Sören chewed the ice in his glass of water, and shot a filthy look over at the next table. If I get through the night without killing these asshats, it will be a fucking miracle.
For his first get-together with his friends in the new year of 2013, Anthony had been the one to suggest the venue and activity this time: going to see a jazz band in a club in Shoreditch on Friday the eleventh, a night Sören had off. Anthony had been in the habit of going to gigs before he and Sören were together, and it was something he rather missed doing, and Sören enjoyed live music so he was happy to do this with Anthony when they both had time and were in the mood. But Anthony's friends coming along had been the wrong move - apart from Lawrence, who was relaxing and quietly enjoying the music, the others were passing around their cell phones to look at stuff on the Internet and take selfies and post to social media and worse, were chattering. Though they were attempting to keep it down, their voices still carried, especially when they laughed. And now, over an hour into the gig, Sören felt about ready to scream. Trisha's giggling was especially getting on his very last nerve.
To make matters worse, every time Trisha or Jack or Steve tapped or shook Anthony and wanted him to look at something, he did, and would get caught up in the latest round of show-and-tell, commenting or laughing, though he was noticeably starting to tense up and every now and again his eyes would meet Sören's and he would roll his eyes, letting Sören know he was annoyed too. Sören wondered why he didn't say anything to them, but then, Sören wasn't saying anything either, not wanting to rock the boat and cause problems with them.
When the show was over, one last round of drinks was ordered, and Jack passed around his cell phone, showing off some upgrades to his yacht. Sören felt even surlier now and had to fight off the urge to make a rant about the poor in London suffering while people threw around money like it was water. He bit his tongue, feeling like he'd be a hypocrite since he and Anthony lived rather comfortably in Kingston, but on the other hand Anthony didn't own a yacht and did make regular contributions to charity.
But Sören did make a statement by barely glancing at the photo gallery, quickly passing the phone over to Anthony. He was irritated that Anthony took as long as he did looking at the gallery, not wanting Anthony to enable the ridiculousness, and when Anthony passed the phone back to Jack their eyes met and Sören looked away, trying to send the message that he was annoyed. Anthony squeezed his knee under the table, an attempt at consolation, and then Anthony said, "I have an announcement to make."
Oh please, let it be "you're all fucking arseholes", Sören thought to himself, chewing some more on his ice.
Anthony put an arm around Sören. "Sören and I are getting married." He kissed Sören's cheek, and Sören couldn't help but smile, even though he was still annoyed, and he reached out to stroke Anthony's face.
When he did, his ring flashed in the light, and Trisha grabbed Sören's hand - Sören felt himself recoil, not wanting to be touched by people without permission, and especially not his hands, which were his livelihood as a surgeon - and she wrenched his hand towards her. "Let's see that ring," she said. She turned Sören's wrist this way and that, so the diamonds sparkled, until Sören couldn't help but say, "Do you mind?" and pulled his hand back.
"Sheesh," Trisha said.
"I operate with these hands," Sören said. "I can't afford a wrist or finger injury."
"Oh please, I wasn't pulling that hard." Trisha sniffed.
Anthony gave her a look. "Maybe you should ask before touching next time."
Sören wished that Anthony had said that as soon as Trisha grabbed him, but he wasn't going to harp on it just yet. Now Vincente and Jack were giving them looks, and Sören felt like he needed to keep the peace, so he held his hand out at a distance for Trisha to look again.
"Very nice," Trisha said without emotion. She sipped her gin and tonic and then she said to Anthony, "Those diamonds are a bit small, yeah? I hadn't even noticed that was an engagement ring till you pointed it out. You couldn't have gotten a solitaire?"
Sören couldn't believe it. That was one of the rudest things he'd ever heard in his life. Anthony blinked but otherwise didn't visibly react, and Sören realized he was now seeing the courtroom predator, Anthony turning off his emotions. "I researched NHS regulations on rings before I bought one," Anthony informed her. "He can only wear a band, so a large solitaire would have been against the dress code. Thus, that particular design."
"Right," Trisha said. "I keep forgetting Sören works for the NHS and isn't private." She sniffed at that and Sören bristled, fighting the urge to lecture Trisha about the importance of socialized medicine and what happens to people in countries like the US - Sören couldn't believe the horror stories of Americans with crushing medical debt.
Instead of defending the NHS, not wanting to get into an argument with Trisha or anyone else at that table who might be Tory, Sören defended the ring itself. "I like it," he said. "It's classy and elegant, not gaudy." He meant it - he would have gracefully accepted a solitaire engagement ring with a large rock, but he would have been uncomfortable flaunting something like that especially when he sometimes had poorer patients. And he liked the simple eternity design, the little diamonds going all the way around the band.
"I also thought an eternity design was appropriate," Anthony said, as if he were reading Sören's mind. "Symbolic of wanting to spend the rest of my life with him."
Sören's face flushed and his stomach fluttered, the warm glow melting the residual annoyance with Anthony. Sören gave him a squeeze under the table, and Anthony began to rub Sören's knee as he calmly sipped his water.
"Trisha, would you listen to yourself?" Lawrence snorted and rolled his eyes. "I remember hanging out on Electric Avenue as a boy wearing shoplifted trainers thinking I would give my eyeteeth for a little bling. There is nothing the matter with that ring."
And then Sören's brain distracted him from the increasing ire with Trisha and the rest of them - except maybe Lawrence - with clamping onto what Lawrence said. "Wait... Electric Avenue is real?" Now the Eddy Grant song from the 1980s was going through his head.
Lawrence chuckled, nodding. "Yes, it's a real place. In Brixton, where I'm from originally. I spent a lot of time there growing up."
"You're taking the piss, right?"
"I am not. Swear on me mum."
Vincente finally spoke up, which made Sören do a double take - he was the quietest one of the group. "Would you guys like to come over tomorrow for tea and cocktails? We got a new home theatre system and we're keen on getting some second opinions..."
"Sure, I'll be there," Steve said.
"Me too," Jack said, nodding.
"I guess I could swing by," Lawrence said.
While Sören knew that Vincente was trying to save face for his girlfriend's rudeness, he felt the resurgence of annoyance at yet again, the latest new shiny thing being shown off to the group. He wondered if anybody in the group besides Anthony and possibly Lawrence ever did anything that didn't involve spending a lot of money, like going for a walk in the park or reading a book. Sören had all day Saturday off, though he would have to work early Sunday morning, and the very last thing he wanted to do with his day off was see these people again. He looked at Anthony, pleading with his eyes. No. Say no...
Anthony's eyes met Sören's for a few seconds and then he looked back at Vincente. "Sören and I have other plans, sorry." They hadn't committed to anything yet. Still, Sören tried not to visibly breathe a sigh of relief. Oh, thank fuck. Thank fuck...
"Maybe another time, then," Vincente said, nodding.
"Oh, that's too bad," Trisha said, in a fake syrupy way that told Sören she wasn't really disappointed at all, and she gave Sören a little icy glare before sipping her gin and tonic.
Anthony had only had one drink since he was driving, and drove slowly and carefully on the way back to Kingston. They were quiet for a little while, and the silence got awkward rather than comfortable and Sören finally said, "So we have plans, huh?"
Anthony nodded. He glanced over at Sören and said, "Whatever you want to do tomorrow." He looked down for a moment. "I feel like I should make it up to you somehow, dragging you out tonight -"
"Well..." Sören exhaled sharply. "I feel sorrier for you, honestly. You had wanted to see that gig and they kept talking through the music, and then Trisha was passive-aggressive about the ring..."
"And the NHS." Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't just me she dug at."
"I'm really past the point of understanding why you bother. If those were my 'friends' I would have been done with them awhile ago."
"They're not always like that."
Even once in awhile is too goddamn much, Sören thought to himself but he didn't say it aloud.
"I can have a word with Trisha before the next get together," Anthony said. "I didn't want to call her out and make a scene there in public. I argue all week long for a living, tonight I really just wanted to not get in arguments with anybody." Anthony gave Sören a pointed look. "That means you, too."
That was Sören's cue to drop it. He shifted in his seat.
"So... any thought to what you'd like to do tomorrow?" Anthony asked, changing the subject.
The "Electric Avenue" earworm started in Sören's head again. "Can we go to Electric Avenue? I need to see that this is real with my own eyes."
Anthony's eyebrows went up a little. "Have you ever been to Brixton?"
"Uh, no. Remember, I came here in 2010, I lived in Bromley, then moved in with you, and I work crazy hours. I haven't had a whole lot of time for touring London."
"OK." Anthony gave a small nod. "Are you very sure that you want to go."
"Uh... yeah?" Sören didn't understand why Anthony sounded a little hesitant to take him.
When they got home, they showered, brushed their teeth, and Anthony gave Sören an enthusiastic blowjob, as if he sensed Sören's annoyance with him and was trying to make up for the awkwardness of the evening. Sören returned the favor and then they snuggled together, falling asleep tangled up, and all felt mostly back to normal in the morning. After breakfast they got changed and Anthony once again asked, "You're sure you want to go to Brixton today."
"Yes." Sören raised an eyebrow. "I said yes already, Anthony."
When Anthony wasn't looking, Sören packed George in the satchel. "We're going on a little adventure," he told the wig, then laughed to himself, aware he was talking to an inanimate object.
It became apparent to Sören once they arrived in Brixton why Anthony had seemed slightly uncomfortable with going - Brixton was rough, a little edgy, and it once again underscored that Anthony came from money and privilege, very much out of his element here. Nonetheless, Anthony was a good sport about taking him, and they got out to walk around on Electric Avenue. On the street sign someone had painted the words "We're gonna rock down to" and Sören roared with laughter, taking pictures with his cell phone, including a selfie... and including a picture of George, which made Anthony facepalm and laugh.
Because of the time it had taken to drive from Kingston to Brixton, Sören wanted to make the trip worth the while and do a little exploring. As luck would have it, the same band they'd gone to see last night was having an afternoon show at a club, and they managed to get in and get a table. Anthony leaned on Sören, relaxing as the music played, and of course Sören wasn't going to be like his friends and interrupt constantly for Anthony to look at things. When the show was over and they headed out, Anthony said, "That was nice."
"Já, I don't see the point of going to a show like that if you're not going to, like, pay attention."
Anthony sighed, and gave Sören the same look he'd given last night indicating Sören should drop it. Sören decided to change the subject, gesturing across the street from the club, where there was a Caribbean restaurant. "Hungry?"
Sören asked for recommendations from the man at the counter when it was their turn in the queue, who was happy to give them, and they sat down with rice and peas and jerk chicken. Sören took a picture to show Colin later, and dug in. He was pleasantly surprised by how hot the jerk chicken was - he liked spicy food, even though Icelandic cuisine such that it was didn't use a lot of spices, and he'd found what most English people thought had "heat" was fairly mild. Anthony impressed him by being able to eat it, and Sören asked, "If I got a recipe and made this once in awhile, would you eat it?" and Anthony nodded; Sören didn't get the sense he was lying to try to go along. Sören smiled, pleased that he'd made a new food discovery and one where he could diversify things a bit on the occasions when he cooked for them.
The meal was also fairly inexpensive, and in Sören's opinion as good as anything they'd paid top dollar for in an upmarket restaurant. Sören found himself even more annoyed with Anthony's crowd when they got back in the car to return home, but he decided to just keep his opinion to himself, not wanting to spoil the good mood they were both in.
The next day when Sören got out of work, Anthony picked him up at National and drove him out to Blackheath for Sunday dinner with Elaine and Roger. Anthea and Donovan were still in town, though not for much longer, and Sören gave Anthea a hug before he sat down in the greatroom.
"Cornelius, I have a gift for you," Anthea said.
"Oh!" Anthony's eyebrows shot up. "That was unexpected."
"Well, it's your birthday soon, isn't it?"
"In a few weeks yet."
"I'll be in Cancun, so might as well give it to you now."
Elaine stepped out, and came back with Anthea's present for her grandson - a bin that contained an antique Wedgwood bone china tea service, wrapped up carefully. Elaine unwrapped a couple of the pieces to show them. "This was my mum's," Anthea said. "I believe it was made in the early 1800s."
It was easily worth tens of thousands of pounds. "Gran, that's too much," Anthony said.
Anthea looked at Elaine and then at Anthony. "You're my only daughter's only child. It has to go somewhere. Consider it a combination birthday and wedding present."
Anthony hugged his grandmother. He looked a little distressed, as if the gift cemented that Anthea knew she probably didn't have more than a few years left.
Elaine carefully handed a teacup to Sören. Even though Sören did delicate surgery for a living, he still felt nervous handling the china, worrying it would somehow get broken. He also felt somewhat embarrassed with the teacup in his hand and he realized he was once again feeling like he was out of his element, walking in a world he didn't quite belong in. Elaine and Roger had never made Sören feel like he was unworthy of the family for not coming from money - just the opposite, they had both been very kind to him. But here and now, looking at a tea service which was as much as a year's rent in London if not more, Sören felt acutely aware of his background versus Anthony's.
"I have something for you too, Sören, dear," Anthea said, turning to Sören.
Oh no. Sören's face was on fire. "Oh, you don't have to get me anything -"
"Nonsense, you're marrying my grandson and going to give me adorable great-grandbabies with that little face of yours." Anthea pinched Sören's cheek and tugged on it; Anthony's lips quirked in a slow, mischievous smile, Anthony's own cheeks flushing pink. Elaine rolled her eyes, facepalmed, and chuckled; Anthea still hadn't figured out two biological males couldn't in fact make babies "these days".
Elaine brought out another bin, with an item wrapped up inside. Sören gasped when he unwrapped it. It was a glass egg on a stand, the stand silver scrollwork with pearls, the crystal glass robin's egg blue with an iridescent wash, delicate silver flowering vines wrapping the egg. Anthea opened the egg and there was a silver phoenix inside, and room to hide small trinkets or jewelry.
"House of Fabergé," Anthea said matter-of-factly, showing him the mark.
Sören gasped, tears coming to his eyes. "I... I can't accept this, this is too much -"
"You will." Anthea snorted. "Someone tells me you have a phoenix inked on your back and your favorite color is blue. This has been with me a long time, it feels like you're meant to have it now."
"And it's an egg," Elaine teased gently. "Now you can always remember my mum asking when Anthony is going to put a baby in you."
Sören tried not to howl as Anthony turned beetroot and looked like he wanted to crawl into the floor and die. Roger poured Anthony a shot of whisky and Anthony downed it. Then Sören looked back at the beautiful egg, and the firebird sitting inside. He was entranced by the play of color in the glass crystal, the subtle rainbows. In his mind's eye Sören saw himself in a forge, blowing glass...
"Have you two decided on a wedding date yet?" Anthea asked.
Sören looked at Anthony, and shrugged. "Sometime when I don't have to work nonstop?" Sören gave a bitter little laugh, feeling more exhausted than usual from his shift.
"Well," Anthony said, "we could get married on our anniversary in November. Then our honeymoon could coincide with your birthday."
"Oh, I'd like that." Sören smiled.
"That's far enough in advance to plan," Elaine said, nodding.
"June is more traditional," Anthea said, "but I say who cares about tradition. Besides, if ever there was a time to get out of bloody England for awhile, it's November."
"Exactly," Elaine said.
"Well, neither of us are keen on warm places like you are, Gran," Anthony said. "Hawaii and the Canary Islands are gorgeous, I'd love to see them someday, but I'd melt and turn into a lobster."
"I really liked the Swiss Alps for my birthday," Sören said, feeling a little wistful. "I wouldn't mind going back there."
"OK," Anthony said. "That makes two of us."
At dinnertime Sören started to get choked up again, thinking about the egg. Elaine and Anthony both noticed, and Elaine finally asked, "What's wrong, dear?"
"It's just." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "That egg. Those are super rare and expensive, and..."
"People like you are super rare, from what I've been told," Anthea said.
Sören started to cry, even though he really didn't want to cry in front of Roger. Anthony put down his utensils and dabbed Sören's eyes with a napkin and put his arms around him.
"Forgive me for being rude," Sören said, "but where did you even get the kind of money to get a Fabergé egg?" It was one thing to know Elaine and Roger were very comfortable because Roger had worked as an accountant and Elaine was an architect and Elaine had designed multimillion dollar homes around the world. But Anthea...
"Mum's in direct line of descent from one of the old MacLeod chiefs, though that branch of the family has been in England for the last two centuries," Elaine said. "And Mum was a painter. She painted under the name Anthea Evangeline."
"I had some wealthy patrons," Anthea said. "And famous."
"I have some of Mum's art hanging up," Elaine said, and gestured to one of the abstract paintings on the wall of the dining room.
"Oh, those are yours?" Sören asked.
Anthea nodded solemnly.
"You should show Gran your work sometime," Anthony said, petting Sören's arm.
Sören's face was on fire again. "Oh god. I... I don't know..."
"Oh, do you paint?" Anthea's eyes twinkled.
"I do it with the tablet now, since it's so hard to get my oils set up, but, ah." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "It's a hobby."
"One you're damned good at," Anthony said.
"I agree with Cornelius, I'd love to see your art," Anthea said.
"I. Ah. Er." Sören made a little high-pitched sound of distress.
But before Sören could protest further, Anthea turned to Donovan and asked, "Sander, dear, would you be a love and refill my glass?"
And Sören realized that for all that Anthea seemed lucid and with-it today, she had just called Donovan by the name of her late husband, Lysander. Sören tried not to cringe, and saw the visible distress on both Elaine and Donovan's face, as Donovan quietly poured Anthea another drink.
Before Sören and Anthony left to go back home - they had to work tomorrow, Sören's shift was very early - they went out to the garden, even though it was January and everything was covered in frost, it was still peaceful. Sören had noticed the garden was Anthony's sanctuary, where he would retreat year-round if he needed a little while to decompress from stress. Sören could tell Anthony was still a bit shaken up by Anthea's slip with "Sander", as well as the very lavish gifting earlier, and Sören put a hand on Anthony's arm, gently rubbing.
Donovan stepped out then and quietly joined them. "Hey," he said.
"Hello," Anthony said, sounding distant.
There was awkward silence and then Anthony asked the obvious. "Is she... well..." Anthony cleared his throat. "Is she in the right place to be giving us that stuff?"
"Probably," Donovan said. "It comes and goes. She can be lucid and then have a slip. I've been observing her for some years."
Sören couldn't help but ask, even though he knew he might be overstepping boundaries. "When you and her... ah, started this arrangement, was she..."
"It was before she was diagnosed with dementia," Donovan said, nodding. "Ten years ago. I'm forty -"
"Wow, you don't look it," Sören said; he looked closer to their age.
"I get that a lot." Donovan smiled. "It gets old." He frowned. Then he went on, "I was actually interviewing Anthea, when we met, about her art. I'm a freelance journalist. She and I struck up a connection. I'd found her art career interesting, and wanted to re-introduce her work to a new generation. Our relationship isn't conventional, no. But we mutually enjoy each other's company and benefit from our arrangement. I'm not going to turn my back on her even though she, you know." He sighed. "I'm very fond of her."
"OK. I just wanted to make sure..."
"Oh believe me, Sören, if he was taking advantage either Mum or myself would have torn him a new one," Anthony said.
But you can't stand up to your "friends." Sören kept the thought to himself. He knew it was uncharitable - it was a very different situation than this one - and Sören hated the knee-jerk reaction, feeling like he was being unfair to Anthony, who had such a lonely childhood and was compensating for it now. And yet...
Back at the flat in Kingston, Sören took out the egg and continued admiring it, while Anthony curled up with a book - The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. LeGuin. He kept glancing over his book at Sören, and finally he put the book down and smiled.
"I still can't get over this egg," Sören said. He looked into Anthony's eyes. "I... I've never had..."
"I know." Anthony came over, took Sören's hands in his, kissed them, and pulled him close. "I've told you this before, but it bears repeating: I want you to have nice things. I want you to have the sort of things you didn't think were possible growing up. I want to take care of you. I want to spoil you, you deserve to be spoilt."
A tight lump formed in Sören's throat. He appreciated the sentiment, but he also didn't want to turn into people like Trisha or Jack. Then a groan bubbled out of him, realizing they were going to have to invite Anthony's friends to the eventual wedding.
"Are you OK?" Anthony pulled back.
Sören nodded. "Just... thinking about wedding stuff." Sören laughed. "I know that's months out, but."
"Well, Mum said she wants to help us handle things, since she has time and we don't."
That still wasn't very comforting - Sören wondered how fancy the wedding was going to get if Elaine was planning it. While Anthony rocked a suit and Sören loved looking at him in menswear, Sören didn't relish the prospect of being forced into a tuxedo, himself.
"We'll just think of, you know. Practical considerations. Like the honeymoon," Anthony said.
Sören nodded. Then he said something else that he'd been thinking about since the proposal. "I think I'm going to take your name."
"Oh!" Anthony cocked his head to one side. He smiled. "Really?"
Sören nodded again. "Everyone calls me Sigurðsson and that's, you know. A patronymic, not a surname. Back home in Iceland we're all on a first-name basis, even the President and Prime Minister. I'm still not used to it. So if I'm going to be addressed the English way, then I might as well be Sören Hewlett-Johnson."
Anthony stroked Sören's face. "I love you, you know."
"I love you too." And despite the differences in their backgrounds, which the last couple of days had felt glaring more than ever, that was what mattered. They were building a life together.
"Here, Mr. Hewlett-Johnson," Anthony said, getting up from the couch, picking Sören up and carrying him. "Let me show you how much I love you." With that, Anthony carried Sören down the hall to their bed.
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