The Things That I Know || George Michael

twenty - talk to me

Note: this chapter mentions suicidal thoughts.

• • •

"Well, it's certainly been a long time since we had a night out like this." Andrew hands George a drink from the bar they're at, having made sure it was mixed safely by the barmaid. Even three decades later, he is aware that George is apprehensive after being spiked in his youth. "I almost feel too old to be allowed to do this. It almost feels illegal."

"Tell me about it," George agrees, knocking back two-thirds of his beverage in one go. "I've needed it for god knows how long."

"Well, the boys are back together now," Andrew laughs, watching his buddy in amusement. "And the way you're getting through your drinks, it'll make for a very interesting evening."

"I'm not gonna go crazy like at Mum's funeral," George vows, slamming the glass against the wooden surface of the table top. "I learnt my lesson good and proper there."

"Well that's good," Andrew praises. "And you don't want the drinking to become some toxic coping mechanism for everything, do you?"

"I suppose not." He heaves a sigh; he has so many ideas for conversation starters in his head, but he doesn't quite know which one to voice. "How are Nancy and the gang?"

"Nancy's fine. Rosa too. Riley and Tyler are hectic as ever," Andrew chuckles. "I suppose I'm lucky though, really. Grandad to two boys at only fifty-one. It's not bad going."

"And they're only a few years behind my two," George adds. "Shows how behind I am in life, doesn't it?"

"It's not your fault though. Law said no until eight or nine years ago," Andrew reminds him. "You've certainly made up for it since then."

"This is true. They certainly keep me on my toes," George explains. "We've had some trouble with a girl in Kieran's class. Homophobic mother's been feeding her shit about how me and Levi shouldn't be together; how the kids should have a mother in their lives rather than two dads. That usual bullshit."

"It's almost twenty-fifteen," Andrew scoffs. "I can't believe people are still so negative about same-sex couples. As if it's their business in the first place."

"Tell me about it." George picks up his glass again, tipping the remaining third of his drink into his mouth. He forces it down his throat, grimacing slightly at the intense taste. In one satisfying sweep, he clinks the glass back down on the table once again. "Same again, I think."

"That's, like, the fifth or sixth one already, Yog. We've only been here an hour and a half." Andrew gives his best friend a look of soft encouragement, to do the right thing. "Maybe calm down a little. You don't want to end up paralytic before eleven o'clock."

"No, you're right." George surrenders to his pal, drumming his fingers against the table to quell his urge to fidget. "Bloody hell. What a crazy couple of months I've had."

"It's enough to mess with anybody, really," Andrew states. "But you're doing really well with coping with it."

"I wouldn't go that far," George self-deprecates. "I've handled it all like shit."

"How so?" Andrew raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I don't cope well with it at all," George admits. "I'm either numb from the grief; overly emotional about it all; lashing out at the kids and Levi; or stressing out about everything. I'm a failure, and a disappointment of a husband and father."

"You're not a failure, and you're certainly not a disappointment," Andrew reassures him. "You've had a lot of shit come your way the last couple of months. I couldn't deal with it half as well as you're doing. You know you can always talk to me about everything."