Our Sick Obsessions | 13: Family

The fireworks at twenty minutes past midnight would remain ingrained in Max’s mind for the rest of his life. Their exuberance, saturation and glow perfectly captured the elation in his heart. Holding Cameron close as he watched them, the moment couldn’t have been any more glorious. For the first time, he felt like he knew where he belonged.
          Which was why, when they woke up after sunrise and Cameron suggested they break the news to his grandparents, the idea troubled him.
          “Cameron, are you sure they’ll . . . you know, agree with this?” he asked as he watched him wash his face in the bathroom. He fiddled with the pendant from Ash rather than his sleeve. Though he’d debated taking it off, he decided not to; its presence brought him comfort in some way.
          “It doesn’t matter much to me whether they do or don’t,” Cameron replied as he slicked back his hair in the mirror. Max was sitting on the edge of the bathtub behind him, but he didn’t take his eyes off his own reflection. “I’m not even sure why I want to tell them at all.” He slathered some shaving cream onto his cheeks and jawline. “To brag, I guess. Are you going to shave, too?”
          Max shrugged. “I was thinking I’d try a beard.”
          “You’re kidding, right?”
          The Aussie smirked a bit. “You don’t think it’d suit me?”
          “Not at all.”
          With a chuckle, he stood up and joined him at the sink. “Fine. I’ll cut the five o’clock shadow.” He leaned over and turned on the faucet, then scrubbed his face with his hands.
          “Are you nervous?” Cameron asked.
          “Why would I be?” Upon glancing up and seeing the writer with a white foam beard, he almost lost it. “You look like an idiot.”
          “Ho, ho, ho.”
          Max laughed and sprayed out some foam for himself. Right as he was about to put it on his face, he stopped. A sudden wave of anxiety came over him. He felt sick.
          What am I doing? He’s killed people. Bashed a man’s head in, slit another’s throat. Stabbed a woman to death. Worse things that I don’t even know about, I reckon. All innocent; not a single one deserving it. Yet, here I am about to shave with him, laughing, enjoying myself, and . . .
          He looked down at his left hand, at the ring on his third finger. Of the two of them, he felt like the bigger monster. His crime was worse than anything Cameron had ever done. Even Dottie and Chandler would push Cameron away if they knew his deeds. But him? No, he’d marry him for it. Despite all the bloodshed, he’d marry him.
          “Max? Are you all right?”
          The Aussie blinked. All of a sudden, he felt compelled to say: “It feels like I’ve waded so deep in a pool of blood that if I stopped now, going back would be as hard as to carry on.”
          Cameron grinned at him in the mirror. “You lack the season of all natures.”
          “What?”
          “Nothing.” The writer raised his razor and ran it down the right side of his face, wiping away both cream and light stubble.
          Only fifteen or so minutes later, they were in a taxi again. It wasn’t until they were halfway to the old couple’s home that Max was finally able to admit:
          “All right. I’m terrified.”
          “Don’t be,” Cameron assured, “this shouldn’t surprise them. I’ve had plenty of partners, but I’ve never introduced them to any before.”
          “When you say ‘plenty’, how many are we talking?”
          “Oh, f**k. Umm . . . Geez. I don’t know. I tried to keep count at first, I did, but . . . By the time I was in college, good luck. The exact number is anyone’s guess.”
          Max gazed out through his window. “How long before me was your last?”
          “About two years, actually.”
          This was both a surprise and a slight relief. “Who was it?”
          Cameron didn’t answer at first. After a long pause, he finally said, “August.”
          Max tensed. This revelation flipped his mind upside down. He’d known they were dormmates, but lovers?
          As if sensing his new fiancé’s alienation, Cameron started to explain himself. “I mean, technically it was Julian. But afterward, August needed some emotional support. I needed some emotional support. Whatever we were, it was short-lived. I’m pretty sure he was in love with me, though.”
          “Even after that, you could still . . . do what you did to him?”
          Cameron shrugged. “I warned him, didn’t I? I told him I’d do it. Not my fault he kept talking.”
          Max sighed. If he could kill August so brutally, then what about me? If I started prying into his past for information on this Julian guy, would he kill me the same way? Would I get more or less of a warning?
          “Did you love him?” he asked.
          Cameron answered fast: “No.”
          “Did you love Julian?”
          This time, though, he didn’t answer at all.
          As they turned down onto the street his grandparents lived on, Cameron said, “Keep your ring hidden from them. I’ll tell you when to show it.”
          “Okay.” Max nodded and shoved his left hand into his hoodie’s pocket.
          Together, they got out of the taxi. It was in doing so that Max noticed, down the way they’d come, another taxi. This cab was only just in eyeshot.
          “Um, Cameron . . .”
          But the writer was always jogging toward the front door. “Come on!” he urged.
          Max glanced back toward the taxi, catching sight of it as it carried on out of sight. It’s only a coincidence, he thought, trying to convince himself. Why do I have trouble believing that?
          “Max!”
          The Aussie turned to look at Cameron. “Coming!” Then, he rushed over to his side. It was difficult to dismiss the mystery cab�"had it been following them?
          Forget it. He only wished it was as easy as his rationality wanted it to be.
          Again, it was Dottie who welcomed them inside. Max appreciated this; the predictable pattern of it soothed him. Before he knew it, they were in the same places as before; Chandler on the chair, Dottie on the loveseat, him and Cameron on the couch.
          “Dottie, Chandler, we’ve got some news,” Cameron gushed. It was now around ten in the morning. As he sat there, Max kept his left hand hidden like he’d been told to. Since he couldn’t believe this new development either, he had no clue how they would take it. Happy as he tried to appear, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they wouldn’t be supportive.
          “What is it?” inquired Dottie. Cameron glanced at Chandler, but the old man didn’t ask anything.
          “I don’t know what you’re staring at me for,” he said. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
          The writer gave a wry smirk and nudged Max with his elbow. As the Aussie finally revealed his hand�"his engagement ring in turn�"Cameron exclaimed, “We’re fiancés!”
          For a long beat, the old couple stared at the ring in mute apprehension. Then, finally, Dottie clapped. “Congratulations!” When she said this, Chandler raised his eyebrows and nodded.
          Their forced and lack of enthusiasm didn’t seem to register with Cameron; if it did, he ignored it. “I proposed last night. Max said yes right at midnight.”
          “How romantic,” Dottie crooned. She elbowed Chandler and hissed at him, “Honey, don’t just sit there. They’re getting married.”
          “Not in Switzerland, they’re not,” the old man replied.
          “Chandler!”
          This exchange finally wiped the smile from Cameron’s face. “What do you mean? That’s part of the reason I came here.”
          Dottie sighed. “Oh, dear . . . You didn’t know?”
          “Didn’t know what?”
          Chandler answered, “Gay marriage is still illegal in this country, son.”
          Cameron’s face went blank. “You’re kidding.”
          “I’m afraid not.” Dottie.
          “S**t. Switzerland dropped the ball there, didn’t it?”
          The oldies gave small, awkward chuckles, but didn’t answer. Max felt uncertain.
          I was right, they don’t seem supportive of this. We should change the subject.
          But before he could, Dottie proposed, “You could always get married in America.”
          Cameron scowled a bit. “That’s a bit boring, isn’t it?”
          “I don’t think so.”
          “I do. I’d much prefer to get married overseas.”
          “Max,” Chandler started, “what do you think?”
          The Aussie fidgeted a bit. “Um . . . I’m happy with anything Cameron’s happy with.”
          “Are you?”
          “I’m sure he is,” Cameron interjected. Judging by his tone, he didn’t appreciate the question. “Aren’t you, Max?”
          “Yes.”
          The writer smirked at him, then at Chandler. “See?”
          Still the old man didn’t seem convinced, but he shrugged.
          Cameron huffed. “Whatever. I’ll figure out something. Sucks that we can’t marry here, though; I like Zürich.”
          “You could always marry in America and honeymoon somewhere else.”
          “I figured we’d skip the post-marriage flight and kill two birds with one stone by marrying where we honeymoon.”
          “I like that idea,” Max affirmed.
          “The honeymoon can start faster that way.” He flashed him a seductive grin. Max returned a stifled giggle.
          I can’t believe he said that in front of his grandparents. He doesn’t have any shame, does he?
          “What will you two do after?” Dottie asked.
          Cameron shrugged. “Return to Pittsburgh, I guess. Max and I already live together, so I don’t think this’ll change much.”
          “I mean, do you plan on making a family together?”
          This question confused both of them. “What?” They said, almost in unison.
          “You know, raise a child together? Adopt?”
          Neither spoke for a long moment. Max realized that adoption had never occurred to him. He never thought he’d marry Cameron, let alone get far enough to consider starting a family with him. As he ran over this in his head, petrified, he watched as Cameron slowly turned to look at him. His dark eyes were wide in astonishment and uncertainty. All in all, he looked baffled.
          “Max?”
          Max blinked. Don’t ask me. I don’t have a clue. He thought about it. Would that be wise? I’m kind of afraid he’d murder it . . . So, he gave a meek shrug. As slow as before, the writer turned back to Dottie.
          “Ah . . . Nah. No, I . . . I don’t think so. We’re not big fans of ankle-biters.”
          There he goes with the Strine again.
          “That’s a shame,” Dottie remarked with a solemn laugh. “I’d so wanted a great-grandchild.”
          Now, Max felt a little bad. But Cameron didn’t show any emotion for her comment, nor did he even acknowledge it.
          “Oh, Max,” he said. “Our flight’s tomorrow.”
          The Aussie perked up. “What flight?”
          “Back to Pittsburgh. Should I cancel it? We could stay in Zürich another week.”
          “Um . . . No. Let’s go back.”
          “You sure?” Cameron shrugged. “If you say so.”
          “Do you want to stay another week?” Oh, s**t. I’ve set Cameron up so he’s got to say yes to appease his grandparents.
          “No.”
          All right, uh, never mind?
          The writer clasped his hands and looked at his grandparents. “Have you two already eaten breakfast?”
          “We were about to,” Dottie answered. “Would you like to join us?”
          Cameron turned and considered Max, who shrugged again. Then, he looked at the old couple again. “Yeah, sure.”
          Dottie and Chandler’s idea of breakfast was light, but that was nothing new to Max. Back when he lived in a Boston apartment on his own, breakfast was something he’d often skipped. If not, then it was typically only some potato chips or something. When his grandmother brought out a case of muffins, Cameron arched his head up in curiosity.
          “What are those?”
          “Carrot muffins.”
          An uncharacteristic gasp of awe. “F**k yes, carrot muffins! I forgot those existed!”
          “Language.”
          “Sorry.” He glanced at Max. “Carrot muffins make me excited.”
          The Aussie, amused, raised a brow. Well, now I can cross that off the list of things I’ve never seen: Cameron, excited for something other than serial murder. But . . . for carrot muffins? Really? Of all things? He’s got odd tastes, hasn’t he?
          “Do you want one?” Dottie asked.
          “No, I hate them. Are you kidding?”
          Dottie smirked, rolled her eyes, and brought him a muffin on a plate. “You, too, Max?”
          The Aussie held up a hand. “No thanks. I’m not a big fan of carrots.”
          Cameron looked at him. With a poker face, he deadpanned, “You’re dead to me.”
          Max stared at him. That’s a joke, right? I should laugh. But he didn’t, not until Cameron smirked at him as a sign of peace. Finally, he thought about it:
          This development shouldn’t surprise me that much. I mean, the only character from any of his novels that I actually know anything about is a f****n’ huge pink rabbit. He must’ve made it because he likes carrots? That sounded like a weird basis to make a character on, but Max had had weirder during his time as a digital artist. I wonder why Cameron’s never got a bunny or something. Maybe he has, but he killed it. People like him have a tendency to mutilate small animals before moving on to humans, don’t they?
          While Dottie and Cameron had muffins, Chandler and Max stuck with toast. Dottie chuckled in reminiscence as she watched Cameron split his muffin in half.
          “I remember how you used to come here for your birthday when you were little. We’d always take you out to get a carrot cake.”
          Max bit into his toast and watched the writer. There wasn’t much of a reaction to this memory, as if he couldn’t recall it. To Max, though, the thought was still amusing.
          I wonder what he looked like when he was a kid. Funny to think of him toddling around asking for carrot cake . . .
          “I bet you were a cute kid,” Max mumbled.
          “He’s never shown you any photographs?” Dottie sat up. “I’ve got some.”
          “No,” warned Cameron. “Nuh-uh. We’re not doing the childhood picture thing. I might be about to marry him, but that s**t can wait.” Then, he got up, bringing his muffin to the microwave.
          “Oh, Cameron, you shouldn’t melt the butter in the microwave. It’s unhealthy.”
          “Shut up, grandma.” He put the muffin inside and slammed the door. After a few beeps, the microwave started to hum; he leaned against the counter beside it, gazing at the table. Max smiled at him; he returned the gesture.
          That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him call one of them by something other than their given name. And of course it was in telling her to shut up. I love this b*****d.
          “Have you done any planning for the wedding in advance?” Chandler inquired.
          Cameron blinked. “Well, I did,” he admitted. “But not being able to do it in Switzerland threw a real monkey wrench. Whatever the case, I’d like to do it on Valentine’s Day.”
          “Valentine’s Day?” His grandfather scoffed. “Good luck planning a wedding that fast and finding an available venue anywhere.”
          “It’ll work out.” The microwave emitted a long beep, so Cameron turned and pulled out his muffin. Finally, he returned to the table and started to eat.
          “Don’t get your hopes up for that,” warned the old man.
          “Well, what would you recommend, then?” Cameron asked around the food in his mouth.
          “To be honest? Your birthday, at the earliest.”
          The writer stopped chewing.
          “His birthday?” Max asked. “But . . . that’s six months away.”
          “Most people stay engaged for well over a year. In my opinion, you guys are rushing it. If either of you changes your mind, it’s easier to get out of an engagement than a marriage. It might take a few months for you to have second thoughts.”
          Cameron swallowed hard. “There won’t be second thoughts.”
          “Son, no offense, but you’ve got a track record of loving and leaving as many people as you can.”
          Dottie nudged him. “Chandler!”
          “It’s different with Max,” the writer insisted.
          “I’d hope so, since you’ve introduced him to us, but still.”
          His wife shook her head. “I’m sorry, boys. Chandler, you’re being incredibly rude.”
          “I’m just saying it how it is, Dottie.”
          Max noticed the way Cameron and Chandler glared at each other and wanted to phase through the floor. The hostility in the air between them was fierce. He almost worried they might get into a physical altercation of some sort. But, instead, Cameron reached into his pocket and checked his phone.
          “It’s almost eleven,” he observed. “Thanks for breakfast, Dottie, but Max and I should head back to the hotel and start packing.”
          “So soon? Oh, I do hope it’s not because of anything my husband said.”
          “I’m going outside to call a cab.” With that, Cameron got up. He took the top half of his muffin with him as he headed out past the living room.
          Even when annoyed, he won’t leave that carrot muffin behind . . . That’s kind of cute.
          “Sorry, Max.” Chandler’s voice got his attention. “What’s that short for, anyway? Maximilian?”
          The Aussie blinked. “Um, no. It’s, uh . . . short for Maxime.”
          “Maxine?”
          Dottie sighed. “No, honey. Maxime. It’s French.”
          “Do you have any French relatives, son?”
          “No, not that I know of.”
          “Any chance of us meeting your family?”
          Max felt himself start to sweat. He hadn’t seen or heard from his parents since Cameron stole him away from Boston. They thought he was missing, he figured. “I don’t think so.”
          “Why not?”
          “They’re, uh . . . estranged.” It hurt to say; his father could rot in hell for all he cared, but he missed his mother. During a beat of silence, he considered his next move.
          I wonder . . . Should I ask?
          Deciding he may as well, he inquired: “Do you know much about Cameron’s previous partners?”
          Chandler shrugged. “A little bit. Never met any of them, though.”
          Max gulped. He glanced toward the living room; Cameron hadn’t returned yet. “What do you know about Julian?”
          “Julian?” Dottie spoke this time. “Julian Wynn? Oh, he told us a lot about him.” She let out a somber chuckle. “Thought he’d introduce him to us, but then . . .”
          “Then?”
          Chandler: “He committed suicide. Jumped from his dorm window, I gathered.”
          Max’s heart sunk a bit. That explains why August said he watched him fall . . .
          “Cameron was gutted,” Dottie lamented. “I’m glad he finally moved on, but it’s so tragic. That poor boy.”
          “Why’d he do it?”
          Both of them shrugged. Chandler said: “Cameron never told us why. In fact, if I remember correctly, he said he didn’t know, either.”
          I have a feeling he does. August did, too.
          He wanted to mention how Cameron thought he looked like Julian, but decided against it. Dottie was happy he was moving on, but saying that might make it seem like he wasn’t. Was he?
          Or was August right? Am I only a replacement?
          Cameron returned. “Half an hour for a bloody taxi,” he complained. “This is ridiculous.” Nobody said anything. “What? You all seem so quiet all of a sudden. What’d I miss?”
          “Nothing,” Max said. “They asked me about my parents, that’s all.”
          By 11:30, they were in another taxi, heading back. Cameron was engrossed in his cellphone for the first minute or two, so Max gazed through the window as usual. It was hard to believe that this might be the last time he’d get to pass through Zürich and see the lake.
          “Sorry about that, Max.”
          The Aussie cocked his head a bit, but didn’t look away from outside. “About what?”
          “About Chandler. Old b*****d’s never liked me.”
          “Why?”
          “Like father like son, I guess. He thinks I’m like my father.”
          Max leaned his head against his hand. “Are you?”
          No answer. Max didn’t mind; he only continued to gaze out at the city. Zürich’s so pretty. I almost feel bad about leaving it. If it weren’t for Ash, I wonder if we’d live here . . . As he thought about the auditor, he fondled the pendant through his hoodie. Didn’t he say he wanted to meet me sometime today?
          “Max?”
          “Hmm?”
          “Do you want to get married in Brisbane?”
          This caught Max horrifically off-guard. Unsure of what emotion was most prevalent, he turned his head and finally looked at his fiancé. Cameron was still looking at his phone, scrolling through something.
          “What?” he asked. “Why, uh . . . Why Brisbane?”
          “Same-sex marriage became legal in Australia thirteen months ago. You were raised in Brisbane, weren’t you?”
          “Well . . . Yes, but . . .”
          “Do you want to go back? I’ve never been to Australia before. It’d be fitting; you’re sentimental, and I like novelty.”
          The Aussie’s heart fluttered. “I haven’t been there since I was ten . . .”
          “I’ll take that as a yes.” Cameron smirked a bit. “Let’s fly there instead of Pittsburgh.”
          “Are you serious?”
          “Yeah. We need to register for marriage there a month in advance anyway. At least, that’s what the internet says.”
          “And you’re serious about Valentine’s Day?” This was a bit of an odd point for Max. Happy as he was at the thought of returning to Brisbane, Valentine’s Day had been his and Stacey’s anniversary.
          It’s be fitting, though, wouldn’t it? It was only a day or two after her murder that Cameron and I first met in person . . .
          “Yeah, of course,” Cameron responded.
          “I didn’t think you’d like Valentine’s Day.”
          “It’s a doomsday.”
          Max had to resist the urge to slam his face against the window. Of course it is.
          “Brisbane? I’m about to change flights. Last warning.”
          The Aussie sighed. We’ve come this far. I really want to go back to Brisbane, at least for a little while. I’m terrified to, though. What if it’s not the same as I remember it?
          But sharing it with Cameron either way . . .
          “Let’s go.”
          Cameron smiled. “Done.”