nineteen

Ms. Hemmings put the bowl of pasta in front of Luke's nose as he shook his head. She lifted up the red sauce, repeating the same action. They did this with every plate on the table until he gagged at the meatballs. He covered his mouth and held his stomach as she quickly took it away.

"Okay! The baby does not like meatballs!" She announced. Luke wiped at his watering eyes and gave her a pale smile.

"Sorry," he apologized as he sat down. Luke covered his lap with a napkin, waiting for Michael and his father to join them at the dinner table.

"No worries, I was the same way with Michael. Pretty much couldn't eat anything." She sat down, starting to serve herself.

Michael came down the stairs next, his sweatpants low on his hips. He hasn't changed in a sold two days and it was starting to get gross. He sat down next to Luke, reaching over and taking a plate for himself. "Did you poison Luke again?"

"We are slowly figuring out what your child does and doesn't like. Can you please give me a break?" Ms. Clifford harshly shot back.

Mike rolled his eyes. He rested his phone on the table and continued to reach over Luke to grab several dishes. He was about to serve Luke before the eighteen-year-old swatted his hand away with a glare.

Michael's father came down last, silently joining.

"What'd you guys do today?"

"Slept," Michael said.

Luke nodded, agreeing with his boyfriend.

"You're in California. Literally fifty feet from the beach. Are you serious?"

"I'm pale and he's pregnant," Michael said between bites of dinner.

Luke laughed, already almost done with his first plate. His appetite was in overdrive as he wanted to eat anything and everything. He would gladly eat the entire pot of pasta in front of him if it weren't for three other people sitting at the same table.

Mike's phone vibrated, and Luke looked down on habit. "What the fuck? Is that my mom?"

Michael looked down his eyebrows furrowed. "Why is your mom calling me? How does she know I'm with you?" He looked up at Luke, then down at the screen once more, letting it ring again.

"Maybe she doesn't," the blonde answered.

"Dude, it's been like two days. Shit."

"You better pick that up," Ms. Clifford threatened.

"Mom, it's his mom," Michael restated.

"She's worried. Michael, I swear to—."

Michael picked up his phone and quickly scraped his chair against the floor. He got up from the table, unlocking their sliding glass door and going to the backyard. He was ten feet into the dead grass before he answered. "Hello?"

Luke's heart was beating as his body froze. He watched Michael from the glass door, his back turned to the house.

"Luke, keep eating. You need the protein."

Luke reached down, spinning himself a spoon of pasta. He almost missed his mouth from watching Michael's mouth move instead of watching what he was doing.

"Hi, Ms. Hemmings. How are you?"

"Is he with you?" She asked quickly.

Michael could hear the panic and concern below her tone. He knew someone was sitting across from her, telling her to stay calm. "Yes, Liz. He's with me."

A sigh and croak of relief left her throat. "I've been trying to stay calm, Michael. It took a lot for me to call you and not yell."

"I understand." He had his professional persona back on. Michael surprised himself at how fast he could switch personas.

"We aren't mad," she paused, "Anymore. Can we talk to him?"

Michael itched his unshaven jawline. "I'm not sure. He's eating right now and—."

"Michael, please."

"Look, he needs a little break to clear his mind. I'm trying to give that to him," Mike said with a sigh. He walked around his childhood backyard, kicking a few rocks against the fence.

"Is he okay?"

"He's more than okay, I promise you." Michael finally sat down, figuring his family—including Luke and the baby—were watching him pace from inside and wondering if he had lost his mind. He sat down on a deck chair, the concrete below him burning his bare feet. "He seems happy. He's healthy. I'm just trying to not overwhelm him or anything right now."

"My baby." Her voice seemed upset, to the point where Michael barely recognized it. Luke's mother was a happy, cheerful women. Hearing her on the verge of tears made Michael question everything he's done. "I want him home. Please tell him we aren't mad."

"I will, Ms. Hemmings."

"Tell him we love him, too."

"I will," he repeated. "I'll talk to him about everything tonight. I believe he just threw up due to some meatballs a few minutes ago, so I don't think right now is the time to talk to him about everything stressful."

"I'm not mad at you, either, Michael."

"Thank you." He leant over, resting his elbow on his knee then his head in the palm of his hands.

"We do need to talk when you guys get back, okay?"

"Understood."

Dinner went by silently when Michael came back, no one dared to speak a word. Everything was tense, it was worse than walking on sharp egg shells.

Luke laid in bed around midnights, the sheets pulled tight to his bare chest. Michael bent down, digging through his luggage bag to find a fresh shirt. He dropped his towel, still dripping water from his shower.

Luke admired his body. It wasn't toned, but it was perfect. He had curves and he had layers of pudgy fat around his stomach, but Luke wouldn't want him any other way. He liked the freckles on his soft skin and the curve of his nose. He liked his different colored eyes and un-plucked eyebrows.

"Is my mom mad?" Luke asked quietly. He sounded as if he was afraid to ask the question everyone was thinking.

Michael pulled on a pair of boxers with a sigh. "No," he responded shortly.

"What'd she say?"

Mike stretched out his arms and cracked his neck. He slid an old tee shirt over his upper body, letting it hang loose over him. "She said to tell you that they aren't mad and that they love you."

Luke nodded, looking down at his lap.

The older man climbed into the left side of the guest room bed. He leant over Luke, turning off the bedside light. "I figure it's time to talk about some things."

"I know."

"She wants you to know that you're welcome home."

"I don't want to go home, I want to stay with you." He had a pang of worry in his voice. Luke was sure Michael would get sick of him sooner than later and want to dump him. It was a big fear in Luke's life; Losing Michael.

"This is your choice. I will make sure that whatever you want is what happens, okay?" Michael lowered himself, resting his head on Luke's chest. The small boy wrapped his arm around Mike's back, letting his hand rest at the bottom of his hips.

"You feel like home more than that house ever did."

"They love you, too, Luke. I want you with me, but I don't want to deprive them of you."

Luke shrugged his shoulders. "I don't want to go home only to be treated like a child." He softly dug his fingers into the waistband of Michael's boxers, rubbing at the soft skin. "I don't know what I want."

"That's okay, you don't need to figure out anything this second." Michael tried to emphasis on the fact that it was all up to Luke, he didn't want to add stress to the teenager's life. "We can stay here, we can go home. Home can be my place or yours. I will love and support you through anything you decide."

Luke constantly asked himself how he got so lucky. For so long, he figured his life was a chain of bad luck. Michael was his good luck. Michael made enough luck for both of them, and It.