Jesse

Dinner was no different than any other task in my family's home. Everyone shared the responsibility. As Ash and I had arrived after everything had already been prepared, when my dad and Sarah stood to collect plates and retrieve dessert, I got upto help without thought. Anyone who hadn't helped cook would automatically be on dessert and dishes duty.

Ash glanced up at me the moment I shifted to stand, beginning to rise as well. I pressed my hand to his shoulder and brushed a kiss across his cheek.

"You're good. We're just getting dessert."

He nodded and settled back in. I knew that not helping likely bothered him, he was polite like that, but he wasn't going to start arguing with me about it in front of my family. I gathered all the plates that were within easy reach from the table and followed Sarah into the house.

The way my family moved in long practiced unison made me smile sentimentally. I'd only been away for two years, but sometimes it felt like I'd been gone for a lifetime. Dad fetched a couple of pies from the fridge, Sarah the fresh carafe of coffee that had been put on to brew at the start of the meal, and I collected the small dessert forks and plates.

"Thank you, guys."

They both paused and raised identical eyebrows in question. I couldn't help but laugh.

"For being so welcoming with Ash, and for not asking about work."

Both faces softened.

I loved my family. They were kind and generous to a fault. Any one of them would give their last dime to someone in need without even being asked. But they were also coarse, playful in the most antagonistic way possible, and open with each other to a nearly disturbing degree. The number of times I'd been forced to endure suggestive jokes about my sibling's sex lives was frightening.

I'd kept in touch with each of them since I'd moved to the city, engaging in weekly video calls with my parents and maintaining a steady stream of texts with my siblings. When I'd asked my mom a few weeks ago if it was ok if Ash came home with me, I'd given in and told her what had happened when I'd taken him to the mixer at school.

My parents truly didn't understand why anyone had caused trouble for us. It was one of the things I loved most about them. Their lack of prejudice had nothing to do with them being able to overcome their own biases to accept others, they genuinely couldn't comprehend the concept of discrimination in the first place. Their hearts were just wired that way. There was no race or profession, gender or religious belief that made anyone any more or less to them, everyone was simply unique. They'd raised us to feel the same way.

They'd been more than a little shocked when I'd told them about my professor's behavior, and it had taken nearly ten minutes to reign in their frustrated ramblings and bring focus back to the fact that Ash's job still seemed to make him uncomfortable when it became the topic of conversation.

Ash and I had talked about it a few times after we'd fallen into ournew routine together, but I'd always approached the subject cautiously, and I'd never pressed him to offer more than he was comfortable with. He always said pretty much the same thing he had when we'd first discussed it nearly a year earlier. He really did enjoy what he did, but others didn"t usually understand or accept that.

Though sex with clients was very different than sex with me, he found it satisfying to bring pleasure to others, and it offered him the money to live a secure life on his own terms. I'd come to understand him in a way no one else ever had. I knew his inflection, his face, his body language, and I'd found that while he was comfortable around those who knew what he did, people like me, his clients, and the staff at the diner, he was skilled enough at conversation that on the rare occasions we found ourselves in new social situations, he'd deliberately and adeptly steer the conversation away from his profession.

My parents hadn't understood why it made him uncomfortable. It was a socially accepted profession, and he'd done well for himself. They didn't care what he did for a living any more than they cared about his gender or the color of his hair. Nonetheless, they'd reluctantly agreed to avoid the topic during our visit, as had the rest of my family when I'd made my requests.

Dad set the pies on the counter and stepped close, resting his hands on my shoulders.

"No one should ever feel bad about doing an honest day's work, but you asked us not to bring it up, and we won't until you tell us it's ok."

I shifted awkwardly to wrap my arms around him while holding a stack of plates in one hand and a fistful of forks in the other.

Sarah leaned in, kissing each of us quickly on the cheek as she walked past.

"Come on. He's going to come searching for you soon. He didn't look like he wanted to let you out of his sight in the first place."

She'd been right of course, and the moment we stepped back out onto the deck his emerald eyes glistened as a broad smile appeared on his face. A smile that widened a few moments later when I settled back into my seat, setting plates of apple pie in front of each of us.

"Apple. Not chocolate." I mumbled as I brushed my lips across his.