In Loving Memory, Frank Warren

Chapter 10: Road to Hell

Frank had a knack for putting things out of mind but somehow the idea of meeting Dean's mother would not go away. It refused to sink to the lower depths along with the things he preferred not to dwell upon. The idea kept rising to the fore, buzzing around inside his head demanding attention. In short, it was driving him nuts.

And Dean, of all people, had avoided the issue for two straight weeks. Which meant, of course, their relationship was stuck in limbo. There was no way they could move forward, formally consolidating their living arrangements from two into one for example, without telling his mother about them. Then the absolute perfect excuse popped into his head as he sipped coffee from one of Dean's stained and chipped mugs.

"Are you waiting until the get-together at my place?" Frank asked, watching Dean check an Italian leather wallet for adequate cash.

"Can't wait," Dean muttered, distracted by his morning routine, "it's going to be great."

"Do you think your mom will enjoy it?" Frank asked, wondering what it would take to spark his attention.The mention of 'mom' seemed to do the trick. Dean's head snapped up and a calculating look came into his eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

"Inviting your mother to the party," Frank replied, "obviously. You do want her to come? Then she can check out my place before you move in."

"Geez, you're like one of those little terrier dogs, you know?" Dean demanded, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his sleek well fitting black slacks. "You're not going to give up on this, are you?"

"You said you wanted to tell her," Frank pointed out, "and I want to meet her. Besides, I hate the idea of skulking around for the rest of our lives."

"Skulking?" Dean glared at him. "Who's skulking? We've been dating for almost a month and it's way too soon to move in together, we're still learning about each other. Don't give me crap about skulking."

"Dating?" Frank demanded. "We're not dating. Dating is meeting out at a restaurant or the movies then each of us going home separately. We're living together in two places. And we hardly ever go out, we're always ordering in.

"By the way, when we're at your place, I prefer ordering in and I'm not whining. I'm only whining about when it's my turn."

"Here we go," Dean muttered. He braced both hands on the kitchen counter and closed his eyes. "Go ahead. Tell me how much you hate my neighborhood, how living here should be beneath me. Go on."

Damn. God? Need some help here, this was not supposed to turn into another argument.

"I said I wasn't whining about ordering in at your place," Frank insisted. "You are not turning this into a stupid fight in order to avoid talking to your mother. I'm on to you, pal. You pulled the exact same crap the last two times I brought it up."

Dean's head dropped forward, obscuring his facial expression. Frank checked the clock before waiting patiently. If this was not resolved inside of ten minutes Dean would be running late for work. Strange how he could make the clock work for him at times.

"You weren't supposed to notice," Dean muttered to the counter.

"I noticed," Frank insisted. "Look, what I'm worried about is us. I don't want our relationship to stall, I want to keep moving forward. I want you to move in with me, whenever you're ready, and I want to be able to hang out with your mom and your friends. Which reminds me, did you want to invite your sparring partner or anyone else over to the party?"

"No," Dean sighed, his head lifting. Taking a step back he turned to face Frank. "Okay, you win. I'll call her today and let you know when. But it's going to be horrible. She might disown me." A trembling hand reached out to grasp Frank's arm. "What'll I do if she disowns me?"