by L B Winter
He nodded. “When we were house-shopping, we couldn’t believe how different some properties were, based on cost of living. Like, the same size house could cost twice as much in some zip codes.”
Oh, that’s right. He and Ellen had a home together. “Are you guys selling your house now?”
“What house? Oh, no, we hadn’t bought it yet. We were just renting. She’ll probably have to move home with her parents now. The lease ends in the spring.”
He became sad and quiet again after that, and when I said goodnight and left him on the couch, I was relieved to go. I’d fallen for confident, passionate Jamie, and I’d gotten used to angry, judgmental Jamie. I wasn’t sure how to react to broken Jamie.
When my alarm rang in the morning, I dragged myself off the dusty, cold floor and rushed up the stairs. I could already hear somebody moving up there.
When I got to the kitchen, I found Trent alone, trying to turn on my parents’ coffee maker.
“How does this work?” he said.
“Good morning to you, too,” I answered. “Is anyone else up yet?”
“No. And I’ll be friendly once I have coffee.” His already low voice was even lower at this hour of the morning.
“Why are you up so early?” I asked as I poured coffee beans into the grinder on top of the coffee maker.
“Force of habit. Does this thing grind the beans for you?”
“Yep. Mom likes fresh ground.”
He shook his head. “This place is so fancy.”
“Okay,” I said, not sure how to answer. I got the coffee brewing, then said, “Did you go by the couch on your way in here?” The stairs come down in the living room, and he would have needed to walk right past Jamie to get to the kitchen, unless he took the long way around, through the laundry room. Somehow I doubted he would be putting in a load of wash before his morning coffee.
“Yeah, I did, but you were asleep. Wait, no you weren’t. You’re here. Were you in the basement just now?”
I nodded, “I slept in the basement. That was Jamie on the couch.”
He shook his head. “Seriously? What—?”
“Lynn dropped him off at Ellen’s house, and I went and picked him up.”
Trent grunted, “Steven will be thrilled.” He stared at the carafe as it slowly filled with coffee.
“It’ll pause, Trent.”
“What?”
“The brewer. If you want to pour yourself a cup, it’ll pause. You don’t have to wait. It’ll be stronger that way, too.”
“Oh, thank God,” he said, grabbing the handle and filling his mug.
“No problem.”
He took a tentative sip of his steaming coffee and didn’t even seem to notice that it was hot enough to burn. “That’s good,” he muttered. “Okay. I’m waking up. So, you brought Jamie here?”
I nodded. “We finally talked last night. Like, talk-talked. I told him—” I paused, looking around. “Steven isn’t awake, too?”
“No, he was asleep when I got up.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Trent rolled his eyes. “Go wake him up, if you’re feeling brave. You know he likes his beauty rest.”
“It’s just that he’s the one I normally talk to about—well, about everything, really.”
“I know you do. You guys are best friends. Have I told you how happy I am about that, by the way? I always wanted Steven to have a Lynn, and now he does.”
“I’m his Lynn?”
“You’re his like-family friend. He needed that.”
My heart warmed, and I smiled. “I need him, too.”
“I know. Go wake him up, and I’ll let your parents know one more friend of yours came by, if they come downstairs before you get back. Okay?”
I nodded. “Thanks, Trent!”
Steven was as happy to be awoken as Trent had anticipated. He opened his eyes and, when he saw it was me, closed them again, flipping me off while burying his face in the pillow. “Whatever you want, it’s too early,” he muttered.
“Jamie’s here,” I answered.
Steven groaned and threw his pillow at me. “Why? Ugh, it is—” he glanced at the clock on his phone, then grabbed a second pillow to throw at me, too. “Six in the morning!”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll go.”
“No, you won’t,” he said, throwing a third pillow. “You woke me up, you brought your homophobic, asshole boyfriend here—now, you stay.”
I shivered, rubbing my arms. “I have to sound like a broken record by now,” I said, “but he isn’t my boyfriend.”
I threw the pillows back on the bed, and Steven piled them on top of each other and propped them up behind his back. “I know. He’d have to be gay to be your boyfriend.”
“And I’d have to like him.”
He rolled his eyes and said on a yawn, “You like him.”
I sighed. After all that went down last night, I really wasn’t sure I did anymore. Jamie was baggage city. He said insulting things, he cheated—and he wasn’t even confident in who he was. I knew that I could have gone down that road easily, but the thing was, I hadn’t. My life had gone a totally different direction, because I had chosen to be honest. Jamie had made his choices, too, and I didn’t like them.
“Anyway, that’s not the point,” Steven continued. “What’s he doing here?”
I explained about Lynn bringing him home, then gave my best summary of our talk last night.
“Good lord, that boy is fucked up,” Steven said when I finished.
“Believe me, I know,” I said, folding my arms and leaning against the door.
“So what are you gonna do now?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I think he wants to stay the weekend, but after that? I don’t even think he knows. And now it’s like he’s my responsibility, and…I don’t know.”
“What?” Steven prodded.
“I don’t even know what I want to do yet, you know? Like, I haven’t even chosen a major. And now I’m supposed to solve his life, too?”
“Nobody ever said that.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but I sort of volunteered.”
“And now you wish you hadn’t.”
I nodded.
Steven sighed. “Well. That’s tough luck, baby, because guess what? You break it, you bought it.”
I looked at the floor. That wasn’t what I was expecting Steven to say, but it was exactly what I had been thinking myself. What was really bothering me was staring me in the face, but I was afraid to confront it. Finally, I said, without lifting my gaze, “Did I do the right thing? Helping him?”
Steven took a deep breath like he couldn’t find the words. Finally, he said, “For the sake of argument, let’s assume this premise that the right thing is the hard thing. That’s what my psychic says, and lord knows I never disagree with her. Anyway, let’s say the right thing is the thing that kicks you in your ass. In that case? You did the right thing.”
“Or maybe you don’t have a psychic, and nobody ever said that, and you’re crazy,” I said.
“Bite your tongue!” Steven threw another pillow at me. I made a mental note to never wake him this early again. “You know, life is a bitch. When I came out, my mom and dad kicked me out. You want a good sob story? I haven’t seen them since I was a sophomore in college. I had to figure out how to pay for school, and where to go during breaks, and how to come to terms with loving myself when the people who should have loved me most decided they didn’t anymore. And that was the right thing. So, if for some reason you won’t take the psychic’s word for it, take mine: your good deed for your boyfriend-not-boyfriend is right. It sucks, because he sucks, but it’s right. You’re doing the right thing.”
What could I say to that? I was floored. “Sometimes I forget how awesome you are, Steve-o.”
“I know, little lamb. You are a forgetful one. And for God’s sake, you must stop calling me Steve-o.”
I laughed. “Sorry. I was just trying to say, you’re amazing. Maybe most pe
ople just aren’t as strong as you.”
“I had my family. Not my blood-family, but my family. Gather close and listen to my wisdom: the people who love you for becoming your real, best self—those are your real family.”
“That’s you guys,” I said earnestly, ignoring the high-and-lofty voice he’d used to say it. “I didn’t even know I needed to be accepted, until I was.”
He smiled. “Sweetie, we all need that. Most people get it from their families. You got it from us. Jamie doesn’t have it. But if you stick with him, he will.”
I smiled. I knew I’d risked maiming at the hands of a sleep-deprived Steven for a reason. “I’ll stick with him.”
“I knew all along that’s what you’d say,” Steven smirked.
“How did you know?”
“Because you loooove him.”
I used the latest thrown pillow to whack Steven on the head.
***
When I came downstairs, my dad was in the kitchen chatting with Trent, and Jamie was watching them quietly from the dining table. Dad gave me a hug and told me how good it was to have me home, and I could see Jamie watching from the corner of my eye. My heart ached for him, knowing how much he must miss his parents.
“Want me to make pancakes?” I offered. Dad loved my buttermilk pancakes, and Trent began nodding vigorously at once.
“That’s a great idea, kiddo,” Dad said, squeezing the back of my neck before helping himself to more coffee. Then he sat down at the table with Jamie.
“So you’re a friend of Paul’s from Franklin?” he asked.
I tried not to make my eavesdropping too obvious as I cracked some eggs in a mixing bowl.
“No, we actually met at church,” he said haltingly, and Dad looked up at me and smiled.
“Oh! I had been meaning to ask you about church, Pauly. You finally found one you like?”
I nodded and focused on the batter, nervous about what Jamie might reveal, for some reason. There was really nothing to be nervous about—what did Jamie know that could possibly do any damage? But still, I was anxious as I heard Jamie say, “I’ve only been there a couple times myself. I was one of the worship pastors at my old church, but I’m taking a break from that right now.”
Dad was excited when he heard this. He began to describe the hymns we sing at our church, even singing a few bars of his favorites, and I tried to stifle my laugh; that was not the kind of music Jamie was talking about at all. Dad could be so oblivious sometimes—and so old. I was noticing his age more and more lately. Maybe it was because it had been a couple months since I’d seen them, but suddenly I was noticing my parents’ aging in a way that made me uncomfortable on this trip. Mom was right—they wouldn’t be around forever. Maybe I really should start thinking about long-term family, for when I was the only one left. What did that even look like for me, though?
Mom and Dad had tried to have kids for a long time before I finally came along, and Dad was sixty now, with Mom only a couple years behind. Sometimes I still felt genuinely guilty that, after all those years of trying and wanting a big family, they ended up with just the one boy, who ended up gay. No grandkids for them! Seemed like a bum deal. I never felt pressure from them to be too remarkable, but it occurred to me now that this guilty feeling might have been why I agreed to do conversion therapy in the first place.
I put some bacon on the frying pan, and the mix of delicious fragrances wafted through the house and woke up Lynn, Mom, and Steven. Dad introduced Jamie to Mom as another of my friends, and she gave me a look that was a little bit too curious. I smiled but shook my head to get her not to say anything, and she actually winked at me. Sheesh. My mom.
At some point during breakfast, I got a group text from a bunch of my old friends from the track team. One of the guys lived on a farm outside of town and was having a bonfire that night, and we were all invited. I was surprised when I noticed that Taylor wasn’t a part of the group, but then I noticed why—Alex Hess, Marissa’s new boyfriend, was one of the guys. He was new in town, and apparently also was a runner. Awesome.
I decided to call Taylor to see if he knew about it, or at the very least to check how he was doing and say happy Thanksgiving. I slipped outside to make the call while everyone else was finishing their food.
“Hey, sorry I didn’t text back,” Taylor answered morosely.
“That’s okay. It was Thanksgiving, so you were probably busy. No big deal.”
“I just didn’t feel like talking.”
That seemed to be a theme lately. Should I push him to talk, like I’d pushed Jamie? Somehow it was harder with as good a friend as Taylor. But I decided that I owed it to him to do it—or at least to try.
“Can we talk about it anyway?”
“About what?”
“Marissa.”
He sighed heavily. “I don’t have anything to say. She made her choice. It’s fine. It is what it is.”
“I know. But we’re best friends. If you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to?”
“It’s not about you, Paul. I said I don’t want to talk.”
I could tell he was getting mad at me, so I decided to let him win. It wasn’t helping anything to make him talk if he genuinely didn’t want to. But it still really felt like I was abandoning him. I decided it couldn’t hurt to ask, so I said, “Okay. That’s fine. But is there anything I can do?”
“About what?”
“Just—I don’t know. I can tell you’re not okay.”
“No. Look, I know you and Steven are all buddy-buddy, ‘tell me what you’re feeling,’ but I’m not some bitch who needs to talk about her feelings constantly.”
I knew he didn’t consciously mean that to be a slur at me; he wouldn’t. But it still hurt. A lot.
“Right. Okay. I’ll see you Sunday, then.”
“Shit. Wait, Paul—”
But I hung up. So, that had gone great.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm down, and then I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around and saw Jamie. He looked sullen, but when he saw my face, he was all concern. “What’s wrong?” he said, coming closer.
I shook my head. “Um—” I tried to answer, but my voice broke. My phone started to ring, and I looked down and saw that it was Taylor. I hit ignore.
He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Hey. What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I didn’t want to talk to him at the moment; I just felt miserable about fighting with Taylor, and like all I wanted was to help the people I cared about, but everything I did backfired. I was too pushy; I was too eager. Jamie was exhibit A of everything blowing up in my face. My eyes blurred and I wiped my tears surreptitiously on the back of my hand.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. Without looking in his eyes, I told him, “It’s cold. Let’s go inside.”
He followed me in without saying anything; we were hopelessly awkward at this point. After everything we’d said last night, I couldn’t even imagine a situation where it wouldn’t be awkward to talk to him. In the kitchen, Lynn and my mom were cleaning up after breakfast, and Steven and Trent were saying goodbye to my dad, who was heading towards the garage to go work on his sermon at the church.
“There you are,” Dad said. “I’m headed out for the day. Listen, if you do any shopping, call me first. I saw something in an ad that I want to get.”
I took a breath and did my best to hide my emotions. “I can go anyway,” I offered, “if you want. I don’t have anything to do until tonight.”
“What’s tonight?”
“A bonfire at Sam Lewis’s place.”
“The boy from track?”
“Yeah.”
“That sounds like fun.” Dad walked over to me and kissed the top of my head. He hadn’t done that since I was a kid, and I was strangely touched. “I don’t want to be a bother, with all your friends here. Just call if you go out, okay, kiddo?”
“Okay, Dad.”
After he left, Steven said, “What’s
this bonfire?”
“Just a thing with my friends,” I said. Suddenly, I wanted to go. I wanted to hang out with Marissa’s new boyfriend and rub it in Taylor’s face. “Do you guys care if I go out? I don’t want to abandon you.”
Steven said, “What, is it like an ‘invitation only’ thing?”
I shrugged. “It’s just gonna be a bunch of us from the track team. I mean, I guess you could join if you want.”
He laughed. “No, I don’t really want to spend the night with the high school jock squad. But thanks for the invitation. I know you really don’t want us there.”
I sighed and tried not to tear up again. This day was getting worse and worse, and everybody was misunderstanding each other. Steven put his hands on my shoulders, and I looked up at his face. “Hey. I’m teasing. You can go spend time with your friends, sweetie. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”
“Okay. I’m going to take a shower.”
He nodded. “Sure. But is something else wrong?”
I glanced around. Mom, Lynn, Jamie, and Trent were all watching. “Can I tell you later?” I whispered.
“Sure.”
I walked upstairs. I was going to go to that party just to spite Taylor. And then I would “be a bitch” and tell Steven all about it, and screw him if it made him angry.
***
When I came downstairs, calmer and more in control of my emotions, Lynn and Trent were playing a video game in the family room, and Steven was helping my mom with her sewing machine back in the corner. She wasn’t great in the domestic skills department, but Dad had bought her this sewing machine for her birthday for some reason. I wondered how she and Steven had gotten on the topic of working on it together. Trent had taught him to make his own outfits for performing, so he’d gotten very good at sewing recently.
“Look at your mom,” she called to me, beaming. “Just sitting down to sew like a regular 1950s housewife!”
“Okay, Mom,” I said, smiling. “Good luck with that.”
“Who says a business woman can’t have it all?” she joked, winking at Steven. He turned to me from behind her back, held his hands over his heart, and mouthed, “I love her.”