Jamie text it to you,” he promises as he hugs her goodbye.
“I’ll see y’all next week,” I tell my parents as I hug them, since I’ll be staying behind even after Adrian leaves on Tuesday.
“Bye, kiddo. Love you,” my dad says.
After one last round of goodbyes, we climb into the car.
“Your parents are nice,” he says as we pull out of the driveway.
I hum in acknowledgement, then, the second I turn off their street, I pull over to the side and put the car in park.
“What—is everything okay?”
I pivot in my seat and nod once before reaching over the console, sliding my hand into his hair, and pulling him into a hard kiss. He gasps, but then sinks into it with a soft moan. Our tongues tangle for a few seconds before I pull away, chest heaving slightly.
“Sorry, I’ve just been wanting to kiss you for, like, the last hour and a half,” I say, a little sheepishly.
His cheeks go pink, and he lets out a breathy laugh. “So I guess you think that went well, then?”
“So well. They loved you, darlin’,” I say earnestly.
“Do you really think so?” he asks.
I smile and kiss him again, this time more sweetly. “I know so.”
Chapter 23
Adrian
Song: Belong Together – Mark Ambor
“And here we are,” Jamie says, excitement plain in his voice as he turns into a massive gated parking lot. He glances over at me, lifting his sunglasses onto the top of his head, before chuckling. “What’s that face, darlin’?”
“This is huge,” I say as I take in the number of parked cars, tables, and tents we pass on our way deeper into the lot. When he said he was taking me to a flea market, I imagined something smaller—much smaller. Something more like a glorified yard sale.
“I told you it was at the fairgrounds,” he points out.
“Yeah, but they do this every weekend?”
“Yup. Sometimes the flea market part of it is smaller, especially when there’s another event going on—like the Christmas artisan fair—but rain or shine, the flea market is open Saturday and Sunday every week,” he explains. “This is the busiest I’ve seen it in a while, though. So help me keep an eye out for a parking spot.”
I nod and turn my attention out the window. “So you and your parents really do come here a lot? The Montgomery Saturday morning tradition thing wasn’t an exaggeration?”
“Yeah, we do—well, more me and my mom than the whole family. It started mostly because my mom likes to shop at the local artisan market in the building we passed on the way in. You’ve seen their house now and can see how much she loves crafts,” he says. Then he perks up and exclaims, “Oh, spot! Score.”
He’s right about that. His parent’s house reminded me a lot of his two apartments—full of life and color. Except in his parent’s house, at least half the art, blankets, or throw pillows were handmade by Shelia, and spare craft supplies sat on surfaces instead of the newspapers and books that cover Jamie’s places.
“So when did the flea market part come in?” I ask as he pulls into the parking space.
“I don’t quite remember, but apparently as a kid, I was always fascinated with antiques or vintage things. And now, it’s just sort of stuck.” He puts the car in park and cuts the ignition. “Can you reach behind my seat and get the windshield sun reflector?”
“Sure,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt to better be able to reach it. “And why vintage things?”
“I think it’s because they have a story. I may not know what it is, but they’ve seen things, been places, meant something to someone at some point or another.” He unfurls the reflector and puts it in place. “Ready?”
I nod, and we climb out of the car, meeting around the trunk.
“That probably sounds a little weird, but I don’t know. I guess I just think old stuff is cooler than new stuff.” He shrugs.
“I don’t think it sounds weird at all,” I say, taking his hand.
“Really?” He laces our fingers together and swings our hands between us a little as we walk.
“No, I kind of get it, actually. I never really thought about it until now, but I think I enjoy buying used books or records for a similar reason.” I hesitate for a moment, wondering how much I should give away, but press on. He’s giving a peek into a side of his life close to his heart by bringing me to his home. I can at least attempt to do the same.
“I like reading the notes people left behind in the margins and seeing how well-worn the vinyl sleeve is. It makes me feel connected to whoever had it before me, even though I don’t know the person. I didn’t have a lot of that growing up.”
He squeezes my hand then lifts it to his mouth to press a kiss to my knuckle—a silent acknowledgement without asking for me to say anymore, which I appreciate. “So, then what sort of weird, unnecessary thing for your apartment should we be on the lookout for?”
“I don’t remember actually agreeing to this quest,” I say.
“You didn’t disagree, either, though,” he counters.
“True, but that’s because you jumped my bones before I had the chance.”
“I had my gorgeous veterinarian boyfriend in my hometown apartment. Can you blame me?” He flashes me a grin. “Besides, you didn’t seem to mind.”
“That I did not,” I admit.
“So, weird flea market find?” he asks again as we pass a table full of antique arrowheads and cannonball fragments. “Come on, it’s just like a used book—a connection, just one that doesn’t serve a purpose.”
“What’s wrong with something serving a purpose? Without a purpose, it’s just something that sits on a shelf and wastes space,” I argue.
“Takes up space, not wastes it,” he says pointedly. “Things are allowed to take up space. You’re allowed to take up space.”
Well, fuck. I didn’t wake up this morning expecting my boyfriend to drop deep character assessments on me, but here we are. I feel a sudden lump in my throat that I quickly swallow past. Then I stop and pull him out of the way of the main foot traffic pattern. I move so I’m facing him and stare at him for a moment.
“Everything alright? Was that too much for me to say?” he asks tentatively.
I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t too much. Although, everything is not alright because I really want to kiss you in a way that is probably not suitable for the public. Or for the South.”
He laughs, a little breathlessly. “No, probably not.”
I smile softly and nod. “Thank you, though.”
“You’re welcome.”
Taking a deep breath, I turn and scan the parking lot full of tables and tents.
“Would you like to start with looking at vinyls?” he asks. “There are a few booths that are usually here and have—well, I was going to say good collections, but I don’t actually know that since I know nothing about vinyl. But they have a lot.”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I say and let him lead me toward a tent with at least six tables of boxes full of vinyls.
Although I could probably spend hours sorting through records, just like I do at almost any bookstore, I try to be quick. We spend about forty minutes looking through boxes at a few different booths, and I manage to find three albums I remember listening to a lot as a kid but don’t have yet.
“Now what?” he asks as I tuck my last purchase in the reusable bag he’d tucked into his pocket ‘just in case.’
“I don’t know. This was your idea, not mine,” I say.
He rolls his eyes and takes my hand again. “Fine, we’re just going to walk around until something catches your eye then.”
We weave our way through a few rows, and while a lot catches my eye, it’s mostly because there are some truly bizarre things on these tables. Creepy dolls, unidentifiable paintings, and weird lamps. But then we turn to go down the next row, and I spot a small metal object on the corner of a table filled with mostly dishes and serving ware.
Almost immediately, Jamie picks up on it. “Find something?”
“Maybe,” I admit, taking a step closer.
He lets go of my hand, and I pick the object up. It looks vaguely like a candlestick, which explains why it’s on this table. But as I turn it over, and notice the bell shape of one end, I realize it’s exactly what I suspected.
