Sunset Park (22 page)

“It’s okay.” I sounded impatient and needy. “I’ll adjust.”

He shook his head, stubborn as always, and ripped open the cabinet below the sink.

“There’s no lube in there.” A thought occurred to me despite the thick haze of lust. “Well, there’s condoms.”

Raymond knocked things over and shuffled around until he removed my Costco-sized box of prelubed Trojans. He rubbered up and applied more saliva to my crack before sliding inside me with one sharp thrust.

He took his time at first, thrusting into me with precision as he dipped his head down and pressed his mouth to my throat. He sank into me balls deep and kept his fucking just the right side of slow. I wanted to make it last, but it was all too saved up, too intense with the feverish recognition that this was Raymond tearing the breath out of me and sending sharp, confusing coils of heat through my body. It was Raymond who made me release with such force that semen splattered my chin, my face, and the wall behind me.

And it was Raymond who pulled out shortly after my hole clenched around him, ripped off the condom, and tugged his dick just once before he ejaculated all over me. It spattered and pooled on my overheated flesh. He panted and listed forward only to catch himself with a splayed hand on the wall.

“Shit,” he gasped.

A breathless laugh tumbled out of me as I lay on the shaggy floor mat. Every bone in my body had been reduced to mush.

Raymond took a couple of deep breaths and sat back on his haunches. A broad grin swept across his face.

“Not bad.”

I laughed again, louder this time, and nudged him with my foot. “Not bad? Fuck you. You shot, like, five loads at once.”

“Come back to bed, and in a few minutes I’ll be ready to shoot some more.”

My lips parted, but no words came out. I was too struck by the possibility of us spending an entire day in bed. Round after round of sex, interrupted by eating, cuddling, and falling asleep covered in each other’s sweat. It was something I’d always wanted with a guy. Just to enjoy each other all day with no distractions.

“I—”

“Oh shit, I forgot. I think your parents are here.”

“What!” I sat up. “Where? How do you know?”

Raymond got to his feet and tugged up his sweatpants. He turned to the sink and flicked on the faucet. “I saw some blond white people going into the store across the street, but it could be someone else.”

“Was the lady much shorter than the guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck!” I dove back into the shower and rinsed off. “Can you go let them in? Please?”

Raymond looked over his shoulder with his toothbrush hanging from the side of his mouth. “Do I look like your bellhop?”

“Don’t be an assho—” A loud, steady knock on the door interrupted. “Shit.”

“Why the hell are you freaking out?” Raymond spat into the sink, gargled, and flicked off the water. “I’ll open the goddamned door.”

“Then go!”

Raymond looked at me like I’d lost my mind and left the bathroom. I probably had lost my mind. Even if they’d walked in on me making out with Raymond while draped with rainbow flags, it wasn’t like they didn’t know I was gay. They’d
always
known I was gay. But beyond that, the apartment was a mess, there possibly were bits of marijuana buds all over the coffee table, and I was now suffering from a case of postorgasmic lack of IQ.

I finished showering and nearly tripped while climbing over the side of the tub. After doing a half-assed job of drying off, I was prepared to greet my parents in my underwear but saw that Raymond had stacked clothes on the closed toilet seat. A pair of jeans and my favorite T-shirt—the one that said
Never trust an atom. They make up everything
.

He was making it really difficult to not fall for him with all of this sweet thoughtful stuff.

“—care about the Veteran’s Day parade.”

“What are you ranting about, Mother?” I asked, entering the living room.

The place looked like it had been bombarded by a line of contestants from Supermarket Sweep. There were shopping bags everywhere, from multiple grocery and department stores. My father was dutifully unpacking them in our tiny kitchen while my mother spoke loudly to Raymond despite them being only a few inches apart. The sight of them together was enough to draw a low laugh from me.

My towheaded mother was a foot shorter than Raymond and was wearing a festive red pantsuit, yet he was leaning away as if he expected to be bitten. His arms were crossed over his chest, shoulders hunched, and he looked bashful about being half-dressed in front of her.

“I was explaining to Raymond that I didn’t come here for the Veteran’s Day parade. I’m from a long line of veterans, but I’m not helping them by stomping around Manhattan in a snowstorm. I came to celebrate our anniversary. I also wanted to see you. And because Steven, my husband”—she explained to Raymond—“wants to go to the damned opera.”

“It’s a good show,” my father shouted from the kitchen. “Very controversial. About a terrorist attack on a cruise ship—”

“What storm?” I interrupted.

“Up to a foot, they’re saying.” My father joined us in the living room and stared down at the mass of bags on the floor. “It’s going to start in a couple of hours, so we won’t be staying long. Your mom just wanted to drop off these things.”

“What the hell is all of this?” I picked up one of the bags and peered inside. Three boxes of gingerbread cookies and assorted snacks. “Mom, you didn’t have to buy us food!”

“You won’t let me send you any money. What else am I supposed to do?”

“You’re not supposed to do anything! I don’t need anything. We have it under control. Really.”

“Mmhmm.” She did not look convinced.

My father hefted up a few of the bags and sighed. “One of you is going to have to help me. I don’t know where anything goes.”

Raymond stepped around my mother and took the bags. “I got it, Mr. Butler.”

“Ohh. And he’s
polite
.”

I shot my mother a warning look, but she just smiled and watched Raymond trudge into the kitchen with my father hot on his heels.

“Please try not to embarrass me or make him feel weird. He’s already nervous.”

“I’m not making him nervous!” She sat on the edge of the armchair and dragged one of the Macy’s bags closer to her feet. “I told him to call me Maggie, for goodness sake.”

“That will never happen.”

“Why not?” She dug around in the bag and removed a dark blue sweater. “All of your friends call me Maggie.”

“Raymond isn’t like my friends, Mom. There is some mandate for respecting elder family members written into his DNA. He didn’t even curse around his mother. Like,
ever
.” That mandate hadn’t extended to Raymond’s father, but that was different. I took the sweater when she waved it at me. It was a soft cashmere blend and was embroidered with constellations. Smiling, I bent down to hug her. “Thanks. I hope you didn’t spend too much money.”

“Don’t worry about our money. You’ll be taking care of us when we retire.”

“Oh great. Then I guess I better worry even more.”

We went through the bags while Raymond and my father unpacked the groceries. She’d bought me more clothes than was necessary, considering the shopping expeditions I’d gone on in the past year, and she had even bought a few things for Raymond. Surprisingly, the items she picked out were all brands he liked. I pictured her scowling at her laptop during an overnight shift at the hospital, searching for hip urban wear for New York youths.

“We have clothes, you know. This is way too much, and he’s never going to accept it.”

“Tell him it’s an early Christmas present! He’s too polite to give back a present.”

“Mom, he’s going to think you’re calling him poor.”

“I would never be that condescending and presumptuous.” She scowled. “Did you say something about us to give that
idea?”

“No!”

“We’ll see.”

She got to her feet, black-and-gray hoodie in one hand, and marched into the kitchen. My father was folding plastic shopping bags into neat squares while Raymond washed our coffee pot. Some of the tension had bled from his broad shoulders, and I was thankful my unobtrusive father was at least making a good impression. He was quiet and unassuming. He’d probably inquired about Raymond’s tattoos and had started making connections to books.

“What has my son said to make you think we’re snobs?”

“Mom!”

Raymond looked at her, startled. “I didn’t….”

“I know
you
didn’t.” She held up the hoodie. “I brought you some gifts, and he seems to think you’d take it as an insult.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“David is very prim and proper, but you can blame that on his father. I’ve worked for thirty years as a nurse in a psych ward. Draw your own conclusions about how snobby I am.”

“For God’s sake, Maggie,” my father muttered. “Leave the boy alone.”

Raymond looked from me to my mother. On him, confusion looked severe, but my mom was not at all thwarted by his expression. She unzipped the hoodie, brandishing it like a net.

“Try it on. It might be too small. I didn’t realize how tall you are.” She thrust it at him when he backed away. “Come on, now.”

I was almost positive that Raymond put on the hoodie just so he would not be shirtless anymore. It was a little tight in his upper body, but he rolled his shoulders and smiled shyly. His diffident reaction to my bossy mother was melting me almost as much as his sleepy murmurs. I gazed at him while my insides turned to goo, and only stopped when I caught my father watching. He smirked, and my face warmed.

“Thanks, Mrs. Butler,” Raymond said.

“
Maggie
.”

“Nah, I’m not calling you that. Sorry.”

“Hmph.” My mother sat at the small dinette across from my father. “You and your bag folding. Raymond is going to think we’re a bunch of neurotics.”

“We are,” I said. “There’s no sense hiding it now. Especially not after your weird psych ward non sequitur.”

My mother glared at me again, and Raymond laughed. I joined him by the coffee pot, watching him measure out the fine-ground espresso mix he insisted on buying.

“It’s better if they’re folded,” Raymond said. “Maybe I can put them somewhere instead of throwing them away.”

“We recycle them,” I corrected Raymond. “Don’t get her started on a rant about us destroying the planet.”

“The planet’s already fuc—messed up for good.”

When a sixth spoonful of coffee was dropped into the filter, I grabbed his wrist. “You’re going to poison them with that tar.”

Raymond shook me off. “At least it will wake me up. You just make brown water.”

It was true. I made terrible coffee. There was a reason I spent half my paycheck at Starbucks.

While the coffee brewed, I pulled out some folding chairs from the cramped pantry and Raymond put mugs on the table for my parents. I noticed that he gave them the ones without cracks and chipped edges, and had to beat back the starbursts of fondness exploding in my chest. It all felt so cozy and domestic that I had an urge to sit close to him and try to prompt more conversation between him and my parents as the snow started outside. That’s what happened, except I kept what I thought was a safe distance and an even expression until Raymond asked if I still wanted hot chocolate. The sweet considerate business was going to be my undoing.

“You two are adorable,” my mother said.

“I’m really not,” Raymond said.

He swiped my half-eaten muffin. My mother had brought us an entire box because no one respected my aversion to carbs. I shoved my plate over to him in an effort to avoid additional crumbs.

“I think,” my mother started, “there should be some form of genetic engineering to combine the genes of gay couples who want children.” My father snorted back a laugh, but she continued, undeterred. “David, is that possible?”

“Mother, I teach Earth Science.”

“Still, maybe you’ve read something. Haven’t we talked about this before?”

“No….”

My father made a sympathetic noise and took another sip of coffee. “She assumes the two of you even want children. Not everyone—”

“What?” Raymond’s voice was muffled around a mouthful of bread. “The two of—”

“Wait—” Sitting up straighter, my eyes flashed between my parents and Raymond. “We’re not together.”

Both my parents were so startled by this proclamation that they gaped. My father had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Where did you get that idea?” I demanded.

My mother made a gesture, indicating us and the kitchen at large. “Everything. I assumed you were in a relationship. I’m sorry if I offended you,” she added, directing the comment to Raymond. “But you seem to be very good to my son, and can you blame me for imagining grandbabies with your complexion and features? It would be—”

“Mom,” I interjected. They had never once approved of any boyfriend I had—they were always too withdrawn, too flashy, too dependent, too
something
—but now they were planning my future with a guy I was trying my hardest not to fall for. It was already happening at a terrifying speed, and their approval would only encourage me. “I never once said he was my boyfriend. I told you he’s just my coworker’s brother.”

My mother winced at the word choice, and I glanced at Raymond in horror.

He wasn’t even glaring at me. His eyes were on the table.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever, David.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

Raymond pushed his chair back from the table. “It was nice meeting you. Thank you for buying me stuff.”

“Oh, honey….” My mother looked more upset than I felt, which was impressive considering it was impossible to swallow with the lump growing in my throat. “You don’t have to go. We’re enjoying your company.”

“Nah, it’s okay. The snow is picking up, and I need to get ready to go too.”

“Where—” I shut the question down when he flashed me a chilly, flat-eyed stare. The warm contentment of only moments ago was replaced by a sheet of ice, descending on my head with the knowledge that I’d just done something awful. When I heard his bedroom door shut, I dropped my face into my hands.