Flare (39 page)

Kevin was still working on clearing his throat and reached for his glass to take another sip or two to help.

“Come on. Who takes it up the ass?” Beth crassly asked. “Who’s the boy and who’s the girl?”

Kevin choked again.

“Okay.” Hugo gave Beth a cocky smile.

Danger, Will Robinson!

Kevin could feel the emotions swirling inside Hugo. They were palpable, but before Kevin could clear his throat enough to speak, Hugo continued.

“You think you’re asking an innocent question, but that’s personal. You’re asking about
our
sexual dynamic.” Hugo took a breath and Kevin was finally able to breathe normally too. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

“Let’s start with this.” Hugo’s eyes flashed from person to person as he spoke. “How often do you masturbate? Does he go down on you as often as you suck his cock, or is he greedy? How often do you fake orgasms? What’s it really like to eat pussy? I mean, how can you stand it?” He physically shuddered but then got an impish look as he looked at Andrew. “Have you ever been daring enough to rim her? Do you even know what that is? Eating her ass.”

Hugo’s gaze slid to both women, flitting for quick moments to their husbands but not staying long enough to feel like a challenge. Besides, Steve and Andrew looked as if they were shocked into stillness. That was better than if they’d been getting ready to punch Hugo.

“I don’t get it.” Hugo broke the silence, but not the tension. “I just don’t get why straight people are so
fucking
interested in how I have sex.” He shook his head, and Kevin could tell Hugo was fighting back anger. “I don’t want to know a
thing
about your sex life. I hardly know you. And those questions aren’t anything I’d ever truly ask you. Not the second time we got together, or the fifth, or even the twentieth. Especially when we weren’t even talking about sex prior to that. We were just talking about your neighbors who aren’t living up to your shiny standards and recipes
to die for
.”

Kevin took a breath to speak, but the look Hugo gave him told him not to interrupt. Hugo was well in control of his anger and the situation.

“But that’s not what the questions were really about. Not at all,” Hugo said. Everyone else suddenly seemed curious rather than shocked. Kevin included himself in that. “This is about power. That’s something you all think you understand out here in the ’burbs. You have more neighborhood power than those people who just moved in with the long grass, and they should mow simply because of that. I’m sure there’s some sort of status lording at the club. Gossip is definitely a way I’ve seen you put your thumb on people to keep them down. Now you want to know if Kevin has more power or if I do. Who lords? Who gets fucked?”

“Slow down there,” Steve finally said. “You’re getting this all wrong. They were trying to make playful conversation.”

“Oh? Is that why we were asked who was the
boy
and who was the
girl
, as if one has more power than the other based on antiquated gender roles? We’re both
men
.

“God,” Hugo said with a shake of his head and a reminiscent laugh. “I remember when Kevin and I read the
Joy of Gay Sex
in high school and read the words top and bottom. We were
thrilled
to finally have those words. We’d made up our own and would laugh with embarrassment because we didn’t have a clue what to say. We didn’t know who would top or bottom even after finding those labels, and we didn’t fully work that out for a long time.”

“You’re the bottom,” Beth said with a challenging lift to her stiff face. She was nearly emotionless.

“I’m not giving you the satisfaction of an answer because if I say Kevin bottoms, you’ll lose respect for him, which is ridiculous. If I say I do, that’ll give you more fuel for your insults. To you, sex is always going to be about power. To me it’s about finding something Kevin enjoys and feeding it. It’s about love. That’s part of the joy of having sex with Kevin: there isn’t a
weak
one, because power is always an illusion.

“I want you to know what your questions felt like to me. They felt like judgment. And I won’t be judged in my own home.” Hugo set his wineglass down and stood, excusing himself. Kevin heard him say, “I’m living in Stepford,” as he left the room.

“We should go,” Andrew said after a few more seconds of stunned silence.

“Yeah, you should,” Kevin agreed but then apologized. He immediately wanted to take the apology back. Hugo was right. The questions had been totally out of the blue and inappropriate even if he would’ve willingly answered it. He didn’t know how to fix this, if there was even a way. There was silence as everyone gathered their things and left. Kevin stared after them until they drove away, and then he turned off the outside light. He wondered how quickly this would get around the country club set. Faster than lightning. Maybe at brunch there would be a few brave souls who would stand up and agree that the questions were out of line. It was possible Hugo had humiliated them all so much that not a word would ever be uttered.

When he was back in the house, Kevin heard Hugo in the kitchen, water running as he cleaned up after dinner. Kevin helped, gathering glasses, dumping remaining wine, and covering any leftovers to put in the fridge. He tried to talk, but Hugo’s fierce headshake told him to keep his mouth shut. Words weren’t going to fix this, at least not yet.

Kevin stepped close and rested his palms on Hugo’s back to ease the tension he could see across his shoulders, but Hugo pulled away, leaning forward until Kevin got the hint and stepped back. Even when Kevin tried to help by rinsing and drying, Hugo moved to block his way.

He didn’t know what to do, but it was obvious Hugo didn’t want his help. He’d made that abundantly clear.

Kevin tried to speak once again, but Hugo shushed him and shook his head until Kevin got the message and left the room.

F
LATWARE
. I
T
was tedious but fairly easy. Dishes next. Hugo would drain the water and get clean, sudsy water for the crystal. Then he’d work on the serving dishes.

The focus was on the dishes. That was all Hugo wanted to think about, and then he realized he could’ve used the dishwasher.
How stupid!

A turquoise Le Creuset ramekin flew across the kitchen and landed against a cabinet with a crash. Watching it crack into three pieces just made it stupider.
More stupid. Whatever the word is!

A dent was left in the sturdy maple cabinet, proving how hard Hugo had thrown the dish. Why it didn’t shatter into hundreds of pieces, he didn’t know, but he felt good about seeing the dent in the hardwood.

“You ready to talk?” Kevin’s voice was soft and unsure, and Hugo felt like shit about that. “Can I be in the same room as you yet?”

He wasn’t mad at Kevin. Not really.

“Yeah. You can come in.”

Kevin brought a broom and dustpan and gathered any shards from the broken ramekin to throw away without a word before slipping the broom back in its spot. There were no snide comments. Kevin didn’t yell at him for breaking crockery or offending his friends. The only thing he did was take a moment to write the word
ramekin
on the shopping list.

Hugo looked over at his neat print and sighed. Kevin knew how often Hugo used those ramekins, and he was already prepared to replace what Hugo had so carelessly broken.

“I’m sorry,” Hugo said and then rolled his eyes. “But I’m also not.”

“Okay. What does that mean, exactly?” Kevin wondered.

“It means I’m sorry for breaking things, and breaking things up, and making everyone feel unwelcome in your house, but not sorry for what I said.”

“
Our
house,” Kevin corrected, but Hugo shrugged off the word. “No, Hugo. I mean it. This is our house. Us together.”

“I suppose.”

“What does that mean? No, don’t answer that. I’m not letting you distract me again. You’re too damn good at that. We’re talking about what you said that you’re not sorry for.”

“Right. They were asking questions they don’t need the answers to,” Hugo said, finally turning to look at him.

“And why? What really bothered you about that? You took it so seriously. I know what they asked was really private, but I would’ve just answered and gone on with the night, but you turned it into this huge statement.”

“I didn’t see it that way.” Hugo could feel himself tighten up his lips, as if doing so wouldn’t allow words to slip out that he didn’t want to let go. “They were trying to demean me.”

“How so? By asking if you topped or bottomed? How is that demeaning? We fuck each other. We’re the living embodiment of equality to them. We could’ve shown them that. They were just curious.”

“No. It wasn’t curiosity. You saw it at dinner, all the pandering, simpering looks they gave me, as if I were a little pet.”

“Granted, it was odd considering the context of the evening, but I think you’re reading more into things than what was really there.”

“Am I? Am I really?” Hugo heard the anger slipping right back into his voice that he’d worked so hard to contain while he washed dishes.

“Yeah. I think you are. You pushed it pretty far.”

“Okay.” He pursed his lips and heard the noise they made when he released them echo off the hard surfaces in the room. “These are your so-called open-minded friends who drive around with equality stickers on their cars and are vocal rabble rousers against hate, from what I understand.”

Kevin nodded in response and added, “
Our
friends.” Hugo ignored him.

“So, I suppose I just read into it when Steve called me Little Lady and when Beth told me I have a face made for makeup. That’s what women usually tell other men, isn’t it?” Hugo asked with an angry little nod. “I’m sure you’ve been told that at least… oh, a hundred times. Right? Or when Andrew said I wasn’t
the real dad
when he asked about the ultrasound on the fridge. I read into that too, didn’t I? That’s how I know they were trying to demean me, Kevin.”

Kevin stood there dumbstruck, his mouth dropping open as his gaze slid between the ultrasound picture of the bean and back to Hugo’s eyes again.

“I’ve been called a slut before. I’ve been grouped with peoples’ idea of
the gays
, assuming we’re all the fucking same, like pod people or something. I’ve had a lot of people ask me inappropriate questions. Hell, I’ve answered. I’ve answered a lot of questions. But when I did, I was in a relationship of equals, not the bullshit they tried to pull with me tonight. I’m a decent cook, so I’m patted on the head. I can’t reach the bottle that’s on the wine rack that’s waaaay on
top of the cupboard, so I’m Little Lady. I have no idea where the makeup comments came from, but if I had a guess, I’d say it’s from the gossip that flies around this place about me.”

“But—”

“No! I’m not done yet. The shit that’s said about me is bad enough, but what’s worse is the stuff that’s done.”

“Like getting spit on?” Kevin said, looking a little timid and afraid of interrupting again.

“I’ve been spit on before,” Hugo dismissed with a wave of his hand. Kevin looked shocked. “It’s not nice, but there’s worse things, believe me.”

“What’s being said or done to you?”

Hugo reached behind him to feel the counter so he could lean against it. “There’s a lot said. I stole you from Erin. I killed her.” Hugo heard the emotion go out of his voice as he started listing things off. “It’s a good thing Erin died because seeing her family now would kill her on the spot. You’re not in your right mind. You came to me in grief, and I took advantage of your sadness. Same with the kids. They love me because I fill a void, no other reason.”

“Who says this shit?”

Hugo shrugged. He didn’t really take the time to find out names of people who were so filled with hate, he just remembered their faces. “People I try to avoid. Sometimes I can’t. Sometimes they end up behind me when I’m in line to get coffee and they think they’re whispering and I can’t hear them, but I can. In quiet places, I think some of them talk louder so I
will
hear, so I’ll feel guilty and leave like Tasha is trying to get me to do.”

“And they do things too?” Kevin looked astounded.

“Yep. The spitting. Most isn’t that blatant. Most is done with a smile on their faces as they stay in their safe hidey-hole of fakery. I’d rather be called a fucking faggot to my face or get punched than deal with this passive-aggressive bullshit.”

“Passive-aggressive?” Kevin asked.

“It’s usually little things like having doors shut in my face once they see who I am, where a second before they were waiting and holding it open for me. Or stupid shit like ignoring me if I have a question or if I’m in line. I stood at a counter for ten minutes waiting once. Found out the lady working there was pulling people out of the line I was at the head of and helping them at a register in the back. People that I knew who were in line behind me kept leaving the store with bags in hand. That’s how I eventually figured it out; the little bell tinkling above the door allowing me to count how many people she’d prefer helping rather than me. And the Mrs. Swanson shit.”

“Finn’s teacher?”

“Mhm. She still refuses to make eye contact, even after she found out I was in the process of adopting Finn. She’d rather talk to the wall than me.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It’s nothing huge,” Hugo said, “but added up, it gets hard. I’ve seen moms leaving playgrounds or dragging their kids to walk on the other side of the street to avoid the
stranger
or
strange man
. That’s how some of them label me. It’s not just me, Kevin. If it were, I’d just learn to deal with it. But it’s not. The kids are there four out of ten times. They see and hear this shit too. I hate this place because of that handful of people and the shit they’ve pulled. They took a nice community I initially liked, and they made it somewhere I don’t even want to grocery shop anymore. That’s why I go other places, to protect them.”