14. Weston

CHAPTER 14

Maintaining relationships with the people in his life who were ideologically in a different place than him was Weston's biggest life challenge. He would have a negative interaction with his mom, or his sister, and wouldn't talk to them for months.

Then, the guilt would eat away at him, and he would gaslight himself into thinking it wasn't as bad as he remembered. Maybe he was being difficult. Maybe he needed to give his family some grace, as his dad always said.

Which is how he ended up at a restaurant with them on a Saturday afternoon, wasting his one day off to get berated.

"We don't think it's appropriate for Mason and Emery to go to school with other little kids who are going to warp their ideas about the world," his sister, Christy, said as she shifted her focus from the child in her lap to the one in the high chair next to her. "Which is why we decided to take them out of school and homeschool."

"I think that is completely justified," his mom said. "If I could do this all over again, I wouldn't have sent you kids to public school." She shot a look at Weston, like he was living proof of how much public school could fuck someone up.

He kept his mouth shut. He'd learned his lesson. His family wasn't going to listen, and it would make his life harder. He was following the example of the other men at the table.

"We need to talk about Thanksgiving plans. I called up Mary?—"

"You called my mom?" Paul, Christy's husband, sounded confused.

"I wanted to make it clear that the only thing I want this year is to have my whole family with me on Thanksgiving. The whole time. Your mother understood." Weston highly doubted that. "And that means you as well, Weston."

"Will there be food there I can eat?" The last time he had Thanksgiving at his parents' house, he left early so he could go home and eat something.

"Of course there will be," she said, dismissing him. The further and further she fell down the online conspiracy pipeline, the less Weston recognized her. She used to be so on top of his disease, and now she thought it was all in his head. It made it hard for Weston to eat her cooking. He'd spent forty minutes vetting the restaurant she'd picked for lunch before he'd decided to go.

"I'm going to a friend's for Thanksgiving. We already planned it."

"Tell Sienna you're unavailable."

Weston wouldn't argue. He also wouldn't show up on Thanksgiving.

Their food came, and Weston inspected it. Ordering from an unfamiliar restaurant was hard. Sometimes he got lucky and got a server who understood what he was talking about, but the server today looked confused. It was not a vote of confidence.

He got a burger, which was usually a safe bet if they advertised gluten-free buns, and he confirmed it with the server. His sad burger bun looked different from the one on Paul's plate.

He kept his head down as his mom and sister kept talking about some wild shit. He focused on his meal and texted with Quinn and Sienna under the table to keep him from lying face-first on his meal.

No one had any questions for him. His family thought streaming was stupid, and as soon as they realized that asking about his love life might result in him talking about a man, that line of inquiry died as well.

His dad and Paul talked about golf. Weston had no idea so much could be said about golf. He thought it would be nice to be interested in something so calm, but they didn't look calm as they talked.

The nice thing about their family was that they didn't linger.

By the time Weston got home, he was rushing to the bathroom. Nausea this close to eating generally meant he got glutened, no matter what doctors said about T cells needing time to activate or whatever. Fuck. Well, it wasn't the burger bun. The server had been a little confused when Weston had asked if the fryer was dedicated to just fries, so that might have been it. He'd barely eaten any fries.

He spent the first couple hours not far from the bathroom. He had to endure an afternoon with his family, and he got sick from it? If that wasn't the universe telling him something, he didn't know what was.

The next few days spiraled out in front of him in his head. He'd have to take a day or two off from streaming, and Sundays were his favorite. So fucking annoying.

When his body calmed down, he settled in bed with a heating pack on his stomach. His intestines could go fuck themselves. He texted Sienna that he was never seeing his family again, and she texted back. She was also having a rough day. When bad days lined up, it was even easier to feel sorry for yourself, because you couldn't take care of yourself or your friend.

Luckily, Weston could survive this on his own. Even if the next few days would be miserable.

He put a rom-com on and closed his eyes, listening to Meg Ryan talk while he was consumed with how his body felt.

When his phone buzzed, he assumed it was Sienna. Complaining back and forth with her was his truest safe space. An absolute judgment-free zone. Even though she couldn't be there with him, it was nice to know she was thinking about him. But when he checked, it was Quinn.

Quinn: How'd your lunch turn out? It's over by now I hope???

He didn't know how to answer that. He was depleted and didn't have the energy to type out a tactful response.

Weston: Got glutened at the restaurant somehow. Thinking it's a shared fryer for the French fries. Feel like shit.

Quinn: Fuck. Do you need me to come up? Can I come up?

That was dumb. Quinn was two hours away, and it's not like Weston really needed any critical medical care.

Weston: That's silly.

Quinn: Would you feel better by the time I got up there or something?

Weston: I'll feel like this for a few days. Gonna cancel stream tomorrow.

Quinn: Alright. Well, I'm coming. I'll see you soon.

Not only did he not have the energy to try to politely talk Quinn out of this, but he didn't want to. He was nervous about Quinn seeing him like this though. Quinn knew a lot about him by now, and he knew about Weston's health, but knowing and seeing it were two different things.

Weston: Thank you, Q. I'm going to nap. Call me when you get here.

Once again, Quinn brought gifts.

"You got Sally's?" Weston asked as he got out of the car, a donut box in one hand. Having him come was a good idea if he brought Weston's favorite gluten-free donuts.

"I don't know if you feel like eating, but?—"

"Not right now, but later for sure."

Quinn set the donuts on the hood of his car and pulled Weston into a hug. Just being in Quinn's arms helped him feel better. They headed back inside, and Quinn set his duffel in the same spot on the futon he always put it and got the food he brought squared away.

"Alright, what do you need from me? How does this go?"

"I need a lot of rest. And then I need to hang out in the bathroom. And then more rest." Being sick was fucking embarrassing. He wanted to be cute sick around Quinn. Maybe with the sniffles and a flush that ran across his nose. This was…not cute sick.

"Should we cuddle, then? Watch TV?"

"That is exactly what I want to do."

Quinn put pajamas on, even though it was barely after dinnertime, and they crawled into bed. When Quinn opened his arms, Weston melted into them. He felt Quinn's lips on the top of his head as his hands smoothed over his back, barely scratching. He wasn't in the mood for being squeezed tight, and Quinn didn't even try.

They put on The Office and Weston drifted in and out of it. There wasn't a lot Quinn could do at the moment, so it was surprising how much Weston liked having him there. Once he got past the embarrassment, knowing he wasn't alone made a big difference in where he was mentally. Getting glutened was frustrating, and he could spend a lot of time beating himself up for not being more careful, but he was being as careful as he could be while still needing to eat food multiple times a day.

Eventually, he hit the bathroom again, and while he was in there, he heard his blender going. What was Quinn blending? When he came out, Quinn was standing at the kitchen counter, pouring smoothies.

"You made smoothies?"

"Google said it's good to eat stuff that's going to be easy on your guts, and smoothies are pre-chewed."

"Pre-chewed. Don't make them sound too appetizing." Weston was joking with him. Quinn had made him a smoothie— he hadn't known what Weston could eat, so he'd researched it. Weston wanted to cry. Instead, he took his glass from Quinn and took a sip.

"It's strawberry banana."

"It's great. Thank you."

"And tomorrow, I dunno, maybe I can make you some soup?"

"You make soup?"

"I have never made soup before. But I'm probably capable of it."

Weston set his cup down so he could wrap his arms around Quinn's neck and pull him close. "Thank you," he whispered as Quinn held him close, but not too tight.

"I can't imagine sitting on my ass in Minneapolis knowing you were up here alone, feeling miserable. Really, it's more for me than for you."

"Sure," Weston allowed.

They stood in the kitchen, wrapped around each other. As they pulled away, Quinn kissed his cheek, then his lips softly. Quinn wanted to be here for him while he was feeling bad. It was heavy and intimate, and Weston had to keep reminding himself that they were casual. Even if it had stopped feeling casual.

"Alright, back to bed with you, I think," Quinn said, taking both of their glasses with him as they headed back to rest. Quinn climbed in first, and Weston sat in the V of his legs, resting back against his chest. He drank his smoothie as he felt Quinn breathe. His joints were aching and his head hurt, but at least he could still enjoy this.

"Casual" was not going well.