Never did run smooth

The course of true love never did run smooth -- William Shakespeare

The Dads aren't speaking.

That's all I really know.

I'm still not entirely sure what's going on. I wasn't around for the public meltdown, and the bits that have been told to me are second, even third-hand accounts, heard from this person who heard it from that person…well, you get the idea. Add to that the fact that they came from -- and I say this as lovingly as possible -- overdramatic cynical queens, it all should really be taken with a grain of salt.

Though, I witnessed what was probably Round One and, if that was any indication, the queens, for once, weren't exaggerating.

When I asked Uncle Mikey and Auntie Em, they only shook their heads, each muttering something along the lines of, "If your father weren't so goddamn stubborn…" and "If your Dad would give him the benefit of the doubt…" Then stopped and glowered at each other.

"It's Justin's fault! He shouldn't have--"

"Oh, come on, Brian knows better -"

"Why do you always defend him?!"

"I could ask the same thing!"

"Oh, whatever, fine!"

"Fine!"

And stomped off in opposite directions. So, yeah, they weren't very helpful at all.

Grandma Deb only glared at me until I ordered and patted me on the head as she walked away. Uncle Ben said he was as lost as I was. I'm hoping someone finally figures out who we should be mad at and lets me know.

'Cause I still don't have the faintest clue as to what the hell is going on.

I sigh loudly as the Dads ignore each other over breakfast for the fifth day in a row. DJ gives me a strained smile over the newspaper he's pretending to read. I return it with one that I don't have to see to know looks just as wooden.

Dad finishes first, picking up his plate as he gets up and walks to the sink. The dishes clink in the silence and I glance over at Alex. Her blue eyes meet mine, and this time I force a more natural smile. She doesn't smile back and returns to her cereal. My sister isn't a fool. Hell, Dad's convinced she's a 30-year-old midget instead of a seven-year-old. She scares the crap out of us with how smart she is. So, the tension in the house, the room, and especially the table isn't lost on her.

We know it's bad when they're fighting in front of us. Or, rather, not fighting at all.

I don't look up when Dad drops a kiss on my head and, moments later, does the same to Alex. On any other morning, DJ would walk him to the door so they could make out to their hearts' content without "embarrassing the kids." It could take them a good ten minutes to say goodbye. Twenty if they were frisky, which let's face it, most mornings they were.

Today, however, DJ hides behind his paper and Dad stops at his side, muscle ticking in his jaw. "I have a late meeting tonight." There's no response, and I see the signs that the Kinney temper is on the verge of overload. "I might stay at the loft if it gets too late."

DJ snorts but never looks up. I watch as Dad contemplates something and hold my breath. Maybe he'll put a stop to all this. Apologize and promise never to do whatever he did again. ('Cause I love him, but odds are it's his fault.) Maybe…just maybe.

Yeah. And monkeys might fly out of my ass.

Of course he doesn't. He leaves the room without a word.

Christ. They can be such babies sometimes.

I resist the urge to drop my head on the table, since this is the way things have been in the Taylor-Kinney household for five extremely long days. I'm not really that worried. They've had fights like this before. Granted, that was mostly ages ago, when I was a kid, but somehow or another they managed to resolve them.

But that was then. Now they barely get through an entire day without being all over each other. If I don't almost walk in on them at least once in a week, it just feels wrong.

And I haven't in about that length of time.

Things are different now. They aren't two idiots trying to make an impossible situation work, as Dad fondly recalls "the days of yesteryear."

They're married. With two kids. A mortgage (okay, so they flat out own Britin, but still…), bills, cars, pets (if you count the horses, I mean)…the whole kit-n-kaboodle. They're partners. Parents. Proper adults. Acting like 12-year-olds . And that's not completely strange. It's just that normally they act that way together. By not speaking (READ: No PDA's or Private DA's or Wherever DA's) for a week, they're throwing the whole universe off balance.

Okay. Fine. So I am a little worried.

My eyes stray to DJ as he clears the table and attempts to make Alex smile. He asks me about my plans for the day. I hear the appropriate response fly automatically out of my mouth, but what I really want to do is shake some sense into him and Dad.

This fight has gotten way out of hand. And when I think about how it started, I almost want to laugh.

Almost.

---

It had all started with the honeymoon.

Or what DJ called (as he rolled his eyes in Dad's direction) their "mutual choice of vacation spot that has nothing at all to do with the heterosexual misconceptions of weddings or marriages or any of that crap." And it had been working, for the most part. The old man had even been excited about it.

They'd had to put it off for three months while DJ opened a new show and Dad tied up loose ends with some new clients. Finally, they'd found the time to figure it out, and of course they'd argued night and day about it.

Over breakfast…

"Venice." DJ had slammed the colorized pamphlet down on the table, wide grin on his face.

Barely glancing at it, Dad sniffed. "Please. It's just an over-hyped water park."

"What?!"

"Half of it is under water, Justin."

"I'm aware of that, Brian. That would be the point."

"What kind of place puts you on boats as a means of transportation? It's ridiculous. Back me up, Sonny boy."

"Leave me out of this," I had said, concentrating on the notes in front of me. I had a final. They'd have to figure it out on their own.

"You know how many viruses live in water alone? It's gross," Alex piped up from her side of table.

Dad pointed at her. "See. Jitterbug's looking out for us."

DJ sent Dad a withering look.

"You're not helping, Al," I laughed through a mouthful of milk and Raisin Bran.

Over the phone…

"Think of the art. The history. The culture." DJ slipped on his favorite work sweater, with splotches of every color imaginable covering it, and winked at me. He was still working the Italy angle. I could tell it wasn't flying, though.

"You want to go where?" There was a pause and DJ shook his head. "No. It's pretentious, Brian." He tapped a foot on the floor impatiently. "The food is horrible. Yes, I am aware some of the world's finest art is there." He gave an exasperated sigh and I choked back a laugh. They were so an old married couple.

I picked up the extension in the study and said into the phone, "And Debbie said that their cheese tastes like cum." I paused for a moment. "Wait, you might take that as a selling point, Pops."

DJ laughed hard and Dad told me to get the fuck off the phone. I hung up and watched DJ compose himself. He listened, eyes rolling every few moments, and soon he was pouting again. "They sound like they've got phlegm stuck in their throats when they talk." DJ suddenly stood taller, his eyes hooded now. "Brian, don't you dare! I mean it! I don't care if Garrett can get us a deal. The agreement we have is we make a mutual decision. No to France." Another long sigh. "Fine. No to Italy."

The rest of the conversation drifted away as I walked up the stairs.

Dad: 1 - DJ: nada.

I'd been reassured a few hours later (not that I was worried) that everything was fine when I walked in on the Dads mauling each other on the family room loveseat. Great. No way was I sitting there again.

It wasn't until a few days later that I realized there was more going on. Walking past their room on my way to the kitchen, I heard muffled voices in an argument. I stopped next to their door.

"What do you mean you bought tickets?" That had been DJ, using a voice I'd never heard from him before.

"Would you look at them?" Dad sounded almost pleading.

"No."

"Sunshine."

"No. We were supposed to do this together. You and me. A mutual decision between two -- and I know how you hate the word -- married partners."

"Jesus Christ, Justin. Not this shit again!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did the phrase hurt your delicate sensibilities?"

"For fuck's sake, look at the tickets before you bite my head off."

I heard the rustle of paper, and suddenly some unknown laugh seemed to escape DJ. "Un-fucking-believable. Florida, Brian? Do I look like a complete idiot to you? Think I don't have any brains?"

"I'm starting to have my doubts, actually."

"Oh, fuck you! You buy us tickets to head to Florida for - and this is just a stab in the dark - the White Party, maybe? For our honeymoon? And I'm supposed to be okay with that?"

"First off, what the fuck are you talking about? And second, it's not a goddamn honeymoon."

I cringed. That was just not the thing to say at that moment. I was hiding in the shadows when their door opened suddenly, and I watched as DJ stormed off in the direction of his studio.

I heard Dad mutter, "Shit," as I walked back to my room.

---

Things had seemed to get worse by the day, with DJ refusing to talk to Dad, and eventually the old man just gave up. They stewed on it, snipping at one another, until, as it happened with them, it boiled over. I was spending the weekend at Ma and Corrine's when it happened, so by the time I'd gotten back home, it was a mess.

From what I had gathered, the argument had started at some dinner party the Novotny-Bruckner Uncles were having at their lovely home. Some extremely -- I was assured by Kiki-the-Waitress-formerly-Kenny-the-waiter, whose "sister" had attended -- snotty, collegiate types had started asking Dad questions regarding his well-known lifestyle and, being who he is, Dad had eventually snapped.

Robert, the busboy, told me that according to his boyfriend's roommate, who had also attended, Dad had gotten up and started to leave. DJ had protested and it was on. There were accusations thrown back and forth between them. DJ had reminded Dad of his hatred for anything resembling commitment. Dad, in turn, reminded DJ that he had never been the one to walk away. Some random guy's name had been thrown into the mix, and, when it was over, they'd ended up screaming at each other. Soon after, Dad had left.

It's been over a week now.

And the silence is starting to get on my nerves. It wouldn't be so bad if the fighting wasn't getting to Alex.

"The Dads are still pretty mad at each other."

I glance up when she enters my room. Taking a seat on the couch, leaning her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. She looks up, eerily reminiscent of Dad.

"I know, kiddo."

"Daddy looks sad."

"He probably is, Al."

"Dad, too."

"Uh-huh." She's heading somewhere with this.

"It's silly."

"Yep."

"Who fights over a vacation?"

"Our parents."

"Well, it's just plain…silly." She huffs out a frustrated sigh, which coming from someone her size is adorable.

"I agree."

"Someone should tell them that."

"Someone should." I can feel her penetrating stare and shake my head. "Someone that's not me."

I know they'll figure it out together. For all their crap, I know my parents love each other. Deeply and, at times, quite painfully. More than anything else in their lives…except for maybe me and Alex.

"They'll be fine, Al," I reassure her, giving her a wink. "You know how crazy they are about each other."

"I know but --"

"What?"

She looks at me, blue eyes worried. "I don't know."

I hug her, promising everything will be fine. She believes me, of course. I'm her big brother. I don't lie.

And things are looking up.

There are already signs of thawing. Dad initiating conversation, even calling home to find out if we wanted to spend the weekend in the Pitts at the loft. DJ had almost smiled when he agreed to it. Even better is that, when he thinks no one's looking, he'll brush his fingers over Dad's coat as he passes it.

That's all very good. But I also know they are both stubborn, and if something doesn't happen soon, it will take another week before they start communicating properly. So, I call Ma for some much needed advice. I figure she would know better than most what to do. She told me that, from what she knew, this fight really had to do with some issues that Dad and DJ have been having for a long time.

"They'll figure it out, Gus. It's just…"

"What?"

"They're married now."

I roll my eyes. "Ma, they've been married for ages."

She chuckles. "Yes, but there's being married and knowing you're married. I just think they're both freaking out just a tad. Jenny Rebecca, put that back!"

I laugh. I love living with Dad and DJ, but I miss Ma occasionally. I haven't lived with her since Mom died. I couldn't go back there. And when she'd married Corrine last year, I knew I wouldn't ever return. They were raising two kids plus JR now, so it was an odd place for me to even visit. "I should go Ma. Tell JR I love her. Say hi to the kids and Corrine."

"I will, baby. And listen, if this is really bothering you, just talk to your Dads. They'll listen."

And so, I will.

"Hey Al, I got an idea."

"For what?" She's coloring next to me, her tongue sticking out slightly as she presses hard on the crayon, messing up the paper.

"To get Dad and DJ to talk," I whisper as I look around to make sure we're alone.

Al looks up from her book, craning her neck to make sure DJ's gone. Satisfied it is safe, she sighs, her elbows on the table, hands framing her face, and smiles at me. "I knew you'd think of something."

"Okay, kid. Don't get too excited. I don't think they really need it, and it might not even work."

"It'll work." There it is again. That same look Dad gets when he's up to no good.

I laugh at her. It will work. And things will go back to the norm of absurd insanity that is the Taylor-Kinney household.

TBC