July 22nd — Florence, Italy

I tidy the already neat hotel room and sit back at the table. Even sketching out the buildings lining the bridges can’t keep my attention. I look at my phone again. Only five minutes since last time, but an age has passed. We are waiting for Steven. Will he make it back before bedtime? He left us hours ago.

The kids are as restless as I am. Quinton and Javier have been bickering all day. Yesterday I thought this was a small sign that they were becoming more like brothers. I remember the relief the first time Josh took the last of the mint chip ice cream, my favorite kind as a child. I finally wasn’t a guest in his eyes. And I remember his shock the first time I yelled at him. He had used my felt tip pens and flatted a few tips. I gave him such a reaming. We had quite the argument, but the next day I overheard him call me his brother when talking to Belinda. He had never done that before.

Today though, today I want them both to shut up. Javier, I think, just can’t get over the fact that Quinton refused to let him win their races today. That was a blow to his ego. The fighting started at the café. Ordering when I can’t speak one word of Italian was hard enough, but then they both wanted the same chair.

Since we got back to the hotel, they have fought over the spot on the couch right in front of the TV, who gets the remote, which channel to watch, and who gets to sit by Zoe. And after I put Zoe in the middle and handed her the remote, they fought over which side of her they would sit on. Each fight begins small, with a sharp word or sarcastic comment, and grows bigger and louder until the boys turn from each other in disgust. That’s when Zoe pipes up and sets them off again.

I am going out of my mind. This bickering has gone on long enough. “Kids,” I say taking the remote and turning off the TV. “Time to get ready for bed.”

“We can’t go to bed until Dad gets home,” Javier states. Zoe and Quinton nod.

I don’t roll my eyes. The first time in hours they agree on anything and it has to be this. “You will get ready for bed,” I say in a tone I hope brooks no dissent. “Then if you are quiet, I’ll let you stay up until Steven gets back.”

Javier hops up and rushes into his room. Quinton waits until their bedroom door is closed and darts into the bathroom. A moment later the water starts running. Javier reappears, his PJs in his hand, and pounds on the bathroom door. Quinton ignores him. Zoe laughs. I throw her over my shoulder and give her a better reason to laugh before Javier realizes her laughter is at him. His getting angry at her would be all I’d need to complete this utterly wretched day.

After that upsetting thing in the bathroom, Steven talked to Benedetto for a long time. I did my best to give them space and keep other people away from them. Steven’s expression wavered from distressed to angry several times, but his voice stayed calm and soothing. He really loves his son. At one point he called me over and told me in Japanese that he was taking Benedetto to the hospital. When the taxi came for them, Steven insisted I keep the phone. Well, I’ve got it and he hasn’t called. We need two phones. If he doesn’t buy one today, then it’s the first thing we will do tomorrow.

The kids, of course, wanted to know where Steven went. I told them that Steven had some unfinished business. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but I don’t think they believed me. Maybe that’s why they’ve been horrors all day.

Quinton finally leaves the bathroom wearing a towel and a triumphant expression. Javier pushed past him to get in. I foresee a lot of evening like this in my future. But I hope Steven is with me in the rest of them. I gather Zoe’s stuff and take her into my bathroom. I feel funny giving her a bath. Even on days that I’m the Papa she wants, Steven takes over at bath time. I run the water, but she’s four; I don’t think she’ll drown. And if on a whim she decided to dump all the shampoo into her bath, we can buy more tomorrow. But I leave her the travel sized bottle that I brought from home just in case.

I can hear the shower going; Javier must still be in it. Hurray for the abundance of hot water in hotels. Quinton, now in his PJs, watches me from the couch as I walk into the front room. He looks like he has something to say. I sit down beside him. “What can I do for you, my boy?”

He leans a fraction of an inch closer to me. I take that as a hint he need affection. I rest my arm across the back of the couch and he leans against it. “Is it me?”

“Is what you?”

“Is Papa gone because of me?”

“No.” That much is easy. The explanation part of my answer will be harder as I can only guess what is wrong and how much should I tell an eight year old anyway? “Steven needed to take Benedetto up to the hospital.”

“So Papa is gone because of Benedetto?”

“Steven would take you to the hospital if you needed it.”

Quinton nods slowly. “What he did, what Bene did. I didn’t like it.”

“I didn’t think you did. If someone touches you where you don’t like it, you can tell them to stop.”

“I was startled.”

“I would have been, too.”

He watches me like he’s gauging my reply. “I didn’t like it, but if I had, would that mean I was gay?”

“No. Nobody likes to be grabbed like that.” There may be exceptions, but such are not for children’s ears. “Being gay just means that the person I want to touch me is also a guy. The only person I’ve ever wanted to touch me is Steven.”

The bathroom door opens a crack. How upset will Quinton be if he knows Javier is listening? I look away, so as not to draw attention to the door. “He’s also the only person I want to touch, but we don’t just grab. That wouldn’t be nice.”

Quinton nods. “It wasn’t.”

“I believe you. Steven is always nice to me. That’s one reason I love him.” I tell Quinton about falling in love with Steve’s picture. Zoe calls for me. She is out of the tub, soap-free, and part way dressed. Her nightgown sticks to her wet back. I rescue her and take her into the front room to dry her hair. Javier is leaning against the TV table. “How old were you?”

“When I saw the picture? I was twelve. I’m very lucky. Not many people win their first crushes. I just happen to meet Steven at the right time and be exactly who he needed.”

Javier tilts his head then looks at his toes. “I’m twelve.”

He is.

“I had a crush on him for years, though, before I met him. If I would have met him sooner, before I was grown, we wouldn’t be together now.”

“Really?” Javier’s toes must hold great interest to him. He isn’t even trying to look at me.

“If I would have met him when I was a kid, he would always think about me that way. When I was twelve, he was twenty-eight. If a guy that old wants to touch a kid, then the man has something wrong with him.”

“But you are together now.”

“You should have seen all the work I went through to appear as an adult.” Zoe clamors for the story, so I tell it—the G-rated version without all the lustful looks and the sex. The stepdad’s brother thing is there, because how could it not be, but it is not spelled out. They listen fascinated. Who have thought I was a good story teller? Or maybe I just picked the right subject.

---==^==---

You’ll never guess. Steven’s got a web site devoted to him. It’s in Italian, so I don’t know what it says.

Gramma loves the picture of Steven holding Bene with you four in the background. She wants to have it framed.