by F. T. Lukens
His dad tried a smile, but it fell, and he tried again, plastering on something as fake and as forced as Bridger’s had been a few minutes earlier. He didn’t look at Bridger at all, didn’t raise his gaze from the newspaper on the table. When he did, he stared off in the distance, at the kitchen wall and the wooden rooster where the rarely used spatulas dangled.
“It’s late,” he finally said. “I have to go. We’ll do this another time.”
Bridger bit his lip. “Are you sure?” Is avoidance the way they’d play this? Would his dad just disappear again? The way he had ten years ago? Was this it? Or would there be a delayed conversation like the one he’d had with his mom? Did he need a minute to process?
“Yeah, Bud. I’m sure.”
“It’s not that late.”
“It is.” He shook his head. “Maybe next time you’ll be on time.”
It was a verbal slap. “Yeah. Okay.”
His dad didn’t acknowledge him when he left, merely walked out of the kitchen. The front door opened, slammed, and Bridger was left alone, holding his phone, standing at the kitchen table.
Like a zombie, he pulled out a chair and sank into it.
His mind was blank. His thoughts blissfully void, he flipped his phone in his shaking fingers as he replayed the last few minutes over and over again in his head. Strangely hollow, he didn’t know how long he sat there. It could’ve been an hour. It could’ve been forever. He didn’t wake from his daze until he heard a car door slam. Soon after, the front door opened, and his mother appeared.
“I thought you were at work,” Bridger said. His voice was flat, and his words were slurred.
“I was. But your dad called and I…” she trailed off. “How long have you been sitting there, Bridge?”
He shook himself. “I don’t know. Since he left.” He swallowed. “He left,” he said again. “He saw the picture and he left.”
Nothing felt real. There was a distance between him and everything, and he didn’t like it. But he didn’t know how to stop it, and he knew, if he moved, if he acknowledged it, he’d cry. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of his mom.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, crossing the room. She wrapped her arms around his head and pulled him close. His cheek pressed into her stomach, one of her hands threaded in his hair, and she rubbed his back with the other. “You’re okay.”
“Why did you leave work?”
“Because I wanted to be with you. I needed to be with you. I talked to your dad and he, well, he saw the picture. He had questions. I answered them, and we talked. And we’ll see what happens.”
And that was it then. And for some reason, his mom leaving work, holding him, and confirming that his dad wasn’t pleased, wasn’t happy for him, wasn’t sure if he was going to come back—that made it all real.
Real.
Bridger crumpled. He squeezed his eyes shut, but tears leaked out anyway and slid down the side of his nose. He stifled a sob, because why was he crying over a man who didn’t know him anyway? Over someone who hadn’t wanted him for the last ten years? How could he hurt so sharply when there was nothing between them but a vague promise of a relationship?
He was eight all over again.
“Oh, honey,” his mom said, squeezing him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Bridger cried. His shoulders shook, and his nose clogged with snot, and his breathing went ragged. He clutched at his mom’s scrubs and sobbed into the fabric.
Fuck.
Fuck, it hurt.
His mom whispered phrases and words that he couldn’t make out, but her voice was low and soothing. She held onto him, held on even though he was eighteen and an adult and smearing tears and snot all over her shirt. She held on until he finally could inhale and nothing else shuddered out of him. Even then, when he started to pick up the pieces of himself and slot them back into place, exhausted and worn, she held on.
“Bridger.” She bent to his eye level and put her hands on his shoulders. Her expression was earnest and kind as she stared into his eyes. “You have done nothing wrong.” Bridger wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Except that,” she said. “That was gross. Let me get you a tissue.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, Bridger. To the stars and back and everywhere in between. You are my everything and I love every bit of you.”
“Even the weird parts?”
“Especially the weird parts.”
Bridger reached over and tapped the paper. “Even this part?”
“Yes, Bridger. Don’t ever question it. I love you. And I will love whoever you love as long as they love you.”
“Okay.” He sniffled and used the tissue she handed him. “I, I don’t know where that came from. I don’t know why I reacted like that.”
His mom didn’t answer, but she didn’t keep a poker face either. She was angry. Not at him, but Bridger could guess how well the phone call between her and his dad had gone, especially since she felt compelled to leave work and come home.
“Have you eaten?”
Bridger shook his head. “We didn’t get that far.”
“Okay. Good. It’s late, but I think Sal’s is in order. And I think we should watch some TV and maybe you take the morning off from school tomorrow.”
“That sounds good.”
Feet propped on the coffee table, belly full of a warm meatball sub, his mom next to him, Bridger breathed.
“You okay, kid?”
“Yeah.” His eyes heavy-lidded, he sprawled deeper into the cushions. “I think, I think if someone had reacted like that six months ago, it would be a different story. But you didn’t. Astrid didn’t. Pavel didn’t.”
She wrapped her fingers around his. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for him. I’m just saying this because I’m not ashamed of who I am. And I’m not going to stop being who I am because of him.” He rolled his head so he could meet his mom’s worried gaze. “Don’t worry. I have no plans to run away to Florida this time.”
She wiped tears from her cheeks. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“And if he wants to talk, I’ll talk. But I’m not hiding.”
“Okay. You’re the bravest kid I know. The best kid.”
Bridger turned up his nose. “I’m not a kid. I’m a mature adult now.”
“Oh really? I guess the mature adult doesn’t want chocolate sprinkles on his ice cream.”
Bridger mustered a grin. “Not that mature.”
“I figured.” She patted his knee. “I’ll be right back.”
His mom disappeared into the kitchen, and Bridger’s façade cracked. A few new tears dripped down his cheeks, and he hastily sopped them up with his sleeve. Mature adult or not, he felt like shit. He tipped his head back and studied the ceiling. He felt bruised in a way he never had before, sore and stretched thin, as if his spirit had doubled as a punching bag. But he wasn’t going to dwell. Maybe for tonight. But tomorrow was a new day, and he had friends and he had a life and he had people who loved him. Grandma Alice had seen it in his marrow. He only needed to remember that, cling to it, and he’d be fine.
He’d be fine. He’d be fine.
He was fine.
He was living as himself, and no one could take that away from him. He wouldn’t let them.
Chapter 11
The weekend snuck up on Bridger.
Summer Lore had either taken Pavel’s warning to heart and gone into hiding or she was around and causing trouble out of sight. Bridger put his money on the second option. There were plenty of folklore and myths in the area, and she could be traveling to the Upper Peninsula or across the state to report on any of them. At any rate, he hadn’t seen her since their encounter at Grandma Alice’s shop.
Bridger worked on his paper. He agonized over what to write in Leo’s yearbook, t
hen settled on something he wasn’t ready to say out loud and that he might regret later. He did more homework. He handed out yearbooks. He voted for the prom court and ignored the pointed glares Lacey sent his way when the subject was brought up at the lunch table. He got fitted for his cap and gown in the gym along with the four hundred other seniors in the school. He procured more unicorn poop for Nia and visited Ginny and drank Grandma Alice’s tea, though he wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to be doing for him. He met with Pavel and talked through a few more crises. He also received permission to use the portal for something not myth-emergency related.
He didn’t hear from his dad. He didn’t reach out either, though one night he hovered over his dad’s contact number, debating whether to call him or remain silent. In the end, he decided to let his dad come to him.
Suddenly it was Saturday, which meant prom night. Bridger had known it was coming. He’d rented a tux. He’d paid his share of the limo. He’d suffered through another sex talk with his mom. But when Saturday rolled around, Bridger wasn’t ready.
“You’re fidgeting,” Astrid said, leaning close to the mirror in the hallway bathroom. She swept eyeliner over her lid in a perfect line, wing and all. “What’s wrong? It’s Leo. You’ve been with Leo for months now.”
“Yeah. Well. I’m nervous.”
“I’d raise my perfectly plucked and arched eyebrow, but it’d mess up my makeup.”
Bridger huffed. “I may have something planned.”
She turned, dropping her lipstick case. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. Nothing like, nothing like a teen movie okay? So get your mind out of soft-focus hotel scenes.”
“I said nothing.”
“You looked like you were going to say something.”
Earlier that day, Astrid had an appointment to have her hair styled into something elaborate and gorgeous. She had consulted Nia about cosmetics, and Bridger had kept his mouth firmly shut when the topic of ingredients came up. Now, Astrid stared at him through the reflection in the mirror, beautiful and amused.
“Okay, spit it out.”
Bridger shrugged. “Leo’s been, well, he’s been really understanding and compassionate and basically the best boyfriend ever. I want to do something nice and romantic.”
“Oh, you’re cute. Do you need help?”
“Nah, I got it. I just wanted to let you know if we disappear from prom for a minute not to worry.”
She winked. “Got it.”
The doorbell rang. Soon after, his mom’s voice carried up the stairs. “Luke, Leo, and the limo are here!”
“How alliterative,” Bridger said, slipping his tux jacket over his crisp shirt and vest. His bow tie was crooked, but he’d left it like that to give his mother something to do.
“Stall for a minute while I slip this dress on. Okay?”
“Yeah.”
Bridger thundered down the stairs in his glossy and squeaking shoes and stopped at the foot. Leo waited, dressed in a gray, fitted suit with a skinny tie and with his hair styled in his usual spikes and swoops. Luke danced nervously at his side with a corsage in his hands. His vest and tie were blue to match Astrid’s dress.
His mom had promised not to be too embarrassing, but she clasped her hands and was unsuccessful in stifling a gasp. She straightened his tie and smoothed down his vest. “You’re so handsome,” she said, brushing his hair from his eyes. “I almost can’t stand it.”
“You’re embarrassing,” he said, playfully. “But thanks.”
“Together the three of you are stunning. I need a picture.”
“Mom,” Bridger said, “you promised.”
Leo elbowed Bridger in the side. “I hate to tell you this,” he said, smile playing around his mouth, “but my mom and dad are waiting outside to pounce with, like, actual camera equipment. It’s going to be super-humiliating.”
Bridger’s pulse raced. “Really? Sounds awesome. I can’t wait.”
“Squeeze together,” his mom said, wielding her phone. “And straighten your tie again, Bridger.”
Leo did the honors of tie straightening, and his mom took pictures of that too. She also took pictures when Astrid descended the staircase and when Luke put the corsage on her wrist. She took pictures as they walked outside, and, sure enough, Mr. and Mrs. Rivera waited next to the limo. The four of them posed together, then as couples, and then as friends, and in front of the limo, and in front of a tree, and in front of the house, and they were going to be late for their dinner reservation.
Leo rolled his eyes and spoke in Spanish to his dad, who kept posing them and snapping pictures.
“They’re going to miss dinner and prom if you keep going,” Mrs. Rivera said, gently placing a hand on her husband’s arm.
Mr. Rivera was a large man, former military, and probably the nicest dude Bridger had had the pleasure of meeting. He seemed constantly amused when Bridger was around, though Leo reported that he could be strict when it came to rules and grades. Mr. Rivera gathered Leo in a large hug, kissed his hair, then roped Bridger in as well; his muscular arms wrapped around the pair of them and squeezed them together.
“My boys,” he said. “Have fun.”
Warmth blossomed through Bridger. “We will, Mr. Rivera.”
“Good.”
The four of them piled into the limo and waved goodbye. The parents took a picture of that too.
Dinner was great. They ate and laughed and pretended to know what fork to use for each course. They rode to the hotel ballroom and, when they arrived, the three guys scrambled out and snapped pictures as Astrid emerged as if she was a movie star at a premiere.
The prom theme was something about fairytales, which hit a little too close to home for Bridger. He kept his mouth shut, though he and Astrid snickered at the cutouts of fairies all around the room. The rest of the ballroom was decorated with trees in random positions to recreate a magical forest, and in a corner sat a net of blue and white balloons with mermaids along the walls.
“I swear, if someone in a sasquatch suit pops out from behind one of those trees, I’m leaving,” Bridger whispered in Leo’s ear.
“I’ll protect you. I promise.”
“My hero.”
Leo’s mouth quirked up. “Literally.”
The DJ played, and they danced and drank punch. The senior class crowned Leo prom king and Lacey prom queen, and they danced for half a song until Leo bowed out and all but ran away. He grabbed Bridger and yanked him to the dance floor from where he stood on the edge. Lacey didn’t seem to mind as she swung Carrie—from the field hockey team—from the crowd and into her arms. The song finished with the four of them on the dance floor and with Bridger and Leo awkwardly wrapped around each other, because Leo clutched him and Bridger didn’t know where to put his hands while the chaperones watched.
“I don’t know if I should bow to you or order a burger.”
Leo adjusted the crown; a faint blush crossed his cheekbones in the flashing lights. “I wasn’t expecting it. And I panicked. Does it look that bad?”
How the hell was he so endearing? How was that possible?
“No. It doesn’t look bad, just, okay, so it looks ridiculous, but you wear it with honor. Seriously. Don’t take it off until I get a picture.”
They took selfies and danced again and drank even more punch, and it was the best night Bridger had with Leo and with Astrid.
About halfway into the dance, Bridger checked his watch, then nudged Leo’s side with his elbow. He leaned close. “Want to get out of here for a minute? Get some air?”
Brown eyes sparkling, Leo drained his cup. “Yeah.”
Wiping his sweaty hands on his rented trousers, Bridger laced his fingers with Leo’s, and together they left the hotel ballroom and meandered to the parking lot. Listening for the familiar hum, Bridger guided Leo to where the portal h
overed near the dumpsters at the back of the building.
Leo raised an eyebrow. “What do you have planned?”
“Something.” Bridger’s middle fluttered. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“Okay.” He tugged on Leo’s hand. “Follow me through. Keep holding on to my hand.” Bridger stepped up to the inky blackness and touched the surface. “To where we discussed, please.”
The portal climbed up his arm and, with one backward glance at Leo, Bridger stepped through.
They came out on the other side in a small meadow. The Upper Peninsula was chillier than Midden, but otherwise it was perfect. A blanket was spread on the ground, and a string of white lights hung from the branches of the tree above them. A picnic basket sat on the blanket with two champagne flutes on its top.
“What is this?” Leo asked, beaming and blushing. “Did you plan this?”
“The pixies helped immensely. And Pavel recalibrated the portal for us both. But the idea was all me.”
Leo squeezed his hand. “This is awesome.” His cheeks dimpled. “You’re a closet romantic.”
“Sometimes.”
They sprawled on the blanket. The spot overlooked a misty ravine. Bridger handed Leo a glass and pulled a bottle from the basket. He poured Leo a glass of sparkling white-grape juice. He poured his own glass, and they clinked them together.
“This is better than the punch,” Leo said. “We should’ve ditched sooner.”
Laughing, Bridger reclined, propped on his elbows. “No way. And miss your coronation?”
“I still don’t think it should’ve been me, by the way.” Leo had abandoned the crown on a table before they left. “I thought it would be Zeke.”
“You’re too humble. You’ve charmed everyone in the school. Even the lunch ladies. All you have to do is flash your million-watt smile, and everyone is putty. It’s gross and an abuse of power. I don’t know why I even like you.”
Leo playfully kicked Bridger’s shin. “Good to know my charms don’t work on you.”