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It’s Christmas eve. Naim’s present to his mother will be their first face to face conversation in almost five years. Naim wakes up bathed in the cold reality of what he’s about to do and wishes he could sleep for another 1,000 years.
“You don’t have to do this, ya know,” comes a sleepy voice from the other side of the bed.
Naim rolls over to face Ryan. Early morning light streams through the curtains. Their bed is big and much more comfortable than it’s ever been, with a thick grey duvet and sheets that don’t scratch and pull their hair. He rubs the sleep from his eyes.
“I know.”
“Hmm. Okay,” Ryan mumbles. Naim drinks it in the sight; Ryan shirtless, golden curls mussed from sleep, wrapped up in a sheet and smiling through half slitted eyes. The gravitational pull of his broad, muscular chest calls to Naim. He wiggles closer and rolls halfway on top of him. Ryan opens his eyes completely. He reaches out to muss Naim’s hair.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Naim smiles, leaning forward. He presses light kisses along Ryan’s neck, trailing down his collarbone. He indulges in the planes of Ryan’s chest- the curve of his pecs and ribs, the slopes of his ab muscles, only grown larger and more defined with age. Naim’s very lucky. He’s so hot Naim wants to chew on him. He scrapes his bottom teeth against the edge of Ryan’s jaw, catching on the slightest hint of stubble, and is rewarded with a breathy sigh.
“Happy this morning?”
“Need a distraction this morning,” Naim corrects, voice scratchy with sleep. He needed a distraction last night too, and Ryan had happily obliged. He pinned Naim’s hands above his head and fucked him so hard and deep Naim could feel him in his ribcage, up his throat. He stayed inside as Naim cried in overstimulation and then in relief, pressing kisses to his neck and face until his tears dried. Naim’s head was blissfully empty until they slept, but he’s awake now, thrumming with anxiety, and he needs Ryan to make it go away.
“Oh, okay,” Ryan says happily. “I can do that.” He tangles his fingers in Naim’s hair and pulls him in for a filthy kiss.
Naim tries to roll them over, pull Ryan’s protective bulk over his body, and it is met with unusual resistance. Ryan pulls him directly on top, slotting their hips together. Naim braces both hands on his chest and pushes himself up. He debates struggling.
“Nah.” Ryan says, reading his mind. He slots his thigh between Naim’s open legs and grabs his thighs to pull him fully upright. “I’m relaxed like this, I think I’ll watch you this morning.”
Naim already woke up with morning wood, but the implication stirs something hot in his belly. “Watch me do what?”
“Watch you come all over me. Come on, get it out,” says Ryan, and then, even softer, “Please?”
Naim has no other choice than to oblige. Naim scoots closer, pulling his boxers low enough to free himself, hard cock dragging across the dip in between Ryan’s thigh and groin. Ryan slides his fingertips up the edges of Naim’s boxers, pushing them up slightly over the swell of his ass, kneading the muscle there. He’s still sore deep inside, but the attention feels nice, and Naim allows himself to be fondled by Ryan’s gentle touch. He lets out a breathy moan. Ryan beams at him.
“That’s it, rub against me like this.”
Naim starts to rut against Ryan’s thigh. Even the slowest friction is delicious, whimpers falling from his lips with every jolt forward. Ryan shifts his pelvis up, giving him more traction.
“Take what you need, dove,” Ryan whispers. Both of his big hands bear down on his hips, pulling him forward on his leg with Naim’s thrusts. The muscles of his arms contract with his movements. Naim reaches for Ryan’s cock, hard and straining inside the confines of his boxer briefs, but Ryan knocks his hand away.
“Later,” Ryan explains. “This is for you.”
Naim can’t help but moan at his words. He braces both of his hands against the abs of Ryan’s lower abdomen and moves faster. Ryan releases his hips. He pushes up Naim's shirt, groping his chest. Naim moans wantonly when he thumbs over his nipples, pressing down, pinching gently. Ryan grins up at him sweetly, not nearly done tormenting him.
“Sensitive lil dove.”
“Shut up, cunt,” Naim forces out, no heat in his voice. He leans forward to give Ryan more access. Ryan slides his shirt the rest of the way off and doubles his efforts. Naim’s chest aches when touched, his nipples still raw and puffy from last night, but Ryan said he was a good boy who could take it, so he does. He twitches and whimpers on Ryan’s lap. At least he’s not using his mouth. Naim would come too soon.
Years ago, he would probably be too embarrassed to rub against Ryan’s leg like an animal, or let him give so much attention to his chest, but here he is, trying his hardest to come against Ryan’s thigh, hips stuttering erratically. He can’t get enough friction. A frustrated little sound escapes him. He gropes for Ryan’s cock again, who lifts up to allow Naim to slide his boxers down. Naim grasps his cock with both hands like a lifeline.
Ryan takes pity on him. “Come up here, baby.” He holds his hand out. “Spit.”
Naim obediently lets saliva drip from his tongue and abandons Ryan’s thigh to straddle his lap. Ryan’s neglected cock is heavy and thick, pulsing and flushed pink against Naim’s palm.
“Turned on, huh?” Naim says, utterly breathless.
“Got jokes, do you?” Ryan says. He squeezes Naim’s thigh in retaliation. Ryan takes both of their cocks in one hand, stroking them fervently, and Naim can’t think of a single joke at all. He stares down at Ryan’s beautiful face contorted in pleasure and allows himself to just feel. It doesn’t take long. Naim's orgasm hits first, nails digging into Ryan’s sides, mouth open through a litany of moans. Ryan follows soon after, loudly gasping Naim’s name.
Come is splattered across Ryan’s stomach. Naim stares at it, panting heavily with the force of his orgasm. Ryan tilts his chin up. With the other hand he scoops the come off his chest, coating his fingers.
“You know,” he says. His eyes are soft blue steel. He's smiling as he holds the mess up to Naim’s lips.
Naim’s head feels soft and fuzzy as he opens his mouth. He takes Ryan’s hand in his own, slowly licking their come off. When it’s all gone, Ryan pulls him down to his chest and presses a firm kiss on his forehead. Naim wraps his fingers into Ryan’s curls, sighing, indulging in the safety of Ryan’s neck.
“I love you,” Naim mumbles. Ryan kisses the top of his head. He scratches his fingernails lazily down Naim’s back.
“You too, but we should get up, yeah?”
“In a minute.”
Ryan pinches him on the arm. “30 seconds.”
The hazy afterglow of a good morning fuck doesn’t last long. After a quick shower, Naim stands in front of their open closet, not seeing a single thing.
“I don’t think it matters what you wear,” Ryan calls from the bathroom. “Just put anything on.”
He’s right, it doesn’t matter, but the lapping waves of Naim’s insecurity have started to climb. What if she no longer recognizes him? What if she finds him repulsive somehow, now that he’s changed, not the timid young boy he was and instead a slightly more confident young man? She’s traveling hours and hours away from Bandee to a suburb of Adelaide just to see him for a coffee. She definitely won’t think he’s worth all the trouble.
He settles on a white shirt and baggy green cargos, white vans, and a thick silver chain around his neck. Ryan joins him shortly, throwing on a tight tank and black jeans. Naim fights the urge to reach for him again, bury his face in his chest and forgo this entire thing. Something seizes in his chest. He sits down on the bed and remembers the look of cold apathy in his mothers eyes when he was captured and manhandled to his knees by two grown men, face pinched in an iron grip, eyelids forced open to stare into a flame.
He had thrown up after the ritual, become nothing more than a curled up, broken mess on the floor. She had been kind and doting then, cleaning his vomit and helping him into bed.
“What are you thinking about?” Ryan asks him softly. Naim can’t answer.
Naim doesn’t talk as Ryan forces him to eat a banana and granola bar. He doesn’t talk on the bus ride either, or the walk over. When they stand across the street from the coffee shop Arlene is waiting in, Naim isn’t sure he’s ever going to be able to speak again.
“You look like you’re going to cry already,” Ryan says. “You can do this.”
Naim sniffs. He wills his vocal cords to work and comes up dry.
Ryan rubs his back. Naim can feel his callouses through the thinness of his shirt. “I know, I know. You don’t have to do this. But if you want to, I know you can do it.”
Naim nods. She’s already waiting there for him. She can probably see him from the window right now. He’s been too afraid to look.
“Say something for me, dove.”
Naim forces himself to look at Ryan. His eyes shine with concern.
“Hey,” he says.
“There we go,” Ryan says. He rewards him with a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be waiting outside. Okay?”
Naim nods. “Yeah, okay,” he whispers. “Thank you.”
Ryan takes his face in both hands. “You’re all right, Naim. It’s alright. Say it back.”
Naim stares at Ryan and almost believes it. “It’s all right,” he repeats. He might throw up.
“That’s it.” Ryan kisses his right eyelid, then the left. “Love you so fuckin’ much. I’ll be waiting right here for you.”
The café is mostly empty, sans Arlene seated in a cracked red leather booth. His mother looks exactly the same. High short sleeve turtleneck, smart blonde bob, mouth pressed in a thin, sharp line. There are more wrinkles across her forehead, a permanent fixture, Naim thinks, since his father died. He’s grateful she’s sitting. He’s not sure if he can hug her right now. He wrings his shaking hands, sliding into the narrow booth across from her.
“Well. I’ve known where you are this entire time,” she says in lieu of greeting. “I mean, I’ve been paying your phone bill for years.”
Naim swallows. “Yeah.” Thank you is stuck on his tongue like lead.
“I just figured that if I did, maybe you would contact me one day. And if the phone company let me know where you were, then at least I knew you were alive,” she continues. There are tears in her eyes. Naim wills himself to hold on longer. He frantically picks his cuticles under the table. There is a ball of congestion already forming in the back of his throat.
“Yeah, I figured,” Naim whispers. He should ask her about her flight, what hotel she’s staying at, but those words are stuck too.
“Well…it’s good to see you.”
“You too,” Naim says. How many times did he long for his mother, especially when things got bad? When he and Ryan were homeless, and he was sick, tired, hungry? When he wanted to be driven around in her car instead of waiting in line for a bus? When all he wanted was to lay on her floor and hear her snores at night, wake up and have coffee and toast on a Saturday morning? When he wanted to smell her perfume at the end of every day and hug her tight? When he wanted to share a cool video or tell her he made a friend? She used to kiss him on the forehead. She used to take him to the mall and buy him skateboards. She used to stockpile Disney band-aids for his skinned knees and grade his homework in a bright pink crayon. She used to turn on the radio and sing top 40’s jams on road trips and pull olives off of pizza and buy him the expensive plush crew socks he liked wearing in gym class. She used to. She used to.
Before his dad died, they used to be so, so close. Naim wipes away a tear.
“Well,” she says, gesturing between them. She’s cradling a steaming mug, tea or something, Naim can’t smell it. “What have you been up to?”
“Um.” Naim isn’t sure where to start. Consolidating years into sentences seems impossible. “I’m in uni and work part time at a store.”
“Uni? That’s great. Studying what?”
“Interior design.” A waiter approaches them and Naim shakes his head. The idea of coffee alone is turning his stomach. He picks at the corner of the vinyl countertop.
“Design?” Her brows furrow. “Like, decorating and picking out paint colors and pillows and things?”
“No, that’s interior decorating,” he says. He’s very used to being asked this question. “Interior Design is like architecture. The internal design of buildings. Floor plans and everything. Building materials.”
“Drawing floodplans?” She smiles faintly. “You’ve always been good at drawing.”
“We use CAD software and stuff but, yeah.”
“Sounds interesting. How do you um, pay for it?” Arlene asks, taking a tiny sip.
“I got a partial scholarship for um, students in hardship,” he says. “Ryan pays for the rest. He’s got a good tradie job now, welding and stuff at a body and machine shop. We don’t have money for like, extra stuff or whatever, but it’s starting to pay enough for tuition, since we still get government housing help.”
“Ryan,” she says, testing the name in her mouth. She stares into her mug. “That’s nice of him.”
Nice doesn’t begin to cover it. Ryan, so determined to put a roof over their heads and pay for Naim’s education. Naim’s part time job pays for their bus fare and some groceries, but Ryan doesn’t let him pay for much else. He doesn’t deserve it, how giving and loving Ryan is, but he appreciates it with a depth that’s settled into his bones, interred forever.
“Yeah, it’s really nice.”
“So, Ryan, still.”
Naim swallows, nods. She purses her lips.
“You made some other friends here?”
Naim clears his throat. “Yeah, a few. Some from school and Ryan’s work.”
He wonders what he looks like to her. Same overly baggy clothes, same height, same haircut. He has the ability to grow facial hair now, but he shaved this morning. He’s finally gotten to a healthy weight after so many years of teetering the line of malnutrition. The biggest difference, Naim supposes, is the chipped black nail polish on his fingers, accented by all of his rings. He doubts she likes that. He tries not to care.
Arlene stares at his ring finger. She reaches out and grabs his left hand before he can snatch it back. A thick silver band surrounds it, two little flat embezzled lab grown diamonds in the center. Ryan had saved up for it for a long, long time, dollar by dollar, pretty much immediately after he sleepily proposed when they were freshly 18, scared and cold and broke and starving.
She gasps in horror. Her teacup rattles in its saucer. “Naim, you’re barely 21 years old. Please tell me that’s just for show.”
Indignation rises in Naim’s throat, sticky and hot.
“For show? We got married. I’ve loved him since I was 17. Mum, that’s five years. It’s not some random decision.”
“MARRIED!? When did this happen?”
“Not long ago, I guess, but-”
She’s not listening. Her mouth is twisted into a hard line. “Why on earth would you marry so young?”
“Mhhh, wonder why?” Naim fires back. “A couple reasons. Because even if we wanted to, we can’t break up? This thing bonds us together. Ryan’s also a welder now, which is a pretty dangerous job, we wanted to make sure we are like, legally protected in case something happens to him, and get life insurance and all of that.”
“But-“ she tries to interrupt. Naim keeps going.
“Also, I love him, Mum. I was happy as his boyfriend and I’m even happier as his husband. It’s not a big deal. It’s a piece of paper and some rings.”
She stares at him as if she’s never seen him before. It might cut deeper than the years of silence.
“Married,” she repeats.
“Yeah.”
“You’re a child.”
“Not anymore,” Naim says. Not since he left Bandee. Not since before the ritual. "I'm 21."
"21 is still a child," she continues. “So, you two are really married.”
“As I said,” Naim tells her. She’s quiet for a long time.
“Well, I’m glad he managed to forgive you,” she says eventually. Her nose scrunches like she’s smelling something unpleasant. “Married. Wow.”
“What?” Naim says stupidly. His mouth is desert dry.
“I guess I didn’t think he would want to stay with you, knowing what you did.”
Naim wishes his mother would pull out a fucking gun and shoot him, maybe, it would probably hurt less. A hot, sick tidal wave of shame rolls through his body. His ears are filled with static. His eyes brim with tears. “What I did to him?” Naim whispers. “The deliverance healer wasn’t like, my idea. It was the preacher, it was his parents.” He swallows. He can still see the flame. “It was you.”
“Telling Hunter's parents was your decision though, wasn’t it?”
He wishes he wore a hoodie, wiping his eyes and nose on his bare wrist isn’t working. He swallows the sob in his throat.
“So what, you don't think I’m…” he stumbles. No contact with his mother in almost 5 years, but she’s able to pinpoint his deepest insecurities with laser precision. He knows he’s not actually worthy of Ryan, of course he isn’t, he never has been and he never will be. Somehow Ryan doesn’t see it, doesn’t or can’t, and Naim benefits from his benevolence, he does, but he knows the truth. He’s not worthy. He can’t be. Ryan’s plenty young enough to fire an easy divorce petition at the local office and find someone much, much less complicated. Naim never forgets that. “Forgivable?”
Five minutes with his mother, she can see how unworthy he is too.
“Of course you are, Naim,” she says gently.
“Then why the fuck would you say that?”
“It was just a statement, Naim. You bring all your baggage with you into marriage. I wasn’t trying to make you upset. Resentment kills even healthy marriages.”
Naim picks a chunk of cuticle off his thumb so forcefully he feels blood roll down his finger.
“No one should start a marriage on a shaky foundation, that’s all I was saying.”
“Okay.”
“Where is your fathers ring,” Arlene asks, voice high with panic. Naim is sure she already knows.
“On Ryan’s finger.”
She puts a hand over her mouth. “You can’t just give something like that away.”
“Yeah I can! Dad died and instead of grieving you moved us to the middle of fucking nowhere. It’s mine and I did with it what I wanted, which was to give it to the person who, like, actually loves and takes care of me.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah,” Naim whispers.
“That ring belongs in the family.”
“Ryan is my family.”
“I’m still your family,” she says in a small voice.
“Family? Family doesn’t do what you did.” His vision is hazy, he tries to blink the moisture away. “You have no idea what the thing did to us… wanted to do to us. What it tried to do to me, like, multiple times,” Naim says. Sometimes, he can still feel phantom hands pulling at his belt, turning him over, smashing his face into walls, clawing at his hips. Fingers so deep in his throat they scratched his esophagus until he vomited blood. He sniffles. “Fucked up shit, Mum. So much of it.”
She reaches out to grab his hand. Naim doesn’t pull away. Tears fall for real now, hot and sticky, rolling down both his cheeks. “Mom, how could you do that to me?”
“I thought it would protect you, keep you away from things that can hurt you,” she whispers.
“Ryan’s never hurt me,” Naim says. He extracts his hand. Ryan doesn’t even raise his voice. His touch is always gentle, always there, loving Naim, steadying him with a hand on his back and kiss on his cheek. Ryan is always taking care of Naim: wiping his tears, bandaging his scrapes, making sure he eats, making sure he’s never alone, holding him when he wakes from nightmares, soothing Naim when he’s overcome with the fear of knowing the worst could happen to them, any day, for the rest of their lives. Ryan is always concerned for his welfare above his own. “He could never hurt me.”
“I don’t mean just him, I mean that this… gay,” she whispers the word gay, as if it’s a secret, as if the cafe owner would know or care. “This gay lifestyle could hurt you. I wanted to protect you from getting into something that wouldn’t be healthy or godly.”
“Godly? Are you fucking serious?”
“You know what you’re doing is a sin, but I’m trying to accept it, honey.”
There is no point in arguing with her, so he doesn’t. He bites his lip and wipes his face on the shoulder of his shirt.
“Why did you leave?” she presses.
“Mum, I almost died when all those guys jumped us. You didn’t seem to care. You acted like…,” Naim says. He still can’t look at a baseball bat without flinching. More tears blur his vision. “You acted like I deserved it for being gay. Then two weeks after the hospital you told me that you knew you sent a fucking demon after me on purpose, and you didn’t seem to care about that either.”
“I didn’t want you to get hurt like that, honey,” she says softly. “I never wanted those awful people to beat you. You didn’t deserve it at all.”
“Okay,” Naim says. He had to have multiple stitches in his throat. He was lucky to keep all his teeth. It hurt to swallow his own spit for weeks, let alone food. He still can’t fully rotate his right wrist. His mom had only taken off one shift to stay with him in the hospital. It was Ryan who sat in the cold plastic chair beside his bed. Ryan had stayed with him and prevented the entity from attacking him when he was at his weakest.
“And it didn’t work.”
“No.”
Naim stares at his hands, fingertips picked bloody.
“I am sorry, Naim. I am,” she says. Tears freely run down her cheeks. “It can’t be undone, but I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” Naim whispers.
“I’m willing to…” Arlene starts. “Like I just said, I’m willing to accept that you’re this way, Naim. Even willing to accept that you and Ryan are… together.”
Naim’s heart thumps hollow in his chest. “What?”
Arlene is properly crying now. She hides her small sobs behind her hand. “As long as you talk to me. I’ll try.”
“That’s your… condition?” Naim asks. “You will love me as long as I talk to you again?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Naim. I’ve never not loved you. You’re my son.”
Naim swallows the mucus in his throat. “Okay.”
“Where is Ryan?”
Naim nudges his head towards the door. “Waiting outside.”
“I want to talk to him too, please.”
“About what?”
“Please, Naim.”
As if in a trance, Naim rises from his chair and makes for the door.
“Mum wants to see you.”
“What?” Ryan turns around, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. For a moment, Naim is scared that it’s the entity, but Ryan’s been in public the entire time, rooted in the spot, and his eyes seem too soft, too blue, too overcome with concern. “Naim, what's going on?”
The thing about the entity is you never fucking know. Naim passes him a lighter. Ryan wastes no time in holding the open flame over his wrist.
Knowing it’s actually Ryan opens the floodgates. Naim is unable to silently choke back his cries. “Mum. She said that.. She was surprised you were able to forgive me and like, want to stay with me.”
Ryan’s expression is one of fury, but his voice is as soft as ever. He immediately pulls Naim close. “Fuck, come here.”
Naim collapses into his shoulder. Ryan’s arms encircle him tightly, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “I’ve forgiven you a fucking million times over, dove,” Ryan murmurs into his ear. He rocks them side to side. “Don’t listen to any of her shit. Tell me you understand that.”
Naim does his best to nod. His head feels so, so heavy. He's getting the shoulder of Ryan’s tank all gross.
“She wants to talk to me?” Ryan peers over the top of Naim’s head. “That’s kind of weird.”
Naim wipes his eyes with his palms when he pulls back. “She wants to talk to both of us, I think.”
“Why?”
“I dunno,” Naim admits. “I didn’t ask, like-“ words are eluding him. He can’t think. “Fuck, I…”
Ryan grabs his shoulders, shaking him gently. “Hey, Naim. Look at me. It’s okay. Everything is okay. Do you still want to go talk to her? You don’t have to, especially if she says more fucked up shit to you. You don’t deserve that. We can walk away.”
Naim opens his mouth and no words come out.
“Naim, do you want to go back there? Nod if you do. If not, we get the fuck out.”
After a long moment, Naim nods.
“Fine, we’ll go and talk to her. We’ll leave after, okay?” says Ryan. Naim nods again. They head back inside, sliding in to sit side by side across the tiny booth from where Arlene sits, nursing her second cup of tea.
“Hi, Mrs. Reid,” Ryan greets.
“Hi, Ryan. Your parents haven’t asked about you,” Arlene tells him. “I even told them I was coming here.”
A stricken, heartbroken look passes across Ryan’s face before he tamps it down. Naim squeezes his thigh under the table. “Oh. Okay,” says Ryan.
The spell of silence over Naim is broken. “Mum, why the fuck would you tell him that?”
“I figured he would be curious. I’m not trying to be mean. I mean, they are his parents,” she huffs. “Anyone would want to know.”
Naim and Ryan say nothing.
She squares up her shoulders in faux cheeriness. She won’t stop staring at the ring on Ryan’s hand. “Married, huh?”
Ryan doesn’t back down. He grabs Naim’s hand from below the table and moves it to the top. He laces their fingers, squeezing once. “Sure are.”
She stares at their joined hands as if she’s seeing colors for the first time, eyes wide and nervous, as if waiting for an explanation. None comes. “So, will either of you uh, change your last name?”
Naim shrugs. “I will, someday, yeah.”
“Only you?” That seems to upset her. “To what?”
“Whelan.”
“You’re changing your name, but not him? Why?”
Naim frowns. “Because I want to?”
“You could at least hyphenate it,” Arlene suggests. “Some people do that.”
“Mum, stop.”
“I know it’s a trendy thing to do nowadays, all the hyphenating."
Naim knows it’s not her business, what he wants to do with his name. It’s something he and Ryan talk about, joke over. It doesn’t stop the tears from falling again, having to defend himself over and over for what should be innocuous, private life choices. Hot shame keeps rocking in his skull like a merciless hammer. He realizes he’s been crying steadily before he went to collect Ryan and never stopped. Ryan passes him a napkin. He releases Naim’s hand and puts his arm around the back of the booth.
“Blow, dove.”
Arlene’s eyes go wide at the pet name, but she stays mercifully quiet. Naim blows his nose and blindly fumbles for more napkins to wipe his face. He’s a disgusting mess of snot and tears. Ryan passes him a stack.
“I’m sorry, Naim.” Arlene’s voice is soft.
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for…ghosting. Making you worry.”
“I’m your mother, I’ll always worry.”
How worried had she been, seeing Ryan and Hunter convulse on the floor? Worried enough she called the deliverance healer back for seconds on her own son? Naim’s heart clenches.
“We’re not going back,” Naim tells her. “I don’t know what you wanted, by coming here. But we can’t. We won’t. We have a life here and everything.”
“I know that. I just wanted to reconnect with my only son. I can’t pull you away from this new life you’ve built, Naim.”
Naim and Ryan exchange a look. “Or each other,” she adds. She wipes her eyes with a small towel taken from her handbag. “I just want to have a relationship with you again. How about we go on a walk? Can you show me around town a little bit?”
“I don’t think we can. I’m….look, mum, I do appreciate you reaching out. Maybe we can.. I dunno, text or something again. But I can’t visit now for longer,” Naim says, bracing for her disappointment.
“So soon?” she asks. Her eyebrows furrow. “It’s Christmas eve, you shouldn’t have to work today, right?”
“Sorry, we have plans,” Ryan interjects. He shakes Naim’s shoulder amiably. “Christmas tradition, we can’t be late, can we?”
“Where are you going?”
“A friend's house,” says Ryan. “We go every year.”
“Well,” Arlene says. She sets her mug down. “That’s nice.”
“I’m sorry,” Naim says. “I know you came all the way here and everything, and have to like, fly back.”
“No, it’s okay, I understand. You’re grown and you have your own plans now, they don’t have to include me.” Arlene tentatively holds her arms out. “Before you go, can I have a hug? I’ve missed you so much, Naim. So much.”
Naim doesn’t trust himself enough to say anything. He rises from the table and helps her to her feet. He wraps both arms around her. She's so much smaller in his arms than he remembers.
“I really am glad you’re doing well,” she whispers in his ear. She squeezes him tightly.
Naim breathes deep into the top of her head. She still wears the same perfume. “Thanks, mum.”
She presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “My handsome son. I love you.”
“Love you too,” he says quietly. Ryan’s hand is a steady anchor at the small of his back.
“I hope we can see each other soon.”
Naim lost his voice again. He nods. “Yeah, someday,” Ryan answers in his stead.
Arlene stares up at Ryan. She lifts her hand as if to touch him, but doesn’t. “Keep taking care of him, please,” she asks. “He’s all I got.”
Ryan’s fingers bunch together at the back of Naim’s shirt. “I always will.”
He doesn’t remember leaving the cafe and walking back to the bus stop. Crying has always made him tired, even as a kid, and Naim falls asleep on the bus. When he wakes, he rubs his swollen eyes and sits up.
“Ryan?”
“Yeah?” Ryan looks up from his phone. He pushes sweaty hair away from Naim’s forehead. “Back with me, dove?”
“I’m sorry about your parents,” Naim says quietly. “That’s fucked up, what she said.”
“She said fucked up shit to you too.”
“I know. Doesn’t make it better.”
Ryan rests his head on Naim’s shoulder. Naim kisses the top of his head and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Ryan pokes at his nipple through his shirt. Naim jolts.
“Ow, you cunt.” He pinches Ryan’s arm. Ryan laughs. Naim kisses his cheek.
“Thanks for all you do for me,” Naim whispers.
“Choosing you is easy,” Ryan replies from his neck.
They arrive just in time for afternoon brunch.
“My favorite boys!” Elia greets, throwing open the front door. She’s got a Santa hat on and a pair of matching bright red shorts. She extends both arms for the boys to dip in for a hug. Craig takes the opportunity to sneak out the open door. Naim bends to snatch him up. The big cat mewls but settles into his arms quickly.
“Can we come in?”
“Of course!” Elia says, sidestepping around them. Ryan propels them inside. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas,” Naim and Ryan say in unison.
They kick their shoes off and linger at the edge of the living room. Holding Craig feels comforting right now, so Naim doesn’t put him down. A huge christmas tree is perched in the corner, laden with colorful lights and heavy ornaments. A stack of presents twinkles below it, overflowing from the tree stand and onto the surrounding carpet. Mismatched stockings hang above the empty fireplace. It smells good, the air thick with the scent of spices and ham.
Two of Elias' sons, David and Mark, flew in from Sydney, both settled on the couch already with their wives and small children. Naim met David at last year’s celebration but not his wife, so Mark walks them through introductions. Ken gets them cold beers and carves out a place for them to sit.
“Happy that you two are finally here, we were waiting. It’s nice to celebrate with family, isn’t it?” Elia says, and they all murmur in agreement, clinking their beers together with the rest of the room.
Two beers and conversation later set to the soundtrack of Frozen, Naim’s feeling happy and warm. Ryan’s hand lingers on his nape as they chat with David and Mark about their lives in Sydney, housing prices, the weather, which AFL team will win the championship next year. Naim allows the comforting sound of gentle background noise to lull him, not really listening, a small smile affixed to his lips.
“Help me set the table, sweet thing?” Elia interrupts. She points a spoon directly at Naim.
David laughs. “Mum, I think you like him more than me.”
She swats at him. “He’s nicer than you, isn’t he? You never help your mother.”
“You never ask!”
Naim startles into action and heads into the kitchen. He helps her load the table with silverware and heaping dishes of ham and salads. He glances over at Ryan as he works. Ryan looks so at ease, making conversation with the rest of the family, arm over the back of the couch and fresh beer in hand. The golden wedding band glints on his finger, clashing horribly with the rest of his bright silver jewelry.
He catches Naim’s eye and winks.
They all unwrap presents after dinner. They give Ryan a nice new pair of steel toed work boots and some tiny silver hoop earrings. Naim gets a plush green hoodie, new drawing pencils, and a little gas lighter in the shape of a duck.
“They didn’t have a dove,” Elia adds. Naim flushes bright red as Ryan snickers.
They also receive a framed photo of their courthouse wedding. In it, both Ryan and Naim are wearing borrowed mismatched suits and standing side by side, arms looped around one another's backs. Ryan’s laughing in it, his bright blue eyes crinkled up in joy. Naim’s looking at him, a broad smile on his face. He remembers after, how they all went to dinner, someplace fancy with no prices on the menu and large glasses of wine, Ken and Elia’s treat. Naim traces the glossy photo with his fingertips. They had never been happier than they were on that day. The memory of his mother’s hug doesn’t sting so much, right now.
Ryan pulls a little square wrapped package from his bag and hands it over to Ken.
“Sorry, we didn’t really have the funds to get you guys anything, but Naim drew this.”
Ken unwraps it and passes it off to Elia, who laughs in delight. It’s a tiny framed portrait of Craig drawn in colored pencil.
“Oh, you even got his eyes right!” Elia says. Naim snatches the cat from his perch on the cat tree and holds him up for comparison. It's a pretty similar shade of yellow.
“Creepy ass cat,” Mark laments. His wife elbows him while his children laugh. “Great picture, though.”
“Thanks,” Naim says. He’s actually pretty proud of it. Drawing animals isn’t his specialty, but it’s the most thoughtful gift they could think of.
It’s getting hard for Naim to stay awake, after so much rich food and alcohol and an emotional day, so they gather their goodies and head off into the warm evening night. Naim put on his new hoodie. It’s very cozy. They decide to walk back home instead of catching a bus. It takes over 30 minutes, but gives them a chance to enjoy seeing everyone’s houses, lit up with Christmas lights, all the open windows revealing the joyful noises and colors from inside.
“I don’t want to do that again,” Naim says. “Not for a long time.”
Ryan stops trying to light a smoke. “What, celebrate Christmas?”
“No, like, see my mum.”
“I knew what you meant,” Ryan says. He puts his pack away. “Okay, then we won’t.”
That’s the thing with Ryan, he makes things sound so easy. He does or he doesn’t, he will or he won’t. He doesn’t let things like obligation stir around his head, not the way Naim does, where it sits in his gut and sinks with his guilt.
“Lemme pick you up,” he suggests to Naim when they make it to their hallway.
“Are you fucking insane?”
“We’re newlyweds and it’s Christmas,” Ryan says, grabbing at Naim’s legs. Naim stumbles and hits the wall. “You gotta like, christen your home and shit.”
“You do that the first night, I think. Get off me,” Naim says. He sets their bags down and fumbles with their keys. “Wait-” he tries, but Ryan’s already snatching him up, bridal style, like they are in a fucking movie and not a dingy doorway.
“Merry Christmas,” Ryan says, completely unphased by Naim’s slight weight. He grins cheekily, spinning Naim in a circle in their tiny living room. “Where’s my present?”
They don’t have money for presents, but that’s not what Ryan’s asking, anyway. Naim takes his face in his hands and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. When he pulls back, they’re both breathless and dizzy.
“Hey,” Naim says, and kisses him again.