#spamager

It was late April now, a Wednesday night, and his obligations in Chicago were at an end. 

Ambrose was free now. And the first thing he was going to do with that freedom was to visit someone else who’d earned the nickname “kid”... his grand-niece Regina.

He’d already made hotel and restaurant reservations in New York for her graduation in May, but the restlessness that had become a chronic thing these days put another idea in his mind.

Why wait until May? Why not head into the Big Apple a little early? Regina had mentioned April 27th in her last email as the date of her capstone presentation. That was only a week away.

Humming the bassline from “Talk To Me”, he put through a phone call to The Melrose Hotel in the South Bronx and changed his arrival date from next month to tomorrow night.

---------------

Spamton thrust a bag of leftovers into T.M.’s hands as everyone got ready to leave for classes on Friday morning. Swatch had already shoved their share into their backpack.

“D-Don’t forget, m-me and Swatch will m-m-m-meet you at the dorm at 4 to help you bring your stuff here.”

“Sounds like a plan. Have a great day, guys.” She gave Swatch a peck on the cheek, gave Spamton a longer kiss on the lips, and skipped down the sidewalk towards campus.

Swatch clasped Spamton’s hand as they walked them both to their car. “Now before you ask me for the ninth time, let me shout it from the rooftops. I’m perfectly happy to have Moggy live with us for the next month.  But are YOU okay with giving up your Eyrie?”

“P-Perfectly okay. If she wants t-to sleep with us, the option’s there, b-but she should have a space that’s j-just hers.”

“Indeed.” 

Spamton laid his head back on the car seat and yawned, then caught himself. “It’s n-not the company! Life’s just been a b-bit full.” “No offense taken. But speaking of full, next week is capstone week. How about we all make this weekend a slug weekend, not do anything except go to the park if the weather’s decent, sleep late, stuff like that?”  

“That sounds like a b-bit of heaven to me.”

“Then it’s a date. That isn’t really a date.”

Spamton made a snorting noise. “That’s almost f-funny, since I’m t-taking Trez out on a date n-next week. Or she’s taking m-me. We haven’t d-d-decided.”

“Oh ho. Do you want me to do your hair and your nails?”

“W-Would you, please? That would be n-nice.”

Swatch grinned as they pulled into a parking space. “Any excuse to get my hands on that luscious mane of yours.” 

-----------

On Tuesday afternoon, Indigo squeezed T.M.’s hand as she got up from her seat. “Proud of you, sis. Knock’em dead.”

Further down the row, Catechu sat with Swatch and Spamton. All of them had smiles of encouragement for her as she made her way to the podium.  

Disguising her nerves with a wave and a wink at her audience, she adjusted the mic and began, “Thank you all for coming to my presentation. Today we’re going to discuss how radio and social media can be joined as a superhero team-up in terms of urban renewal.”

Thirty minutes later, T.M.’s capstone project was done and dusted, to the sound of applause. She found herself with tears running down her cheeks, as she had expected. She thanked herself for having had the foresight to wear waterproof mascara and eyeliner.

End of her undergraduate career, except for graduation day.

End of an era.

Blinking her eyes clear, she got hugs from her posse and also from GiGi and Leroux, who had snuck in a few minutes late.

Hanging back slightly, but obviously accompanying the other two, was a man who looked like a cross between Billy Joel and Friar Tuck, wearing a burgundy tweed suit but giving the impression he would have been just as comfortable in a monk’s habit.

A few strands of pinkish hair were combed over an otherwise bald head which gleamed a burnished brown under the fluorescent lights. T.M. couldn’t see a resemblance, but the way he looked at GiGi was a proud and happy one. She stepped forward as the man extended a hand for her to shake.

“So you’re Regina’s friend. Heard a lot about ya, and yup, all before ya ask, it was all good, Miss Tabsy!”

T.M. couldn’t help but giggle at his gallantry, even as she tamped down the urge to correct him on the name. 

She knew who he was now, the second he opened his mouth. If she closed her eyes, she could hear New Jersey routed through Toledo.

“A pleasure to meet you," she purred. "GiGi didn’t tell me that her godfather was such a handsome devil.” 

He did something T.M. thought people only did in books… he threw his head back and laughed from his belly. 

“Regina was right… You really are a pistol! And which of you lucky fellas am I going to steal this girl from tonight?” 

He waved his hand in the general direction of the crowd around her. 

Catto was grinning and Indo was trying hard not to laugh at the gobsmacked expressions on Swatch’s and Spamton’s faces.  

GiGi herself came to the rescue and tucked her arm into the crook of her … uncle’s? great-uncle’s? … arm. “Tabsy You Did Great. Uncle Ambrose You Know You Are My Guy Tonight Along With My Sweetie Gravy Roux-Roux—” T.M. spoke at the same time. “I’m so sorry that we couldn’t make your presentation, GiGi—” 

Her old roommate replied, “No Worries I Would Have Died Of Nervousness If You Had—”

“It went quite smoothely, my queen, and I’m sure thou’rt glad it’s overeth,” Leroux interjected. “We are just gladde we could maketh it here for THIS one, Terese. Susie and Ambrose did not want to end their ‘jam session’, which madeth us late.”

T.M. tried hard not to laugh as Ambrose smacked Leroux on the back hard enough to nearly send the spindly man flying. “What this young man said… no worries! But now it’s time to try some of this Sicilian pizza that Regina tells me is better than the ol’ Chicago deep dish. You’re all invited, my treat.”

Swatch looked alarmed, and protested, “That’s very kind, sir, but we can't just bust in on your family party —"

"Horsefeathers. My party. My rules. You're all coming, capisce?"

And so two tables of four got shoved together at Luigi's for a merry group of eight. And several to-go bags went home with each and every one of them, no matter where they were heading. Tibbetts Avenue. 238th Street. Independence Ave. The Melrose Hotel.

-----------------

Last week, T.M. had decided that she wanted her first real date with Spamton to be at the Alamo Drafthouse, and Spamton had agreed that Thursday, the day after her presentation, would work. “B-But not t-t-too late, I wanna be fresh for Swatch’s presentation too, and I still have assignments to t-t-turn in, even if - even if you two d-d-don’t.”

Taking that into account, they got tickets for a 5:30pm show and took an Uber downtown.

T.M. opted to have them have their appetizers at The Backlot bistro before the movie, but now that they were seated in the theater proper, she took over the ordering for both of them, in the form of pasta and wine to be delivered to their table about half an hour into the movie. 

She was enjoying his reactions to the place, especially the decor, and was fairly sure she knew the answer, but asked anyway.

“Have you ever been here?”

“N-no?  I didn’t even know this was - was a thing that places d-did. I grew up with d-d-dinner theatre, but that was really THEATRE, like - like Br-Broadway and off-Broadway. Not d-d-dinner and a movie literally in the same spot.” 

Spamton leaned over and kissed T.M.’s lips. 

“Mmmmm. You not only have g-good taste, you taste good.”

“Smooth, mister, smooth. That’s the sauce from our steak tips. But let’s not get thrown out, the movie’s going to start and they’re really strict about not talking or texting..”

The lights dimmed, and the curtains parted to show the opening of WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT in all its cartoon glory. 

--------------------

It was Swatch’s turn on Friday to take their place at the podium in the Aud.

"Thank you all for coming to my presentation. I'd like to especially thank two members of the audience, my uncle Julius Dyer and my aunt Desiree Paletta Dyer, for their love and support of my career goals over the years. I'd also like to take the opportunity to acknowledge the love and support of two people who cannot be here today… my mother Claudine Paletta, and, most especially, my grandmother Fairlight Marchione Paletta. I wouldn't be here without all of you. Without further ado, I would like to present my paper on “Home Automation Systems With Voice Control And Their Place In The IoT Ecosystem” .

From the front row Spamton’s eyes, behind the ever-present round glasses, were positively gleaming with love and proud tears. Swatch smiled back at him, let their gaze drift past him over to their aunt, their uncle, their cousins, and their best friend, and began.

When it was all over, Swatch found themself smothered in hugs.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to take you out to lunch, sweetheart?” Aunt Desiree asked.

“I appreciate it, but can I have a rain check until Sunday? I wanted to bring Spamton to meet Mom, and this is the only time we can both get away.”

“Oh. OH.” Swatch’s aunt squeezed their hand, and then impulsively hugged Spamton for good measure. “Oh.” She seemed unable to say anything else, but her approval needed no words.

---------------

“Seam!  We need something to burn.”

At the sound of the young woman’s voice, the junk shop proprietor walked out of the backroom, brushing aside the long strands of the beaded curtain that hung in the doorway to the main part of the shop.

“What’s the occasion?” Seam replied, looking over the tall blonde, the even taller brunet with coppery ringlets, and the comically short one with the salt-and-pepper mullet. “And do you need a witness or an alibi?”

“This guy,” declaimed T.M., pointing at Spamton, “only JUST got around to telling me the other night that somebody I wanted the privilege of killing myself died EIGHT MONTHS AGO!”

“Hey, at - at least he died p-p-painfully,” offered Spamton. “From wh-what I hear, p-pancreatic cancer is agonizing.”

“Not painful enough.”

Swatch just rolled their eyes.

T.M. leaned on the counter. “So. Since we can’t get a permit on a Saturday to exhume the corpse that’s buried in Calvary and desecrate it,  we need to have a bonfire so we can roast the bastard and give him more pain in his final moments. You know, in a metaphorical, symbolic, ceremonial kind of way, so that no one gets arrested. Because I looked up the laws. I remembered you had those theater lobby standees.” 

She batted her eyelashes at Seam, who smirked back at her and said, “You can use the barrel in the backyard. Just keep the flames under three feet high, there’s a good lass. Since it's a Satuday and all.”

Seam waved at a pile of cardboard leaning against one wall of the “seap”. An assortment of black-and-white cowboys and pinup girls rested cheek-by-jowl with colorful Disney heroes and villains from the animated movies. “A buck apiece, cheap at the price.”

“Really?” Swatch commented. “These go for a lot more down in midtown.”

“Got’em at clearance when Sounds closed down,” was the reply.

Spamton’s expression became pained. “I didn’t know Sounds was g-gone,” he muttered. “All g-good things c-come to - to an end, I guess.”.

“Hey, no sad faces today. We are gathered here to celebrate and incinerate, not to mourn!”  T.M. declared. “Gentlebeings, grab your partners and get this pyrotechnic catharsis party started!”

“Oh, you’re playing too, Moggy? Can I have three guesses as to who you want to cast in a central role in this fire sale?”

“That would be telling.” She squeezed Swatch’s arm.  “You should pick one too, Birdman. Three’s company.”

Swatch protested. “I don’t know that there’s anyone I hate enough to want to see them go up in flames.”

“Doesn’t even have to be a person. Can be an idea.”

“Hmmmmm. That could work.”  

The three of them turned to the serious business of finding the perfect flammable avatar for each to burn.  Not surprisingly, Spamton came up with his choice before either of the other two.  He started to dig into his belt pouch for his wallet and then nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder.  

“Dr. Facilier, huh?” Seam commented. A flicker of interest, a raised eyebrow. The next words came out in a rumble. “No charge.  No charge for any of you. Just bring me something precious next time. I’m off to unlock the back gate.”

The atmosphere in the storefront grew heavy, relieved only when the seapkeeper went into the back room, the beads of the curtain clacking loudly.

“Wow,” T.M. breathed.  “It’s like Seam knew exactly who you’re trying to exorcise, Short Stuff.”

“Indeed,” Swatch added. “But this is Seam we’re talking about. I doubt there’s much that Seam doesn’t know.” 

After another few minutes, all three of them had cardboard cutouts ready to lug out behind the building, where Seam had lit a barrel fire and was leaning against the building, looking much more placid.

T.M. 's choice was Gaston, which she claimed could do double duty for both her mother and her father in their individually narcissistic ways. 

Swatch’s choice was… odd, to say the least.

“Tom Cruise ruined your life?” 

Spamton silently thanked T.M. for asking what he wanted to.

“No, Tom Cruise didn’t ruin my life. I just couldn’t find any other bartender in that assortment. And yes, I’m well of the irony that I’ve been working as a bartender for three years.” Swatch smiled at both of them. “I don’t hate bartenders as such. But I’d like to stop being angry at my mother for her addiction, and this can be a symbol. You did say we could burn an idea, Moggy.”

‘Definitely.” T.M. stretched up on her toes and gave Swatch a kiss on their cheek, and then rubbed Spamton’s back, saying, “You first, almost-birthday boy.”

“Hey, I j-just remembered, it’s B-Beltane tonight. We’re - we-re not st-st-stepping on any traditions we shouldn’t b-be, are we, Seam?” 

“No, young one, but kind of you to ask,” Seam replied. That strange rumble was still there. “If you’ve got determination, your heart’s intention will come through.”

Spamton stepped forward, lifted his standee over his head, and slam-dunked it into the flaming barrel, yelling, “Go to hell, Mike!”

Not a single stutter.

Swatch and T.M. repeated more quietly, “Go to hell, Mike.”

The flames licking the cardboard had a bluish-greenish tinge from the colored inks, but they didn’t last long. The whole thing fell to ash pretty quickly, making black flakes fly upward.

Everyone was quiet for a few minutes, until Spamton broke the silence. Grinning, he said, “That f-felt DAMN GOOD.”

“As it should. Toldja, toldja, toldja,” T.M. commented in a singsong voice.  “My turn!”

She was a little gentler with her standee than Spamton had been with his, holding it at arm’s length over the edge of the barrel and dropping it in gingerly. The colors showed up again, and it seemed to take slightly longer to burn than the first one had. When there was nothing left of Gaston, T.M. said, “Not that I wasn’t an independent kinda gal before this, but I feel truly ready to face the world. No family ties except the ones I’ve made for myself.”

“Hear, hear,” Swatch answered her and bent down to hug her.

“H-hey, m-m-make room for me,” and Spamton wrapped himself around T.M.'s waist.

The three stood there for a long moment, while Seam watched them.  

Swatch broke the hug first. “I guess it’s my turn.”

They hesitated, and then turned their standee around so that the blank back was facing them. “I can’t look this guy in the eye and take this seriously,” they admitted.

“No worries, Swatchy. Take your time.”

“Yeah, n-no need to - to rush. Do what f-f-f-f-feels right.”

Swatch nodded, put their standee in the barrel, stepped back, and closed their eyes. Spamton grabbed one of their hands and saw T.M. do the same on Swatch’s other side.  

He wasn’t surprised that no words seemed to be forthcoming; Swatch was not the kind to make dramatic declarations. Spamton poured his silent support into hand squeezes.

Once again, ashy flakes rose above the flames as the cardboard burned to cinders. 

Seam went back inside for a moment and came back with a bucket full of water, which got poured into the barrel and doused the flames. Spamton started humming something that only Seam seemed to recognize and acknowledge with a nod.

As the three of them walked back to where Swatch had parked, T.M. asked, “What was that song, Short Stuff?”

“It’s from Jethro T-Tull. It’s c-called ‘Old Ghosts’. From the - the ‘Stormwatch’ album.”

“ ‘This stunning, light-filled three-level co-op features a private entrance surrounded by lush greenery, creating a serene retreat from the city below. The first level welcomes you with a gracious foyer leading into an expansive living room, where dramatic river views and a newly installed modern wood-burning fireplace set the stage for unforgettable sunsets and cozy winter evenings. The oversized eat-in kitchen offers abundant custom cabinetry and flows seamlessly to a large stone patio overlooking the river—an exceptional setting for outdoor dining and entertaining. A powder room and generous coat closet complete this level.

“ ‘The second floor is anchored by a spacious primary bedroom with custom closets, two additional bedrooms—one equipped with a vented washer/dryer—two full baths, and ample storage throughout. The top level is a beautifully finished flexible space, ideal for a home office, guest suite, or creative studio. Both upper floors enjoy breathtaking river vistas, flooding the home with natural light.

“ ‘ Recent upgrades include a new fireplace mantel, ceiling fans, all-new window treatments, fresh chimney work, new carpeting, overhead foyer lighting, custom closets, a new vented washer/dryer, and updated heating and cooling compressors—ensuring modern comfort while preserving the home’s timeless character.

“ ‘Just moments from the Metro-North station, this exceptional residence offers a rare combination of tranquil, countryside living with the convenience of reaching Grand Central Terminal in approximately 20 minutes. With remarkable views, historic charm, and an unmatched sense of calm, this is a truly special opportunity. ‘ ”

Aunt Desiree finished by slapping her hand on the table; everyone's glass trembled, but no spillage occurred. “And baby. I sold it!  Not that the old man needed much convincing. You might know him, Swatch… he’s the great-uncle of that girl Terese roomed with.  And he’s planning to move his great-niece and her fiance and the fiance’s little boy and the little boy’s regular babysitter in.  Presto, brand-new family!  And bang zoom, a big fat paycheck for me. So we all got something to celebrate."

Swatch took note of the address to pass along to Moggy. It was within a few blocks of the city steps where Swatch and Spamton had had their life-changing talk back in February. Definitely a step up for Leroux and his son, although probably not for GiGi, if Swatch had to guess. 

Uncle Julius was smiling just as much as Aunt Desiree, pleased for his hard-working wife’s success. 

Swatch had a momentary twinge of seeing something that their mother had never had… a supportive partner. 

And if reading Swatch’s mind, Aunt Desiree switched gears and asked gently, “How did your visit with Claudine go Friday? I hope that boyfriend of yours behaved himself and didn’t upset her.”

“Spamton wouldn’t ever upset anyone—”

“Maybe not on purpose, but he might not have known how to react—” “He did just fine. Better than fine," Swatch reiterated fiercely. "I think he even got Mom to smile.  I mean, sure, it could have been anything, I’ll never really know if she understands us, but if she does, then she definitely liked meeting Spamton.” 

In Swatch’s opinion, Spamton had been nothing short of magnificent. And he hadn’t even been trying to be. 

He had sat down on a chair near to Swatch's mother where she was sitting in the common room, while an aide hovered nearby. He didn’t try to take her hand or touch her. He didn’t speak in an unnaturally loud voice or try to stare into her face to force eye contact.

He just talked, the same way he would have to an able-bodied person.  He introduced himself, gave some background about the earliest months he’d spent in the dorm with Swatch and Indigo and Catechu. He recounted how he and Swatch had gotten closer after Swatch’s accident, the same way he would have told any casual acquaintance of his.

And then Spamton slid in something that took Swatch completely off guard. Between mentioning how much he enjoyed cooking together with Swatch and telling her how much he enjoyed watching the twins play basketball, he said, completely naturally, “I love your child, and I’ll do my best to be good for them, since right now I think that’s what you want for them, for those times you can’t both be together.”

It was at that point that Swatch thought they saw their mother smile.

Even if she hadn’t, what Spamton had said was something they’d remember for a long, long time. 

A random thought struck Swatch now.  Was there any way they could do something similar for their partner? Although it would involve finding out where the Addison parents were buried, which might be ticklish for the Addison siblings, or for Spamton himself.

--------------------

“Birthday. Desires. Plans. You have thirty seconds. Go!”

“Now that’s not fair, Moggy.” Swatch reached over Spamton to ruffle T.M.’s hair.

From their position in the middle, Spamton added, “Yeah. What they - they said.”

“Okay. Ten minutes, then, but I have the feeling your family has made plans for you, and I wanted a chance to make a counterattack.”

“You’d b-b-b-be right about them making plans. And I really w-w-want both of you to c-come up north with me.”

The three were sacked out on Sunday night, lying on the living room floor and digesting the leftovers Swatch had brought back from Queens. Spamton took a sighing breath and outlined what the Addison siblings had arranged for next weekend. He explained that Friday and Sunday would be just lowkey hanging around the house in Purchase, but that Saturday night would be a lot more formal.

“F-f-first off, this wasn’t m-my idea. Twenty-five is, like, the- the b-big number in my family, because of the whole trust f-fund thing. All my siblings have d-d-done this big splashy p-p-party thing that my Uncle Sam started for Eos… he’s his g-godfather, you know, and was - was the executor for him and the other two—”

“I can’t believe you actually have an Uncle Sam,” T.M. interrupted.

“Somebody had to have an Uncle Sam sometime, otherwise there wouldn’t have been an Uncle Sam type,” Swatch pointed out.

“Impeccable logic as always, my dear Birdman.” She pouted for a moment, and then went on to ask, “So how big and splashy is this do? Like ‘rent out the whole country club’ big?”

“W-well, yes.”

“Oooh, so I’m going to get lynched if I show up in black denim and fishnets and rhinestones, huh?”

“I w-wouldn’t care. I j-just need you b-both with me.  I wouldn’t c-care if you showed up in - in a zoot suit, Trez.”

Swatch said, “Now there’s an idea. Why don’t we ALL show up in zoot suits?”  

“Really?” T.M. practically squealed in delight. “That would be so boss.” 

They both rolled towards Spamton to get a better idea of what he thought of their silly suggestion. From the ever-growing glow of the expression on his face, he loved it.

“I w-will have to give Eos and B-Ballew some w-warning, but I think they’ll g-get the joke. My sisters m-might squawk at f-first, but they won’t m-make too much of a scene.”

"Let's see what we can rent, but in the meantime pack a regular dressy outfit," was Swatch's ever-practical advice.

"Oh, you're no fun," T.M. complained.

"Oh yes I am."

"Oh yes they are," confirmed Spamton.

He did ask one more time in a hesitant voice, “So you’ll - you’ll both c-come up to Purchase with me?”

“Yeah, Short Stuff.” “Indeed we will. You’ve got us.”

The rest of the evening devolved into yet another three-way makeout session with T.M. in the middle, before Spamton called it a night, claiming an early class.

-------------------

And so it came to pass, two days later on a Tuesday, that Spamton Addison did his last radio show of the semester on the night of his 25th birthday itself. 

It hadn’t been deliberate, and he’d been asked by both Trez and Swatch as to whether that’s what he really wanted.

He’d started out the day by giving identical bouquets to each of his two loves.

Hyacinths. Peonies. Daffodils. Gladioli in an outer ring. In the center, an inner ring of brown-eyed susans surrounding a single sunflower.

Once Spamton had the first one assembled, the second went faster. 

The florist had helped him pick the flowers out, but the design was all his own.

When he presented Trez and Swatch with their bouquets, Spamton was greeted with a raised eyebrow from Swatch and the inquiry “Why are you giving us flowers for YOUR birthday?” from Trez.

“B-b-because I wouldn’t have made it to THIS birthday without - without you t-two.”

Constancy. Prosperity. Rebirth. Strength. Encouragement. Loyalty.

Love.

He found himself crying multiple times during his talkbacks. It was only with all his self-imposed training that he kept his voice steady, although the vocoder helped. 

While he didn’t come out and say it on the air, he was dedicating every song he played tonight to his two loves. He was emotionally pulling out all the stops, and was hoping that Swatch and Trez could hear everything he was trying to express through music.  He knew they were both listening - Swatch downstairs at Plato’s, Trez next door in Prodo.  He knew they’d both be there for him later tonight, but for now he was happy to just let lyrics and melodies stream through his fingers.

The tracks flowed from Raymond Scott’s “Powerhouse” to “Safe and Sound” by Capital Cities, from Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down” to “Runaway Train” by Soul Asylum, from Strawbs to R.E.M. to Booker T. to Supertramp to The Cranberries to Disturbed to Peter Gabriel.

The tears flowed, too.

Spamton didn’t want the groove to end, but he also couldn’t wait to get into bed with his beloveds. 

He wanted to stay in bed with them forever.

This coming weekend was going to be interesting, to say the least. He’d already told his siblings that he was bringing Swatch and Trez to Purchase with him to the family gathering that Eos and Ballew had arranged months ago for his coming-of-age.

He hadn’t asked permission.

It was going to be cramped, trying to fit the three of them into his own bed in his old bedroom. But if Swatch and Trez could stand it for two nights, he certainly could.

Twenty minutes to go until he signed off for the summer. Time to do his final talkback as DJ Dreamweaver until September.

-----------------------

T.M. had never been further north in Westchester County than New Rochelle, attending a party when she was ten for a great-aunt she didn’t remember. She remembered the trip across the drawbridge and the castles on the beach much more clearly. 

She also remembered not being allowed to bring her friends Swatch, Catto, and Indo, and being sure it was because they were Black, even though her parents sputtered something like, "Why would you think that?"  But there hadn't been a single Black person at that party except the waiters.

She was getting the same uneasy feeling, the further north that Spamton’s brother Ballew drove towards Purchase. Not that Ballew himself was giving her that feeling. He was being polite and keeping conversation going.

But the cars around them on the highway had nothing but white faces in the front and back seats.

She hoped that she was just being alarmist, but she knew she was gonna have to cut a bitch if either Spamton’s sister or the sister’s wife was snotty to her Swatchy. 

T.M. was fairly sure that Spamton’s brothers were cool, from the one time they’d met.

She would have been much happier, though, if Swatch were driving them, in case they needed to make a quick getaway. But Swatch’s car Bessie was in the shop for a brake job.

This had been Spamton’s idea, to have her and Swatch at the family celebration for his big milestone birthday. Was it a chance to share something, or was it Spamton needing moral support? She wasn't used to the whole "being brought home to meet the family" thing.

T.M. sat in the back seat with Spamton, while Swatch rode in the passenger seat up front. Spamton and she occasionally held hands, but she didn’t want to initiate any other public displays while they could be seen in a rear view window by either Ballew or Swatch.

The conversation seemed to flow well, Ballew gave the appearance of being interested in hearing radio station stories, but the longer the ride went on, the more T.M. wondered, yet again, where she fit in. 

Would the Addison family really understand that she genuinely cared about their younger brother? 

Or was she there in their eyes as Swatch’s friend, and did they see Swatch as Spamton's “real” partner, the way things had been when she met Ballew and Eos in January?

Well, the die was cast, and some moments of truth were about to be launched. Ballew announced if anyone needed the last pit stop before they got off what he called “the Hutch”, speak now or forever hold their peace, and that they were about twenty minutes from “home”.

T.M. opted for the bathroom break, just to clear her head.  

-----------

Swatch looked in the rear view mirror at one point and pretty much knew exactly what Moggy was thinking. She was second-guessing why she’d come, and how she was going to get through the weekend, zoot suits or no zoot suits.

They wondered whether it would actually come down to a judgement being made by any of the Addison siblings, about whether the two white partners made a "better" couple than Spamton and themself. Not to mention that, to all appearances, the white couple was a hetero male and a hetero female, both passing as normal and inoffensive. 

Swatch giggled to themself. If the last two weeks were anything to go by, normal was the LAST word they'd use to describe what Spamton had told them about Moggy's bedroom preferences.  

Swatch was just happy that Moggy had gone easy on them during their one night. And she'd assured them that she never pushed Spamton's boundaries. He set the limits. 

Teeth were definitely NOT in Swatch’s comfort zone, whether using them on someone else or getting teeth used on themself.

It explained some of the more... interesting... marks they’d seen on Spamton’s back in the mornings.

Ballew wasn’t narrow-minded, Swatch was certain, despite the stern demeanor Ballew wore like armor. The two office assistants Swatch had met at Addison Cybernetics were a dead giveaway. But accepting gender nonconformity in the workplace and supporting a poly relationship in one’s own family were different animals. They might have had their own personal twitchiness if Indigo and Catechu had both been dating Kendra, they had to admit to themself.

Eos Addison was still mostly an unknown quantity to Swatch, and Spamton had said that his eldest brother worked hard on his bit - being a chameleonic people-pleaser. But Spamton had also said that his eldest brother and he had had a long conversation about how Spamton loved both T.M. and Swatch, so there was at least one Addison, maybe two, onboard with the idea of a polycule in the family.

And why should a polycule of a cis bi guy, a cis bi girl, and a gay enby be harder to accept than a duo with any or all of those combos?

Unless it was because the people who might balk were the lesbians.

Swatch shook their head in frustration and tried to tune back into the conversation Moggy and Spamton were having in the backseat.  Probably best not to borrow trouble. Maybe everyone named Addison would be welcoming.

But having MET Saffron, Swatch wasn’t so sure.  And everything that both Saffron and Spamton had ever said about Sienna made her sound like a too-pure-for-this-world cinnamon roll.

An accusation that Swatch got thrown in their own direction more often than they liked to admit.

They were looking forward to the challenge of getting to know the Addison sister for who she really was.  If she’d let Swatch get to know her, that is.

The time for rumination was over. Ballew was turning the car into one of those mile-long driveways like the one at that other party last December.