Page 6 of Family Matters

A man’s voice and a soft touch on his shoulder brought Liam back from his thoughts; it was Bart, who asked him if he wanted to lay down until dinner, which was less than two hours away. The idea sounded tempting to the young man, who felt his lids heavy with sleep, so he left the armchair and followed his father’s husband into his bedroom.

Once there, Liam let out a soft sigh of frustration and defeat at the sight of the boxes, suitcases, and bags scattered all over the floor. There was no way to take a nap before unpacking and putting everything away, he internally shook his head, crouching down and unzipping one of the duffle bags.

Bart opened the closet, the drawers, and, with a circular motion, gestured to the shelves and nightstand. The room, he said in an apologetic voice, was designed to accommodate guests, and was minimally furnished, but, in a few days, Leon and Elias would come to talk to Liam about what furniture he wanted, so they could design and build it.

Brian’s oldest son couldn’t repress an amused grin when he heard Leon’s name. Him again, he said to himself, imperceptibly shaking his head. The young man had the feeling he would see the one who poured a glass of iced water on his head more times than he would like. No, Liam mentally scolded himself, the guy is papa’s friend, he can’t be bad.

With this thought in mind and a weak smile playing on his lips, he continued to unpack his stuff and put everything away. Absorbed with his task as he was, the youth noticed Bart discreetly retired only when he wanted to ask the man wherehe should store the empty boxes and bags. Dad didn’t want to interfere when I unpacked my clothes and other things, Liam said to himself, his heart melting at how the man understood he needed privacy.

Once the task was completed, he looked around the room, the smile becoming brighter. A few small, colorful rugs were covering the hardwood floor, matching curtains were hanging at the windows. The walls were painted in a light tone of green, the space was well-lit and aired. Totally different from where the young man spent his childhood and teen years.

A minimally furnished, impersonal guest room, Bart said, apologizing for not being able to offer something better to the stepson of whose existence he didn’t have any idea about. For Liam, however, that place looked amazing, because it was the starting point of his new life. Because it was home.

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Liam opened his eyes and let out a big yawn, stretching under the blanket with feline grace. His phone beeped, and, with a smile, he read the message his Aunt Imogen sent him. It was a short one, the first of the day; as usual, the woman wished him a good morning and gave him a short report of her activities.

One more week, Liam sighed softly as he turned the phone off and left the bed, stepping into the adjoining bathroom for the morning ritual. This was his aunt’s longest business tour since she moved from Philadelphia to New York City, and the young man missed her dearly. He couldn’t wait for her to visithim, meet his fathers, siblings, and all the friends that he made during the three weeks since he left the house that was more like a prison to him.

For example, Martino. Liam was shocked to find out he was carrying his husband’s child, but in a good way. A few years earlier, when he heard about male pregnancy for the first time, the young man became fascinated by the subject and spent many hours researching it. He found out the treatments were low-risk and widely available, making a great number of gay couples choose that method of having children.

As if being avoided like plague at school because of his differently colored eyes wasn’t enough, Liam didn’t even have the freedom of choosing who to befriend, his mother and stepfather strictly controlling his entourage. To survive among those intolerants and homophobes, the youth had to hide his true self, so having queer folks among his friends was impossible.

Not anymore, Liam said to himself, as he stepped out of the shower and started to dry with a fluffy towel. He brushed aside any thought about his mother, her husband, and their obnoxious boys, pushing them in what he called the bin of his brain. Now, he lived with his two fathers, who gave him all the attention and affection he was deprived of, surrounded by his siblings who adored him and friends like the pregnant Martino, who welcomed him in their lives.

CHAPTER 5

“Are you Brian Cavallieri?” The woman’s voice was bordering on rudeness. “Look, I've come to talk to my son Liam and bring him home, where he belongs. We have a spacious mansion, there is no need for him to cram into a room with ten or more dirty, homeless teens, or to break his bones working for a few dollars. It is true, he looks...disgraceful, to say the least, but my husband and I don't intend to kick him out of the house.”

Brian waited for her to finish talking, then shook his head, sadness and disappointment mixing on his face. “Have I changed that much, Margaret?

“You are Brian Knight? The high school's star athlete?” The woman stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds. “You looked...plainer back then, but were the most popular boy in school, so I had to mark you, if you know what I mean.” Margaret said in a relaxed voice once the shock dissipated.

“I figured as much.” Brian shook his head. “For you, I was nothing more than a body to use, I guess. However, if I could change the past, I wouldn’t, because Liam is one of the most precious gifts life gave me.

Margaret cleared her throat, not knowing how to reply to the librarian’s words, but then she saw his wedding ring. “Oh, congratulations, I see you found a girl desperate enough to marry you.” She then dismissively waved her hand. “Excuse me, I'm in a hurry. Where is the boy?”

“He won't go back to where he is not welcomed.” Brian looked into the woman’s eyes, making her avert her gaze. “However, I think Liam is old enough to speak for himself, so why don’t you ask him personally?”

Why am I remembering this now, Brian asked himself as he looked around the dining-room that Saturday morning. The conversation with the mother of his firstborn happened more than two weeks earlier, a couple of days after Liam moved in with him, Bart, and their children, but he forgot about it a few hours later, like someone wiped it out with a sponge.

Brian’s suggestion to talk to their son wasn’t received very well by Margaret, who started calling him a pathetic loser, a lousy librarian who wanted to create a rift between a mother and her son. Yelling insults and accusing him of things he didn’t do wasn’t everything the woman did; she also threatened the father of her firstborn that he would suffer terrible consequences if the youth wouldn’t move back into the house where he was safe and cared for.

Brian made great efforts to repress a huff when he remembered the scene Margaret caused in the library. Thank god we had no audience, he thought, looking around the table in the dining-room, the annoyance those memories produced vanished into thin air at the sight of Bart, Luca, Martino, Liam, and the rest of the children, who were digging into the food, moaning in appreciation and praising the cooks.

Brian’s gaze lingered for a moment on each face, taking in the features of his husband, the sons and daughters they raisedtogether, and their lovers, resting on Martino, who was flanked by Liam and Luca. The redhead just filled his plate for the second time, saying jokingly that he thought he was going to give birth to twins, judging by his enormous appetite.

Over the last couple of days, Brian sensed the presence of Don Giovanni Sforza; unlike other times when he paid the librarian a visit, the mafioso’s ghost had no message for him. He just paced up and down the room or sat on a couch or armchair and stared straight ahead, then buried his face into both of his hands.

He must be worried for Martino, and I don’t blame him, Brian thought, repressing a sigh. I would be crazy with worry too, if my only son was only two weeks away from giving birth for the first time. Scratch that, I’d be a mess each and every time any of my children would give birth, he continued his internal monologue.

The sound of the doorbell brought Brian back from his thoughts, and he left his chair, gesturing to Bart and the others to continue eating as he headed to the door. “Imogen? Imogen Sanders?” He whispered-yelled the words, gasping in shock at the sight of the woman before him.

“Look at you!” The woman exclaimed, taking his hands in hers. “You are like fine wine, the older, the better. And a married man, too! She is very lucky...or is it a he?” The unexpected visitor cleared her throat. “You always seemed...undecided.”

“Me and fine wine…” Brian grinned sheepishly “I don't know about that, but you are as beautiful as I remember.” Hegestured to the hallway. “Please, come inside to meet my family. I married a man named Bart ten years ago, he’s the light of my life, the air I breathe, the blood flowing through my veins.”

“Once a romantic, always a romantic.” Imogen stepped inside the house, and, with a smile, headed to the dining-room. “Ten years, oh-wow! Timedoesfly fast! Any kids? Knowing you, the answer is a loud yes, I think you adopted at least four.”

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