The Connection

Mom and Dad fight over the grill.

Most of the time, his dad is perfectly content to ignore the more male centered hobbies of fixing cars and playing rough sports in order to focus mainly on reading, listening to classical music and bitching about students’ papers. But once a year, his dad will take an interest in the manliest of all cooking techniques: grilling. Avery’s mom is, of course, much better at grilling than his father is. Dr. Reeves always burns everything. Hamburgers and hotdogs and he even cooked a rib eye so much that the poor cut of meat almost caught fire. But, ever year, he’ll argue with his wife that he should cook the food. Mrs. Reeves will sigh heavily and roll her eyes. She’ll then hand over the huge metal spatula she uses to her husband, calling over her shoulder for him to come get her when he’s done cooking.

Dad never gets that far.

“God damnit! Annie!” Their father’s yell sails in through the kitchen window on an early evening breeze. Mrs. Reeves squints out the kitchen window, before she sighs heavily, the breath blowing up her too-long bangs.

“I tell him every year… Here, Avy, finish cutting these potatoes.” His mother grumbles, handing over her well-used Chef’s knife to her oldest child. Avery sighs, he hates cooking and he’s about as good at it as his father. But he chops away at the boiled and chilled new potatoes, holding the knife stiffly. He’s only cut a few potatoes into uneven little chunks when a feminine huff sounds from the island.

“You’re holding it wrong.”

Avery throws a dark look over his shoulder at his sister. Quinn looks at him totally unabashed, picking at the veggie tray that their mother insisted on making. She’s wearing a new tank top in bright teal that brings out her dark blue eyes and a pair of ripped shorts. Her hair is, as usual, straighter than a pin and tied up in a high ponytail. She chews on a pickle spear, as Avery glares at her.

“How?” Avery snarls, tightening his gripe on the worn handle. Quinn sighs dramatically, and soon is standing next to him, smelling like a mixture of soft floral perfume and the vinegary tang of pickles.

“You’re holding it like a killer. Like Norman Bates in the shower scene.” She remarks. Avery huffs, and thrust the knife into her hands.

“Fine. You do it then, Bobby Flay.” He snaps, crossing his arms. Quinn rolls her eyes, but sets to work quartering the potatoes (in perfect, even, potato-salad like chunks), anyway. She mows through the pile effortlessly, as Avery stands sulking and panicking nearby. Quinn doesn’t have to look up to know that her brother is picking at his fingernails or tapping his foot restlessly.

“Go get mustard and mayo out of the fridge. And get the rest of the stuff, too.”

“What’s the rest of the stuff?” Avery retorts snottily, but opens the fridge anyway. Quinn takes an even breath through her nose.

“The hard boiled eggs, the leftover bacon from yesterday, and the celery and onions that mom chopped earlier.” Quinn lists patiently to her stressed brother, sliding the potatoes off the cutting board and into a large decorative bowl. As much as she’d like to snap right back at her brother, she understands why he’s acting like a dick.

This is the first time Max will meet their parents.

Avery obediently brings the armful of other ingredients to Quinn, who takes them from him and starts to fix the rest of the salad. She slices the eggs and commands Avery to crumble the bacon, and when everything’s added to the bowl, she adds the mayo and mustard without measuring it. When she’s sufficiently mixed everything, she arranges the egg slices on the top and adds a ton of salt and black pepper. Avery watches her, trying to be distracted by the calm way that Quinn prepares their mother’s recipes, blowing her dark bangs out of her face, tasting as she goes and finally offering a small forkful to Avery; just like their mother does.

“Good?” Quinn prompts, stretching plastic wrap over the bowl as Avery chews.

“Yeah,” Avery concedes, it’s actually better than his mom’s, saltier like he likes it. “It’s good.”

“So, you’ll boyfriend will like it, right?” Quinn asks, reaching into the fridge to garb the shredded cabbage and other ingredients for the coleslaw. Avery turns scarlet behind her back.

“Shut the fu—“

“Because if he likes it, then things will go okay and you won’t have to be as nervous.” Quinn interjects casually, mixing the coleslaw ingredients together in another decorative bowl. She throws a small smile over her shoulder, “Right? So, relax.”

“It’s not about the food. It’s about… “Avery takes a deep breath, the words rushing into his mouth and spilling over before he can sort them out.

“What if mom and dad don’t like him? Or what if he feels nervous? What if they say something stupid? Or what if Max doesn’t like them? Quinn, just… what if something goes wrong?” Avery rambles. He’s so worried. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this nervous. Not even when he took the ACT or when he took his driving test. He twists the hem of his t-shirt in his fingers, stretching the fabric and making the muscles in his hands cramp with use.

“Mom and dad will like him. Mom likes everyone.” Quinn says calmly, folding the coleslaw mixture in the dressing with even strokes of the spatula and small, meticulous turns of the bowl. The cadence of her voice and the methodical movements that she makes steadies Avery slightly. The normality in those motions makes Avery feel safe and distracted; it slows the heavy thrumming of his pulse.

“He’s going to a hell of a lot more nervous than you. So try to make him not as jumpy by being calm. Dad will probably say something stupid, but something like, ‘So, what’s your views on transcendentalism writers,’ stupid, not like, ‘so where the hell is your biological father,’ stupid.”

“And Max won’t dislike mom and dad. Because he cares about you, and he knows you’re close with us. So, even if he doesn’t, he’ll suck it up, anyway… for you.” She adds, tasting a forkful of coleslaw and offering one to a blushing and scowling Avery.

“Quinn, he’s being nice. He’s doing this because he has to, not because he cares about—“

“The way he looks at you is disgusting.” She interrupts, shoving the forkful into Avery’s surprised and open (to protest) mouth.

“He’s always looked at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world; like you’re special and not just an asshole that eats all the Poptarts and hogs the radio. You don’t deserve that kind of attention.” She huffs, but she’s smiling.

Her eyes are soft with happiness and love for the older brother that both helped her with her homework and had screaming matches over who took the last clean towel. And also, for the burly and most of the time abrasive quarterback that has always looked at Avery with a soft flickering of affection in his eyes, even when he put bruises on Avery’s arms and back. Avery looks at his sister’s warm eyes, and he wants to hug her and tell her that it means everything to him that she accepts Max. But instead, he swallows the coleslaw and frowns.

“Needs more salt, Bobby Flay.” He grins.

“Fuck you. It’s salty enough. “She snorts, but her eyes are laughing and happy. She punches his shoulder for good measure.

“Quinn, don’t hit your brother!” Mrs. Reeves scolds entering the kitchen. Her bangs are wilted with sweat and her cheeks are flushed from standing in front of the grill, trying to salvage the meat his father was left alone with.

“I swear your father would starve to death if I wasn’t here. How he manages to burn hamburgers into charcoal, I will never know.” She shakes her head, and then glances at the clock.

“Crap. Max’s is going to be here any minute and I don’t have anything done…” Mrs. Reeves says frantically, twisting her hands together and rushing towards the fridge. But then she spots the two plastic wrapped bowls sitting on the counter.

“Honey, did you make the salads?” She asks Avery, her tone of pure awe.

“Sure did—“Avery grins, only to be smacked (hard) by Quinn.

“No, you didn’t! I made them!” She cries. She continues to smack and pinch her brother (ignoring her mother’s bleats of ‘Stop it, Quinn! He’ll have bruises!’), until the doorbell rings. Quinn stops, just as the bottom of Avery’s stomach drops onto the spotless kitchen floor.

“Quinn, help me set the table… Avy, go answer the door! Go on!” His mother smiles brightly, grabbing one bowl and hustling out the door. Quinn shoots him a meaningful look and follows their mother. Right, be calm. Everything will be fine. ”Because he cares about you…He’ll suck it up… for you.”
Avery swallows and walks to the door. And when he opens the door and Max sees him, the quarterback looks around the foyer briefly before yanking Avery to his spicy scented chest.

Avery goes willingly after a moment of brief confusion. Max warps his arms tightly around his skinny middle, resting his cheek on top of Avery’s head. Avery chuckles, pressing his face into Max’s broad chest ignoring the way his glasses pinch the bridge of his nose and smudge. Max sighs against his hair.

“I’ve never been this nervous, man. They’re gonna hate me.” Max says hopelessly, burying his nose into Avery hair. Avery snickers and pulls away slightly, to look into Max’s flushed face. It’s then that he takes in to rest of Max.

“Why are you wearing that?” Avery grins, looking down at Max’s dark green button up, buttoned all the way to his throat. Max snorts, yanking on the collar with one hand, while keeping the other firmly planted on the small of Avery’s back.

“Allie said I should… said it would make a good impression.” He grumbles, his cheeks turning pinker under the scrutiny. Avery giggles, reaching up to unbutton the first button, right under Max’s bobbing Adam’s apple.

“It’s a barbeque. You don’t have to dress up.” Avery smiles, as he slips the first pearly button through its button hole.

“Don’t worry. Mom and Dad will like you… and Quinn already likes you.” Absently, he works further down, unbuttoning Max’s dress shirt, until his plain black undershirt comes into view. Avery isn’t even aware that he is literally undressing him until one of Max’s hands covers his. Avery doesn’t know if the tremors he’s feeling are his own or Max’s.

“I… I can do that.” Max mumbles. Mortified, Avery slips his hand from underneath Max’s and focuses on the black toes of Max’s sneakers next to the graying white of his own

“S-sorry. I didn’t…Yeah, you do it. Sorry.” Avery stutters helplessly. Max doesn’t say anything as he frees himself of the rest of the buttons and eventually his shirt. When he throws the shirt over the coat rack, Avery tries valiantly to ignore the tightness of Max’s shirt as well as other tightness’ that grip his body. He doesn’t move as Max walks back towards him, shutting the open front door as he goes. But he relaxes slightly when Max’s bare arm circles his back, and his free hand lifts Avery’s chin.

“Don’t look at me.” Avery mumbles, still ashamed, still scarlet. Max huffs a laugh, leaning down to rest his forehead against Avery’s.

“If you wanna undress me, all you gotta do is ask…” And even with Avery’s eyes closed he can hear the smirk in Max’s tone.

“Shut up.” Avery grumbles, his blush deepening. Max’s chuckle ghosts over his lips and nose, bringing with it the strong scent of spearmint toothpaste. And when the taller boy speaks, the swell of his top lip brushes Avery’s.

“It’d be kinda weird right now. Meetin’ your parents and all.” Max whispers, their noses rubbing and their bodies unconsciously leaning forward to seal together. Avery’s heart is speeding, just like it always does when he and Max are close like this. He keeps hoping that someday his body will finally get used to Max’s body heat and husky, slightly slurred words. But now it feels just like the first time in the backseat of the Chevelle.

“But later… I’d be happy to let you. Alright?” Max says, barely audible his plump lips pressing faintly into Avery’s. It’s not a kiss yet, but the promise makes Avery’s heart hammer against his ribcage. Max is teasing him, keeping their lips touching but without pressure, without heat. It’s not enough to soothe the tightness constricting Avery’s lungs. He leans forward, throwing his arms around Max’s neck answering his question without words, but with movement and pressure and a soft sigh. Max hums happily, something that might have been a laugh, before he kisses back; the tip of his tongue tentatively sweeping across the shorter boy’s bottom lip. He accepts him quickly, and Max slips—

“Avy!”

The two boys start, their foreheads connecting painfully. Max hisses grabbing his head as Avery whips around to glare at a laughing Quinn.

“What?” Avery snarls to his smirking little sister.

“I thought you got lost… it shouldn’t take someone ten minutes to answer the door.” She simpers, twirling a strand of hair around her finger and giving Avery a smug, laughing look.

“Hey, Max.” She says brightly, waving to the tomato faced quarterback. Max, for his part, doesn’t glare at her or threaten violence. Just looks at her levelly with a small amount of venom swirling in his green eyes.

“Quinn.”

“Well, come on. Mom’s still cooking, but everyone’s ready to meet Avy’s Soul Mate.” She says happily, laying extra emphasis on the official term for his and Max’s relationship.

He and Max both turn pinker at that statement.
_______

“So… Max. What are your plans for next year?”

Avery resists the urge to slam his head against the patio table his mother carefully decorated earlier this afternoon. Everyone’s had the polite introductions and the awkward pleasantries, his mother smiling sweetly and being charming and his father observing coldly and barely speaking. And now when his dad wants to talk about Max, he chooses probably the most terrible topic ever. He wants to kick his dad under the table, and growl at him at his obvious attempt to get Max to talk about his future plans. Max looks up from his burger (a perfectly cooked one, not a charcoal one), chewing thoughtfully for a moment, the tips of his ears lined with pink.

“I uh… I’m a mechanic... at the garage on Adams. So, I’ll probably be doin’ that for a while.” He says carefully, and a little ashamed his face tinged with pink. Avery wants to reach for his hand under the table, but his fingers stall in his lap. He wants to drag Max away to somewhere safe. Like his bedroom, or the lake, or the Chevelle. Somewhere where beautiful and protective Max won’t have to feel bad; now or ever again. His father surveys him over the tops of his glasses, never looking up as he spears a forkful of coleslaw.

“Not a very well paying vocation.” He says drily, adding a mean little quirk of his eyebrow. Avery opens his mouth to hiss at his father, but his mother is quicker.

“And a coffee shop manager is, William?” His mother remarks softly, raising one perfect blonde eyebrow. Mr. Reeves turns pink under her deadly gaze and the rare use of his full name. He backpedals quickly.

“Well, not really. But… But what I meant was, do you have any college plans?” Dr. Reeves says with forced brightness under the sugar-coated steel glare of his wife. Max swallows hard, opens his mouth—

“Dad, does that really matter right now?” Avery interjects before Max can. He doesn’t look up, just continues to push food around his plate. He’s not hungry, not at all. His dad snorts.

“Of course it is. You’re going to college—“

“For art.” Avery deadpans.

“Well, yes. But you’re still going. A degree can get you far, even if it’s in a rather soft major—“

“You’re a Literary Studies professor.” Quinn laughs around a mouthful of food. His mother shoots her a look, one that says chew with your mouth closed not don’t make fun of your father. Dr. Reeves looks at his daughter with a rare cold expression.

“Yes. And because I selected a soft major, I had to work harder and get a doctorate in order to make money and support a family.”

Avery chokes on his soda at his father’s implication.

“William, stop it! There’s no reason to be rude to Avery’s boyfriend!” Mrs. Reeves growls slapping Avery on the back as he coughs and sputters. Oh fuck. This is terrible. This is the worst. Avery’s choking to death at this catastrophe of a barbeque and Max will leave, probably forever. He’ll leave
Avery alone and he’ll never—

“Actually, I plan on goin’ to technical school, and I’ve got a job lined up after I finish.” Max cuts through, his gruff baritone carrying a hint of icy challenge. This seems to surprise everyone at the small festively decorated picnic table (even Avery. He had no idea). All eyes are on Max, and even the birds seem to take notice and keep oddly silent. He looks evenly at Mr. Reeves, who looks back appraisingly, something close to a challenge in his own dark eyes.

“And you believe that you can support my son with that?”

”Jesus Christ, Dad!”

“Yeah, I do.” Max shrugs, both men ignoring Avery’s indigent cries. Quinn and Mrs. Reeves exchange knowing mother-daughter glances over the table. No one ever speaks up against Mr. Reeves. Well, except his fiery wife. But he’s not used to being contradicted and challenged by his children or his students, and certainly not people like Max, with grease under their fingernails and who speak with a slight southern accent that slurs their words. People that work hard for everything they have, and people that don’t go to college because they have responsibilities to others. Like families and little sisters with timid voices and huge, scared green eyes.

“’m not afraid to get a second job neither, if Av decides that he don’t wanna work. Hell, he could paint or whatever and make a little money that way, I don’t care. As long as he’s happy and wants to stay, I’ll make it happen.” Max says, all the while looking straight into Dr. Reeves’ unreadable brown eyes. They stare at each other for a while, both too stubborn to back down.

And Avery feels tightness in his chest that usually precedes him crying. Logically, he understands that he and Max are a rare case. Most people don’t make the Connection before they graduate high school; hell, most don’t meet their Soul Mates until they’re in their mid-twenties. But those who do, those who become romantically attached instead of creating a strong friendship, intend on planning a life together. So, logically, Max would be ready to spend his life with Avery, even if they’ve never talked about it, and Avery is still unsure of what their senior year (of college plans and judgmental peers) will bring. But that doesn’t stop his brain, usually so slow to process any kindness from Max. Now it’s whirling at top speed. Things like, future and support and something soft and whispery, something light and impossible heavy at the same time, a single word oiling the whirling gears of Avery’s mind.

No one speaks during his father’s and his Soul Mate’s loaded staring contest. Until Quinn clears her throat loudly, standing up from the table.

“I’m getting another burger. Does… Does anyone want anything… or?”

“Yeah. A burger, please. Thanks, Quinn.” Max says giving Quinn his empty plate. Quinn takes the plate without a word, only flashing the quarterback a subtle wink before she waltzes off.

“They’re really good, Mrs. Reeves.” Max says, flashing his mother a small smile. Annie rips her murderous stare away from her husband and gives Max the softest smile he’s ever seen on his mother face. Something that tells Avery that Max is now accepted by at least one of his parents.

“Thank you, honey. And it’s Annie.” She adds, with a wink, “I’ll want you around so, there’s no need for formalities… right, William?”

Dr. Reeves takes a long drink from his iced tea, regarding Max over the rim of his glass.

“I suppose we could do another dinner… “And at his mother’s twitching smile, “And William—Will is fine.” He says with a tight smile. Max nods, just as Quinn returns with a plate filled with BBQ chips, pickle spears and two burgers; one turkey, the other beef. She slides the beef one in front of Max, who gives her a small smile and a mumbled ‘thanks’. The five of them remain silent, only the quiet sounds of chewing (and the loud crunching of Quinn and her chips-pickles combo) and the soft evening chipping of birds breaking the suffocating awkward stillness.

“You said you work at an auto shop?” His father pipes up after Mrs. Reeves has gone to retrieve dessert. Avery groans, about to really slam his head on the table (“Really, Dad?” Quinn sighs).

“Yes, sir. KB Auto Body.”

“And you fix cars?”

“Dad! Please shut—“Avery hisses, only to have his dad throw him a sour look and hold up a hand.

“I’m asking about the noise my car makes, Avery. He says he can fix cars and I want to make sure I’m not involved in a fiery three car pile-up on my way to work.”

(“Only three? On the interstate? Like maybe eight or nine.” Quinn chirps.)

“Um… yeah, Av told me about it. It’s probably brake pads… nothin’ terrible. Unless you don’t take care of it.” Max says politely. Mr. Reeves rubs his stubble coated chin in thought.

“And you could fix it?”

“Yeah. I… I could do it tomorrow, if you want.” Max shrugs. Mr. Reeves surveys him closely, before he nods.

“You may come over tomorrow, but if it’s not dangerous then it can wait until next weekend when I can purchase the…Whatever I need to buy. Will that be acceptable?

“Um… yeah. That’s cool. I’ll be over around noon next Sunday?” Max says tentatively. Mr. Reeves nods. His mother comes back with a platter of cookies big enough to feed a small army and a bright smile that says she overheard the whole exchange between her cold husband and her son’s Soul Mate. Quinn dives on it immediately, swiping at least three chocolate chip cookies from the pile as Mrs. Reeves scolds her. Avery exhales, once, twice, three times. He finally uncramps his fingers and goes to reach for Max. Just to know that this is real… and that although this wasn’t as smooth as it could have been, it was okay. Max is okay. He’s okay. Everyone’s okay. He reaches out blindly, focusing on the platter of cookies. But as he reaches, a wider, more calloused palm finds his. He
looks away from the patter. Max is smiling softly down at him.

“Want a few? Before Quinn eats them all?” He asks, reaching his free hand towards the pile. Avery
smiles softly, threading their fingers together and resting their intertwined hands on his thigh.

“Yeah. Thanks Max.”