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Andrew maintains that mothers are no good whatsoever. He’s allowed to feel that way, every mother figure in his life has either given him up, pushed him away, let their other children do horrible things to him, or flat out abuse him themselves. So Andrew thinks that mother figures are absolute bullshit and is much better off without them in his life.
Bee is different. She is his therapist, not a mother, not a family figure. She’s just there to get him through court-mandated treatment, to make sure he won’t lash out again. That’s it, nothing more.
Still, Andrew notices things. It’s the one thing he’s good at, paying attention, and remembering everything about anyone he decides to take interest in. He notices that Bee can tell when he’s had a nightmare the night before, that she remembers how he likes his hot chocolate (extra sweet with peppermint on the particularly bad days). He notices that the small glass figurines in her office never move, despite being completely free of dust every visit.
That’s how it goes. They notice things about each other. Bee never forces any admission, any words out of him. She allows him to ask her questions, and her office is where he starts his system, two months after he starts seeing her. A truth for a truth. On the day he proposes it, she just smiles. They’ve been discussing the morality of the choices you make in a zombie apocalypse, one of Andrew’s favorite topics. Bee indulges it.
“I have nothing to hide, Andrew. I hope you don’t either.” She inclines her head, knowing that lots of times, Andrew prefers nonverbal communication when he’s thinking. The drugs make it near impossible to filter himself, but here, in Bee’s office, he allows himself to be sober, and she promises to never tell a soul. Provider-patient confidentiality and all that. So he cuts to the chase, cold and calculating.
“You have OCD.” Not a question, a statement. Andrew spent enough time in juvenile facilities for people like him, with serious mental health conditions, to notice the signs of obsessive-compulsive disorder. The immaculate placement of Bee’s glass figurines and the perfect cleanliness of her office remind him of a girl in juvie, who would need every corner of her room perfect, down to the folds of her sheets. Andrew’s noticed how Bee’s breathing gets faster when he casually shifts a figurine, her obsessive rituals where she touches each figurine in order, and the way that she stirs her hot cocoa counterclockwise, in multiples of four, jumping if Andrew butts in before she’s finished with a cycle. She is just another problem in his life that he finds he needs to solve, and this is a variable in her formula.
“I do, Andrew. My turn?” He nods. “Can I ask you a question instead?” Another nod. “Of equal gravity?” A shorter nod. “Did you come here out of obligation for your brother or because you truly care for him?” She’s just as outwardly calm as he is. No accusation, no judgment, no nothing. Pure curiosity. It’s the only reason he hasn’t burned through all of the therapists at Reddin.
“I protect my family.” It’s a non-answer, Andrew knows that. It’s because he doesn’t know. He cares fiercely about Aaron and Nicky’s safety, but at the same time, it’s hard to distinguish caring about someone like they are family versus caring about someone because they are family. “I protect what’s mine.”
Bee just looks at him like she can see into his soul, see the uncertainty he hides behind a mask of manic indifference. “Well, Andrew. Our time is up. See you next week.”
He leaves her office without another word, popping a pill on the way out.
---
Slowly, only while in Bee’s office, Andrew begins to open up. Some things he has to tell her for her to understand the reasons that he’s there, others are exchanged for her own truths. He tells her about some of his old foster parents in exchange for stories about her sisters. Whispered confessions of finding boys beautiful are given, and Andrew receives tales of Bee’s exploration in college. She never passes judgment on his past, only asks questions so she can understand. Sometimes she presses too far. She’ll ask a question that oversteps a boundary, and it’s all Andrew can do to reply with a curt “no.” She never takes offense, never asks why he won’t talk about it, doesn’t reshape the question to trick him into answering. She just moves on, giving him truths on credit as her way of making up for pushing his boundaries.
Still. He feels his walls begin to come down, and some days it terrifies him. He has a carefully crafted persona that he forces himself to believe, but there, in Bee’s office, he lets himself feel little things. It’s one of the things he agreed to work on with Bee. It starts with him allowing himself to express amusement at her jokes, typically with a raised eyebrow or sharp exhale of breath. Sometimes, he’ll roll his eyes at her antics, pretend to be shocked as she spills some campus drama, normal things to do in a conversation. Compared to others, he’s still practically a robot, but for him, those little developments are everything.
One day, after the spring vacation with the Foxes, in the privacy of Bee’s office, Andrew allows himself to smile. Not his cruel, manic smile with nothing behind the eyes. No, the smile Andrew gives Bee is soft. It’s nothing more than the corners of his mouth turning up and the ice behind his eyes melting just slightly, but they both know that it’s a huge step. Of course, it’s thinking about his idiot that made him smile in the first place. Bee had been herself, asking Andrew about how his classes were going (good), his plans for summer break (Columbia and then back to Wymack’s house to indulge the junkies), and how he was dealing with Kevin’s impossible nature (badly), when she suddenly flashed him a sly smile.
“How are things with Neil?” Bee knew him too well, knew how to spot the way that Andrew immediately relaxed talking about his junkie, knew how safe Andrew felt with him. The question was coming sooner or later.
“There are no things with me and Neil. It is nothing,” he responds, sighing and sinking into the chair. Of course, she’s not going to believe that. She knows it’s the only lie he’ll ever tell, so he just comes clean. “He is nothing. I want nothing.”
And oh that god damn smile. When Bee gets him to admit something like that, she looks at him like he’s just handed her the moon in a jar. She doesn’t say any words she doesn’t need to, doesn’t verify the traitorous feelings that Andrew can feel playing hopscotch in his chest. Just asks him her next question. “Does he make you happy?”
“I don’t know what feeling happy is anymore.” It’s the truth, one that they’ve explored in depth. Andrew doesn’t really feel happy. He feels protective, triumphant, amused, but never happy. Recently, though, he’s starting to feel content with being alive. Those days are better than his normal days, where everything is a base layer of gray, covered in the colored spots of emotion he feels over the course of the day. Those days, everything feels just a little honey-colored, and Andrew can’t bring himself to acknowledge that for once in his life, he is starting to feel happy.
Bee hums. It’s a habit Andrew picked up quickly from her. Verbal acknowledgment of someone saying something without having to come up with a useless response. Bee stirs her hot cocoa, thinking. Sixteen circles. Four cycles. When she finally speaks, her voice is carefully measured, in a way that tells Andrew that saying no is perfectly acceptable. “Do you care about him?”
Andrew sighs. He twists his hands around in his lap, looking down at them. Does he care about Neil? Of course. Andrew needs Neil like a plant needs the sun. He’d kill for Neil, and he’s come to the conclusion that in a zombie apocalypse, he’d go back for his junkie. He thinks about Neil’s face, perfectly preserved in his memory, about his laugh that only the Foxes get to hear, about his adrenaline-fueled grin that he can’t wipe off of his face after a game. For once, in the safety of Bee’s office, Andrew allows himself to smile. “More than anything.”
When he looks up, Bee seems like she’s almost on the verge of tears. She looks overjoyed at having made a breakthrough with Andrew. He raises an eyebrow at her, a silent way of saying ‘chill the fuck out, Betsy.’ She just laughs, more of a relieved sigh than anything. “I’m glad that you have someone to care for.” It’s sincere, and Andrew believes her words. He’s glad to have someone to care for, glad to have someone to live for on the days where doing it out of spite gets to be too hard.
“Thank you for being more invested in my relationships than I am, mom. ” It’s a joke. No one could be more invested in Neil than Andrew, but he’s come to appreciate that Bee cares for him. Sometimes she’ll text him, just pointless little things, making sure he eats on bad days, wishing him luck on an upcoming game. There’s no point to it, really. Just something Bee does so Andrew is reminded that his existence has meaning. Over the almost two years he’s known her, Andrew’s come to appreciate it. It feels just a little bit like he has a mother, something which terrifies him but also has him aching for more. It’s not unlike the need for closeness and being known and understood that he feels with Neil. The last hopeful part of his mind suggests that maybe, just maybe, Andrew loves people who might love him back, but he’s quick to dismiss it every time. Instead of burying it, though, he lets the feeling wash over him and wash away, sweeping up the last dregs with a half-hearted joke.
“I’m afraid our time is up, Andrew. See you next week,” Bee says with a smile. Andrew pushes his mug towards her and heaves himself out of her impossibly comfortable chair, leaving the office feeling much lighter than before. He pauses, halfway out the door when Bee’s voice reaches him.
“I hope this brought you some clarity, Andrew.” She’s still smiling, Andrew knows that without looking at her.
“It did.” Now if Bee will excuse Andrew, he has plans with a certain redheaded exy junkie.
---
Years later, Andrew makes a call.
The whole ordeal had started with a lazy Sunday in bed, where Neil couldn’t be bothered to extract himself from Andrew’s arms to go for a run. Unfortunately for Andrew, that means that Neil is awake and thinking. Andrew wasn’t joking all those times that he said it was a dangerous thing. So Neil is awake (and subsequently Andrew is too), thinking so loudly that Andrew might just knock him out to get some peace and quiet. Instead, he just twists his hands through Neil’s hair, braiding it and twisting it around, then letting it go. They stay like that for what feels like hours, just enjoying each other’s company and the closeness they allow themselves to have until Neil finally decides to spit out the sentence that he’s been working on for far too long.
“D’you wanna get married?” Neil’s voice is scratchy from sleep, but his eyes are bright and hopeful and all Andrew wants to do is kiss him until they can’t breathe knock his lights out. The fucker.
“Why.”
“I dunno, everyone else is getting married right now.” Neil is worried, Andrew can tell, not knowing that Andrew couldn’t say no if he tried.
“That doesn’t mean we have to get married.” It’s hard for Andrew to stay impassive. Years of practice and he’s still so caught off guard by Neil’s absolute openness with him.
“Think about it this way. If one of us ends up in the hospital-”
“You mean if you end up in the hospital, idiot.”
“Yeah, yeah, semantics. If there is a hospital involved, then we can visit each other because then we’d be family. It just saves everyone a headache.” Neil’s fumbling for an excuse now, giving Andrew a reason beyond I want to. Andrew doesn’t need a reason.
“Okay.” It’s fun to toy with Neil, make his logical brain go haywire trying to figure Andrew out. So Andrew doesn’t give him a straight yes or no, doesn’t give him anything in fear of betraying his own emotions.
“Okay to what?”
“Just okay. You didn’t ask a question.” And oh. There’s the determination in Neil’s eyes that Andrew’s been wanting to see.
“Ugh. Fine. Lemme up.” Andrew lifts his arms obligingly, and Neil slides out of bed, rummaging in his bedside drawer. “Close your eyes.” Andrew does, huffing a little at Neil’s antics. He can’t be bothered to even pretend he’s anything but hopelessly in love with this idiot, especially on a Sunday morning in their bed.
Neil pokes him, right between his eyebrows. When Andrew opens his eyes after shifting up into a sitting position, Neil is next to his side of the bed, on one fucking knee, holding a small box that’s been opened. “Andrew Joseph Minyard, marry me. Yes or no?”
The ring is absolutely gorgeous. It’s a small onyx band set into a larger band of white gold. Fucking hell. “White gold? Really?”
“That’s gold? I thought it was silver or something.” Neil drops the box with the ring on it onto the bed. “God, I’m stupid.”
“It’s gold, and you are an idiot.” With that statement, Andrew reaches behind the headboard, grabbing the small thing he wedged back there three weeks ago. “Yes or no?”
“You still haven’t answered me.”
“Yes or no, junkie.”
“Yes, always yes.” Neil leans up towards Andrew, expecting a kiss, but recoils at Andrew tossing a small box straight at his sternum. He catches it and opens it, and his mouth drops open in surprise. “You fucker!”
Andrew huffs. Set into the center of the ring box is the same goddamn ring Neil had gotten him. “I’m assuming it’s a yes?”
“Always, Drew.” Neil looks so goddamn soft like this, hair sticking up from Andrew’s hands in it, wearing an old PSU shirt and ratty sweatpants that neither of them can be bothered to get rid of, blushing like a fucking maniac because they just got engaged, for God’s sake. Then Neil flashes him a shy smile, all warm eyes and dimples. “Look on the inside of yours.”
Andrew picks up the box, pulling the ring out of the small cushion holding it in place. He twists the ring until he finds the beginning of the sentence. Always yes with you. He nearly stops breathing right there. “Look in yours.”
Neil looks confused. “What’s thi-oh. Andrew. ” It was shorter than Neil’s message, a simple ‘yes or no.’ Unknowingly, their rings had completed a dialogue that they had said hundreds, if not thousands of times. It’s disgusting, how domestic they are.
Neil makes grabby hands towards Andrew. “Gimme your left hand.” Andrew flops it towards him, doing the horribly annoying thing that Neil fondly refers to as ‘dead weighting.’ Neil picks his hand up, and impossibly gently, slides the ring onto Andrew’s finger. After it’s on there, Neil sighs, looking happier than any one person should be allowed to. In response to Neil’s fucking softness, Andrew wraps his hand around Neil’s and yanks.
Neil yelps as he’s pulled on top of Andrew, quickly moving into a position that the two of them are very familiar with. Neil’s limbs bracket Andrew and they’re inches apart. Quickly, before he can let himself feel anything, he grabs the ring and Neil’s hand, unceremoniously shoving it on, and pulls Neil down into a messy kiss, hoping the way that his tongue moves and his death grip on Neil’s shirt will let his boyfriend fiancé know just how loved he is.
The kiss is hot and messy and Andrew’s hands can’t stay still. One tangles in Neil’s hair at the nape of his neck, the other pulls him down by the lower back, and then they’re moving again so his left hand cups Neil’s cheek and his right thumb slides under the waistband of his sweatpants and his idiot hasn’t stopped smiling.
They break apart, and Neil grins, knife-sharp and daring, like the world could end tomorrow and it would probably be at his hands. “So would we keep our last names, or would it be Josten-Minyard or Minyard-Josten?”
Andrew growls. “Shut the fuck up.” Neil just laughs and lets himself be pulled down again.
They keep their own names.
---
That’s how Andrew ends up on the phone with Bee. Really, it’s Allison’s fault that he’s on the phone at all. When Neil had sent a picture of their joined hands, rings showing, to the Foxes’ groupchat, she had almost immediately called them, already making plans. If Andrew and Neil could have it their way, they would just have a wedding at the courthouse. No party, no reception, just legally getting married and starting the arduous process of changing all of their legal documents. But Allison is one of Neil’s best friends, so they’re having a proper wedding reception. Andrew called Bee the day he bought the ring, and then twenty minutes after they got engaged. And now they’re planning and he has to call her again.
He misses her the first time and calls again immediately after. She picks up on the second ring, another one of her rituals. If she misses the second ring, she can’t answer the phone. That’s just how it is. Bee’s voice is warm, even over the phone, and it makes Andrew want to go back to her office and drink hot chocolate while he provides scathing insults directed at Kevin.
“Hello, Andrew. How is the planning going?” She’s fucking psychic.
“Neil and Allison are plotting and have decided that I have to walk down the aisle.” It annoys him, just a little bit. He’s never done anything traditionally and his wedding shouldn’t be the thing to break that pattern, but Neil looked at him like he hung the sun and asked him to just think about it and well, Andrew has. And a small part of him wants that normalcy, craves it. So he gives in, lets himself become just a little bit softer.
“And what are your thoughts on that?”
“I think that I will.” Andrew hears her sigh a little over the phone and knows that there is a part of Bee that takes such joy in knowing that Andrew is letting his walls down.
“You didn’t need to call me to figure that out, did you?” It’s a leading question. Andrew gives in. He takes a deep breath and hits fuck it. No backing out now.
“I need a mother to walk me down the aisle, no?”
He hears her sharp intake of breath, a slow exhale. He can picture her composing herself, coming up with a sharp comment to throw back at him since she knows that he can’t have this conversation seriously. “Are you sure? I think that Nicky was enough of a mother hen to take that position.”
“Kevin fusses over me to this day, but I’m not extending the offer to him, am I? Yes or no, Bee. Walk me down the aisle while I make the stupidest decision of my life?”
“Yes, Andrew. If you need anything-”
“I know, I know, you’re only a phone call away, mom. I’ll send you the details as they come up.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself, Andrew.” It’s their goodbye now, a promise to keep themselves afloat until they talk next.
“Only if you do the same.” He hangs up and sighs. He can’t undo this now, and a small part of him that he does his best to shut up tells him that he never wanted to undo any of this in the first place.
---
They get married in late September. Well, legally, they’ve been married since August, and that’s the anniversary that they’re acknowledging, but the whole “wedding” happens in September when it’s still warm enough outside during the day to have the ceremony but cool enough to wear a suit. They have it on a hill in a small town about an hour outside of Boston because they’re refusing to go any farther than an hour from their apartment in the North End, and this hill is one of the spots that they like to go on their days off when all they want to do is drive. No one but them knows the second part, though.
Allison stole Neil away early in the morning, swapping him out for Renee and yelling about how it was “bad luck” for them to see each other before the wedding. Andrew doesn’t protest, instead enjoys the last bit of quiet that he’ll have for the day as he and Renee get ready. She’s his best woman, and Neil has Matt. It’s a slight at Allison for making them have a traditional wedding in the first place. She was almost definitely gunning for the maid of honor, so Andrew and Neil omitted the position outright. Aaron begrudgingly agreed to not being Andrew’s best man on the condition that he could make a toast at the reception. A fair trade, in Andrew’s opinion.
In the car, Renee finally breaks the silence by asking the question that Andrew has been dreading. “So, are you ready? After this, you’re stuck with him until death do you part and all that.” It’s half-joke, half-serious, trying to give Andrew an outlet for any anxiety he might have.
“I’ve been stuck with him since I rammed a racquet into his stomach when I was nineteen.” It’s not a fond memory of Andrew’s, clouded by drugs, but it was the first time he ever saw Neil in person and that is not a memory he will relinquish easily.
Renee takes it as enough of an answer. “Does he make you happy?”
Any other person would have a knife to their throat in seconds, but it’s Renee, so Andrew sighs. Shifts around in his seat. “I’m safe with him. That’s enough.” Everything that he means to say hangs unspoken in the air, but again, it’s Renee. Words are unnecessary with her.
“It is enough,” she muses. After three minutes of staring out the window in silence, she turns to him. “If someone managed to reanimate the dead, there would be a lot of zombies in suits and formalwear, don’t you think?”
And just like that, they’re back to normal.
As soon as they arrive at the venue, Renee whisks him away, joking with him about no one being able to see the “blushing bride.” Andrew argues that he does not blush and gets his ear flicked in response. He gets to sit in a quiet room with Renee and Bee for an hour, waiting and vehemently denying that he is nervous. Of course he’s nervous. This is the most public that he’s ever been with Neil. When Neil told the team they were together and also invited to the wedding, the main question had been asking them if it was a prank. Naturally, Andrew is terrified, though he refuses to show it. Instead, he stares into his mug of hot chocolate that Bee brought in a thermos, anticipating the anxiety. The rehearsals were fine, since everyone in the wedding party are people that Andrew has known for almost too long, but with their team there and other guests that Allison told Neil to invite, he feels sick to his stomach.
All of a sudden, it’s time. He waits back with Bee, tailing the rest of the party who are determined to keep Neil from seeing Andrew, and then they’re gone, up to the altar. Nicky was put in charge of the music, and Neil walks down the aisle to a slow instrumental of one of his favorite songs. It fades out as everyone takes their places and suddenly Andrew can’t help but squeeze Bee’s hand. She’s a rock for him to cling to.
After a few moments of silence, more music starts up. Nicky was determined to keep it a surprise, and when Andrew hears the song, he almost wants to cry. It’s the final song off of one of his favorite albums, a truth on credit that he gave Neil back in his senior year. Neil remembered.
I haven’t looked at the sun for so long
I’d forgotten how much it hurt to
He and Bee round the corner and make their way down the aisle. Neil is staring at him like he is the sun, and it’s a moment that Andrew will hold close to his chest for the rest of his life. Their ties match, and Neil’s burgundy suit complements Andrew’s dark green. Complete opposites in harmony. Andrew is going to kill Allison.
Right before they reach the altar, Bee stops and turns to him. “Go make mama proud.” She practically whispers it, and Andrew almost breaks. He only squeezes her arm and makes his way to the altar on his own, of his own volition. His choice.
Neil just smiles at him. The wedding passes in a blur, which is unsurprising because Kevin got ordained for the wedding a week in advance and just wants to get it over with, and then it’s time for vows. Neil goes first, grinning cheekily.
“It’s always yes with you.”
Neil looks confident, but Andrew can see the tears forming in his eyes and the genuine smile that he’s hiding. This is as big of a deal to Neil as it is to Andrew. He watched a marriage that ended in blood on his hands, while Andrew grew up with no marriage around him at all. He clears his throat.
“This was never nothing.”
One tear breaks free, sliding down Neil’s face to his chin.
Kevin breaks the silence, clearing his throat in an effort to hide his emotions as well. “Do you, Neil Josten, take Andrew Minyard to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Andrew Minyard, take Neil Josten to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.” Andrew’s voice cracks a little on the last syllable, and all he can see is the blue of Neil’s eyes.
They don’t do rings. They already have the rings on chains, tucked under their shirts, and Neil has persuaded Andrew to go and get tattoos of each other’s Palmetto jersey numbers on their ring fingers. Andrew likes that better than more rings.
“I know pronounce you husband and husband,” Kevin says. “You may kiss the groom.”
And just like that, Andrew is frozen. He can’t move, can’t speak, can only look Neil in the eyes and ask for help with the slightest glance. Neil, being one of two people who can read Andrew that well, takes his hand. “Yes or no?” There’s an honesty in his eyes that tells Andrew that it is okay to say no, to share their kisses behind closed doors, but Andrew has already been brave enough today. This is the end of all the planning and panicking. And Neil is right there, honest and open, baring his soul. So Andrew takes the plunge.
“Yes.” Neil’s other hand comes up to rest at the nape of Andrew’s neck, curling into his hair. He leans in, and everything else drops away. All that exists in that moment is Neil’s mouth, soft and warm against his own, and Andrew’s hands come to grab onto Neil’s waist, pulling him closer with a defiant fuck you to Tilda and Nathan and Mary and Andrew’s nameless, faceless father. Fuck them. He has Neil, and that’s all he cares about.
Wedding cake tastes even better when he licks it from Neil’s mouth, hidden behind a curtain.