Oz Spellman
April 04, 2022 2:49 AM
Talking about my brother. Definitely.
by Oz Spellman
Co-written With: Henry Spellman
OOC: CW - internalised homophobia.
Listed as a cowrite with Henry to give his author credit, though obviously the other POV is Monica's BIC:
The Christmas holidays weren’t going great, and it was all Oz’s fault. Mom and Henry were still totally normally people (yup—Henry, it turned out, was the “normal” one) whilst Oz was just… horrible. Perhaps that wasn’t a surprise. When he thought about it like that, it was entirely on brand. It was just so much worse than ever. Partly because he’d agreed he was gonna be nice now, and he wanted to be, he wanted so badly to be all the things Henry deserved in a brother, and partly because he was doing a worse job of hiding the fact that he really wasn’t okay. It was like he had turned into a big prickly ball of anger and sadness. Okay, he’d been one of those for a while, but now it kept being on the outside too. Except the sadness part embarrassed him, and his embarrassment embarrassed him, so he let them roll around under his skin, making him sharp and spiky, and where he’d been able to swallow it all down before, now it kept bursting out. He was snappy. He slammed doors. And sometimes when they were closed, he let himself cry. But all the feelings were tricks. None of them were real, because as soon as he was done exploding with feeling them, he regretted it, and went crawling back, puppy-eyed, to Mom and Henry.
Listed as a cowrite with Henry to give his author credit, though obviously the other POV is Monica's BIC:
Right now, Henry was in their room. Maybe practising guitar, or looking through his magic cards, but probably just avoiding Oz. He couldn’t say he blamed him. Mom was in the kitchen, “making” dinner and Oz was “helping.” The oven dish of fries and chicken nuggets was cooking itself. He was here because he was sorry, and because he wanted Mom time. She was currently flicking through Netflix calling out suggestions for an evening movie. Oz was trying not to shrug them off moodily. He’d been shrugging a lot of things off moodily, and he knew it, and the Henry Voice in his head kept telling him not to, but then every time someone asked him something, it was like that got drowned out in a wave not FREAKING knowing because everything was stupid and he didn’t know anything and he hated the sudden spotlight of someone wanting to know what he thought because everything he thought was crap. So, he’d shrugged Mom off when she’d tried to talk to him. So, now she wasn’t talking. She was giving him space. And wanted to scream at her to pay him some attention.
“Let Henry choose,” he said, with way more of a whine to his voice than he’d meant to. Maybe if he let Henry choose what they watched, then Oz would stop feeling so guilty. Or maybe Henry and Mom would get into it, and be a cozy, happy little bubble, with him the prickly sea monster on the outside. That was what it felt like when anyone else wasn’t as miserable as he was. “Sorry,” he mumbled, apologetic for his tone. “Mom?” he added, before she could say anything, and he lost his nerve. He still didn’t have the specifics to ask about any of the things that he was worrying about, but he went with the first general overview that came to mind. “Do you think I’m ever gonna stop being a horrible mess?”
Monica had zero intention of letting Henry pick what they were going to watch, in part because he was currently taking advantage of the boys’ empty room and napping. Beyond that, he was the more likely of her two boys to sit and watch television in his own time anyway so he got plenty of time to pick, and Oz seemed like he needed the chance to make the right decision and Monica was absolutely going to applaud whatever he picked. His quiet apology said more than enough and she made sure to fluff up the pillow on the couch next to her while he continued with a question, just in case he wanted to sit down. His question, however, hit home hard for her; it was the same thing she’d asked herself every day in the mirror for most of her adult life.
“Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re a horrible mess. I like you a lot. I’ve never been a forteen-year-old boy but it looks difficult. I think you’re doing a great job. Why do you think you’re a horrible mess?”
If she didn’t think he was a horrible mess, she was definitely wrong, and just—as Oz had suspected—didn’t understand at all. But before he could argue that he definitely was, she had asked a question. One that he suspected that was not the answer to…
“Because I am,” he tried anyway. He kicked a foot against the counter, feeling the inadequacy of his answer. “I don’t do a great job. I’m mean. I run my mouth. I make bad decisions. All the things you always tell me not to do…”
Monica cocked her head at Oz, listening intently and trying to pick apart what he was saying to get at what he was meaning. She had worked in customer service for long enough - way too long - to know that people who were upset were usually upset about something very different than what they were saying. You didn’t fill my water fast enough was often code for I miss my children, they haven’t spoken to me since they moved out or some such internal conflict. For Oz, Monica had the benefit of his transparency and knowing him well enough to have some context anyway. She tried to ignore the voice in the back of her head that reminded her she maybe didn’t know her boys that well anymore now that they spent most of the year away.
“Don’t do a great job of what?” she asked softly. “Do you think I’m a horrible mess because I’ve made mistakes in my life and don’t always do the right things? Don’t try to say I always do because we know that’s not true.”
“No!” he answered, when she started saying she was bad at stuff and made mistakes. That wasn’t true! Or, if it was true, it was different. A moment of worry flashed through his eyes, because he didn’t want to make his mom think she was doing a bad job. “And just… life,” he answered, giving up the monumental effort of maintaining some kind of body posture, and flopping his arms and head down onto the counter. He thought about all the bad things he was doing. The secrecy, the experimentation he’d been doing with Xavier, and how he wasn’t totally comfortable with a lot of it… All the stuff he couldn’t tell her, even if it was what was weighing on him most heavily. “I want to be kind but I usually just end up being stupid. Or loud. Or both.”
“I know I’m not a horrible mess,” Monica agreed, although she sounded a lot more confident than she actually was. “Mistakes, struggling, none of that makes someone a horrible mess. You’re just having a hard time and that’s alright. Anything I can help with?” she asked, tapping the seat next to her in a more obvious gesture for the sake of snuggles. “I don’t think you’re stupid, and I don’t think being loud is always a bad thing. Sometimes you’re loud because you’re standing up for Henry. And making mistakes doesn’t make you stupid, it just means you’re learning. I love those things about you.”
Life being a mess was different than him being a mess. It was a take. He was pretty sure it was actually possible for both to be true. All the stuff with Xavier being taken away from his family… That was the world being a mess. All the stuff he was doing with Xavier… That was him making complicated, weird, probably bad-but-maybe-good decisions. Decisions which were against the rules but which might be right. Which he hated for being so confusing. He slunk over to the couch, still not sure he deserved Mom snuggles but definitely wanting them. He settled in beside her, resting his head on her shoulder, wondering how she loved him so much even when he was snappy and horrid. She knew and had noticed that he stuck up for Henry though. That, more than anything else, made him feel like he could come over.
“I try,” he nodded. “I wanna look after him, and Xavier. And they, or the world, just makes it so fricking complicated!” He hesitated again. He had never told her about what was happening with Xavier’s family, because he didn’t want her to get scared that it might happen to him and Henry. He wasn’t sure whether he’d mentioned Xavier being gay. He was pretty sure he hadn’t, not because it was bad, but because it was awkward to talk about. Henry knew both things, and could have said something though. She knew Xav got migraines and wasn’t doing great in class because that was Mom-safe info to share. She also knew that Oz thought he was great, and that he was a good kid who would be a good influence. Ha. Funny how fast things changed. An image of Xav, eyes wide as saucers, staring at nothing danced through his brain. He searched for a part of it that she could actually help him with. “Henry hasn’t really talked to Iris since he took her to the ball. I hang out with Lorena sometimes, but with him… It’s like…nothing.” He darted a quick look at their bedroom door, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you think he’s gay?”
Monica wrapped her arms around her technically older son, offering as much squishy love as she could. She wasn’t the only Spellman with a tendency to withdraw from affection when she was feeling down on herself and self-isolation rarely actually helped anything. Her cheek was against his head when Oz dropped a question about his brother but he wouldn’t have seen any change in her expression even if he could’ve seen her face. She pulled back some to give a peek towards the door behind which Henry was sleeping and give Oz a moment to study her. For all he said that Henry was the studious one, he was also often the oblivious one; it was Oz who read people. He got that from Monica too, who was making the mental leaps to decide the best response to her son who had just come out to her without doing so at all.
At least. . . . she was pretty sure that was what had just happened. There was, of course, the chance that Henry had implied his own sexuality to his brother at some point over the course of the school year. It was another punch in the gut for Monica, who felt bad enough for not being able to see them all year as it was. Still, as much as she thought of Henry as a completely unsexual human, it was possible his peers didn’t and this was good to know. That being said, she doubted Oz would out his brother like that if he did know anything, and if anyone knew anything, it would be him. So, by her very quick, very emotional, very desperate logical leaps, Oz was asking because he wanted to know what she’d think of one of her boys being gay, and it was probably not Henry he was really thinking about.
“I’m not sure,” she said thoughtfully and softly. “Neither of you has ever told me if you were straight or gay or anything else, so I figure I’ll just find out when one of you introduces a boyfriend or girlfriend or something. What do you think? Any cute boys at Sonora?” she asked, wondering about Xavier.
“I don’t know,” Oz frowned. “I don’t look at boys like that. I’m straight!” he said emphatically, surprised that it needed saying. Just because they’d never told her… Why wouldn’t she assume that they were straight? That was normal.
“I mean, I’m usually interested in guys, but I could tell that Ms. Finkle was pretty cute,” she said with a shrug, not sure if she was ready to put a label on her own sexuality as she referenced the math teacher that had definitely sparked some sort of awakening in her prepubescent young students. It was sort of weird to think too much about how that worked but it was the way of things sometimes and every little kid had a crush on a teacher at some point. “It would be okay if you weren’t straight, you know. Or if you were mostly straight but still thought some boys were cute. Or whatever. There’s lots of different people. Does Henry spend a lot of time with any of the boys? You hang out with Xavier a lot, right?” She was pretty proud of herself for making that one circle back and promised herself a stiff drink when the boys went to bed.
“Because we’re friends,” Oz huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can hang out with him without it being gay! We’re talking about Henry. And I dunno. We’re in different houses.” The truth was probably that Henry didn’t. Henry didn’t hang out with anyone, and Oz spent all his time with Xavier, but that was because he was sociable and Henry was a little bookworm nerd. He wasn’t sure why Mom was turning that back on him like there was something wrong with him. Not that he would have thought of it that way if it had been Henry… And not that there was anything with him either. Xavier’s advances made him uncomfortable. Why hadn’t he just asked what to do about that? “Forget it. I was just wondering, but you don’t have to make a big deal out of it,” he muttered, flomping over the arm of the sofa.
Monica put a hand on Oz’ back and rubbed circles the way she’d done when the boys were babies - not enough arms to really hold them both comfortably, she’d often rubbed one of them while feeding the other and vice versa - and considered for a moment. Oz was getting defensive, which was a pretty good sign she was on to something. At the same time, he was hurting and scared and sad maybe.
“I meant ‘you’ plural,” she clarified softly. “I was wondering if you both hang out with Xavier still since his birthday party and if Henry and he have gotten close. I’m glad you guys are good friends,” she added, not wanting to dismiss that part. She took a deep breath and wondered whether this was the right moment to dive into a personal story or not. Probably not. But she didn’t really know what else to say in the moment.
“I was really good friends with this girl named Kate when I met your dad,” she said softly, remembering some fancy blonde hair she’d always been jealous of. “The three of us would always go out together and I always tried to watch and see how they interacted because I thought that she liked him. I was wondering if you maybe noticed that with Henry is all. Of course, in my case, it turned out Kate liked me, not your dad. I didn’t realize I liked her too until a lot later . . . “ Her voice trailed off softly as she wondered to herself whether she still had Kate’s number anywhere. “I was just wondering. I didn’t mean to upset you, Ozzy, I’m sorry,” she added, resisting the urge to lean over and pull him back into a hug.
Oz took a deep breath, resisting the urge to shrug his mom’s hand off his back. It would be yet another act of self-sabotage, because it felt nice. For a while, he was glad she was talking, he could just let the words roll over him. Except they stopped rolling. They stopped being smooth, pointless background info. Dad was mentioned, which was always one lump that needed swallowing, and then—
“You’re gay?” Oz asked, turning sharply to stare at her, his face a mixture of shock and confusion.
Okay so Monica had clearly not thought through her story very well and now she had to do some braining and braining wasn’t really her strong suit ever but especially now and ungh. She’d tried really hard to teach Oz and Henry both that it was always okay to ask for a moment to think if you needed it but this didn’t necessarily feel like the right moment to do that. Well, thinking on her feet was something she’d always prided herself on being able to do, if not necessarily well.
“Kind of?” she said with a tone that said a lot of it wasn’t clear to her either. “Obviously you two are here because I do like guys,” she began, immediately deciding that was probably not something her son wanted to think about. “But I’ve had girlfriends and stuff. I’m not sure. Maybe bi?” Great adulting, Monica, really making this look easy. “I’ve never really felt the need to put a label on it honestly. I am who I am and that’s just fine.” She was also a mess, which was less fine, but that wasn’t something she needed to think about right now either. Confidence!
Oz really wanted to say ‘Ew!’ and ‘Gross!’ He was pretty sure his face was saying that. Not because Mom had gone out with girls, but because Mom was talking about going out with anyone and she was a Mom. He kinda knew she’d had to have done the dirty with someone (nominally referred to as ‘dad’ for ease, but like… not really) for him and Henry to exist, but like… they didn’t have to talk about it. How had this happened?? How??? He had tried to make it about Henry, and it had ended up being about him, and now about Mom.
“Uh… yeah. That’s fine,” he echoed, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. And because she was already apologising for upsetting him and everything, and he hated making her feel bad. “And I’m not upset.”
Monica wasn’t really sure what to say. She was pretty sure parenting classes should’ve been mandatory for parents but also that they wouldn’t have included this sort of thing anyway. She had half a mind to pretend to drop something and hopefully wake Henry up but that seemed irresponsible. She managed a smirk, Oz’ face showing he was totally clearly not upset at all - just thoroughly grossed out - and cocked her head at him.
“I like talking to you. I miss you when you’re at school,” she admitted softly. “Sometimes I think that I’m maybe not very good at understanding what you’re saying, but I try. Thanks for giving me a chance, buddy. I love you lots.”
What the heck? Why was she thanking him when he was being a brat? He hadn’t done anything right or good or nice, this whole conversation. He’d made Henry into his decoy (not that she knew that—right??). He’d been snappy… He wasn’t proud of any of his behaviour. He felt gross, too gross to be around other people. But he would never leave her hanging.
“Yeah, I love you too.” He muttered it a little quickly, every inch the embarrassed teen, except it wasn’t her he was embarrassed of, it was him. He just… sucked. He gave her a quick squeeze. “I’m gonna check on dinner,” he said, both to be responsible and kind, but also to get away from this conversation.
He crouched by the oven, thinking through all the half truths he’d considered telling about Xavier, and what he was up to. Given how badly that had gone, he definitely wasn’t going there any time soon.
13
Oz Spellman
Talking about my brother. Definitely.
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Henry Spellman