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21

11 - Blush

1pm

My mom’s house is ridiculously stark. It’s done in a palette of cream, ecru, eggshell and other variations on off-white. The couch should be covered in plastic and there should be runners over the plush wall-to-wall carpet. I’d never tell my mother any of this, but I think it as I stare at her collection of Faberge eggs.

Brian’s hand glides over the expanse of my back, making me shiver slightly.

“What the hell are these?” He tosses his head at the glass display case.

“Faberge eggs, my mom collects them. I think they’re worth money.”

“Would she miss a couple?” His lighthearted tone and shit-eating grin make my gut tingle. He’s lucky I’m still so easy.

“Almost ready boys,” my mom yells from the kitchen. Brian throws me a ‘what the fuck’ look as he rolls his eyes. He should be flattered, I’m not sure Brian’s been called a ‘boy’ in a long time.

“Be nice,” I smack his ass as we walk toward the back of the condo.

“I’m never nice.” He says smoothly.

“Civil?” I whisper as we take our seats at the kitchen table. My mom is gliding between the table and the countertop, loading our plates with French toast, fluffy eggs, fresh fruit and links of sausage. Brunch has always been my favorite meal and she insisted she make it for me this year.

I watch Brian blanch at the 12,000 calories placed in front of him. He reaches for the coffee press and politely denies the offer of cream or sugar.

I don’t know what makes me happier, my mom’s French toast or Brian shifting the food on his plate like a nine-year-old avoiding vegetables.

“So what else do you have planned today?” My mom smiles brightly at me as she brushes the bangs out of her eyes. I have a fleeting thought about how pretty she is.

“I don’t know.” I glance at Brian, who’s given up the masquerade of eating and is sipping his coffee and gazing out the window. I kick him gently under the table.

“What?” He barks at me. Then his face changes quickly as he remembers where he is. The fake smile he plasters on makes me laugh.

My mother seems troubled by our exchange, which only makes me laugh harder.

“Well?” I grin at Brian.

“Well what?” he asks, totally confused.

“My mom asked what else we’re doing today, you know for my birthday?”

“Oh,” Brian refills his coffee cup and shifts his eyes carefully from one Taylor to another.

“I thought we’d go home, fuck a few more times and call it a day.” Leave it to Brian to make my mother blush in her own home.

I kick him in earnest but this time he kicks me back. I’m biting my bottom lip so hard I’m sure it’s bleeding. All I want to do is laugh until I cry, or cry until I laugh.

“What Brian means is,” I stutter as I search for a good cover up.

My mother smoothes her blouse and pushes her plate away, apparently having lost her appetite, “Honey, it’s fine. You’re adults. I know you have…” She doesn’t have to finish the sentence with “sex”, Brian does it for her. I shake my head and wipe my mouth.

Every time I think my mom might be starting to see a little of what I see in Brian he does shit like this. I’m done being frustrated by it, I’ve moved on to resigned and even slightly amused. We’ve been playing out this same scene at every holiday for nearly two years. If nothing else, my mom is used to Brian. She recognizes that my sister, my grandparents and my extended family get Brian-lite. He really only lets her see this raw, real, honest side of him. She should feel special, honored even.

We offer to do the dishes, well I do, but my mother insists we be on our way and onto more fun things. She sees us to the door and hands me a card just before she kisses my forehead and hugs me too tightly. Then she turns to Brian and gives him a thin smile. He nods at her a little and then suddenly leans down to kiss her cheek, “Thanks for brunch, Jen.”

She laughs nervously and blushes for the second time today. But this time it’s a beautiful, rosy blush, the kind you get when a man like Brian Kinney kisses you. The kind I still get all the time.

2:30 pm

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