FIC: Saturday for _alicesprings
Written For: _alicesprings for her kind and generous donation at waltzmatildah Flood Appeal Auction.
Word Count: 3,000
Author Note: This is a long time coming, I admit - so huge thanks to _alicesprings for her patience as well as her help in the auction. She wanted a companion piece to Logan Edward Taylor so this probably won't make much sense if you haven't read that.
Sometimes, most times in fact, Brian thinks that Justin is one of the most intelligent people he’s ever met.
Other times, like the one he finds himself in at this very moment, Brian realizes that, in some instances, Justin has all the common sense and higher brain function of a common house plant. During these times, Brian feels it important to voice these blind-sighting revelations. Loudly.
“You’re a Twat you know that?” He has to raise his voice to be heard over the mass of screaming children, and a frazzled mother with a Burberry Baby bag strapped across her chest looks up from the nearest craft table to shoot him a horrified glance.
Justin looks about as impressed.
“Can you lower your fucking voice? There are children here!” Justin hisses loudly. He’s crouched in front of a wailing Jenny, trying to coax the bright purple stain out of her new sundress with his spit soaked sweater sleeve and some useless soothing sounds.
Brian makes sure his eye roll is startlingly apparent before returning his sour gaze back to the fenced off area.
“I told you this would be a fucking epic mistake,” Brian mumbles none too quietly, shifting uselessly on the uncomfortable bench and trying to pretend that Burberry Bag Mommy isn’t outwardly glaring at him now, tugging a curly haired rug rat off of his seat and further into the swarming pit of preschoolers and finger paints. “I fucking told you that this would end in tears, didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you? But nooo…”
His eyes snag on Gus’ bright yellow t-shirt at the moulding clay station as he watches him lean in to whisper something to Jamie, “You have to go all soccer mom and drag everyone kicking and screaming out in the sunshine for some fucking culture.”
Brian lets out a put upon sigh and flicks at a stray macaroni shell at his elbow. It flies through the air and narrowly misses the eye of a toddler gluing paper together on the opposite table.
“Now we’ve completely missed the Gucci sale, Jamie’s probably sunburned, and Mel’s gonna lock Jenny under the stairs when she sees that she’s ruined her couture!”
The wailing suddenly stops dead and Brian glances over to see Jenny’s shiny wet eyes blinking wide and horrified at him: mouth gaping silently, mid scream. Justin runs a soothing hand down Jenny’s back, “She’s not going to lock you under the stairs.” He assures her quietly, and then turns to fix Brian with a pointed glare, his voice dipping dangerously, “Uncle Brian’s just pissy today.”
Jenny snaps her mouth shut and blinks her teary eyes rapidly,
“Really?” She squeaks, peering unsurely at Brian who in turn ignores her completely in favor of finding another pebble with the tip of his boot.
Justin smiles encouragingly to compensate for Brian’s lack of response and reaches up to wipe his sleeve down both her cheeks, “Yeah, I promise.”
She heaves a dramatic sniff and bends down to tug one of her frilly knee socks back up into place. Brian’s just zeroed in on a particularly burly and loud chunk of a kid to fire at with his remaining pasta shell, when his focus is re-directed to a tiny hand nudging his knee.
Jenny’s staring knowingly up at his face as he looks over. “Maybe you need a nap, Uncle Brian.”
Brian stares at the seven-year-old blankly and she falters and looks behind her at Justin for answers. Justin just smiles and nudges her back in the direction of the coloring table.
“Don’t worry, Jenny. If he keeps up this attitude he’ll be getting nothing but sleep tonight, trust me.” It was directed solely and pointedly at Brian, but Jenny nods, assured, and skips back to her brothers.
“Okay, so in retrospect,” Justin eases back onto the bench beside Brian and lets out a weary sigh, “Maybe three kids, an array of oil paints and a crowded art fair wasn’t my brightest idea.”
“At least you’re not wearing Prada,” Brian mumbles, swiping a tentative hand down his jacket to check for dirt stains or multi-colored hand prints.
Every summer, Pittsburgh holds a children’s art fair in the park. This year, Gus and Jenny just happened to be visiting during the selected weekend and, with Michael overrun with inventory, and Mel and Linds at their counseling appointment all afternoon, Justin had volunteered to spend their first free Saturday together in three weeks swatting flies and dodging finger paints, much to Brian’s disdain.
“Did you even know there were this many kids in Pittsburgh?” Justin grumbles, and then quickly plasters on a wide smile when Jamie yells their name and waves a color-splattered hand at them giddily.
“I think this is what Hell will be like,” Brian replies, quite seriously, shifting on the seat again and checking the bottom of his Prada jacket for any smudges. “Except all the women will be naked and Debbie will be their leader.”
Justin casts him a weary sideways look and then jabs him in the ribs roughly with his elbow. “Five more minutes. Suck it up,” he mumbles, as Brian lets his hand drift up under his thin t-shirt.
“That’s exactly what I’d rather be doing,” he says, throatily, fluttering his fingers up along Justin’s side and leaning in to nip at his earlobe.
Justin chokes on a laugh and squirms away from Brian’s fingers. “Later,” he giggles, as one of the mothers who’s been glaring at them all afternoon, looks up from her daughter’s paper flower to pin them with a reproving scowl.
Brian’s in the process of smirking at her when Jamie appears from nowhere and slaps two sticky, glitter covered hands down on Justin’s denim covered knees. “I want to go get ice cream now but Gus won’t leave!”
Brian feels Justin cringe beside him while he tries to pry the little boy’s hands off his pants. “Uh…alright. Well, we can wait five minutes more, right?”
Jamie’s whine makes Brian and Justin share a subtle sideways smirk. There wasn’t a scrap of Michael’s DNA in him, but, by God, he could be a standing study for the nature-nurture debate. “But I want to go noooow!”
Jenny appears behind him with a wad of colored cards clutched in her hands. “Yeah, I’m hungry! And hot! And Gus won’t leave till he’s finished his stupid project!”
“Yeah, I’m hungry too!” I’m hungry right noowww!” Jamie continues, tugging impatiently at Justin’s shirt while hopping from foot to foot.
Justin shoots a little helpless glance at Brian and Brian folds like a fucking napkin. “Fine, you take the little gnats to the diner and I’ll wait for Gus.”
Justin deflates in relief, but then falters and tilts his head down, cautiously. “Are you sure?” He’s glancing at the set of freckle faced twins that are playing fast and loose with a couple of paint laden sponges three feet away and clearly envisioning some kind of court order come tomorrow morning.
Brian sighs and pushes at his legs with his foot, “Yes.”
Justin lets himself be tugged away by Jenny and Jamie, yapping aimlessly about the flavors of ice cream they want, and Brian waits until they’re five yards away before yelling.
“Although you will owe me a blow-job for this shit!”
He grins pointedly at the glaring paper flower mother who looks like she’s about ready to faint, and gets up off the bench to pick his way through the throngs of tables and craft stands towards Gus.
He’s busy sliding beads and macaroni shells onto a string when Brian leans over him and pokes him in the back. “You ready to go, Sonny boy?” Gus doesn’t look up from his task, his tongue poking slightly out the corner of his mouth in concentration.
“In a second, Dad,” he says distractedly, and Brian sighs, sags down onto the bench beside him to wait him out. “I’m making a bracelet for Gramma Deb!”
Brian leans back against the picnic table on his elbows and kicks out his feet, shooting the boy a sideways glance behind his sunglasses. An eyebrow appears behind one lens as he takes in the multitude of neon beads and carefully colored pasta shells. It’s surprisingly Deb actually, Brian decides. “Good job, kid.”
“He’s very talented.”
Brian snaps his head to the voice to his right and finds a red headed woman staring at him brightly. Great. Fifteen tables in this hellhole and Sonny Boy has to go sit next to Chatty Fucking Kathy. “Well, you can’t argue with genetics,” Brian says dryly, turning his head back to look steadily in front of him - hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
“I know what you mean - kids really take to these things, huh?”
Clearly he was hoping in vain. Sighing, Brian turns back to the woman who is still grinning over at him - the toddler on her lap bent over a sheet of card, scribbling away. “Oh I don’t know. I know a six-year-old whose father’s hallway would disagree.” He shares a knowing glance with Gus who looks up from his beads to grin at the memory. Mikey had almost turned purple when he discovered Jamie’s artful renovations last month and blamed Justin entirely for introducing the kid to charcoals.
The woman laughed, reaching out a hand to run over her kid’s blond mop and Brian almost does a double take when the boy looks up - baby blues staring right at him.
Brian keeps his gaze on the kid, even as the boy gets bored and goes back to his coloring. “Cute kid,” he says dryly and already something’s shifting unusually in his stomach - something familiar, but indefinite.
The woman beams, her hands around the kid’s stomach shifting to tickle at his ribs and making him giggle and squirm on his mother’s lap. “Thanks.” She laughs along with him, “Although he’s not without his own…surprises.”
“Hmm, I’d bet.” Brian drawls, perks up and feigns nonchalance, “How old is he?”
Brian might have guessed maybe two, but now he has a distinct feeling he’s a few months off. Like maybe ten.
“He’s three,” the woman says, and Brian hums his acknowledgment.
He saw her once, a few years ago - in some fancy restaurant downtown while he was on a business dinner, schmoozing clients. They’d sat a couple of table over, but Brian pinpointed him as soon as he’d sat down. He hadn’t seen Brian, and Brian wasn’t going to make a scene in front of an important client and besides, Craig Taylor wasn’t worth the fucking indigestion in Brian’s book. He does remember thinking that she wasn’t as pretty as Jen though. And he took some pride in that - even though he hadn’t told Jennifer - or Justin.
He searches his mind for her name. Justin doesn’t talk about her - surprisingly, but he remembers Molly mentioning it once - way back when, fresh from trying on bridesmaids dresses. Shelly? Stacey? “Three going on thirty that is.” She tilts her head and beams down at the kid, brushing his thick baby hair back to catch his face. “Isn’t that right?”
The kid looks up then, grins at his mother blindingly and then turns to Brian. “I’mma draw Batman!” he says, as if Brian had inquired. He switches crayons and then goes back to scribbling intently. His mother looks up and catches Brian’s eyes.
“We’re going through a superhero stage” She stage whispers, and Brian ‘ahhs’, and checks on Gus’ progress, suddenly itchy to get away.
“I’ve got to say, it’s so lovely to see fathers encouraging the arts in their kids.” She casts a somewhat weary glance downwards, seemingly to make sure the kid is still preoccupied. “No way would my husband drag himself to this with him.” She rolls her eyes, playing it off. “Football, mud and video games - men and their sons, huh?”
Stella. He’s pretty sure. Molly says that she’s okay - average, he believes her words were - and Brian remembers snorting into his fist as Jennifer scolded her and then smirked. Jennifer brought photos over once, of the wedding - but only the ones of Molly posing in her dress. Justin never mentions her; Brian doesn’t know if he’s ever seen her at all, actually.
“Is his mother artistic?”
Usually, he would have just plucked Gus up and been on their way. The kid would have grumbled, sure, but he’s more than familiar with just how far his old man’s patience stretches - he’ll buy him as much string and beads as he wants to make up in the diner, or the loft, or in Canada. Hell, he’d buy him a fucking Porsche, so long as he didn’t have to sit here and socialize with peppy strangers and their offspring. Something keeps him there though, glued to the bench, watching this woman and her kid.
“Yeah, she is.”
A couple of years ago, he’d come home from work one night in May to find Justin sitting at the counter staring at a card.
“It’s his birthday tomorrow.” He’d said, almost vacantly, and Brian saddled up behind him to peer over his shoulder. It was a birthday card - a colorful sketch of balloons with a name emblazed in the center. It probably wouldn’t have taken long for him to draw, but God knows how long he’d been thinking about it. Knowing Justin, he’d probably been playing it over and over in his blond little head for twelve fucking months, “Should I send it?” He hadn’t mentioned him in months. Not since Brian had overheard him reciting Debbie’s catnip tea recipe to Molly over the phone. Brian shrugs, moves away to order Thai. “Why start bad habits?”
He hadn’t sent it. Brian had seen it in the garbage the next day when he went to throw away the old coffee filter and felt a tight pang of regret at the way the black coffee tarnished the neat red balloons when he dropped it on top. That had been two years ago. Little Logan must have had two birthdays since then. If Justin had made cards, he hadn’t asked Brian’s opinion on them.
“That must be where he gets it from, huh?” She’s looking at Gus again, watching him fumble beads and glitter onto the string with a precision that makes his tongue stick out between his lips.
Brian follows her gaze, smiling fondly at Gus for a second, feeling his heart do that stutter that still surprises him, even after nine years. “Oh, I dunno - there’re a couple of artists in the family,” he says distractedly, and then looks back at her pointedly, down to the kid and then back again. “Quite spectacular ones, actually.”
She won’t know - she’s not likely to see any of his stuff, any of his shows, probably never even a quick sketch on the front of a handmade birthday card. Craig’s probably never even mentioned him - Brian knows for damn sure he’s never sent a birthday card for him in neigh on a decade.
Her eyebrows rise impressively and she grins. “That must be it then.”
Brian raises one back. “Hmm. Must be.”
“Done!” Gus pronounces gleefully from beside him, holding up the bracelet between tiny fingers and grinning proudly.
Brian looks it over closely, like he’s checking for imperfections on a thousand dollar diamond and then nods his approval, “Well it’s quite clearly a masterpiece.”
He says it matter-of-factly and Gus’ grin widens. Brian glances back at the kid to his left as Gus grabs his stuff up to leave.
“And that’s pretty good too, little man,” Brian says, reaching out and tapping a finger to the paper that is currently filled with carefully controlled black squiggles that Brian’s assuming are a super hero.
The kid looks up and grins widely at him, his blue eyes squinting slightly against the sunlight, “Thanks!”
And Brian smiles back, because the grin is too familiar not to, and then stands up and brushes the possible glitter and bench debris from his jeans.
A part of Brian wants to tell the kid that, maybe, he shouldn’t enjoy drawing so much. A part of him wants to tell Stella that, maybe, she shouldn’t press it. Maybe he should read books and play video games and take up football and keep his Daddy happy, because really, when the truth is told - he was Craig Taylor’s only redeeming quality in the whole world. Another, more prominent, part of him realizes that no one owes Craig Taylor shit. Let the kid draw, let him paint, and sketch, and fuck whoever the hell he wants. And maybe he’ll be as amazing as his big brother one day.
“Have a good day,” Stella says pleasantly as Brain juggles Gus’ various paintings and papers and reaches out to grab his son’s shoulder to steer him out onto the street, now that all his attention seems to be focused on cradling the delicate jewelry in his palms.
“Oh, we will,” Brian promises, and then he pauses, turns his head to shoot them a private smirk.
“Bye, Logan. Keep up the good work.”
He watches as the kid waves back obliviously and his mother smiles proudly and then noticeably pauses as Brian’s words settle over her. He can feel her confused, startled stare on the back of his head as he steers Gus out of the park and across the street.
“Do you think Justin will like my pictures, Dad?” Gus says, and Brian reaches down and shuffles a hand through his dark hair.
“I think he’ll love them, Sonny Boy.” Gus grins as they get to the other side of the street and turn down onto Liberty. “I think he’ll just love them.”
The sun is still shining and Gus is still gibbering away by his side and, one block over, a frazzled blond is waiting for him with two sugar soaked rug rats and a table full of sundaes. Brian smiles to himself.
He supposes there are worse ways to spend a Saturday.
Word Count: 3,000
Author Note: This is a long time coming, I admit - so huge thanks to _alicesprings for her patience as well as her help in the auction. She wanted a companion piece to Logan Edward Taylor so this probably won't make much sense if you haven't read that.
Sometimes, most times in fact, Brian thinks that Justin is one of the most intelligent people he’s ever met.
Other times, like the one he finds himself in at this very moment, Brian realizes that, in some instances, Justin has all the common sense and higher brain function of a common house plant. During these times, Brian feels it important to voice these blind-sighting revelations. Loudly.
“You’re a Twat you know that?” He has to raise his voice to be heard over the mass of screaming children, and a frazzled mother with a Burberry Baby bag strapped across her chest looks up from the nearest craft table to shoot him a horrified glance.
Justin looks about as impressed.
“Can you lower your fucking voice? There are children here!” Justin hisses loudly. He’s crouched in front of a wailing Jenny, trying to coax the bright purple stain out of her new sundress with his spit soaked sweater sleeve and some useless soothing sounds.
Brian makes sure his eye roll is startlingly apparent before returning his sour gaze back to the fenced off area.
“I told you this would be a fucking epic mistake,” Brian mumbles none too quietly, shifting uselessly on the uncomfortable bench and trying to pretend that Burberry Bag Mommy isn’t outwardly glaring at him now, tugging a curly haired rug rat off of his seat and further into the swarming pit of preschoolers and finger paints. “I fucking told you that this would end in tears, didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you? But nooo…”
His eyes snag on Gus’ bright yellow t-shirt at the moulding clay station as he watches him lean in to whisper something to Jamie, “You have to go all soccer mom and drag everyone kicking and screaming out in the sunshine for some fucking culture.”
Brian lets out a put upon sigh and flicks at a stray macaroni shell at his elbow. It flies through the air and narrowly misses the eye of a toddler gluing paper together on the opposite table.
“Now we’ve completely missed the Gucci sale, Jamie’s probably sunburned, and Mel’s gonna lock Jenny under the stairs when she sees that she’s ruined her couture!”
The wailing suddenly stops dead and Brian glances over to see Jenny’s shiny wet eyes blinking wide and horrified at him: mouth gaping silently, mid scream. Justin runs a soothing hand down Jenny’s back, “She’s not going to lock you under the stairs.” He assures her quietly, and then turns to fix Brian with a pointed glare, his voice dipping dangerously, “Uncle Brian’s just pissy today.”
Jenny snaps her mouth shut and blinks her teary eyes rapidly,
“Really?” She squeaks, peering unsurely at Brian who in turn ignores her completely in favor of finding another pebble with the tip of his boot.
Justin smiles encouragingly to compensate for Brian’s lack of response and reaches up to wipe his sleeve down both her cheeks, “Yeah, I promise.”
She heaves a dramatic sniff and bends down to tug one of her frilly knee socks back up into place. Brian’s just zeroed in on a particularly burly and loud chunk of a kid to fire at with his remaining pasta shell, when his focus is re-directed to a tiny hand nudging his knee.
Jenny’s staring knowingly up at his face as he looks over. “Maybe you need a nap, Uncle Brian.”
Brian stares at the seven-year-old blankly and she falters and looks behind her at Justin for answers. Justin just smiles and nudges her back in the direction of the coloring table.
“Don’t worry, Jenny. If he keeps up this attitude he’ll be getting nothing but sleep tonight, trust me.” It was directed solely and pointedly at Brian, but Jenny nods, assured, and skips back to her brothers.
“Okay, so in retrospect,” Justin eases back onto the bench beside Brian and lets out a weary sigh, “Maybe three kids, an array of oil paints and a crowded art fair wasn’t my brightest idea.”
“At least you’re not wearing Prada,” Brian mumbles, swiping a tentative hand down his jacket to check for dirt stains or multi-colored hand prints.
Every summer, Pittsburgh holds a children’s art fair in the park. This year, Gus and Jenny just happened to be visiting during the selected weekend and, with Michael overrun with inventory, and Mel and Linds at their counseling appointment all afternoon, Justin had volunteered to spend their first free Saturday together in three weeks swatting flies and dodging finger paints, much to Brian’s disdain.
“Did you even know there were this many kids in Pittsburgh?” Justin grumbles, and then quickly plasters on a wide smile when Jamie yells their name and waves a color-splattered hand at them giddily.
“I think this is what Hell will be like,” Brian replies, quite seriously, shifting on the seat again and checking the bottom of his Prada jacket for any smudges. “Except all the women will be naked and Debbie will be their leader.”
Justin casts him a weary sideways look and then jabs him in the ribs roughly with his elbow. “Five more minutes. Suck it up,” he mumbles, as Brian lets his hand drift up under his thin t-shirt.
“That’s exactly what I’d rather be doing,” he says, throatily, fluttering his fingers up along Justin’s side and leaning in to nip at his earlobe.
Justin chokes on a laugh and squirms away from Brian’s fingers. “Later,” he giggles, as one of the mothers who’s been glaring at them all afternoon, looks up from her daughter’s paper flower to pin them with a reproving scowl.
Brian’s in the process of smirking at her when Jamie appears from nowhere and slaps two sticky, glitter covered hands down on Justin’s denim covered knees. “I want to go get ice cream now but Gus won’t leave!”
Brian feels Justin cringe beside him while he tries to pry the little boy’s hands off his pants. “Uh…alright. Well, we can wait five minutes more, right?”
Jamie’s whine makes Brian and Justin share a subtle sideways smirk. There wasn’t a scrap of Michael’s DNA in him, but, by God, he could be a standing study for the nature-nurture debate. “But I want to go noooow!”
Jenny appears behind him with a wad of colored cards clutched in her hands. “Yeah, I’m hungry! And hot! And Gus won’t leave till he’s finished his stupid project!”
“Yeah, I’m hungry too!” I’m hungry right noowww!” Jamie continues, tugging impatiently at Justin’s shirt while hopping from foot to foot.
Justin shoots a little helpless glance at Brian and Brian folds like a fucking napkin. “Fine, you take the little gnats to the diner and I’ll wait for Gus.”
Justin deflates in relief, but then falters and tilts his head down, cautiously. “Are you sure?” He’s glancing at the set of freckle faced twins that are playing fast and loose with a couple of paint laden sponges three feet away and clearly envisioning some kind of court order come tomorrow morning.
Brian sighs and pushes at his legs with his foot, “Yes.”
Justin lets himself be tugged away by Jenny and Jamie, yapping aimlessly about the flavors of ice cream they want, and Brian waits until they’re five yards away before yelling.
“Although you will owe me a blow-job for this shit!”
He grins pointedly at the glaring paper flower mother who looks like she’s about ready to faint, and gets up off the bench to pick his way through the throngs of tables and craft stands towards Gus.
He’s busy sliding beads and macaroni shells onto a string when Brian leans over him and pokes him in the back. “You ready to go, Sonny boy?” Gus doesn’t look up from his task, his tongue poking slightly out the corner of his mouth in concentration.
“In a second, Dad,” he says distractedly, and Brian sighs, sags down onto the bench beside him to wait him out. “I’m making a bracelet for Gramma Deb!”
Brian leans back against the picnic table on his elbows and kicks out his feet, shooting the boy a sideways glance behind his sunglasses. An eyebrow appears behind one lens as he takes in the multitude of neon beads and carefully colored pasta shells. It’s surprisingly Deb actually, Brian decides. “Good job, kid.”
“He’s very talented.”
Brian snaps his head to the voice to his right and finds a red headed woman staring at him brightly. Great. Fifteen tables in this hellhole and Sonny Boy has to go sit next to Chatty Fucking Kathy. “Well, you can’t argue with genetics,” Brian says dryly, turning his head back to look steadily in front of him - hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
“I know what you mean - kids really take to these things, huh?”
Clearly he was hoping in vain. Sighing, Brian turns back to the woman who is still grinning over at him - the toddler on her lap bent over a sheet of card, scribbling away. “Oh I don’t know. I know a six-year-old whose father’s hallway would disagree.” He shares a knowing glance with Gus who looks up from his beads to grin at the memory. Mikey had almost turned purple when he discovered Jamie’s artful renovations last month and blamed Justin entirely for introducing the kid to charcoals.
The woman laughed, reaching out a hand to run over her kid’s blond mop and Brian almost does a double take when the boy looks up - baby blues staring right at him.
Brian keeps his gaze on the kid, even as the boy gets bored and goes back to his coloring. “Cute kid,” he says dryly and already something’s shifting unusually in his stomach - something familiar, but indefinite.
The woman beams, her hands around the kid’s stomach shifting to tickle at his ribs and making him giggle and squirm on his mother’s lap. “Thanks.” She laughs along with him, “Although he’s not without his own…surprises.”
“Hmm, I’d bet.” Brian drawls, perks up and feigns nonchalance, “How old is he?”
Brian might have guessed maybe two, but now he has a distinct feeling he’s a few months off. Like maybe ten.
“He’s three,” the woman says, and Brian hums his acknowledgment.
He saw her once, a few years ago - in some fancy restaurant downtown while he was on a business dinner, schmoozing clients. They’d sat a couple of table over, but Brian pinpointed him as soon as he’d sat down. He hadn’t seen Brian, and Brian wasn’t going to make a scene in front of an important client and besides, Craig Taylor wasn’t worth the fucking indigestion in Brian’s book. He does remember thinking that she wasn’t as pretty as Jen though. And he took some pride in that - even though he hadn’t told Jennifer - or Justin.
He searches his mind for her name. Justin doesn’t talk about her - surprisingly, but he remembers Molly mentioning it once - way back when, fresh from trying on bridesmaids dresses. Shelly? Stacey? “Three going on thirty that is.” She tilts her head and beams down at the kid, brushing his thick baby hair back to catch his face. “Isn’t that right?”
The kid looks up then, grins at his mother blindingly and then turns to Brian. “I’mma draw Batman!” he says, as if Brian had inquired. He switches crayons and then goes back to scribbling intently. His mother looks up and catches Brian’s eyes.
“We’re going through a superhero stage” She stage whispers, and Brian ‘ahhs’, and checks on Gus’ progress, suddenly itchy to get away.
“I’ve got to say, it’s so lovely to see fathers encouraging the arts in their kids.” She casts a somewhat weary glance downwards, seemingly to make sure the kid is still preoccupied. “No way would my husband drag himself to this with him.” She rolls her eyes, playing it off. “Football, mud and video games - men and their sons, huh?”
Stella. He’s pretty sure. Molly says that she’s okay - average, he believes her words were - and Brian remembers snorting into his fist as Jennifer scolded her and then smirked. Jennifer brought photos over once, of the wedding - but only the ones of Molly posing in her dress. Justin never mentions her; Brian doesn’t know if he’s ever seen her at all, actually.
“Is his mother artistic?”
Usually, he would have just plucked Gus up and been on their way. The kid would have grumbled, sure, but he’s more than familiar with just how far his old man’s patience stretches - he’ll buy him as much string and beads as he wants to make up in the diner, or the loft, or in Canada. Hell, he’d buy him a fucking Porsche, so long as he didn’t have to sit here and socialize with peppy strangers and their offspring. Something keeps him there though, glued to the bench, watching this woman and her kid.
“Yeah, she is.”
A couple of years ago, he’d come home from work one night in May to find Justin sitting at the counter staring at a card.
“It’s his birthday tomorrow.” He’d said, almost vacantly, and Brian saddled up behind him to peer over his shoulder. It was a birthday card - a colorful sketch of balloons with a name emblazed in the center. It probably wouldn’t have taken long for him to draw, but God knows how long he’d been thinking about it. Knowing Justin, he’d probably been playing it over and over in his blond little head for twelve fucking months, “Should I send it?” He hadn’t mentioned him in months. Not since Brian had overheard him reciting Debbie’s catnip tea recipe to Molly over the phone. Brian shrugs, moves away to order Thai. “Why start bad habits?”
He hadn’t sent it. Brian had seen it in the garbage the next day when he went to throw away the old coffee filter and felt a tight pang of regret at the way the black coffee tarnished the neat red balloons when he dropped it on top. That had been two years ago. Little Logan must have had two birthdays since then. If Justin had made cards, he hadn’t asked Brian’s opinion on them.
“That must be where he gets it from, huh?” She’s looking at Gus again, watching him fumble beads and glitter onto the string with a precision that makes his tongue stick out between his lips.
Brian follows her gaze, smiling fondly at Gus for a second, feeling his heart do that stutter that still surprises him, even after nine years. “Oh, I dunno - there’re a couple of artists in the family,” he says distractedly, and then looks back at her pointedly, down to the kid and then back again. “Quite spectacular ones, actually.”
She won’t know - she’s not likely to see any of his stuff, any of his shows, probably never even a quick sketch on the front of a handmade birthday card. Craig’s probably never even mentioned him - Brian knows for damn sure he’s never sent a birthday card for him in neigh on a decade.
Her eyebrows rise impressively and she grins. “That must be it then.”
Brian raises one back. “Hmm. Must be.”
“Done!” Gus pronounces gleefully from beside him, holding up the bracelet between tiny fingers and grinning proudly.
Brian looks it over closely, like he’s checking for imperfections on a thousand dollar diamond and then nods his approval, “Well it’s quite clearly a masterpiece.”
He says it matter-of-factly and Gus’ grin widens. Brian glances back at the kid to his left as Gus grabs his stuff up to leave.
“And that’s pretty good too, little man,” Brian says, reaching out and tapping a finger to the paper that is currently filled with carefully controlled black squiggles that Brian’s assuming are a super hero.
The kid looks up and grins widely at him, his blue eyes squinting slightly against the sunlight, “Thanks!”
And Brian smiles back, because the grin is too familiar not to, and then stands up and brushes the possible glitter and bench debris from his jeans.
A part of Brian wants to tell the kid that, maybe, he shouldn’t enjoy drawing so much. A part of him wants to tell Stella that, maybe, she shouldn’t press it. Maybe he should read books and play video games and take up football and keep his Daddy happy, because really, when the truth is told - he was Craig Taylor’s only redeeming quality in the whole world. Another, more prominent, part of him realizes that no one owes Craig Taylor shit. Let the kid draw, let him paint, and sketch, and fuck whoever the hell he wants. And maybe he’ll be as amazing as his big brother one day.
“Have a good day,” Stella says pleasantly as Brain juggles Gus’ various paintings and papers and reaches out to grab his son’s shoulder to steer him out onto the street, now that all his attention seems to be focused on cradling the delicate jewelry in his palms.
“Oh, we will,” Brian promises, and then he pauses, turns his head to shoot them a private smirk.
“Bye, Logan. Keep up the good work.”
He watches as the kid waves back obliviously and his mother smiles proudly and then noticeably pauses as Brian’s words settle over her. He can feel her confused, startled stare on the back of his head as he steers Gus out of the park and across the street.
“Do you think Justin will like my pictures, Dad?” Gus says, and Brian reaches down and shuffles a hand through his dark hair.
“I think he’ll love them, Sonny Boy.” Gus grins as they get to the other side of the street and turn down onto Liberty. “I think he’ll just love them.”
The sun is still shining and Gus is still gibbering away by his side and, one block over, a frazzled blond is waiting for him with two sugar soaked rug rats and a table full of sundaes. Brian smiles to himself.
He supposes there are worse ways to spend a Saturday.