Page 9 of Snowbirds
“I’m so happy to have a chance to use this new glassware,” his mom continued, oblivious to the half-hearted death glare Morrison was receiving. “And I just made a fresh pitcher of lemonade and was about to pour Ivan another. Let’s celebrate!”
She held her hand out for Morrison’s tumbler. He gave it to her without hesitation and damn if Susie didn’t fill it to the rim. A tray with two more empty glasses sat on a low table by her elbow. It was going to be a long night.
“Have a seat, honey.” Deftly, his mom poured her concoction into each glass and handed one to his dad and the other to Chris.
Accepting the drink, Chris surveyed the scene of the crime. He caught Morrison’s eye again and raised one eyebrow with an addedwhat the fuckcock of his head. Morrison shot back yet another expressive single-shoulder shrug. So many shrugs and not one of them was a guilty one.
That was the moment Chris spotted the photo albums sitting off to one side of Morrison’s chair. Stepping past him, Chris snatched the top one and held it up for all to see.
“Photo albums?” He shook the offending book and set it back down. “Really, Mom?” He infused his voice with the tone he usually reserved for employees who’d stepped over the line. Morrison had heard it plenty. And much like with Morrison, it had no effect on his mother.
“Now, don’t get yourself all riled up,” she said with a broad smile, handing the re-filled drink back to the uninvited guest. “Have a seat already.” She leaned across and patted the empty patio chair next to Morrison. “I’m just so happy for the two of you. Lance, make a toast.”
“Ivan tellsme you two met at work,” Mom said, her smile taking in the both of them.
“I suppose that’s the truth,” Chris allowed.
Chris sat in the open seat next to Morrison and sipped at his refreshed drink. He was going to kill Morrison later, but it also wasn’t the worse thing in the world to let his folks think he had a real boyfriend, that he wasn’t all work and no play—even though he so was. He eyed his half-empty glass; it was probably time to slow down.
“We met at the same office,” Morrison agreed. “But I’m transferring to a different organization, and I ended up with some time off between assignments because of that.”
He was transferring? Since when? He had time off? That actually wasn’t a shock. But this was the first Chris had heard of a transfer. Wasn’t he being loaned out? Had Morrison requested the transfer? Was the move permanent? What the fuck was going on in Portland while he was on vacation? He made amental note to call Radisson and find out exactly what was happening. Paulter was useless for information.
“I’m a bit of a maverick,” Morrison continued. Chris snorted, earning himself a look from Susie. “The current boss and I don’t see eye to eye. Chris and I met at trivia night a while back. Opposite teams. Mine trounced his team, and I think I impressed him with my knowledge of the TV show,MASH.”
Theyhadmet at that trivia night event, the one immortalized in the picture in his office, before Ivan ended up working directly for Chris. He’d forgotten that fact. And, yes, Ivan’s team had won that night. But that’s only because Chris had been forced to team up with some yahoo from accounting. And Dennis Paulter. Fucking Paulter.
“I had to team up with Paulter, you know that. Although for someone who wasn’t born beforeMASHended, you sure do know a lot about the show.”
“And you were what, five?” Morrison shot back.
“And now you’re moving in together,” his mom interjected, all starry-eyed.
Chris inhaled sharply, choking and coughing on the swig of toxic lemonade he’d just taken. Morrison pounded him on the back.
“You alright?” Ivan asked him.
“Just,” Chris rasped when he could speak, “lemonade—wrong way.”
“Lance and I met at a Grateful Dead concert,” Mom said, unfazed by Chris’s coughing fit. “Remember, honey?”
“That’s right,” Dad concurred, scooting closer to his life partner and swinging his free arm over her shoulders. “It was love at first sight. They were playingUncle John’s Band, and Gerry was on guitar. It was hot and they had sprinklers running all around the venue, so there were rainbows everywhere. I’ll never forget that day.”
“We danced the rest of the night away. I think we were both high as kites on mushrooms.”
“Mom,” Chris said warningly.
“Oh, Chris, I just don’t know sometimes. Always so serious. If you didn’t look so much like me, I’d think you weren’t our child. Well, that and the thirty-six hours of labor you put me through.”
The reminder of the not-so-quite-in-the-past drug use—at least now, Chris hoped, his dadjustsmoked pot—was more than enough. And Chris did not need a play-by-play of the day he was born. He’d heard it enough times already.
“I think Chris takes after both of you,” Morrison said, scooting his chair closer to Chris’s and draping his arm across his shoulders, a mirror of what Lance had done.
Not for the first time since Ivan Morrison stormed into his life, Chris noted that he enjoyed the smell of Morrison’s cologne. Maybe it was just Morrison’s scent in general. The heavy weight of his arm was reassuring as well, keeping Chris from completely freaking out because his parents believed they were an item.
It wasn’t the worst thing that could happen while he was on vacation, he reminded himself. If his parents thought he and Morrison were together, maybe they’d stop pestering him about “true love” and all that bullshit. Maybe his mom would stop worrying about him being alone for the rest of his life, as if having personal space was a death sentence.
“It must be hard worrying about each other. I know Chris isn’t in the field as much as he once was, but still.”
