“Twenty thousand dollars,” August says, warm pride glowing from him as he watches Oliver’s reaction.
Our little treat appears to bluescreen, freezing in place with his eyes bugging out and his jaw slack. So I make sure to hammer the point home before he can recover and argue.
“Excellent. So that’s twenty for the women’s refuge and twenty for our good boy to share with his mother as he sees fit.”
The only reason I don’t insist on giving Oliver and Ms. Carver separate amounts is because she’s a stranger to us and he might not want to explain the nature of our relationship to her. But also, I have a feeling August and I will find many other ways to spoil Oliver in a more direct way.
Oliver finally comes back to life, his eyes filled with tears. “Y-y-you can’t do that!” he cries, getting visibly distressed. “That’s insane! You only just met me! That’s…you can’t…”
He looks like he’s going to pass out or shake apart, whichever happens first. So I immediately slip from my seat and pull his chair out by the legs so I can kneel at his feet with my hands on his thighs.
“Breathe, Oliver,” I command.
He stares at me, his chest shuddering. But he does as I say.
“Good boy,” I continue, rubbing my thumbs against his bathrobe. “Good boy. That’s it. Just keep breathing.” August moves to hug him from behind, and for the next couple of minutes, we simply let him calm down. “Okay, how are you feeling now?”
“Um, orange,” Oliver says with a wince.
However, I shake my head and smile. “Good boy for using your colors, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to upset you. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
He looks up at August then back at me. “It’s just that’s an insane amount of money. You don’t know me. I…I can’t accept it.”
“But you’re not accepting it,” I remind him with a smirk. “People donate to charities every day. You just pointed ustoward this particular one. And you don’t have to keep a single cent of your share if you don’t want. You can send it all to your mother.”
“You could tell her you won the lottery,” August suggests with a chuckle.
But Oliver surprises me by shaking his head and laughing as well. “If I told her it was from my sugar Daddy, she’d actually be more likely to accept it. She’d be thrilled for me.” He laughs again, louder, then covers his mouth with his hand and blinks a couple of times. That’s how I know he’s really processing what we’re suggesting and not just panicking anymore. “Do you realize how much that would help her?” he asks us weakly.
“I think we can guess,” August tells him softly. “That’s why we’d like to do it.”
Oliver thinks some more, nibbling on his lip. I reach onto the table for a napkin and he mops up his face before taking a shuddering breath.
“Thank you,” he says eventually, his voice trembling but his expression firm. “I’m sorry. My knee-jerk reaction was to think I wasn’t worth that. But if this is what you want to do…then I am. I must be. So that’s that. And I’ll be honored to help my mom and the people that saved her. She’ll—” His voice catches and he takes a second to compose himself with a cough. “She’ll be beside herself with gratitude.”
“That’s decided then,” I say with a grin, my hands still resting on his thighs, grounding him. “And the honor is all ours.”
He sniffs and looks around, giving himself a bit of a shake, like he’s coming back to reality. “Wow. That was unexpected.” He laughs and blinks again.“Yourmoms must be really proud of you both. You’re incredibly generous guys.”
August snorts. “I could cure cancer and I’d probably still not quite be good enough for my folks,” he says with a resigned roll of his eyes. “But Tallis has a super mom.”
He nods at the wedding photo that’s printed onto a reasonable sized canvas hanging on one of the walls. Oliver tilts his head and I watch with pride as he absorbs the details of the picture. Perhaps what he’s seeing first is my mother’s sparkly hijab because I recognize the questions that flash behind his eyes.
“Coming out was very hard for me,” I explain, still kneeling at Oliver’s feet to help him feel less overwhelmed. “Growing up Muslim in a post 9/11 world was hard, and my father in particular was determined not to give anyone a reason to doubt that we should be in this country. But my mother could tell something was wrong. I’d realized I was gay as a child and tried to hide it well into my late teen years. She was relentless until I confessed. I’d spent so long thinking my life would be over if I ever did, but she was so worried, I felt I didn’t have a choice in the end.” I look up at the photo, the side of my mouth quirking at the memories.
“So she came around eventually?” Oliver prompts.
I scoff. “No. She was on my side from the moment the words left my mouth. From then on, she became my fiercest protector, like a tiger. I think she’s where I get my bossy side from.” I wink at him, relieved to see him giggle. “My dad took a lot longer, but my mother wouldn’t give in until it finally clicked for him. He realized he was just frightened for me. But so long as I was happy, he didn’t care who I loved. They were so proud on our wedding day.”
“And they’re better parents to me than mine ever are,” August adds ruefully. I reach around and squeeze his leg. This isn’t new for us, but it’s always painful to remember that his family isn’t very caring.
My personal theory is that he’s the one who got all the compassion and empathy from the gene pool. But it’s okay. I wouldn’t have him any other way.
So fuck them.
Oliver takes another shaky breath and nods to himself. “So supporting women and moms is a cause you’d support anyway,” he guesses.
“Absolutely,” I assure him. “So thank you for helping us do that.” He giggles again and shakes his head at me. “What?” I ask.