Penguin
Penguin
by: Mushroom
A sequel to Seahorse (the short story, not the comic series), but it can stand on its own.
Penguin
On November fifteenth of that year, Mark and Cameron finally agreed to take the Next Important Step.
There was a first step, of course. The first step was to admit that they certainly expressed strange feelings toward each other, which were closely linked to love, lust, and passionate anger. Yes. I’ll explain as we move on.
You see, Mark was your usual son of an influential businessman-rebellious, snarky, a tad too bitchy, that type. Yet he was handsome, and that’s what mattered to most. Cameron was a slightly effeminate boy, brought up by loving, annoying parents, and was skilled in the visual arts. Mark and Cameron met in college, sparks flew across three universes, had sex in each other’s houses, the works. The two also fought constantly-biting, cursing, even the occasional ‘manly’ punch, and the feelings that formed after every jab swallowed them whole.
Then both men decided that they were undoubtedly crazy, I-shit-you-not in love and they wanted it to remain that way. Every single night they would stare at the same ceiling, waiting for the morning that consisted of cuddling and cooing and being couple-y. They mated for life, said Mark, after watching National Geographic, and Cameron then realized that his boyfriend was an utter geekoid.
So. The Next Step.
While Mark busied himself with the legal, boring matters (that was according to Mark himself), Cameron dragged his mother to the department store for the more important preparations.
“Mommy, should we get the bottles with those cute, yellow, retarded ducks or the one with those fuchsias, or,” He picked up a bottle with a snail print, “This thing?”
His mother wrinkled her nose. “Well-“
“I mean, which is cooler? Ducks, snails, or flowers? Well?”
“I don’t really think those details are important, son.” She replied.
“Mommy, I am detailed. I love details. I live for details. I am a detailed person,” Cameron huffed and returned the snail bottle on the shelf, picking another bottle up for close examination. “It’s interior designing shit. How about butterflies?”
“Cameron, dearie.”
“Yes?”
“You’re getting a girl, aren’t you?”
Cameron looked at her silently for a moment, then grinned. “Yes. We visited the tykes and looked up some things and there’s this really, really beautiful girl, with Mark’s eyes, I swear.”
“Not a boy?” his mother asked pointedly.
“N-not a boy. Mark thought that, when he grows up, in school, you know. We don’t want to give the child a hard time.”
They searched every shelf, and chose a bottle with a star print.
***
Things were complicated (understatement of the fucking century), so they sought legal assistance and decided on single-parent adoption, to relieve the child of harassment and ridicule…plus the fact that they can’t get hitched. She would be a Mercado, and there was nothing Mark’s disproving father could do about it. See, it was easier for Mark to adopt because of his shiny background. Connections, connections. The question has always been ‘are you related to him or her’, and in those days, nobody cared if you strangled your own children as long as you were a Mercado.
Cameron never realized how influential his partner was, or else he would’ve freaked out and feel guilty, and the relationship wouldn’t last for more than a decade.
“Met my attorney a while ago; we passed the background check. They were in love with the kitchen counter top.” Mark announced as Cameron entered their condo unit, carrying dozens of shopping bags filled with toys and picture books.
He was expecting Cameron to jump around in glee and instigate sex on the couch, but was surprised when his boyfriend fell on his knees and moaned. “Mark. Mark. I failed.”
“Huh?”
“The cute lion bib. It’s gone.” Cameron said darkly. “Some bitch snatched it before I could, when she knew that I was about to get it ‘cos it’s just what I was looking for. She did it out of spite. She probably knew I was gay.”
Mark’s brain was focused somewhere southward, because he was happy that he accomplished something, and a stolen baby bib featuring African animals was NOT going to ruin his mood. He casually swung his legs apart and urged Cameron to sit on his lap, thinking Unthinkable Thoughts. “…So what did you buy?” He even stroked Cameron’s arm, biting back a moan.
“Hello Kitty bib,” Cameron growled, “It was cute, sure, but not as cute. Fucking bitch.”
“Baby, calm down! You told me this would be something happy, something wonderful. But look at you! You’re obsessing over bibs and baby bottles. I used to think that your comforter obsession was adorable, but I’m sure Sunshine would love any bottle you’d buy-“
“Who’s Sunshine?”
Mark blinked. “What? Our daughter.”
And that was when-sensitive readers, please discontinue-Cameron completely snapped.
“Oh no.”
“What’s wrong with-“
“SUNSHINE. What the fuck, Mark. WE ARE NOT NAMING OUR ONLY DAUGHTER AFTER SOME SHAMPOO PRODUCT.” I wish I could tell you how Cameron looked like. His face resembled something beyond repulsion. Wasn’t pretty.
“Well, I’d like to think she’s our little sunshine, since life was dark and dreary before she came along.” Mark’s face crinkled into a beautiful smile. “Our darling baby Sunshine.”
“NO. We are not naming her Precious, Candy, Sweetie Pie, or Rainbow, or whatever. We are giving her a unique name. We are not going to sell her in supermarkets.”
As I noted before, Mark was an internet addict. He researched baby names for many nights, only to realize that there were just too many effing pretty names in the world. Mark knew that their daughter would be the prettiest, coolest, most kick-ass girl in the history of the universe, so he wanted her name to be really special. He had to be original on his own, and spent another gruelling week writing names on receipts and restaurant coupons. Finally he came up with a name, a name he worked hard for, racking his brains until he reached a decision.
As a result, Mark’s ego was bruised and shaken. Sputtering angrily, Mark gripped Cameron’s shoulders. “Okay. What would you name her, then?”
Cameron beamed. “Why, we’ll name her after famous people. Something like, Nefertiti. Aphrodite. Maybe even Athena!”
“Fine!” Mark pushed Cameron away and stood up, folding his arms. “If you want to name our only daughter after a warrior princess, be my guest. Just don’t blame me if she grows up to become a rebellious teenager and cuts her own wrists, or something, because you just sealed her eternal damnation once she reaches high school.”
Because Cameron was a cunning bastard, he shouted back as soon as Mark slammed the door of their bedroom. “I will not cook dinner! Starve and DIE!”
“I can order take-out!”
“Go ahead!” Cameron marched to the bedroom door and pressed his forehead against it. “I’m staying over at Mom’s. Which is too bad, because I know you’re horny! I felt it.”
Then Mark heard a loud, slamming noise, and knew that he was alone.
...Well, he had his own hands, anyway.
***
The next morning Cameron apologized, Mark forgave him, and they did not discuss the previous night’s incident. Both men secretly clung to their chosen names, thinking that the other would cave in once Sunshine-or-Athena arrived. Hah, adults are just like kids sometimes, only with more warts and wrinkles and yeah, you get the idea. Right.
Cameron wanted to accompany Mark to the adoption hearing, but Mark told him to stay at home-he wasn’t Sunshine-or-Athena’s official parent, after all. Mark said it kindly, but Cameron felt like he was slapped hard on the face.
Poor guy.
So Cameron tried to nurse his own wounds, and spent time at his old house, helping Mrs. Cruz with chores, discussing politics with his dad. He angsted a bit in his own room, remembering his childhood, how his parents only wanted the best for him, shit like that. And Mark was the best one for him, after all. Mark was more than capable to give him a happy life, his parents adored him, he was a hard-worker, and he was just so stupid and cute that you had to love him.
Yet they needed something else to complete the ensemble.
Adoptions were blessings, he decided. Cameron knew that they would raise their daughter well. She would go to a good private school-not one of those stuck-up shits of schools with stuck-up shits of teachers-but one with a relaxing, free atmosphere, where boys could screw in public bathrooms and girls could act like boys, if that were possible. It was obvious that they could provide everything for her-all the toys and books she wanted, healthy food, her own room. Mark had planned it all so well, like a true-blue businessman, and all Cameron had to do was to make things pretty.
And they would love her to pieces, too.
The thing is, He and Mark were not an ordinary couple. They were both men. Meaning that they would not be an ordinary family.
This scared him.
He tried to remember how he grew up to be successful (okay, so he needed richer clients, but he had a steady job anyway, and success was actually equal to meeting Mark in a prestigious university, at least for him). He had supportive parents who never failed to remind him that money meant victory, next to love-so if you had both then you were destined for greatness.
And since he was already destined for greatness, his parents must’ve been really great role models. Cameron remembered his mother’s happiness while she rode the Ducati. Actually, he remembered his mother, period-she was downstairs, making lunch, oblivious to her son’s rising paranoia.
He felt his face grow wet, and then things turned shitty.
***
When Mark arrived from the hearing Cameron rushed towards him (protected with nothing but his underwear), buried his head on his shoulder, and cried, screaming that they can’t have a child, they would be the worst parents in the world, things not worth writing, etc.
“What the fuck?! Everything’s done! I just have to sign a few papers and we get our girl!” Mark was angry, eyes revealing annoyance. Can’t blame him; the hearing was awfully boring, so he just wanted to get laid and go to sleep.
“See? You hate me now. We both fight a lot. We can’t fight around Athena. We’ll traumatize her, make her childhood messy, because we’re both men and we keep on fighting and punching and, and I even consulted Google and GOOGLE CAN’T HELP US NOW-“
“-Heterosexual couples fight too, it’s normal-“
“I DON’T HAVE A MOTHER’S TOUCH,” Cameron grovelled. “And neither do you! A c-child needs a mother, I mean I can cook, and all those shit and yes, I’m stereotyping and-and fuck, fuck, Athena needs a female role model to achieve true greatness and walk through the right path and I’m just not the one who could do this, she’ll get picked on and I don’t even want to be a woman but things would be better if you find a woman for her, and-“
He burst into tears. To you it may seem unmanly, but that was the most courageous thing he ever did, to admit that he was scared (but yeah, I agree that he was being such a drama queen). Cameron was so scared, so fucking scared of hurting his lover and his future child, feeling insecure and bullshitty and different kinds of emotions that fucked with his brain.
Mark wasn’t dense at all, so he knew this was serious business. He embraced his lover and kissed his neck. “True greatness?”
“My mother,” Cameron sniffed. “I simply can’t compare.”
He looked up and saw an amused, but sad glint in Mark’s eyes.
“And I can’t, too. So what? Sunshine’s waiting.”
“Athena.” Cameron corrected wearily, and the drama was over in an instant.
***
Cameron was painting a wooden doll for Athena when Mark kicked the door open and threw a stuffed animal at his face. Cameron shrieked-like a particularly girly-girl-and was about to throw it back, until he looked at it. The penguin had colourful feathers on its head. Interesting.
“Cameron, meet Macaroni. Macaroni, meet Cameron.”
“Macaroni?”
“It’s a Macaroni Penguin. Wikipedia told me last night.”
“Oh,” said Cameron, who didn’t even bother to probe for more answers. “Hello, Macaroni.”
“Listen, when you feel like crap, hug Mac and pretend that it’s our baby girl. Try to get used to what it feels like, to be, you know. A full-fledged parent.” Mark smiled before placing a cigarette on his lips.
It was sweet, really. Cameron planted a kiss on Mark’s cheek and stared at the penguin, which stared back. The staring game stopped when Cameron held out the wooden doll. “You like it, Macaroni?”
Mark gazed at Cameron as he played with their pseudo-daughter. Cameron was laughing at himself for being so silly, I mean, I would laugh myself if I could, but his smile was genuine and beautiful and nice. Mark immediately became horny-they stopped making love after the fight over their daughter’s name (which was still unresolved, by the way), and he was getting tired of getting off on his own.
Mark dropped the cigarette, unzipped his pants, and advanced on the oblivious Cameron, who was still rubbing his nose on the tip of the penguin’s yellow beak. It was only when Mark was on top of him, with his erection free and insistent against his own clothed erection, when he shrieked and tried to swat his boyfriend with anything that was in his reach.
“We can’t have-ah, fuck-sex with Macaroni around!” Cameron cried out indignantly. “It’s just a baby! We must be responsible parents with Christian values and-go fuck yourself Mark, not there…ahh!”
“Macaroni’ll get used to it.” Mark gritted his teeth, dodged a flying alarm clock, and pushed.
Well, duh. You know what happened next. They then proceeded to have really noisy, violent sex, with some eloquent declarations of love, and Cameron turned his head to the left, seeing Macaroni looking at them with what he interpreted as ‘betrayed, hollow eyes’. He imagined Macaroni accusing them of being sick perverts, and felt like vomiting. Cameron could be really melodramatic, sometimes (he was a closet daytime soap opera addict, a secret more deadly than being gay).
I’m sorry Macaroni, he whispered.
He closed his eyes and braced himself. The raucous fighting and morally questionable union were nothing-that, that thing between their legs, was the real problem.
***
Everything was perfect.
That is, Sunshine-or-Athena’s room was. The walls were painted light orange, the Cinderella curtains were there, Mark’s weird toy collections, the soft alphabet mats. The cabinets were painted powder blue, with Minnie Mouse handles. There was a pale yellow crib beside the lampshade, yearning to be used. The picture books were in low shelves, and Macaroni was right on top of it, smiling eerily. I swear, that stuffed animal knew too much.
Mrs. Cruz gladly bought baby essentials the night before-she wished them well, bawled passionately, and kissed Mark full on the lips (Cameron did a double-take and fell off his chair, laughing so hard champagne came out of his nostrils). Mark drove her back to the Cruz residence in his Two-seater Ducati, and even then she was still sobbing her head off.
It was the day, and everything was perfect.
“You still remember the rules?” Cameron said as he watched his boyfriend style his hair. He had a black marker pen in hand, writing Athena’s name in all her belongings, much to Mark’s consternation.
“Yes.”
“Well, what are they?”
“No walking around naked. No sex with you when our daughter’s around. No smoking with daughter around. No night-time porn-viewing at the internet. No lewd side comments at the dinner table.”
“You’re forgetting something.”
“Uh, uhm, oh shit, yeah. No swearing. Fuck, I’ve forgotten that.”
“Good boy.” Cameron turned around and kissed him softly on the lips. They grinned stupidly at each other, then returned to earth.
“Will you stop that?”
“Stop what-“ Mark held Cameron’s arm up and frowned. Cameron was restless, OC bastard-his hands itched to arrange everything. After labelling everything, he faced the toys in different directions, never satisfied with the results, and did it over and over again. “Sorry, baby. I have to do something,” he apologized, and fixed Mark’s tie instead.
Mark was about to go the department, so he had to look good; Sunshine-or-Athena was waiting, with her round eyes and long eyelashes. She was bony and it seemed like any brisk movement could break her, but Mark and Cameron planned to change things soon. They would make her cheeks round and pink, plant a permanent smile on her face, help her walk, talk, and accept that she had two (hot, even smouldering, drop-dead-gorgeous men-Mark said so) for parents. It would be more than difficult, of course, especially where they lived in. Mark suggested migrating to Canada someday, but Cameron was attached to the cheap stores, the noise, and the air pollution. He wanted Sunshine-or-Athena to grow up in their hometown. Then, maybe someday…Canada.
“You know,” Mark began.
“Hmmm?”
“There will come a time…” Mark moved towards the door, head bowed, “There will come a time when she won’t need us anymore. She’ll think that we’re overbearing, annoying, and old.” He wrinkled his nose, then chuckled gently. “She’ll think we’re corny and outdated. I can picture it. She’ll hate us to death, and resort to screaming and glaring (still would look cute, though). Her friends would come over, and Sunshine’ll force us out of our own house, because we would be a total embarrassment.”
“She’ll hate you, probably,” Cameron shrugged. “I’m the cool dad.”
“Hah! You? Cool? You screamed when you watched E.T.”
“It was scary, okay? Wrinkly, brown thing.”
“Hahahaha!”
“Yes. Uhm, don’t forget the house rules. We have to stop getting drunk every Friday night. And no sex at the kitchen.”
“Unless she’s at school.”
“Oh, Mark.”
“Hey, I read in the internet-“
“-As always-“
“-That she might cry every night, so one of us has to wake up and comfort her, or something. Poor us, huh?”
“That’s nothing-you’re nocturnal anyway, You Tube freak. I’m more worried about other things. Like, when she gets older, we might not be able to, well, reach her. Someday she’d move out of the house and try to live life on her own. I mean, look at you. You defied your own father.”
“I still like Father, but he’s an ass. And he’ll realize it, I’m sure. He’ll look at the mirror and see a big, fucking, major ass. Anyway, babies usually bring families together. It’s in the baby forums I’m part of, or whatever. In a movie. I don’t know.”
They rarely talked about the other Mr. Mercado, and silence reigned for a few seconds, until Cameron spoke again.
“Not to mention the boys. You know, Athena’s going to grow up to be real pretty. I can tell.”
Mark glared at the wall fixedly, willing it to break.
“I’ll kill them.”
Cameron raised an eyebrow. “What? You won’t allow her to have a boyfriend?”
“I’ll poison them.” Mark looked absolutely murderous. Well, that was unfair, seeing as Cameron was given to him freely by the Cruz’s.
Cameron merely laughed. “…And if she had a girlfriend?”
“I don’t discriminate,” said Mark. “I’ll kill her, too.”
“Piece of shit.”
“But you love me,” Mark gave one last smile at the handsome man standing at the mirror before him. Cameron gave him a once-over, Mark pinched his boyfriend’s bottom as a farewell, and the tie-fixing that took place earlier was rendered useless because all of a sudden Mark was on the couch and Cameron was straddling him and they were naked and having messy sex while arguing about their daughter’s name.
Fifteen minutes later Mark jumped into his clothes, spent another fifteen minutes combing his hair, gave Cameron a twenty-minute hickey, and was late, late, late.
As soon as he Mark ran off, Cameron grabbed Macaroni and tucked it under his chin as he watched his favourite day-time soap opera-oh wait, I don’t remember the title, maybe Rosa or Maria or Maria Rosa, one of those.
He eventually grew bored watching the leading man’s mother having another adulterous affair and switched the channel, waiting. He was not the only one, mind you; the crib was empty, the fridge was full, the toys were untouched, unused.
He closed his eyes and dreamt of storks and masked surgeons telling him to push, push, push harder, because he was giving birth to…to Macaroni. Well, that was weird. Oh, he also saw number threes and farmhouses, then a famished little creature trembling underneath dried snow. He did not possess the touch, the healing voice, but he embraced it, holding it close, making it warm. Cameron believed he was not worthy to hold something so precious, but as forehead met heartbeat, he felt alive.
No chemistry, no biology, only unadulterated excitement.
I’m pretty sure it was a happy dream.
***
And Athena Sunshine it was. Her nickname would be Tina.
Quick spoiler: In case you’re wondering, she will hate them for a brief period of time-first day of class, high school, when the teacher calls her name. It’s in chapter eighty, which will never be posted. That’s their problem.
END
by: Mushroom
A sequel to Seahorse (the short story, not the comic series), but it can stand on its own.
Penguin
On November fifteenth of that year, Mark and Cameron finally agreed to take the Next Important Step.
There was a first step, of course. The first step was to admit that they certainly expressed strange feelings toward each other, which were closely linked to love, lust, and passionate anger. Yes. I’ll explain as we move on.
You see, Mark was your usual son of an influential businessman-rebellious, snarky, a tad too bitchy, that type. Yet he was handsome, and that’s what mattered to most. Cameron was a slightly effeminate boy, brought up by loving, annoying parents, and was skilled in the visual arts. Mark and Cameron met in college, sparks flew across three universes, had sex in each other’s houses, the works. The two also fought constantly-biting, cursing, even the occasional ‘manly’ punch, and the feelings that formed after every jab swallowed them whole.
Then both men decided that they were undoubtedly crazy, I-shit-you-not in love and they wanted it to remain that way. Every single night they would stare at the same ceiling, waiting for the morning that consisted of cuddling and cooing and being couple-y. They mated for life, said Mark, after watching National Geographic, and Cameron then realized that his boyfriend was an utter geekoid.
So. The Next Step.
While Mark busied himself with the legal, boring matters (that was according to Mark himself), Cameron dragged his mother to the department store for the more important preparations.
“Mommy, should we get the bottles with those cute, yellow, retarded ducks or the one with those fuchsias, or,” He picked up a bottle with a snail print, “This thing?”
His mother wrinkled her nose. “Well-“
“I mean, which is cooler? Ducks, snails, or flowers? Well?”
“I don’t really think those details are important, son.” She replied.
“Mommy, I am detailed. I love details. I live for details. I am a detailed person,” Cameron huffed and returned the snail bottle on the shelf, picking another bottle up for close examination. “It’s interior designing shit. How about butterflies?”
“Cameron, dearie.”
“Yes?”
“You’re getting a girl, aren’t you?”
Cameron looked at her silently for a moment, then grinned. “Yes. We visited the tykes and looked up some things and there’s this really, really beautiful girl, with Mark’s eyes, I swear.”
“Not a boy?” his mother asked pointedly.
“N-not a boy. Mark thought that, when he grows up, in school, you know. We don’t want to give the child a hard time.”
They searched every shelf, and chose a bottle with a star print.
***
Things were complicated (understatement of the fucking century), so they sought legal assistance and decided on single-parent adoption, to relieve the child of harassment and ridicule…plus the fact that they can’t get hitched. She would be a Mercado, and there was nothing Mark’s disproving father could do about it. See, it was easier for Mark to adopt because of his shiny background. Connections, connections. The question has always been ‘are you related to him or her’, and in those days, nobody cared if you strangled your own children as long as you were a Mercado.
Cameron never realized how influential his partner was, or else he would’ve freaked out and feel guilty, and the relationship wouldn’t last for more than a decade.
“Met my attorney a while ago; we passed the background check. They were in love with the kitchen counter top.” Mark announced as Cameron entered their condo unit, carrying dozens of shopping bags filled with toys and picture books.
He was expecting Cameron to jump around in glee and instigate sex on the couch, but was surprised when his boyfriend fell on his knees and moaned. “Mark. Mark. I failed.”
“Huh?”
“The cute lion bib. It’s gone.” Cameron said darkly. “Some bitch snatched it before I could, when she knew that I was about to get it ‘cos it’s just what I was looking for. She did it out of spite. She probably knew I was gay.”
Mark’s brain was focused somewhere southward, because he was happy that he accomplished something, and a stolen baby bib featuring African animals was NOT going to ruin his mood. He casually swung his legs apart and urged Cameron to sit on his lap, thinking Unthinkable Thoughts. “…So what did you buy?” He even stroked Cameron’s arm, biting back a moan.
“Hello Kitty bib,” Cameron growled, “It was cute, sure, but not as cute. Fucking bitch.”
“Baby, calm down! You told me this would be something happy, something wonderful. But look at you! You’re obsessing over bibs and baby bottles. I used to think that your comforter obsession was adorable, but I’m sure Sunshine would love any bottle you’d buy-“
“Who’s Sunshine?”
Mark blinked. “What? Our daughter.”
And that was when-sensitive readers, please discontinue-Cameron completely snapped.
“Oh no.”
“What’s wrong with-“
“SUNSHINE. What the fuck, Mark. WE ARE NOT NAMING OUR ONLY DAUGHTER AFTER SOME SHAMPOO PRODUCT.” I wish I could tell you how Cameron looked like. His face resembled something beyond repulsion. Wasn’t pretty.
“Well, I’d like to think she’s our little sunshine, since life was dark and dreary before she came along.” Mark’s face crinkled into a beautiful smile. “Our darling baby Sunshine.”
“NO. We are not naming her Precious, Candy, Sweetie Pie, or Rainbow, or whatever. We are giving her a unique name. We are not going to sell her in supermarkets.”
As I noted before, Mark was an internet addict. He researched baby names for many nights, only to realize that there were just too many effing pretty names in the world. Mark knew that their daughter would be the prettiest, coolest, most kick-ass girl in the history of the universe, so he wanted her name to be really special. He had to be original on his own, and spent another gruelling week writing names on receipts and restaurant coupons. Finally he came up with a name, a name he worked hard for, racking his brains until he reached a decision.
As a result, Mark’s ego was bruised and shaken. Sputtering angrily, Mark gripped Cameron’s shoulders. “Okay. What would you name her, then?”
Cameron beamed. “Why, we’ll name her after famous people. Something like, Nefertiti. Aphrodite. Maybe even Athena!”
“Fine!” Mark pushed Cameron away and stood up, folding his arms. “If you want to name our only daughter after a warrior princess, be my guest. Just don’t blame me if she grows up to become a rebellious teenager and cuts her own wrists, or something, because you just sealed her eternal damnation once she reaches high school.”
Because Cameron was a cunning bastard, he shouted back as soon as Mark slammed the door of their bedroom. “I will not cook dinner! Starve and DIE!”
“I can order take-out!”
“Go ahead!” Cameron marched to the bedroom door and pressed his forehead against it. “I’m staying over at Mom’s. Which is too bad, because I know you’re horny! I felt it.”
Then Mark heard a loud, slamming noise, and knew that he was alone.
...Well, he had his own hands, anyway.
***
The next morning Cameron apologized, Mark forgave him, and they did not discuss the previous night’s incident. Both men secretly clung to their chosen names, thinking that the other would cave in once Sunshine-or-Athena arrived. Hah, adults are just like kids sometimes, only with more warts and wrinkles and yeah, you get the idea. Right.
Cameron wanted to accompany Mark to the adoption hearing, but Mark told him to stay at home-he wasn’t Sunshine-or-Athena’s official parent, after all. Mark said it kindly, but Cameron felt like he was slapped hard on the face.
Poor guy.
So Cameron tried to nurse his own wounds, and spent time at his old house, helping Mrs. Cruz with chores, discussing politics with his dad. He angsted a bit in his own room, remembering his childhood, how his parents only wanted the best for him, shit like that. And Mark was the best one for him, after all. Mark was more than capable to give him a happy life, his parents adored him, he was a hard-worker, and he was just so stupid and cute that you had to love him.
Yet they needed something else to complete the ensemble.
Adoptions were blessings, he decided. Cameron knew that they would raise their daughter well. She would go to a good private school-not one of those stuck-up shits of schools with stuck-up shits of teachers-but one with a relaxing, free atmosphere, where boys could screw in public bathrooms and girls could act like boys, if that were possible. It was obvious that they could provide everything for her-all the toys and books she wanted, healthy food, her own room. Mark had planned it all so well, like a true-blue businessman, and all Cameron had to do was to make things pretty.
And they would love her to pieces, too.
The thing is, He and Mark were not an ordinary couple. They were both men. Meaning that they would not be an ordinary family.
This scared him.
He tried to remember how he grew up to be successful (okay, so he needed richer clients, but he had a steady job anyway, and success was actually equal to meeting Mark in a prestigious university, at least for him). He had supportive parents who never failed to remind him that money meant victory, next to love-so if you had both then you were destined for greatness.
And since he was already destined for greatness, his parents must’ve been really great role models. Cameron remembered his mother’s happiness while she rode the Ducati. Actually, he remembered his mother, period-she was downstairs, making lunch, oblivious to her son’s rising paranoia.
He felt his face grow wet, and then things turned shitty.
***
When Mark arrived from the hearing Cameron rushed towards him (protected with nothing but his underwear), buried his head on his shoulder, and cried, screaming that they can’t have a child, they would be the worst parents in the world, things not worth writing, etc.
“What the fuck?! Everything’s done! I just have to sign a few papers and we get our girl!” Mark was angry, eyes revealing annoyance. Can’t blame him; the hearing was awfully boring, so he just wanted to get laid and go to sleep.
“See? You hate me now. We both fight a lot. We can’t fight around Athena. We’ll traumatize her, make her childhood messy, because we’re both men and we keep on fighting and punching and, and I even consulted Google and GOOGLE CAN’T HELP US NOW-“
“-Heterosexual couples fight too, it’s normal-“
“I DON’T HAVE A MOTHER’S TOUCH,” Cameron grovelled. “And neither do you! A c-child needs a mother, I mean I can cook, and all those shit and yes, I’m stereotyping and-and fuck, fuck, Athena needs a female role model to achieve true greatness and walk through the right path and I’m just not the one who could do this, she’ll get picked on and I don’t even want to be a woman but things would be better if you find a woman for her, and-“
He burst into tears. To you it may seem unmanly, but that was the most courageous thing he ever did, to admit that he was scared (but yeah, I agree that he was being such a drama queen). Cameron was so scared, so fucking scared of hurting his lover and his future child, feeling insecure and bullshitty and different kinds of emotions that fucked with his brain.
Mark wasn’t dense at all, so he knew this was serious business. He embraced his lover and kissed his neck. “True greatness?”
“My mother,” Cameron sniffed. “I simply can’t compare.”
He looked up and saw an amused, but sad glint in Mark’s eyes.
“And I can’t, too. So what? Sunshine’s waiting.”
“Athena.” Cameron corrected wearily, and the drama was over in an instant.
***
Cameron was painting a wooden doll for Athena when Mark kicked the door open and threw a stuffed animal at his face. Cameron shrieked-like a particularly girly-girl-and was about to throw it back, until he looked at it. The penguin had colourful feathers on its head. Interesting.
“Cameron, meet Macaroni. Macaroni, meet Cameron.”
“Macaroni?”
“It’s a Macaroni Penguin. Wikipedia told me last night.”
“Oh,” said Cameron, who didn’t even bother to probe for more answers. “Hello, Macaroni.”
“Listen, when you feel like crap, hug Mac and pretend that it’s our baby girl. Try to get used to what it feels like, to be, you know. A full-fledged parent.” Mark smiled before placing a cigarette on his lips.
It was sweet, really. Cameron planted a kiss on Mark’s cheek and stared at the penguin, which stared back. The staring game stopped when Cameron held out the wooden doll. “You like it, Macaroni?”
Mark gazed at Cameron as he played with their pseudo-daughter. Cameron was laughing at himself for being so silly, I mean, I would laugh myself if I could, but his smile was genuine and beautiful and nice. Mark immediately became horny-they stopped making love after the fight over their daughter’s name (which was still unresolved, by the way), and he was getting tired of getting off on his own.
Mark dropped the cigarette, unzipped his pants, and advanced on the oblivious Cameron, who was still rubbing his nose on the tip of the penguin’s yellow beak. It was only when Mark was on top of him, with his erection free and insistent against his own clothed erection, when he shrieked and tried to swat his boyfriend with anything that was in his reach.
“We can’t have-ah, fuck-sex with Macaroni around!” Cameron cried out indignantly. “It’s just a baby! We must be responsible parents with Christian values and-go fuck yourself Mark, not there…ahh!”
“Macaroni’ll get used to it.” Mark gritted his teeth, dodged a flying alarm clock, and pushed.
Well, duh. You know what happened next. They then proceeded to have really noisy, violent sex, with some eloquent declarations of love, and Cameron turned his head to the left, seeing Macaroni looking at them with what he interpreted as ‘betrayed, hollow eyes’. He imagined Macaroni accusing them of being sick perverts, and felt like vomiting. Cameron could be really melodramatic, sometimes (he was a closet daytime soap opera addict, a secret more deadly than being gay).
I’m sorry Macaroni, he whispered.
He closed his eyes and braced himself. The raucous fighting and morally questionable union were nothing-that, that thing between their legs, was the real problem.
***
Everything was perfect.
That is, Sunshine-or-Athena’s room was. The walls were painted light orange, the Cinderella curtains were there, Mark’s weird toy collections, the soft alphabet mats. The cabinets were painted powder blue, with Minnie Mouse handles. There was a pale yellow crib beside the lampshade, yearning to be used. The picture books were in low shelves, and Macaroni was right on top of it, smiling eerily. I swear, that stuffed animal knew too much.
Mrs. Cruz gladly bought baby essentials the night before-she wished them well, bawled passionately, and kissed Mark full on the lips (Cameron did a double-take and fell off his chair, laughing so hard champagne came out of his nostrils). Mark drove her back to the Cruz residence in his Two-seater Ducati, and even then she was still sobbing her head off.
It was the day, and everything was perfect.
“You still remember the rules?” Cameron said as he watched his boyfriend style his hair. He had a black marker pen in hand, writing Athena’s name in all her belongings, much to Mark’s consternation.
“Yes.”
“Well, what are they?”
“No walking around naked. No sex with you when our daughter’s around. No smoking with daughter around. No night-time porn-viewing at the internet. No lewd side comments at the dinner table.”
“You’re forgetting something.”
“Uh, uhm, oh shit, yeah. No swearing. Fuck, I’ve forgotten that.”
“Good boy.” Cameron turned around and kissed him softly on the lips. They grinned stupidly at each other, then returned to earth.
“Will you stop that?”
“Stop what-“ Mark held Cameron’s arm up and frowned. Cameron was restless, OC bastard-his hands itched to arrange everything. After labelling everything, he faced the toys in different directions, never satisfied with the results, and did it over and over again. “Sorry, baby. I have to do something,” he apologized, and fixed Mark’s tie instead.
Mark was about to go the department, so he had to look good; Sunshine-or-Athena was waiting, with her round eyes and long eyelashes. She was bony and it seemed like any brisk movement could break her, but Mark and Cameron planned to change things soon. They would make her cheeks round and pink, plant a permanent smile on her face, help her walk, talk, and accept that she had two (hot, even smouldering, drop-dead-gorgeous men-Mark said so) for parents. It would be more than difficult, of course, especially where they lived in. Mark suggested migrating to Canada someday, but Cameron was attached to the cheap stores, the noise, and the air pollution. He wanted Sunshine-or-Athena to grow up in their hometown. Then, maybe someday…Canada.
“You know,” Mark began.
“Hmmm?”
“There will come a time…” Mark moved towards the door, head bowed, “There will come a time when she won’t need us anymore. She’ll think that we’re overbearing, annoying, and old.” He wrinkled his nose, then chuckled gently. “She’ll think we’re corny and outdated. I can picture it. She’ll hate us to death, and resort to screaming and glaring (still would look cute, though). Her friends would come over, and Sunshine’ll force us out of our own house, because we would be a total embarrassment.”
“She’ll hate you, probably,” Cameron shrugged. “I’m the cool dad.”
“Hah! You? Cool? You screamed when you watched E.T.”
“It was scary, okay? Wrinkly, brown thing.”
“Hahahaha!”
“Yes. Uhm, don’t forget the house rules. We have to stop getting drunk every Friday night. And no sex at the kitchen.”
“Unless she’s at school.”
“Oh, Mark.”
“Hey, I read in the internet-“
“-As always-“
“-That she might cry every night, so one of us has to wake up and comfort her, or something. Poor us, huh?”
“That’s nothing-you’re nocturnal anyway, You Tube freak. I’m more worried about other things. Like, when she gets older, we might not be able to, well, reach her. Someday she’d move out of the house and try to live life on her own. I mean, look at you. You defied your own father.”
“I still like Father, but he’s an ass. And he’ll realize it, I’m sure. He’ll look at the mirror and see a big, fucking, major ass. Anyway, babies usually bring families together. It’s in the baby forums I’m part of, or whatever. In a movie. I don’t know.”
They rarely talked about the other Mr. Mercado, and silence reigned for a few seconds, until Cameron spoke again.
“Not to mention the boys. You know, Athena’s going to grow up to be real pretty. I can tell.”
Mark glared at the wall fixedly, willing it to break.
“I’ll kill them.”
Cameron raised an eyebrow. “What? You won’t allow her to have a boyfriend?”
“I’ll poison them.” Mark looked absolutely murderous. Well, that was unfair, seeing as Cameron was given to him freely by the Cruz’s.
Cameron merely laughed. “…And if she had a girlfriend?”
“I don’t discriminate,” said Mark. “I’ll kill her, too.”
“Piece of shit.”
“But you love me,” Mark gave one last smile at the handsome man standing at the mirror before him. Cameron gave him a once-over, Mark pinched his boyfriend’s bottom as a farewell, and the tie-fixing that took place earlier was rendered useless because all of a sudden Mark was on the couch and Cameron was straddling him and they were naked and having messy sex while arguing about their daughter’s name.
Fifteen minutes later Mark jumped into his clothes, spent another fifteen minutes combing his hair, gave Cameron a twenty-minute hickey, and was late, late, late.
As soon as he Mark ran off, Cameron grabbed Macaroni and tucked it under his chin as he watched his favourite day-time soap opera-oh wait, I don’t remember the title, maybe Rosa or Maria or Maria Rosa, one of those.
He eventually grew bored watching the leading man’s mother having another adulterous affair and switched the channel, waiting. He was not the only one, mind you; the crib was empty, the fridge was full, the toys were untouched, unused.
He closed his eyes and dreamt of storks and masked surgeons telling him to push, push, push harder, because he was giving birth to…to Macaroni. Well, that was weird. Oh, he also saw number threes and farmhouses, then a famished little creature trembling underneath dried snow. He did not possess the touch, the healing voice, but he embraced it, holding it close, making it warm. Cameron believed he was not worthy to hold something so precious, but as forehead met heartbeat, he felt alive.
No chemistry, no biology, only unadulterated excitement.
I’m pretty sure it was a happy dream.
***
And Athena Sunshine it was. Her nickname would be Tina.
Quick spoiler: In case you’re wondering, she will hate them for a brief period of time-first day of class, high school, when the teacher calls her name. It’s in chapter eighty, which will never be posted. That’s their problem.
END