I didn’t have time to respond, even if I could have made my stupid brain come up with something remotely worthy. A door closed not too far away, and someone was whistling a happy tune. “Andrew?” a man called out, and he stopped when he walked into the kitchen through a different door we’d come through. Clearly Andrew’s father, he was almost identical to him, albeit some twenty-odd years older. Blond, handsome, with kind blue eyes. “Saw your car out front,” he said, putting his wallet and keys in the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter.
“Hey, Dad,” Andrew said. “Dad, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is my dad, Allan.”
Allan Landon extended his hand and a warm smile. “Ah, the one I’ve heard all about,” he said, shaking my hand firmly.
“Spencer Cohen,” I offered, thankful I seemed to hide my nerves in front of him.
He turned back to Andrew, then clearly knowing his son very well, he frowned. “What’s up?”
“We brought someone here with us,” Andrew said. “He’s in the lounge room with Mom. He’s in a bit of trouble, Dad. He needed somewhere safe to stay, so I brought him here.”
Allan’s expression softened. “Explains the coffee, huh? Better make me a cup. Bring it in for us, won’t you?”
Andrew smiled at him. “Sure thing.”
I watched Andrew’s father leave via the door we’d come through, stunned at his total acceptance and ability to not bat an eyelid at the news there was a troubled stranger in the front room. Let alone his son’s new boyfriend in his kitchen. “Just like that, huh?” I whispered.
Andrew put his hand on my chest and stared at me for a long second. “Just like that.”
A sudden ache in my heart, like an axe through my chest, made me think of my own father. Of how simple total acceptance was assumed in Andrew’s life, and how I had struggled and fought for―and was denied―the same thing. His parents rolled with it, took it in stride, and even went out of their way to help a young gay man in need, where my family had done the exact opposite. Except my parents hadn’t turned away a gay stranger. They’d turned away their own son.
Andrew’s hand crept up to my neck, and he pulled me into a kiss. “Just like that,” he said again. “Just like it should be.”
When the coffee was done, Andrew balked at pouring the fifth cup. “Shit,” he mumbled. “There’s no tea. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Coffee’s fine,” I told him. “I’m sure I’ll survive.”
He fixed the cups on a tray with sugar and cream and carried it in to the front sitting room. Mrs Landon still sat beside Yanni, and Mr Landon sat across from him, elbows on his knees, listening intently to what Yanni was telling them. I sat on the single seat sofa, and Andrew sat on the arm rest at my side, and we listened to Yanni talk.
“It’s so cliché,” Yanni said softly. “But he really was charming in the beginning. I didn’t even realise he’d isolated me. In the six months I was living with him, I had no friends, no one but him.” Yanni shook his head. “I really was so na?ve.”
Mrs Landon put her hand on his arm. “No you weren’t,” she said. Her voice was soft but determined. “The fault is his, not yours.”
Yanni’s eyes welled with tears. “Then he started to get possessive and mad if I was late.” He swallowed hard. “The first time he hit me, he’d been stressed at work, and he was so sorry, and I believed him.” He scrubbed at his tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Mr Landon said gently. “You’re allowed to cry. You’ve lost a lot. You need to grieve for that.”
Yanni stared at him. Like stared. And he was right, Yanni had lost a lot. Not material things, but emotionally and psychologically, Yanni had lost it all. And something about that realisation, and how Mr Landon spoke something so profound, like it was the easiest thing in the world to say, made my chest hurt.
Somehow, like he knew what I was thinking and feeling, Andrew took my hand and gave it a squeeze. He didn’t let it go.
“He paid for me to go to college, something I could never do on my own. I lived in his expensive apartment. And at first it was exciting, that I could do these things because I had no money, no family,” Yanni said. He looked right at me and I nodded. I had told him I’d lost my family, and I’d thought he hadn’t heard me. He obviously had. It was a look that Andrew’s parents didn’t miss, and they both saw how Andrew was holding my hand.
“It took him less than twelve months to completely own me,” Yanni said. He swallowed hard. His voice shook but he spoke anyway. “The last time he hit me, I swore it was the last time. I left with nothing. I had nothing. Everything I thought I had, was his. It was always his. I quit my job, I left school. I left my cell phone that he’d given me on the kitchen table and never went back. I stayed at a homeless shelter with my backpack and one change of clothes.” He nodded at the bag at his feet. “I never thought I was a materialistic person until I had nothing.”
I cleared my throat. “But those few things mean a lot. They’re your worldly possessions, and they’re everything.”
Yanni nodded, and I knew all eyes were on me. Andrew squeezed my hand again. His thumb skimmed across my knuckles, such a reassuring gesture that kept me tethered to him. Without a word, he kept me afloat beside him instead of drowning in memories.