“I didn’t know Bubbe was visiting.” Kieran peeled off his jacket.
“Because you don’t pay attention when I tell you things.” Marilyn snatched up Kieran’s and Theo’s coats and nodded at the stairs. “Why don’t you both collect your father from his office? Tell him it’s time to eat.”
Theo checked his phone as they climbed the stairs. Gideon had called two more times and Dane once. Nothing from Jax, but it was barely seven thirty on the west coast, so Jax probably had yet to pry his eyes open unless he had an early call. Theo would fix things with his family made of friends as soon as he’d gotten Kieran through this. He took the opportunity to do an Internet search on shaygetz.
“Did your grandmother call your father a shaygetz when he and your mom got married?” he asked Kieran.
Kieran shrugged, hands fisted in the pockets of his jeans. “I wasn’t exactly around to hear. But I know things were a bit rocky. From what I heard, she flipped out about their adoption plans too, until she got her hands on Finn at his
bris
, and then we were all her babies to coo over.”
“Did you—ah—how old—?” Theo knew Kieran had been adopted at fifteen months, but whether his foreskin had come from Korea with him wasn’t something Theo had thought to ask. Theo’s own had been left at a St. Louis hospital at birth.
Kieran raised his eyebrow as Theo struggled to get the question out, looking faintly amused. “I was already cut. But I guess at the ceremony they had to get a drop of blood. From the same spot.”
Theo winced.
Kieran shook his head. “I don’t remember it—or anything much before my fourth birthday party. More than a drop of blood spilled at that.”
“Oh?”
“Another time.” Kieran knocked on his father’s office door.
Theo considered himself talented at reading people, but Dr. Niall Delaney defeated all his efforts. He seemed to move through his family like a ghost, leaving no more impact on it than his children’s Irish first names. For all Theo knew, that hadn’t been Niall’s decision either. He seemed to be separate from everything, recording it all with pale gray eyes for a sociology monograph.
Perhaps the fact that Theo had only visited on Jewish holidays when Marilyn’s traditions came to the forefront created that effect. Kieran had said they had a Christmas tree as well as a menorah.
There was no noise in the office before Theo heard a latch click and the door opened.
“That time, is it?” Niall arched his brows in a familiar way.
If Theo hadn’t met Niall before, he would have assumed they’d woken him from a nap, but that soft, somnolent tone was typical for Kieran’s father.
“Son.” He shook Kieran’s hand, then offered the same to Theo, including the
son
. “Thank you for coming over. Your mother wanted to drive to Manhattan last night. But that might have been to escape the questions from her mother.”
There was no question, no required response, and yet Kieran immediately launched into an explanation. “I’m sorry I missed her call. I didn’t know it had been on the news. I was going to call this morning.”
“I managed to keep her confined to our zip code.”
Despite Niall’s half-lidded eyes, Theo felt their focused scrutiny. “I’m afraid it’s all my fault, sir. I didn’t foresee the impact.”
“Of a well-known Broadway producer proposing marriage to his boyfriend using the cast of one of the most difficult tickets of the year. In Times Square.” Again, it wasn’t a question.
Theo summoned up his brightest, most earnest smile. “The only thing on my mind was showing Kieran how much I love him and want to spend my life with him.”
“It was certainly a show.” Niall’s sleepy gaze covered the respectful space Theo maintained between him and Kieran at his parents’ house, the way Kieran’s hands had gone back into his pockets, hiding the ring from view.
Theo began to see the merits of Kieran liking to keep things private. But it wasn’t as if Kieran were a woman—and Theo couldn’t see any of the women he knew tolerating a boyfriend who sought parental permission for a proposal.
“Well. Kieran has never had any difficulty in deciding his own path. Let’s get some breakfast.” Niall started down the stairs ahead of them.
Theo put a hand on Kieran’s arm. “I’m—you know I didn’t do it for publicity.”
Kieran grabbed on, pulled Theo’s face down, and kissed him. “Yeah. I know.”
“What was that for?”
“You’re kind of adorable when you’re scared to death. I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”
“He’s a history professor. He doesn’t have any dueling pistols, right?”
“I’ll protect you.”
Kieran’s grandmother steered him to the seat beside her, leaving Theo alone and unprotected on the other side of the table, though there were no firearms in sight.
After the wine was blessed, Theo watched Kieran for a cue on whether he should drink from it when the goblet came to him. Kieran shrugged with his eyebrows, and Theo risked a sip before passing it to Niall. Mrs. Schwartz nodded, and Theo didn’t know if it meant approval or that his sacrilege was complete.
Theo had been at ease at Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Marilyn smiling and approving his interest and efforts to follow traditions. But after the discomforting interview with Niall, Theo found himself in the unfamiliar position of second-guessing every instant of his behavior.
After the blessing of the bread, Mrs. Schwartz leveled some of her disapproval at the empty place setting next to Theo. “I’d like to think that my granddaughter could spare a few hours for her family on the Sabbath.”
“She has rehearsals, Ma,” Marilyn explained when she returned from carrying food out of the kitchen.
“Work?
Feh
.”
“For Ash, music isn’t like work, Bubbe. God gave her a gift, and she loves using it,” Kieran said.
Mrs. Schwartz patted Kieran’s cheek. “You’re good to defend your sister, tsatskele.” The next pat was sharp. Not a slap, but a warning. “But
HaShem
only, for his name.”
“Yes, Bubbe.”
She dragged Kieran to her and kissed him, fluffing his hair. Kieran submitted to it, though his body was tense.
“Nu, let’s see this ring from Mr.
Alte Faygala
.”
“Emma.” Niall’s voice was soft as always, but there was force enough to cut through something far tougher than the bagel Theo had just taken from the basket Marilyn handed him.
Theo knew that word,
faggot
, though it had been explained to him that it was closer to “fairy.”
“Oy, so sensitive. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
One look from Kieran and Theo would be out the door with him. If his grandmother didn’t like it, she could learn to be civil.
“Kieran?” his grandmother asked.
He swallowed and ducked away, pulling his hand out of his grandmother’s grip. “It is kind of rude, Bubbe.”
“Nu?” She glanced around. “What do I know? I’m just an
alte cocker
. Now can your bubbe please see your ring?”
Kieran put his hand in hers, and Mrs. Schwartz studied the diamond through reading glasses held like a jeweler’s loupe.
“Nice work.” She nodded at Theo. “It will be nice to see one of my grandchildren married before I die.”
Theo turned to Kieran’s mom. “I have never had better lox, Marilyn.”
“Thank you, Theo. Addie’s Deli, in Borough Park. My mother made the
challah
yesterday.”
Theo hastily took a slice and bit into it. “It’s delicious, Mrs. Schwartz.”
“So when are you going to have the ceremony?”
Smiling at Kieran’s wide-eyed panic, Theo took a sip of wine and offered all the calm he could. “Nothing’s decided yet. We’ll take our time.”
“Not too long, huh?” She patted her heart. “And if you elope, don’t expect any presents.”
The rest of the meal passed in silence, with occasional fits and starts as Mrs. Schwartz questioned Marilyn on the disposition of cousins and other relatives. Theo was helping Marilyn and Kieran clear the table when Mrs. Schwartz—“Call me Emma”—dragged him into the living room and conducted as thorough an investigation of Theo’s financial records as an IRS audit.
“That boy doesn’t know what he wants. Though he could do anything he wanted. Maybe you can help him figure it out. He ever show you his pictures?”
“Pictures?”
“
Oy gevalt
.” Emma squeezed a fist over her heart. “That fire. He lost everything, poor
boychick
. But he never showed you?”
Theo had seen doodles, incredibly detailed figures on scraps that disappeared as randomly as they appeared. Kieran’s excited discussion of a web comic had led to the trip to a comic convention for his birthday that made Theo miss the Cyclone reunion with Gideon, Dane, and Jax for the first time ever.
Why didn’t Kieran tell Theo he’d lost art in the fire?
“He doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“He keeps too much locked in.” She tipped her head to study Theo. “And you do crazy things to make him open up. Hmph. Maybe it’s good. Bring me the remote.”
Theo paused at the abrupt shift, then rose, found the remote on an end table, and brought it to her.
“Good. Now go away. I want to watch hockey, and I swear too much.”
Niall was probably back in his office. Theo headed for the kitchen, freezing three steps from the door as he heard Marilyn say, “Don’t you fuck this up too. You drop out of MIT and do some piddling work you could do in your sleep when you could be inventing the next Facebook. Is this spite?”
Kieran’s answer was too soft to hear.
Indecision kept Theo’s feet rooted to the floor. The decent thing to do was walk away and pretend he hadn’t heard it. But he wanted to wrap himself around Kieran and protect him.
“Like when your father and I told you we knew you were gay so you didn’t have to tell us and you went and dated that poor girl in ninth grade for six months?”
That was it. Theo made his next step extra loud, arriving in the kitchen in time to see Kieran disappear out the back door.
Marilyn stood shaking her head, hands on her hips, as if she hadn’t just been stabbing at her son with word daggers. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
Theo went through the kitchen door and found him in the yard. Shoulders hunched up around his ears, Kieran stood next to the shed that took up half the space. Frozen grass crunched under Theo’s feet as he approached. He stopped a few inches away, giving Kieran a moment to realize Theo was there.
At last Theo reached out and wrapped himself around Kieran, like he should have done earlier instead of standing there listening like an idiot.
Kieran remained rigid for a breath or two and then relaxed against Theo.
“
Shabbat shalom
,” Kieran muttered, that wry tone clear even in a whisper.
“Peace indeed,” Theo agreed, holding him tighter. “They are all off the invite list.”
Kieran made a breath that could have been a laugh and turned into Theo’s embrace. “This is just the opening round.”
“I begin to see the wisdom of privacy bordering on hostility.” Theo rested his cheek on Kieran’s head. “I don’t care about anything but you. They can be there if they behave, or we can do it ourselves.” He considered dropping to one knee again, but Kieran was probably tired of that. “I just want the right to know I’m yours and you’re mine. And that’s all that matters.”
Kieran squeezed back and then showed he was his mother’s son. “What about
Two for the Show
?”
SO MUCH
for their alone-in-this-together moment. Theo stepped back, then kicked at a frozen clump of ground. “Christ. Martin should come with volume control.”
“You said you wouldn’t spring stuff on me. If we’re going to”—there was only a brief hesitation, just enough that Theo knew Kieran was still trying to wrap his head around it—“get married, you shouldn’t keep shit from me just because you think I won’t like it.”
“Point taken.”
“Besides, I know how much that show means to you. Getting it produced. Even I know it’s good.” There was the first hint of a real Kieran smile that Theo had seen since this morning.
“Despite music being nothing but a weird hybrid math language that can be plotted on a computer.”
“Especially because of that. I might not feel it like you or Ash, but I can understand the elements that make it appealing.”
“Appealing.” Theo tucked his freezing fingers into his back pockets. “That’s exactly the quote every producer hopes to lift from a review. Go see this. It’s
appealing
.”
Kieran’s expression grew more focused, like when he was trying to explain something about Python or perl or one of the other languages he used to talk to computers. “That’s just how I describe it. What I know is that when I hear you play it, it stays with me. In the not-annoying-earworm way.”
Theo started to seize again on the damning faint praise of
not annoying
, but the intensity in Kieran’s eyes stopped him.
Kieran didn’t say stuff he didn’t mean, wasn’t any good at schmoozing or soothing feelings, and almost never had anything to say about Theo’s work, other than to say thanks but no thanks when asked to come along to a premiere or party. So Kieran’s next words warmed Theo up more than the synthetic knit sweater he was wearing.
“It’s a good show. You should see it produced. I want to see it produced.”
A flash of the future sparked in Theo’s head. The marquee:
Book and Music by Theo Medina
. Kieran in a tux beside him on the red carpet on opening night. With him at the Tonys. Smiling as Theo raised the statue and thanked his husband for his love and support. Then he remembered the rest of what Martin had said, and the vision vanished in a pop with a puff of special-effect smoke.
“Then you must also have heard what Martin wanted me to do to get Pfarrer Investments on board.”
Kieran nodded. “Sorry. Hard not to.”
“I said no, and I meant it. I’m not letting anyone use you—us—like that.”
“Kind of late for that. It’s already out there, and people
are
using it. So why shouldn’t it be you? At least then there will be some good coming out of it.”