Page 56 of In Frame
“No,” Leo said. “I mean…that is…nothing’s wrong. Something’s very right, I think. I wanted to tell you both, though. Later. Tell me about your next big production. Gladiators?”
Harriet pointed a finger at him. “As soon as your father gets home, then. And yes, and we’re so over-budget on the blood, it’s astonishing how much we’re needing, but I saw the rehearsals and it looks so gloriously gory, it’ll be a smashing success…”
They settled in at the small kitchen table, cozy, sipping wine. Scents of experimental venison and parsnips and horseradish drifted, not badly, through the air. Benvolio came over, hopped up, and made himself at home on Leo’s lap. Leo scratched the cat’s fluffy head and tried to not think about anything except his mother’s stories regarding proper budgeting for a production’s worth of loincloths.
The door opened again; his father’s voice said, amused, “Hello, son,” to Leo’s jacket, and a moment later Chester himself appeared: greying, merry, wearing jeans and a blue knitjumper that straddled the line between avuncular Royal College of Dentistry dean andfashionableavuncular Royal College of Dentistry dean. “Come here—”
The cat ran over for petting, and Leo got up for more hugging. His father felt solid and strong, clothes chilly with London air, somewhat shorter than Leo himself; Leo wanted to hold on and be held and never let that closeness go, just then.
His father patted his back, and said, in much the same way his mother had, “Are you all right? Is there anything we can do?”
“He said he’s got something to tell us,” provided Leo’s mother helpfully.
“I…” Leo said. His eyes prickled suddenly. He wasn’t sure why. “Um. Was it coffee? Why you went out?”
“Ginger.” His father, keeping up, waved a shopping bag. “For the plum and apricot crumble. And some ice cream, proper vanilla bean, and carrots. I was thinking about carrot and avocado muffins. Harry, light of backstage finances and broadswords and my life, did you remember to turn down the heat on that cobbler?”
Leo’s mother said, “I love you and you know I didn’t,” and got up to kiss him. Soundly.
Leo, who would’ve ordinarily applauded or made a joke or offered a not-serious rating of kisses, reached out and picked up wine. Took a sip.
Venison cobbler, rescued from heat, happened. So did a quick salad with a bewildering but not terrible combination of mint and poppyseed flavors, and some rye bread his father’d baked the day before, and more wine. The venison was in fact delicious, if richly and somewhat confusingly spiced. The horseradish scone topping was fine.
Leo’s father, with the tact that made him a much-beloved administrator, kept the conversation on work, students,the new laboratory building they’d be getting in the summer. Leo’s mother chatted about the theatre; they both asked aboutSteadfast, about the joy of the success and the excitement of the press tour and the premieres, about his earlier meeting and the multi-episode villainous science-fiction arc he’d agreed to. They did not push; expectance hung in the air above plum and apricot crumble, topped with freshly grated ginger, but it hung there unobtrusively.
Leo’s mother, when they’d more or less finished and were picking at the last bones of the demolished crumble, said casually, “Anyone up for a family game night? Something cooperative, perhaps solving a mystery or escaping a mystical island?” and Leo took a deep breath and said, “Yes, but first, I did have something to tell you,” and both his parents smiled at him, holding hands.
He fiddled with a fork. Made himself stop. “Er…speaking ofSteadfast. And love stories. Between men.”
“Oh yes,” his father agreed encouragingly. “So lovely, seeing that.”
“It is, yes. And I’m proud to be part of it. Er…when I say part of it…I mean I’ve sort of met someone. Someone I, ah. Really like.”
His mother instantly put a hand out, gathered up Leo’s anxious forkless one, and said, “Oh, darling, we’re so happy for you, what’s his name? How’d you two meet? Is he also an actor, or in the industry?”
“Sam, and he’s—” Leo skidded to a halt, mouth open, every single atom quivering with multiple emotions. “That—you—you just…”
Chester and Harriet exchanged glances.
“You’re not evensurprised,” Leo said.
“Well, you see,” his mother said, “the thing is, well…we already rather thought you were, er, not entirely straight,perhaps…”
“You did not! How did you know?Ididn’t even know!” He waved the hand not being held in his mother’s, gesture landing someplace between desperate flailing astonishment and equally desperate laughter. “Why was I thelastone to know?’
“To be fair,” his father put in, “we thought you did know. Given all those comments about attractive male co-stars, or that time you brought, what was his name, Matt, as a date to that awards show, and then kissed him so thoroughly in front of the cameras…”
“He dared me to! And I thought it’d be fun!”
“And there was the time you bought the dildos,” his mother contributed cheerily. “There were pictures in all those magazines.”
“Those were for someone else! She was embarrassed about wanting them!”
“We always hoped,” his father took up, beaming, “that you’d feel comfortable enough to tell us, someday. Not that we’d ever push, if you weren’t ready. Not at all.”
“Oh my God,” Leo said, and buried his head in both arms atop the table. “Oh myGod.”
“We’re so very honored you’ve told us now.” His mother patted his arm. “You did say he, so were you going to tell us it’s all the men all the time, from now on, as it were, or something a bit more all-inclusive, or are you still sorting it out?”
