by Shae Connor
I can feel Annie rolling her eyes at me as she follows me through the front door Tuesday evening. It’s such a relief to have a few days away from school that we were off campus less than an hour after Annie finished her last class. Five long days of freedom stretch out ahead of us.
I drop my backpack and duffel bag on the worn armchair nearest the door as Mom comes around the corner from the kitchen.
“Parental unit number one reporting for duty!” She smiles and holds out her arms, and I let her fold me into a hug. Standing there in the entryway with her arms around me, warm and safe in the home where I grew up, I want to spill all the secrets I’ve been holding back.
I don’t. I will, of course. But not yet.
I step away and let Annie have her turn as Dad comes rambling up the hallway from the den. “Hey, Dad,” I say, and Dad gives me a hug, too, in more of a back-slapping, stereotypical man-to-man way.
“I’m so glad to have you both home,” Mom says, and this time I see Annie roll her eyes.
“It’s not like we’re on another continent, Mom,” she says.
“You’d think you were, as rarely as you visit.” Dad wraps one arm around Annie’s shoulders and gives her a shaking squeeze. “I figured you’d at least be back to do laundry every couple of weeks.”
The truth is easy to read beneath the joking tone. They miss having us around. And honestly, even when things are going great, sometimes I miss being here. I love having the freedom of living on campus, but it sure would be nice to have someone else handling the cooking and cleaning—and yeah, the laundry.
This whole adulting thing can suck it.
“Y’all go get your things put away and wash up,” Mom says. “We’ll have dinner in about fifteen minutes. Dear, will you set the table?”
Dad lets out a long-suffering sigh. “See? Ever since you two moved away I have to set the table and clean up.”
I laugh as I pick up my bags. “Ahh, the real reason you miss having us around.”
“The truth is out there!” Dad chuckles as he heads off into the dining room, and I wave Annie ahead of me down the hall toward our rooms. They’re side by side, doors directly across from each other, with a shared bathroom between. The setup is entirely too reminiscent of all the reruns of The Brady Bunch we watched as kids—though we do have a toilet.
When I walk in, my room looks exactly the same as it always does, and the sight makes me feel ten years old again. Okay, well, it’s cleaner than I kept it when I was ten years old. I toss my bags on the edge of the bed and cross to the bathroom, where I quickly relieve myself and wash my hands. A glance in the mirror tells me Dad will probably comment on my hair over dinner. It’s definitely getting overgrown. If I let it go much longer, I might be forced into the ranks of the man-bunned. And like Mo and Annie said at Pride, no one wants to see that.
“Bathroom’s free!” I yell as I head back into my room, pulling the door on my side closed behind me. Annie and I managed to make it through our teen years with only a few near misses on the shared bathroom front, so habits like locking and knocking are well ingrained.
I perch on the edge of my bed long enough to check my messages. Nothing from Darryn since yesterday’s calls. I type out a quick text. Back at the parents’. Looking forward to eating my weight in home-cooked meals.
I shove my phone into my pocket before I head back downstairs, resisting the urge to ride down the rail like I’ve been known to do. Darryn’s never far from my mind, which means neither is his injury, and while it’s mostly affected me on a personal level, I do think of the team, too. The last thing we need is for me to do something silly and end up on the injured list.
I can imagine how Coach Everson would react to that.
I swing into the kitchen as Mom pulls a bubbling casserole dish full of homemade macaroni and cheese out of the oven. My favorite. “Pulled out the big guns, didn’t you?”
Mom laughs and sets the dish on a potholder next to the stove. “And oven-fried chicken. Your dad just put the platter on the table.”
“No sneaking a piece before we eat,” Dad chimes in as he comes to fetch the mac and cheese. “Grant, why don’t you get the tea?”
I nod and reach into the fridge for the ever-present gallon jug of sweet tea before following Dad to the table, which is fully laden with the chicken, mac and cheese, a bowl of green beans, a pan of rolls, and place settings for four. I’m weirdly homesick at the sight, considering I’m at home. Guess I’m wishing for the days when I was a carefree kid.
As the past few months have taught me, growing up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Annie appears in the doorway. “Perfect timing! Didn’t have to help one bit.”
“That’s okay, dear,” Mom says as she joins us. “You and Grant can clean up after.”
She and Dad laugh as Annie and I grumble, but we all sit down and dig in. We used to say a blessing before every meal, but at some point we got out of the habit. Mom and Dad still go to the same small Methodist church we did when I was a kid. These days, I think it’s more out of habit and friendship than anything else. The church is more liberal than some but still more conservative than any of us are these days.
That’s part of what worries me about coming out to them. We grew up spending every Sunday at church, and while I don’t remember any diatribes against homosexuality, I’ve heard enough from other fronts to give me pause. As progressive as our parents have gotten over the years, neither Annie nor I know how they’ll react to finding out neither of their kids is exactly straight. I hope it’s not going to be a problem for them, but there’s enough doubt to power a few butterflies.
I try not to worry about any of that and enjoy my family. I know how lucky I am to have them. We eat and talk, laugh and tell stories—some of them even true. Every so often, an offhand comment or mention of a friend results in Annie and me exchanging a significant look.
I’m also thankful that this year it’s just us for Thanksgiving. We’ve spent a few years with some of our extended family, but most of them wouldn’t take the news well at all. It’s part of the reason we don’t spend much time around them, in fact. These days, political discussions never turn out happy.
By the time we’re done with dinner, my eyelids are drooping. Between the carb overload and the relief of having some free time, I’m about ready to drop. I’m a dutiful son, though, so I help Annie clear the table and load the dishwasher.
“Dibs on the leftover mac and cheese,” I say as I’m covering the casserole dish with foil.
Annie snorts. “There’s enough left to feed an army. Pretty sure if you tried to eat it all, you’d spend the rest of the day praying to the porcelain god.”
“Still called dibs!” I slide the leftovers into the fridge while Annie closes the dishwasher and starts it running. I turn to leave the kitchen, but Annie stops me.
“Hey,” she says in a low voice. “Should we talk to them now? Or do you want to wait?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. Let’s get through Thanksgiving dinner first. Just in case.”
Annie tilts her head. “Still worried about what they’re going to say?”
I shrug. “Mostly no…a little bit yes.” The butterflies beat their wings a little harder in my stomach. “I know we should get it over with…”
“I get it.” Annie gives me a small smile. “Take a couple more days as kids before we have to deal with adult conversations.”
I huff out a small laugh. “Exactly.” A yawn catches me off guard. “And now I think I’m going to go sleep for about twelve hours.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Annie replies. “I won’t be far behind you.”
I nod and head down the hall, pausing at the opening to the living room to toss off a wave at Mom and Dad. “I’m heading to my room,” I tell them. “No promises on how long I might sleep. Call if you need me.”
&n
bsp; “Try not to need you,” Dad shoots back, a traditional call-and-response that makes us both smile.
“Night, dear.” Mom smiles, too, and the deep, comforting feeling of home follows me down the hall and right into my dreams.
…
Thanksgiving has always meant the same thing at the Clark house—lasagna for dinner Wednesday night, rolling out of bed on Thursday just in time for the Macy’s parade, and then some version of a turkey dinner. Somebody throws some canned cinnamon rolls in the oven, and we eat those with our coffee (milk when Annie and I were younger). Mom gets the turkey started during a commercial break, and Dad’s responsible for the cornbread dressing and gravy, both from his grandmother’s recipes. Sweet potato casserole, green beans, canned cranberry sauce, rolls, and lots of sweet tea round out the meal, and dessert is a pecan pie and an apple pie from a local bakery.
Since Mom and Dad handle the food, Annie and I get cleanup duty, but we also get first dibs on our favorite leftovers.
By the time we’re finished putting the last of the food away and the dishwasher is humming softly, we’re all ready for naps. Heck, Dad’s already passed out in his recliner, and Mom’s curled up on the sofa.
I glance over at Annie and raise an eyebrow. She nods in silent agreement. We’re not going to disturb them now.
“Naptime,” I murmur, and she and I head down the hall to our bedrooms.
…
It’s after lunchtime on Friday when Annie and I get our nerve together and approach Mom and Dad for The Big Talk. We’ve eaten turkey sandwiches and the last of the leftover veggies, sitting in front of the noon news, which Dad never misses. Once we’re done, Annie and I take the empty plates to the kitchen, where we give each other one last fortifying look and head into the living room.
I sit on one end of the sofa and Annie on the other. “Dad, would you mind turning off the TV?” I start. “Annie and I have something we need to tell you.”
Dad obliges—the news just ended anyway—and he tilts his head like he always does when he’s confused or surprised, making him look like an inquisitive puppy. Mom leans forward in her chair, her expression closer to alarm. “I hope nothing is wrong at school? I mean, except for Darryn, of course.”
I shake my head. “No, school is great,” I try to reassure her, though it doesn’t seem to make a difference. “This is a little more personal than that.”
I pause then, gathering up the courage to say the words. Annie saves me the trouble.
“Grant’s gay,” she blurts out. “And I’m pretty sure I’m bi.”
Nobody moves for about five seconds, and then Mom relaxes back into her chair. “Oh,” she says. “Well…I’m not sure what to say? I’m happy for you both, and I’m glad that you told us.”
Dad’s head has tilted farther. “Okay, I get the gay part,” he says. “I wondered, I mean. The way you are with Darryn?” He stops and straightens up. “It is Darryn, right?”
I start to nod but pause. “Well, kind of. I mean, I’m gay anyway. I’d be gay with or without Darryn in the picture.”
“Right, right.” Dad waves a hand, as if my sexuality’s been a foregone conclusion. “But you like Darryn?”
I sigh. “Yes, Dad. I like Darryn. I told you he got hurt, but that wasn’t the whole story.” I take a deep breath. “He was seeing a guy who got pretty controlling. And then he got physical.”
Dad sits up straight, and Mom covers her mouth. “This other boy is the one who hurt him?” Dad asks.
“Kind of. It was sort of an accident.” I struggle with what to say next, but Annie jumps in to save me again.
“They were in their dorm room, and Grant got there and broke things up before it got any worse.” She smiles at me. “Not all heroes wear capes.”
I blush and duck my head. “Not a hero,” I mumble. “Just glad I was in the right place at the right time.”
Dad clears his throat. “That does change the picture of what happened. I assume the school and Darryn’s parents are still taking care of things?”
I lift my head to give him a nod. “They’re working on it. And Darryn will be okay, eventually. He’s not in a good place for a relationship right now.” Left unspoken is my greater fear. That even when he is ready, it won’t be with me.
Dad frowns but lets the subject go, turning his attention to Annie. “And you, honey? You have your eye on someone?”
I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Annie blush that deeply, and considering her pale skin, that’s saying a lot. “Not…really,” she stammers. “I mean, there are a…a few people I think are attractive, and…they aren’t all guys. Not any one person or anything like that.”
“Well.” Dad sits back and flicks his gaze back and forth between us. “I can’t say I’m completely surprised. I knew Grant and Darryn were…close. And Annie, you never seemed that interested in dating anyone.”
Annie shrugs a shoulder. “Still not, really,” she says. “It’s mostly aesthetics at this point.”
“And athletics.” I flash her a grin when she sticks her tongue out at me.
Mom giggles. Actually giggles. “Well, I can’t blame anyone for admiring athletes. There are some very lovely ones to be admired.”
“Mom!” Annie chokes on a laugh.
“She’s not wrong,” Dad chimes in. “But we’ll save that discussion for another day. Right now, we’ve got a whole free afternoon ahead of us. How about we dig out the board games? Life? Clue? What’s your poison, kids?”
Dad can be such a dad sometimes. One of the things that makes him so great.
“Clue,” I pronounce as I stand. “But only if I get to be Colonel Mustard.”
“Miss Scarlett!” Annie calls, jumping to her feet. “Mom, Dad, you guys hang out. We’ll finish up in the kitchen.”
I nearly argue with her, just for the sake of teasing my sister, but after the easy way our parents took our conversation, I figure cleaning up the lunch remains is the least we can do.
“Yeah, wait here,” I tell them. “We might even come back with hot cocoa.”
“With marshmallows!” Dad instructs as Annie and I head for the kitchen.
“Don’t press your luck!” I call back, even though all of us know Dad will get his wish.
Mostly because the rest of us will want marshmallows, too.
In the kitchen, Annie and I look at each other for a second before we dissolve into relieved giggles. I plant one hand on the counter and cover my eyes with the other, the release of tension leaving me drained.
“Damn.” Annie leans against the counter next to me. “I am so freaking glad that’s over.”
“You and me both.” I get a hold of myself and, on impulse, wrap one arm around her shoulders to give her a quick squeeze. “Thanks, sis.”
I know she’s feeling the same way I do when she slides her arm around my waist to return the hug. “Right back atcha.”
…
Later that night, after a marathon Clue tournament during which Annie wiped the floor with the rest of us, I’ve just changed and climbed into bed when there’s a knock at the bathroom door. “Come in.”
Annie pokes her head in. “That went scarily well.”
I shake my head. “I’m surprised, after the way you blurted it out like that.”
She sticks her tongue out as she comes over to perch on the edge of the bed. “I decided to go with the ‘rip off the bandage’ method.”
“Usually the best way.” I pick up my phone and flip it from one hand to the other. “Wish it was always that easy.”
Annie shrugs. “Some things are worth a little trouble.”
I give her a halfhearted glare. “Since when are you all philosophical about this?”
“Must’ve been that philosophy class I had to take.”
“You hated that class.”
She grimaces.
“Of course I did. It was all either pseudobabble or simple common sense. And people get doctorates in that stuff?”
Now that sounds like my sister. “Stick with numbers,” I advise, unnecessarily. “Numbers don’t argue back.”
Annie snorts. “You’ve never tried to find a one-character bug in a thousand lines of code.”
I shudder. “And I hope I never have to.”
Annie smiles but then flops back across the mattress and stares at the ceiling. “Do you think life ever gets any easier?”
“I think it gets harder,” I admit. “I mean, some things get easier, sure. Other things pop up in their places.” I lean back against my pillows. “Everybody’s got something going on we don’t know about.”
Annie tips her head back to look at me upside down. “What do you think Mom and Dad have going on?”
“Worrying about us, if nothing else.” I give a half smile. “And we didn’t make things any easier on that front tonight.”
“Ugh.” Annie pushes back up and then slumps halfway off the side of the bed, arms hanging like a rag doll’s. “Couldn’t life slow down for once?”
“Not likely.” I poke her side with my big toe. “Now get outta here. You know Dad’s gonna be in here bright and early to wake us up tomorrow.”
Annie snorts as she stands. “Some things never change.”
She waves and heads back through the bathroom toward her room, hitting my overhead light switch and pulling the door closed behind her on the way. I lie there in the lamplight, staring up at the ceiling like she had. Off to one side, a stray glowing spot shows where we’d missed a spot removing the old set of glow-in-the-dark stars from my childhood. I kind of wished we’d kept them, though my sixteen-year-old self would scoff at that.
My sixteen-year-old self could suck it. I turn off the lamp and close my eyes, picturing the shapes of the constellations I’d made, with Dad’s help, when I was seven years old. There was a crooked Big Dipper, a wonky Orion, and a wide W that Dad had told me was Cassiopeia, though I ended up calling it “Cassie” for short. And then we scattered the rest of the stars around at random to symbolize the Milky Way.