Page 23

Evan – One Year Later

“ D ads , ” Mia whines, “Joey’s stolen my MAC lipstick again.”

From where I’m chopping up salad veggies at the kitchen bench, I sigh, then lean towards the hallway and call back, “Joe, give it back! I’ll take you shopping for your own on the weekend!”

“What happened to that whole ‘no more kids’ thing, again?” Jay asks from his spot on the other end of the counter, where he’s seasoning the minced beef for the hamburger patties we’ll be throwing onto the barbeque in a couple of hours. “Because I’m pretty sure we’ve got two now.”

He’s not entirely wrong. Joey has been staying over at our place more frequently lately. He came out to his parents at the start of the new school year and, while his dad didn’t hurt him, his home life has been uncomfortable at best. Jay and I made it clear that our door is always open to him and, as such, he’s practically moved in.

“Didn’t Mia always ask for a sibling?” I ask, and James snorts.

“She asked for a little sister when she was five. I bought her one of those dolls that wets itself instead and the novelty lasted all of a week before she was asking if she could just have a puppy instead.”

“Joe’s kind of like a puppy.” He’s got the boundless energy of a golden retriever, anyway.

“He does sneak into her room and steal her things,” he agrees. Then he cocks his head. “Since when do you know anything about shopping for makeup?”

While he’s not actually our foster kid or adoptee, I’ve been treating Joey like he is because I know there’s no way his parents would be okay with him exploring his interest in fashion and makeup. He has a wardrobe full of more feminine clothes (most of which I bought him to get him to stop pilfering from Mia’s collection), and now we’re going to work on expanding his makeup supplies.

“I don’t,” I admit. “But Jack’s partner, Leo, is apparently good with it. Dolls himself right up.”

I pull out my phone and bring up the photo Jack sent me of him and Leo on their last date night. In it, Jack’s boyfriend’s eyes pop with a splash of glittery eyeshadow and bold fake eyelashes, and his already sharp cheekbones seem even more striking because of whatever contouring he did. He’s stunning, but not my type. I still prefer my men bigger, with blond hair and cuddly dad bods. “See? He’s volunteered to come along. Said he’ll even give Joey some lessons.”

“Thank God,” Jay breathes. “No offence, honey, but I was worried you’d end up making him look like a clown.”

“I happen to know my own strengths and limitations, thanks,” I tease back. “Unlike the time you took Mia formal dress shopping.” Having my stepdaughter call me near tears because her dad was picking her the most conservative dresses he could find is an experience I will hold over his head for eternity.

He pouts. “I can’t help it if I think women are sexy with a bit of mystery.”

“You went into Neanderthal Dad mode and I had to rescue her.”

“Oooh,” Joey saunters in and steals a slice of cheese from the plate I’ve set aside, “are we talking about James’ terrible fashion sense again?”

“I do not have terrible fashion sense,” my boyfriend, bless his cotton-nylon blend socks, growls. “And don’t eat all the food before we can turn it into dinner.”

“Daddy James is mad,” Joey stage-whispers to me, specifically to get a reaction.

James, naturally, doesn’t disappoint. He groans. “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

I shake my head, trying really, really hard (read: not trying at all) to mask my amusement. “You know he only does it because you react that way.”

“When do you turn eighteen again?” James asks our not-actually-adopted kid. “Because once you’re eighteen, you’re officially an adult and will become Centrelink’s problem.”

“Dad, that’s mean,” Mia saunters into the kitchen, as if she hadn’t just been whining about Joey stealing her things. “You won’t kick him out.” She reaches out and smooshes Joey’s cheeks with one hand, forcing him into the whole ‘duckface’ pout. “Look at this face. You love him.”

Joey gets points for just rolling with it.

“That’s debatable,” James mutters under his breath. I lob a chunk of onion at him. “ Hey! ” he complains. “No throwing food. One, it’s a waste. Two, you’ll be the one cleaning up.” Then he reaches out and slaps Joe’s hand away from the cheese. “And stop eating it all!” Turning to me he says, “It’s like we never feed them.”

“I’m a growing boy,” Joey insists. He bats his lashes at us, trying to make himself look like the Puss In Boots gif, all pitiful and such. “Don’t you want me to grow up big, and strong, and capable of finding a sexy man of my own?”

“Gross,” Jay declares, scrunching up his nose. “I don’t want to think about my kids’ love lives.”

“Ah ha!” Joe throws his hands in the air and then points both index fingers at James. “You do think of me as your kid.”

“You’re our bonus kid,” I agree, while I watch Jay’s expression flash through a number of emotions. He’s gotten much better about handling changes, I’ll give him that, but sometimes he still struggles with the sudden realisation of feelings. Like working out that he really does love our bonus kid, who isn’t really ours but might as well be.

“Think about it this way, baby,” I tell him when he still hasn’t said anything, “you fed the stray puppy, and it followed you home, and now it lives here.”

To be honest, I’m a little surprised that Joe’s parents haven’t realised who he’s staying with ninety percent of the time. I was also surprised that the kid was still enrolled at Winchester, because I half expected that his dad would pull the funding, but Mia said that Joe threatened to post about it online and his dad decided that his own reputation meant more to him than destroying his gay son’s senior year of high school.

Rich people are still so weird to me.

“I liked you better before you called me a stray, Ev,” Joe sighs.

I shrug. “I just call ’em like I see ’em.”

“Rude,” he responds, then turns to Mia, “did you see who they cast as Sam in the musical?” He makes a face, then answers for her, “Freaking Scott Fairweather. It’s like, hello , do you want the whole thing to flop?”

“Why are you complaining, though?” she asks him, then attempts to sneak another piece of cheese out from under Jay’s nose. He swats her hand away, too. With a sigh, she turns back to Joe. “You got Harry, which is what you auditioned for.”

“Only because I can do his part in tenor. I can’t sing baritone to save my life.” Sighing dramatically, he looks at me. “ Why are all lead male parts always so…masculine? It’s a musical . We’re all gay.” He holds up his hand to forestall James’ rant about stereotypes. “I know, I know. I’m just venting. It’s not my fault I’m a walking, talking cliché. I was born this way.” He groans and points at me next. “Don’t you dare start singing that Lady Gaga song.”

I frown and, in an aside to Jay, complain, “You’re right: he’s been spending too much time here.”

“Is it too late to put him up for adoption?” Jay plays along.

God, I love him.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no.” Mia snatches up the tea-towel from where it was tossed on top of the kitchen bench earlier and, with a swirl of her wrist, twists it in the air. Then she flicks her wrist and snaps the improvised weapon at me. “Bad. Bad Evvy. Stop making googly eyes at Dad. There are children present. Plus,” she makes a face, “you’ll spoil our appetites.”

“Oh,” I widen my eyes, feigning surprise and apology, “I am so sorry. I didn’t realise!” Then, a split second later, my lips curl upwards and I set down my knife and turn to close the distance between myself and Jay. Wrapping my arm around his waist, I say, “I guess you’ll really hate it if I do this .”

Jay melts into the kiss, as he always does, and it quickly changes from being a playful act to a proper, decadent, loving kiss. The world around us fades into the background, and I’m just as lost in him as the first time we kissed.

Somewhere in the background, I can hear Mia making exaggerated gagging sounds, but it’s interspersed with her laughter. She’s actually really cool about our relationship, though she hates that we make it our life’s goal to embarrass her in public wherever possible. Not in a negative way, but in a ‘my parents are dorks, feel sorry for me’ kind of way.

It’s a lot of fun.

Of course, the bonus kid ruins it by loudly declaring, “ This is why I stay here. Who needs porn when you get live shows?”

“Well, that’s my libido dead forever,” James declares as he steps out of my embrace. He points at the two miscreants on the other side of the kitchen bench. “You two can go set the table outside.”

Mia rolls her eyes, while Joey smirks and says, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Don’t—” I start, but it’s too late.

James makes an almost agonised, frustrated sound at the back of his throat. “Stop calling me that!”

I can’t help but burst into laughter, and my boyfriend rounds on me with a scowl. “This bratty behaviour is all your fault.”

“Mine? How?”

“Well, he’s your kid.”

“Uh…”

“Mimi’s mine, and Joe is yours.”

“That’s not how it works, Jay.”

“It is now.”

Have I mentioned I love him? He’s so ridiculous that it’s adorable.

Jesus, I must love him because I just thought he was ‘adorable’.

“Come on, hot stuff,” I tease, and gesture to the bowl of meat in front of him. “Finish making the patties and I’ll warm up the barbie.”

“I hope you realise you’re not getting laid for at least a week,” he huffs.

“That’s an idle threat. I give you two days before you’re begging for a bj.”

“Pfft. It’ll be you begging.”

I affect nonchalance. “We’ll see.”

(In the end? We last 24 hours by mutual agreement. Well, that’s my story, and I’m sticking with it.)