Meet the Sharpes

THE SUBURBS OF DOMINION, LOUISIANA

“Hey, you.” Maxim mused. “I’ll be home in a few. You need anything?”

A large slice perforated the silence. Maxim listened as his husband, Antwan, diced his vegetable. He listened to Antwan’s slow, practiced breaths and waited.

“I’m good, man. Just bring that ass home. I got plans for it.” Antwan commanded.

“Where else would I go, Ant?” he teased.

“You tell me. You’re the international man of mystery. You could have a double life I know nothing about.” Antwan chided.

“You know everything about me, and you still think so little of me, husband. All of that is the past—our past.” said Maxim.

“Whatever you say, bro.” Antwan dismissed. “How far?”

Maxim mashed the button on his visor and the garage door, tiled in a row of dark wooden planks, welcomed him home. The garage beyond lay strewn with vibrant bikes and two miniature replicas of a mustang. His own black mustang rolled over a cascade of loose Legos, and he made a mental note to talk to his husband about clean up time. The Mustang’s headlights shined on a sprawling mural with the family name in wide, looping strokes. The assortment of ostentatious colors was a testament of contrast to the lives they left behind and Maxim winked at the mural.

He climbed out of the car with his gym bag and briefcase wrangled in one hand. Maxim produced a nerf handgun from the pocket of his track jacket and crept inside. He crept through a set of narrow double doors and removed his shoes. He noiselessly placed them in a cubby hole next to a pair of bright pink Skechers and their lights burst into a chasing dance. Maxim sighed. He reached back and turned the copper lock until it clocked. He inched into the laundry and peered through a crack in the door. The house beyond lay dark. Maxim listened for the refrigerator’s familiar hum or the occasional knock of the dryer but heard nothing. He pressed the button for the spin cycle and the machine lay dormant. His smile widened.

Antwan was hiding somewhere in the house with his own nerf shotgun pointed at Maxim’s chest and the thought quickened his breath. This was their game. Their fun in the new life with which they were blessed. His husband, the sleepless shadow, was born for the shadows and Maxim knew his husband’s searching eyes were on him. He slipped into the kitchen and a dull pang struck him between the eyes.

“Gotcha.” Antwan called.

The house whirred to life. His husband, Antwan, sat cross-legged under a sturdy coffee table with his eye pressed to the scope of a bright orange shotgun. He mashed another button on a remote and an automatic voice told them their alarm system was armed. Maxim helped him to his feet and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Good evening, Mr. Sharpe.” he breathed.

Antwan’s smile intersected with Maxim’s lips, and he fell into giggles when Maxim attacked his cheek with a barrage of kisses.

“I thought you were trying miss the fun.” Antwan quipped.

“I told you I was on they, man. Be easy with all that.” he said.

Antwan turned to him. Maxim let his husband’s husky waist glide through his hands until they stood face to face. He planted a kiss on Antwan’s forehead and then moved down to his nose to place another. He placed one final kiss on his husband’s lips and Antwan sighed.

“Good evening, Mr. Sharpe.” Antwan mused.

“That’s more like it.” Maxim smiled. “The kids?”

“With Berry.”

Antwan beamed up at him. Maxim returned his megawatt smile with mock accusation. He pulled back and shook his head until his locs—corralled into a low ponytail—smacked against his cheeks.

“Nigga, you left our kids with Berry. Our Berry?!”

“What? It is not the first time she watched the kids. She’s a good babysitter and she doesn’t mind. Everybody wins.” Antwan explained.

“Aight, man. When your kids come forward rolling through the doggy door with a Glock holstered to their thighs, you’ll see.” Maxim chided.

“Shush.” Antwan said. “Go shower so we can eat and...”

He slid his hand to Maxim’s crotch and squeezed. Maxim’s eyes glittered and he licked his lips as he slowly backed away.

“Don’t move.” he said. “I mean, move around so you can finish cooking but don’t move—you know what I mean!”

Maxim bounded up the stairs two at a time. He ripped through the layers of his blue tracksuit and let his brown headphones fall at the top of the stairs. He dashed across their plush mattress top and into their bathroom.

He stood under the scalding water and lathered his body. He unleashed a string of melodious hums and rinsed for good measure. He enjoyed the echo of his and it bounced off the beige stone of their bathroom, but tonight, his echo was distorted. He heard an unfamiliar buzz tucked under the third ring of his baritone voice and he fell silent.

Maxim shut off the water and ran his fingers along the shower head. The sound grew louder, and Maxim popped the front cap off. He tipped into his hand a small plastic microphone in translucent casing and his breath caught. He moved out of the shower and into his side of a shared closet. Maxim dabbed at the sopping water he tracked onto their cream carpet and jammed his legs through a pair of jeans. He pulled on a black t-shirt and stowed the microphone in the right coin pocket of his slim fitted jeans. Maxim instinctively reached for his gun.

He hesitated. His training overrode his good sense, but to go downstairs with the microphone and no way to defend himself was not smart. He tucked his gun in the waist band of his jeans and sidled down the wooden stairs.

“Ant?” he called. “Baby, I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah?” Antwan called.

Maxim tipped across the hardwood floor and into the dining room where Antwan was sitting at the end of a modern wooden table. Antwan’s smile faded when he read Maxim’s expression.

“What’s going on?” Antwan breathed.

“Baby,” Maxim said. “I’m going to show you something. I just found it in our bathroom. I promise I had no idea about it until just now.”

His husband’s expression darkened. He dropped his hands beneath the table and Maxim knew his husband just curled his fingers around a sidearm fastened to the underside of their stately dining table.

He pulled the small listening device from his pocket and set the microphone next to a small porcelain serving bowl in the middle of the dining table. Antwan’s eyes widened. He jumped back from the table and produced his gun.

Maxim’s eyes stung as he produced his gun, and his heart sank as he looked into his husband eyes.