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The Larkin clan of Upper New York seemed an unusual bunch, but they were closer than most.
The Head of the family, Medda Larkin, was a retired Bowery singer who never saw herself as a mother, but that changed after…
After Jack.
She had come home one night to find her door ajar and lights coming from her kitchen. She had grabbed the bat by her door and creeped in, expecting a predator and instead found a boy who couldn’t have been older than 9. He was gorging himself on any food he could get his hands on, and froze the moment he saw her.
After putting down the bat and swearing up and down he wasn’t in trouble, she managed to calm him enough to sit him down. It took a plate of warm food and a moment of silence, but the boy started talking: a few tears fell steadily down his voice, but his voice never wavered once. She knew right then and there that this boy had seen far more than a child his age should ever see.
He said his name was John Francis Sullivan Kelly, and he said this kinda slow as if he had practiced it, but his momma called him Jack. When she asked where his mother was, he had responded with “In the cemetery.” Without any prompting, he answered the unasked question: He had been in and out of foster homes for the past year. His last foster family had struck him one too many times and he had run: Medda’s window had been open and he had been starving.
Two plates later, Jack looked at Medda with wide eyes when she led him to the extra bedroom.
“You’s ain’t kicking me out?” He had asked.
“You aren’t,” she corrected before she could stop herself, grabbing a sheet out of the closet and placing it over the bed. “And no, I’m not.”
A silence descended over them before Jack glanced around the room. “I’ve never had one.”
She grabbed a pillow for him. “A room to yourself?”
“A bed.”
When she left the room, she found herself holding back tears.
The next morning, when she was calling social services, she stood in the doorway, watching the boy in her guest bed. He looked so peaceful, and her heart broke for this boy who had withstood too much. Medda knew she couldn’t risk sending him back to a home where he wasn’t going to be loved.
The decision to fight for him hadn’t even been a choice.
A year afterwards, formal adoption papers were presented to her and she had signed them in a heartbeat, and a year after that the two packed up and moved to the suburbs.She retired from performing, opting to manage the theatre, and settled into her new peaceful life with her son.
Months later, the same social worker that had been assigned to Jack, a young woman named Hannah, had come to her one night. There was a boy, she had explained, around Jack’s age that couldn’t seem to stay in a home for longer than a month.
Foster families had too little patience for him and Hannah asked if he could be placed with Medda for a few days. Just until she could find a family to take him in. Her and Jack didn’t hesitate to take the boy in, but when Hannah came back, Medda firmly told her “He has a home now. With me. He’s staying.”
This became the case again and again, and within 2 years of leaving New York City, Medda found herself the proud mother of 4 young boys.
Jack, now her oldest, took great pride in being an older brother and vowed to protect the new Larkin boys with his life. At times, it felt as if Jack was raising them right alongside Medda. As they all grew older though, he devoted less time to parenting and more time to his own passions. He was a good athlete, was the star quarterback on his school team, and played baseball during the summer with his brothers on the community team. But that boy had a natural aptitude for art, whether it be charcoal drawings or paintings, and Medda encouraged him to go to an arts school after highschool. Medda even commissioned him from time to time to paint the backdrops for her theatre. There wasn’t a single painting that boy had done that wasn’t hung either in their home or in her office.
Albert was her third oldest and the second son she adopted. He was a fiery redhead, a little Irish punk, with a problem with authority. There were very few law enforcement agencies he hadn’t crossed paths with. Oh but Albert had never been smart with her, had known better from the very first night he stayed. She had managed to find an outlet for his anger, and now the boy wrote when he wasn't playing football alongside Jack. He wrote so much that Medda had been buying new composition notebooks every few weeks. His 16th birthday present had been a laptop and now he rarely left the house without it, in case inspiration hit him in the middle of a bus ride or class. What he wrote was good, real good, and she reckoned he would become a published author one day.
Romeo was her youngest boy. Lord, Medda knew from the beginning that little boy would never grow much past 5 feet, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in personality. Much like his name suggested, her Romeo was a hopeless romantic. Medda couldn’t count how many classic books the boy bought, how many times he had come home from school talking about a girl he met and saying she was ‘The One.’ Theatre had been his calling, and the entire Larkin clan had cheered ( a little too much and obnoxiously if she was honest) when he played his namesake in the school production. She only hoped that he found true love and didn’t get his heart broken in the process.
And Anthony. Oh Anthony.
Anthony had been the latest addition to the Larkin family, even though he was the second oldest. His upbringing had been different from her other boys for the simple fact that when he came to her, he didn’t speak much English. He was an Italian boy, one who’s mother passed and whose father died in a factory accident. Anthony had been placed with her after four different families passed him up and it had made him distrustful of any new families. He was cautious with them, had even run once, but when her and the boys started taking Italian lessons to better communicate with him, Anthony realized they did care for him. The boy’s trust in her grew in the first few months, and had even asked shyly if he could take a ballet class his school was offering. Medda knew immediately that the boy had a gift, she didn’t hesitate in putting him in a dance studio. When he got to junior high, he also soared on the track team, and the nickname Racetrack was donned. Race had a few habits Medda didn't like, swearing and gambling (she also knew the boy was smoking, but that was a conversation for another time), but she knew he was a good boy.
Medda Larkin was so proud of her boys, and loved all of them so much. Yes, the Larkin clan was an unusual gang, but really, they had each other and what else did they need?
Well, no. That wasn’t the complete truth.
Racer had Sean Conlon.
The Conlon family had moved in next door when the boys were still young, and their son Sean had taken to her boys like a fish to water. But it was Race he was closest too.
Ever since those two were 13 years old, Medda was sure they’d grow to be more than friends and would come forward about it on their time. It was astounding to see how those boys, who couldn’t be more different from one another, were so perfect for each other.
Sean was a reserved boy, didn’t use many words, had a few temperamental issues, and was only a few inches taller than Romeo. He was the polar opposite of her son, whose mouth and mind ran a mile a minute, had more “crackhead energy” ( she wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but Albert assured her that Race had it) than any other emotion, and was a full head taller than Sean.
The moment she saw those two climb down from the treehouse in Medda’s backyard, Sean with a limp he passed off a football injury that Medda knew for a fact wasn’t there earlier that afternoon, and Race with a shit-eating grin, she knew she had to talk with him.
She had been a teenager once. She knew what purposes a treehouse could serve. And Racer wasn't as quiet in sneaking Spot in at night as he thought he was.
Lord, Medda had given a sex talk with each of her boys when they turned 14, but she reckoned she was gonna have to have a different talk with Race entirely.
Because, it wasn’t only sex.
Medda saw the way they looked at each other, how they lit up in each other’s presence. Had seen from the kitchen window how they kissed each other goodbye at night, had even seen them swaying in each other's arms outside late at night when the rest of the world was asleep, to music only they could hear.
No, it wasn’t only sex: those two were in love.
“Anthony, could you help me with the dishes?”
The blond’s head popped up at the sound of his name, and subsequently got a spoonful of ice-cream to the face. It was dinnertime with the Larkins, which they always had together at the kitchen table, which meant food fights were going to break out no matter how hard she tried otherwise. Race lunged across the table to smack Albert, who only howled with laughter, before looking up at her. “Yes, mama!”
Tsking and throwing a dish rag at him so he could wipe his face, Medda turned to grab her wallet off the counter. “Jack, sugar,” she said, because she knew he was about to ask if she needed help (that was just the kind of boy he was, the sweet thing.) “Could you take your brothers to the store? You boys can grab whatever snacks you want for movie night tomorrow.”
Movie night was a monthly tradition in the Larkin household, one the boys loved to no avail, so it was no surprise that Romeo and Albert let out a cheer while Jack nodded with a bright smile on his face. Race let out a noise of disbelief at being the one left behind to do chores but one pointed look from Medda set him straight (she gave the same one to her younger two when they started snickering.)
The three made their way out, Romeo and Albert shoving and pushing past each other to see who could ride shotgun, and Medda turned to her son.
“Anthony, how’s about we sit down for a minute?”
Lord that was the quickest way to scare a teenage boy.
Flashing her a look of unease, Race sat down and Medda followed suit.
"Is everything alright Mama?" He asked, and she grabbed his hand.
"Don't you worry, baby," she said, which is what she always said to calm her boys. “Nothing’s wrong, but we do need to talk about something.”
She looked to the ceiling because, Lord, she had no idea how to even start this conversation.
“Racer… do you remember when we talked about the birds and the bees?”
She had never seen a white boy turn so red so quickly.
“Y-Yes, Mama.” He wasn’t looking her in the eye, and she just knew this conversation wasn’t off to a good start.
“Baby, that talk wasn’t just about sex: It was, but it was also about you trusting your partner and being safe with them.”
Race nodded, as if by just agreeing with her, the conversation would end quickly.
Medda took in a breath, placing a hand on his cheek.
“Anthony… are you and Sean being safe?”
He jolted back so harshly, there was a possibility he would have fallen off his chair had she not been holding onto him.
"What?"
Tears sprang up in his eyes immediately, and a deep pain in her chest fought its way up. She was reminded of the little Italian boy who had been brought to her, with those same tears in his eyes. Medda had vowed she'd never make Anthony cry like that again.
"Anthony--"
"Mama, I don't know what you're talking about."
Medda fixed that boy with a look, because they both knew that was a lie, and he hung his head. Out of all her boys, Race had always had the guiltiest conscience: they always came clean if they did lie to her (which was rare), but Race felt worse about it.
Before she could get a word out, the tears in his eyes spilled over and his shoulders shook.
"Mama, I’m sorry I never told you, I j-just --”
His sentence was cut off by another set of sobs, and Medda didn’t hesitate in taking that boy in her arms, and he melted into her. His body was trembling something awful, and he buried his face in her shoulder. Her hand came up to smooth down his curls, and the other one ran circles on his back.
"Baby, when have I ever led you to believe I mind who you love?"
The words brought out another heart-wrenching sob and she hugged him tighter.
“I-I don’t know,” he said in between breaths. “I just don’t know, Mama.”
After a few moments of calming her boy down for Racer, Medda pressed a kiss to his head. “Racer, how’s about I make us some tea?”
While Medda never chose favorites, she did have individual things with each of her boys. With Race, it was drinking tea, something her other boys couldn’t stand. They needed to just sit and talk for a bit and a cup of tea would calm the conversation. She got up to prepare it, but also to let Race have a moment to ground himself. At the counter, she sent Jack a message and without giving too much away, told him to take his brothers to a movie. She needed to spend time with Anthony alone.
“So you’re…?”
Medda had her suspicions, but she knew Race would need to tell her himself. The last thing Medda wanted was to pressure a label on him.
“Gay,” he said, and she noticed how his shoulders relaxed the moment the word came out. “I’m gay, Momma.”
He smiled softly and Medda left out a soft “oh” as she reached over to smooth down one of his curls and pinch his cheek like she hadn’t since he was a child. “When did you know, baby?”
Anthony shrugged, taking a sip of his tea and wiping a stray tear away. “Always? I don’t know, I remember thinking boys were pretty when I was still in 1st or 2nd grade. People were going around on the playground getting ‘married’ by the slide, and I didn’t get why I wasn’t allowed to marry a boy. I didn’t even realize why it was wrong until the next year.”
Doing some quick math, she realized that her boy had been hiding a part of himself for the past 15 years.
“Baby, there is nothing wrong with it.”
Race flushed a deep red, letting out a small noise that made it clear to Medda he’d been longing to hear those words. “I know that now, Momma.”
And so they talked.
Time blurred together until they didn’t know if it had been 10 minutes or two hours. They talked about everything and anything, but Medda still knew they had to talk about the elephant in the room.
“Racer, if I ask you something, will you promise to answer me honestly?”
He nodded, a serious look she didn’t see often on his face. “Of course, Momma. Anything.”
“When did you lose your virginity?”
The suddenness of the question made Race choke on his next sip of tea, and it took him a few moments to pull himself together.
“...about 3 months ago?”
Medda furrowed her brow. “You aren’t sure?”
Race flushed a deep scarlet but he did manage to look her in the eyes this time. “N-No, I’m sure.” He ran a hand through his hair, took in a deep breath before continuing. “I mean, we talked about it and he said we should wait until we both turned 18, but then him and Jack won state and everyone’s adrenaline was up and that night…” He trailed off, biting his lower lip.
“ ‘He’ being Sean?”
Racer nodded slowly, looking down for a second before meeting her eyes again. “He’s not out yet, Momma.”
The unasked plead was clear.
Don’t out him, please. Don’t tell his parents.
“Don’t you worry anything about that, Tony,” Medda assured him, squeezing his hand. “Sean will tell his folks when he’s ready; I won’t do that for him.”
His shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you, Momma.”
“You boys are being safe, right?” She asked and Race once again had trouble looking her in the eye. “Condoms? Lube?”
At the word ‘lube’, Race’s face turned a bright shade of red.
“C-Condoms, yeah,” he confessed, biting his knuckles. “We, uh, came to a mutual agreement to not use lube a few weeks ago.”
“Baby, why on God’s Earth are you two not using lubricant?” She asked, more than a little concerned. Frankly, she knew next-to-nothing about gay intercourse, but even she knew that lubricant made the process easier and less painful.
“Well, uh, we, well I, er kinda found out, uh, that I--”
She lifted a single eyebrow, cutting him off. “Anthony just go ahead and say it.”
“Momma I’d rather not.”
“ Antonio Luca Giovanni Higgins Larkin. ”
“I like getting fucked bareback.”
Medda blinked.
Race blinked back.
“Well um,” Medda said, clearing her throat and at a loss for words (something very rare for her). She didn’t know exactly what bareback meant, but she had enough of an idea. His vulgarity didn’t even register in her mind. “I didn’t need to know that much.”
“You asked!” Race cried out, near-about slamming his head down on the table. He muttered something into it that sounded suspiciously like “fuck my life”, but she let it slide. Just this once.
“Ok, Anthony, just one more question,” a groan of relief, “and we’ll be done.
“Do you love him?”
Anthony’s head shot up so quickly, Medda thought it was a miracle he didn’t get whiplash. “What?”
“Do you love him?” She said, enunciating each word, cocking her head to the side a little.
“W-What? No!” Race blurted out. “I mean, yeah , I love him in the sense that he’s my best friend, and dating him has been the most fun I’ve had in years and being with him makes me happy and just seeing him smile makes me feel like the sun is literally shining on me and I don’t know how I got so lucky to finally be with him after so many years and - oh my God.”
Medda smiled as her son babbled himself to the realization that he was in love with his childhood best friend.
“Oh my God. I’m in love with Spot.”
He let out a laugh, a shocked one that he probably hadn’t meant to make, coming up to cover his mouth. “ Holy shit.”
Ok, she’d let his vulgarity slip twice.
Medda was watching her baby fall in love before her eyes and how could she begrudge him that moment?
“Race…” She said quietly. “I think you better call that boy over here and tell him.”
His face lit up, and he down-right leaped out of his chair and lunged forward to throw his arms around her.
“I love you, Momma.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth, he pulled back and raced upstairs to where his phone likely laid.
Medda wiped at the tears in the corners of her eye and got up, clearing the table. Her boys were growing up and it hurt to see, but as long as she was there to help them, she knew they'd be alright.
Not even 5 minutes later, the door opened and her other boys came waltzing in, loudly discussing plot points in the movie they had just seen, swinging the bags of snacks at one another.
“Hi, Mama,” Jack greeted, making his way over to her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Is Anthony ok?”
Ever the parent, Medda thought to herself with a small smile on her face. “He’s fine, baby. Thank you for taking your brothers out.”
Footfall on the stairs grabbed everyone’s attention and the Larkin family watched as Race rushed down the stairs and out the back door with a wave of “hello and goodbye” thrown over his shoulder and a huge smile on his face.
“Where’s he going?” Albert wondered aloud and Romeo said something too low for Medda to understand. Even Jack was watching after him with a look of confusion.
“I’m heading up to bed, boys.” Medda said, motioning for her younger boys to give her a hug. Making sure to kiss all them goodnight (one could never be too old to kiss their mother goodnight.) Medda headed up the stairs, and couldn’t help but laugh to herself when her boys wondered aloud:
“Hey, why aren’t the dishes washed?”
“You’re not shitting me, Racer?”
“No! God no!” He said, a startled laugh coming out of him. He moved forward, placing his hands on either side of the boy’s face, watching as his eyes widened. “Sean Conlon, I am madly, crazily, fiercely, irrevocably in love with you.”
Spot looked at him like he was fucking crazy.
Race’s smile dropped, and he pulled away. “Shit. Shit, did I say it too early? Was I not supposed to tell you? Fuck, Spot, I-I’m sorry I--”
His nervous rambling was cut off by the literal wind being knocked out of him as he was damn near tackled to the floor of the treehouse, Spot on top of him, kissing him like the world depended on it.
A nervous squeak escaped Race, but the second he realized he hadn’t ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him, he placed his hands back on Spot’s face and kissed him back even harder.
The two were panting when they broke apart, and Spot clung onto him as if terrified of losing him.
“Anthony I have been wanting to hear you say that since we were 10. I’ve loved you since we met and I won’t stop until I’m 6 feet under.”
Race couldn’t help it: he laughed. He laughed and laughed until he was sobbing, a mess of sobs and laughter as he was pulled into the boy he loved arms, and they kissed again, laughing and sobbing together.
Before he could even comprehend what was going on, he was in Spot’s lap and fingers began to search out the bottom of their shirts like they had been doing for months. It was second nature for Race to pull Spot’s shirt up and over his head, even if they had to break apart for him to do it. Race tried to pull Spot back into their kiss, but he had other plans: he leaned forward, lips seeking out Race’s neck and hands landing on his thighs. Race threw his head back in pleasure, unknowingly grabbing at Spot’s hair and gaining a moan because of it.
“ Fuck,” Spot said into his skin, his fingers digging into his fingers so hard it would leave marks for Race to admire in the morning. “ Please tell me we still have condoms hidden up here?"
Race nodded, pulling Spot off his neck in order to bring him into a searing kiss.
“I love you,” Race whispered against Spot’s lips, because he was finally able to and he wasn’t going to go another day without saying it. Race had gone 8 years without telling Spot how he felt, even if he hadn’t been aware of his feelings himself, and he was never going to do that again.
“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you--”
“Boys!”
The two broke apart so quickly, Race fell flat on his ass and let out a yelp of pain.
“Anthony, put your damn shirt on and come down here!”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck--” Race chanted under his breath as he hurriedly threw his shirt back on.
He stuck his head out the window, and immediately ducked to avoid the bag thrown at him. A second bag was launched at him and it was only by miracle that he caught them. Looking at them, he saw they were sleeping bags.
“Sean, honey!” His mother called up, and Race could hear Spot’s sharp intake of breath. “Feel free to spend the night!”
Race ducked back into the treehouse to show Spot what his mother had thrown up to them and to put them down.
“T-Thank you, Miss Medda,” he called back. “I will!”
“Goodnight, boys!” She called, and both boys let out a sigh of relief.
“Jesus, that was close,” Spot sighed out, and it hit Race that he hadn’t told him that his mom knew about them.
“Um, actually Spot--”
“ And boys, use fucking lube!”
Spot’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, freezing in an instant.
“Racer,” he said, deadly calm. “What the actual fuck?”
He gave him a shy smile, reaching over to press a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”
Race was aiming for a laugh out of Spot and he got one, even if it was a small one. “ You are going to be the death of me, Higgins.”
Spot leaned in for a kiss and Race gladly reciprocated, smiling into it as their clothes once again were thrown to the floor and he followed.
The night hadn’t started well for Race, sobbing into his mother’s arm as he came out to her, but now as he laid beneath his love, their mouths and fingers finding ways to show their love for one another when their words couldn’t, he found that he didn’t care at all how the night started because it ended with him falling asleep in the arms of the man he loved after hours of professing their love for each other under the stars.
And they hadn’t even bothered with lube.