Eric the Pink

Chapter 2-2

The house was Erik’s pride and joy.

It wasn’t some sprawling farm in the Spanish mountains, or a luxurious villa on the picturesque Spanish coast, but Erik had never lived there. He’d grown up in care homes and foster placements, dragged up in place after place after place. He’d always been too stupid, too big, too ugly, too loud, too old. Only one placement in his entire childhood had ever come close to being a real home, with Auntie Ellen, but then she’d had her stroke, and he’d been sent right back into care. And after that, it had been a waiting game until they kicked him out of the home, and into the world, all on his own.

So when other kids at school had been wanting to join the army or learn to weld, Erik had wanted to buy a house, get married, and have a family. Whatever he did, whatever he became, they had been the things he’d needed.

So their little house wasn’t much—but it was everything to Erik.

It was just a little terraced house, squashed into a whole street of them, but it was graced with a long thin garden at the back, and two bedrooms instead of the typical one around here. When Andreas had moved in, the windows had become adorned with glass charms and the vegetable garden bracketed by enormous climbing plants with vibrant red flowers, jutting out of the fence like trumpets.

That had been two years ago. And now Erik was bringing a whole new person home.

Not that the new person seemed to be interested. She’d slept all the way home in the taxi, and stirred with a despairing, hiccuping sort of wail when the taxi had rolled down off the main road and into the potholed terror of their street. Andreas had had her out of the car seat, blanket and all, and was shushing her against his shoulder before Erik even really registered that she was crying.

“First sprog?” the cabbie asked pointedly, and Erik jumped.

“Sorry. Yeah. That obvious?”

“Just a bit, pal.”

Erik flushed as red as his hair, but grinned anyway. So what if he was acting like a fool? He’d managed to snag a brilliant boyfriend, and now he had a gorgeous baby girl to complete the set. Other folks were just jealous.

Andreas stood patiently by the door, cuddling a now quiet Beatriz to his chest like he’d been born to heft babies around. Erik kissed him quickly before unlocking the door and shepherding his new family inside, heart bursting as the rainbows from the glass wind chime hanging in the hall window splayed across Beatriz’s blanket and little hat in ribbons of wild colours.

And then he just sort of…stood there. Empty car seat in one hand, keys in the other. Just stood and stared.

“Er.”

“What?” Andreas asked.

“What now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…what do we do now?”

“Given that Madam seems to think sleeping on me is the best thing ever, I’m going to sit down somewhere and try and align our sleep schedules a bit.”

Erik brightened, setting the car seat down. “Okay. So—put your feet up, both of you, and I can fetch and carry?”

Andreas’ mouth quirked up at one corner. “I suppose.”

“Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate? Real chocolate? Ice cream?”

“Hot chocolate. The real kind,” he added snottily, “not your s**t instant.”

“Andreas!”

“What?”

“You can’t swear now,” Erik said primly.

Andreas snorted. “Oh please. With Jo for an auntie, her first word is going to be f**k anyway.”

He wandered off into the living room, leaving Erik to argue with thin air. Erik snorted, but ducked into the tiny galley-style kitchen to rustle up pans and Andreas’ beloved hot chocolate, Spanish style. He acted like instant powder was an obscenity, and only the finest dark chocolate would do. Erik had to admit the stuff was nice…but Christ, if it wasn’t diabetes in a cup.

By the time Erik made his way into the living room with a stack of biscuits, a mug of tea, and a cup of the beloved hot chocolate, Andreas had settled into the armchair, feet up on the stool and Beatriz held in the crook of his arm, supported by a stack of cushions. Erik tucked her blanket more securely around the wriggly little limbs, and she hiccuped gently.

“Thanks,” Andreas murmured as he took the cup with his free hand. He looked knackered, and Erik said so. “I am. Think I’ll have a nap with Little Miss Loudmouth here.”

“Don’t you listen to your grumpy old man, you’re gorgeous,” Erik told the baby, very seriously. She fixed him with a distinctly unimpressed stare, and he laughed. “Oh my God, she’s got your attitude.”

“Heaven help us,” Andreas drawled.

“So.” Erik dragged up the beanbag to sit by the chair and admire his new baby from a safe distance. “I made fifty percent of that.”

“You got off in a strategic location. I did the rest of it.”

“Yeah, but she’s fifty percent me.”

“I’m sure she’ll manage, despite the disadvantage.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “Will your nap make you nicer?”

“Try me again in a month, when the sensation of trying to shove a beach ball out of my v****a has eased somewhat.”

Erik grimaced.

“She’ll be the only one, Erik.”

The declaration was quiet, gentle, but firm. And Erik nodded.

“I know.”

He reached out to trace a tiny fingernail.

“I’d love for her not to be an only child,” he said, “and maybe when she’s older we can talk about adopting another one or two. Or we can talk about surrogacy again, if we want her to have some blood siblings. But the way you struggled with—with everything, I don’t want to see that again. I don’t want to see you like that again.”

“I can’t do it again. It’s not even that I don’t want to. I can’t.”

He almost hadn’t. Andreas had never much struggled with being effeminate, but being female was something else entirely. And the unmistakable transformation of his tight, carefully controlled body into the lush, full figure of a pregnant woman, had been unbearable for him. As much as Erik adored every speck of the little soul they’d made together, he had to admit it.

“I don’t want to see you like that again.”

He glanced up, and Andreas smiled.

“C’mere.”

Erik leaned up. Beatriz stirred sleepily as Andreas bent forward, and mewled between them as a soft kiss was pressed against the bridge of Erik’s nose.

“Love you.”

Erik smiled. “Te amo.”

“Urgh, not sure why I love you, though. Te quiero. Honestly.”

Erik chuckled, shuffling down the bag to tug Andreas’ socks off by the toes. “How about now?” he asked as he rubbed his thumbs into the tired arch of the left foot, and a breathy sigh was his reply.

Erik had never been very good at massages, but Andreas had haughtily informed him that it was necessary for keeping gorgeous specimens like Andreas around. Erik would never admit it aloud—even though Andreas plainly knew—but that arrogant supremacy turned him on like crazy. He was mad enough to like high-maintenance, even though Andreas’ supposed high maintenance was mostly for show. He liked shiny things, but glass worked just as well as diamonds. He liked a massage, but didn’t see much of a difference between home-grown and spa-bought.

Best kind of high-maintenance, in Erik’s opinion. Made him work for it, but didn’t give him money worries.

He ended up massaging Andreas right to sleep, although that might have been the armchair after a couple of nights in a hospital bed. Once Andreas had joined their daughter in the land of nod, Erik edged out of the room, and snuck upstairs. A blanket came down off their bed, and he draped it carefully over his partner’s legs, tucking it just shy of Beatriz’s cushion nest. He considered trying to move her into her cot, but decided he wasn’t good enough to move her without waking her up and making her cry.

So instead, he found his phone, and took a photo.

Everyone’s home, safe and sound. Say hello to our beautiful little Beatriz!

He sent it round their friends—then sank down onto the sofa to watch his little family, and feel the world click into place around him.