“I’ll survive. Nothing that won’t heal. And what do you mean ‘What really happened?’ I thought Mom called.”
“Yeah, and she said that you told them and Dad called you both fags”—I could hear her wince—“and Logan tried to attack them, and Dad went to fend him off with a chair and you somehow got hit, and then Logan threw you over his shoulder and ran off with you.”
What the actual fuck? “That’s not what happened.”
“I figured,” Sue said harshly. “That’s why I wanted you to tell me.”
“I told them, and Dad fucking attacked Logan with a chair, and I jumped in front of him—”
“My hero!” Logan called loud enough for Sue to hear. He sounded teasing, but there was sap-filled worship in his eyes.
“Anyway. Dad hit me—twice—and Logan gently led me out and took me to the hospital. Concussion and a few stitches. Not bad, considering. I can’t believe she told you those lies.”
Sue sighed. “It’s possible that’s how she remembers it happening. I told her I didn’t believe either of you would do that, and then she started simpering about how I’d known and not told them and they could have done something if they’d known—fuck knows what they would have done—and I told her if you and Logan weren’t welcome in their house, then I wasn’t going to be coming over either. I got your back, Zacky.”
Tender warmth flooded me, and I wished Sue were here so I could wrap her in a tight hug. Then she started coughing and my back twinged, reminding me that hugs weren’t going to be tight for a while, and I reevaluated the benefits of doing this over the phone.
“Thanks, Sue.” I hesitated, guilt beginning to taint the warmth. “But I don’t want you to lose all your family too.”
“Don’t,” she rasped, then cleared her throat. “You are my family. And besides, Dominic’s family is already trying to adopt me, if how they’re taking care of me is any indication.”
“Who’s Dominic?”
“Oh. Um. My new boyfriend.”
“You didn’t tell me!”
“It got intense super fast and I didn’t want to jinx it. It’s pretty new.” She sounded almost meek. Well, as meek as Sue ever got.
“Yet you’ve met his family?” I couldn’t help teasing.
“They’re local. When I got sick, Dom was over taking care of me and he told his mother, who then brought soup, and then the sisters took turns when Dom was at work, and I think I’ve met like half his family now. They’re all very nice.”
She sounded in love. Not only with this Dominic, but his entire family. I smiled on her behalf and hoped it would work out. “I’m glad to hear, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to cut Mom and Dad out of your life because of me.”
A snort, followed by a hacking cough, came over the line. “Zack, family is about love, and if they can’t accept you, then I can’t love them. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I choked out around the sudden lump in my throat.
“Then that’s all we need. We’ve got each other and all our friends. Fuck Mom and Dad and their small-minded, bigoted, old-fashioned, horrible attitudes.”
“You’re the best sister in the world.”
Her laugh was soft and weak. “And you’re the best brother in the world. And I hate to do this, but getting all fired up has exhausted me.”
“Go rest and get well.”
“You too.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up. The joy in my chest from her support was still tainted by the guilt that I’d made her choose between me and our parents, but I tried not to let it overwhelm me. It was her choice, just like I’d made mine.
Logan set a cup of tea in front of me, and I grabbed his hand before he went too far. He paused and studied me, a frown creasing his brow. “Everything okay?”
I didn’t need to tell him that no, it really wasn’t. But I had him here, so I was able to smile up at him and say, “It will be.”
The next two days were a study in being absolutely spoiled. My friends all stopped by to see how I was, sometimes bringing sweets they knew I loved. I tried to tell them I wasn’t that bad off and the doting wasn’t necessary, but I couldn’t help feeling pleased to see them all. It helped to know they’d made sure to visit me, now that my family was out of the picture.
Meanwhile, Logan cooked every meal, and pretty much waited on me hand and foot. I told him he was going overboard, that having him nearby if I needed him was enough, but he insisted, saying it made him feel better about the whole thing. If it eased his guilt—which he didn’t need to have—then I wasn’t going to argue, especially since nothing I said seemed to convince him.
There was one moment that wasn’t so perfect over the long weekend. It was Sunday morning, and we were lying down, cooling from a heated mutual handjob. I felt a little dizzy from the excitement and suddenly landing on my back—not to mention the sharp ache that stabbed in various points there—but none of that could wipe away the buzz from the orgasm.
“You know,” I said, euphoric, “now that we can move in together, we can do this every morning.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
He couldn’t have sounded less enthusiastic if I’d asked him to clean an entire Victorian manor top to bottom by himself. I rolled over, more gingerly this time, to face him. He was staring at the ceiling, his lips tugged down.
I shuffled closer and stroked his chest with my fingertips. “You do want to move in together, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but before I could, he rolled onto his side and gripped my chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding me still for a kiss. “Sorry, my brain just realized it’s Sunday and we have to go back to work tomorrow. Then I got to thinking that I should drive you in since you probably shouldn’t be driving yet.”
“I was going to take transit.”
His frown deepened. “Maybe on Tuesday. I don’t want you dealing with that and a full day of work.”
I nodded, unable to argue with that logic, and ducked my head to kiss the fingers that had captured my chin. “Thank you for everything this weekend.”
A shadow flitted across his face, and he gently tipped my face up to meet his kiss. “You don’t have to thank me for anything. It’s the least I could do after what happened.” He kissed me again. “I love you.”
Warmth spread through me like it always did at those words, and I beamed back at him. “I love you too.”
I was feeling pretty good by the time I got together with my friends on Saturday. Logan’s friends were playing touch football, and he’d laughingly excused me from the torture since my friends had something planned too. Although if they hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have been required to play—neither of us wanted to risk my head being jostled.
Although all my friends had seen me at some point during the last weekend, they fussed over me when I arrived—having driven my own car!—until I’d had enough and batted them away. Eventually the conversation turned to Rosa, or the new show on Netflix, or the video game they were playing. I listened, letting the voices wash over me, glad for the sense of normality it brought with it.
The week had been weird. I’d been on my own—Logan had been distracted and overwhelmed with work—and the apartment had felt oddly quiet. I’d suggested to Logan that I could come over to his place after work, hinting that I could move some stuff in, but he’d said I shouldn’t strain myself while I was recovering and he probably wouldn’t be much fun anyway.
I’d wanted to tell him that it wasn’t about fun—I didn’t need him to entertain me—but that I just wanted to be near him. That had sounded desperate, though, even in my head. He’d spent all of the past weekend with me, so I should give him some room, right? Despite the fact we’d previously been talking about moving in together. Maybe that was off the table now? Though I had no idea why it would be.
“Uh-oh, Zack’s got a frown on.”
I shook my head—gently—and focused on Jenna. “What?”
&n
bsp; “Nothing. We seemed to have lost you. What’s going on?”
I swallowed. I didn’t want to unload all my relationship worries on them. They’d probably think I was being paranoid. Or worse, complaining about what was maybe a little wrong when I had something as good as Logan in my life. “Sorry . . . Thinking about last week, I guess.”
Everyone’s expression transformed into one of sympathy.
“I still can’t believe that happened,” Mark said, shaking his head from his spot on the floor.
“I can.” I touched right next to where the stitches were in my head. “Maybe not this badly.”
“It seems hard to believe that one of our parents would attack us,” Roe said, putting a hand on my shoulder and gently squeezing. “I’m glad you and Logan got out of there fast.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It wasn’t hard for me to believe that my dad would do this. I mean, maybe not with a chair; yelling is his modus operandi. But I knew he’d be angry. It’s why I didn’t want to tell them. I knew I’d, well, be unwelcome there to say the least.”
“Not to be harsh,” Laura said, “but if they didn’t know about this whole huge part of your life—who you love and want to spend your life with, don’t pretend you don’t—then were you really welcome before?”
I groaned and leaned back on the couch. “That’s why I told them. But they’re my family. Now I’ve lost them.” The truth had literally been beaten into me, and yet it still hurt to say out loud.
“You have Sue,” Jenna reminded.
“I know. She’s been great, standing by me through everything. But they’re my family. I didn’t want to lose that.” I sagged forward, the weight of everything crushing down on my shoulders, until my elbows were on my knees. “Now I have.”
Jackson grunted. “You have us.”
“Yeah, but you’re not family.” I pressed my face to my hands, needing to close my eyes and choke off the emotions that were trying to come up. “It’s different.”
Silence followed. At first I thought they were all as saddened as I was by my loss, or sad for me about it, but when the silence dragged on longer, I raised my eyes.
Right into Jackson’s wide, accusing gaze. His mouth was partially open with shock, but the wrinkle across his brow and the tightness around his eyes spoke of hurt. What had I missed? What was wrong? If he saw the questions in my expression, he didn’t answer them.
“What?” I finally asked.
“‘Not family’?” Jackson croaked.
“No.” I straightened a little, peering around at everyone. No one seemed as aghast as Jackson, but no one looked as confused as I felt either. “You guys are amazing, but you’re not family.”
Jackson stood abruptly. “Thank fuck for that, I suppose. If we were, we’d be putting you in the hospital too!”
He stormed out, and it was my turn to stare with my jaw dangling in surprise. What the hell had just happened?
“Um?” I turned to my friends, trying to find someone who could explain.
Emmett’s lips were twisted as he glanced from the door Jackson had gone through and back to me. I had a feeling if he hadn’t had Rosa in his arms, he would have already been with Jackson. Instead he was now glaring at me with pursed lips.
“What?” I repeated.
“We’re your family too,” Roe said quickly. “Not biological, not like Sue, but we’re family.”
I shook my head. “No, you guys are my friends. You mean the world to me. I chose you. Family is that thing you get stuck with. They’ve been with you from the beginning, for better or worse.”
“Well, we’re your chosen family, then,” Jenna tried.
No. My family—except for Sue—was full of assholes who would rather take a chair to their son than deal with him being gay. My friends were better than that. Meant more than that. I shook my head. “No, you’re my friends. Don’t you see how that’s better?”
“Okay, you guys work this out,” Emmett said, passing Rosa off to Roe. “I’m going to talk to Jack.”
Then Emmett was gone, and everyone else continued to try to explain why they were family. They didn’t seem to get that I didn’t want them to be family. I mean, I did, because they would be awesome family, but it didn’t work that way. I wanted my family, blemishes and all. You only got one chance, and mine was done. Except for Sue, I had to keep reminding myself, clinging to that one strand of hope.
Because family was always there for you. As wonderful as they were, friends could come and go; there was so little history tying you together. Interests could change, or people could get annoyed with each other, and then you wouldn’t be friends anymore. Nothing demanded a connection.
But Sue and I? We hardly had any interests in common, and yet we had our whole childhoods in common. That bound us together in a way my friends didn’t seem to get.
Eventually they gave up on trying to get me to see their point—when it was them who didn’t get my point—and Roe said I was arguing a matter of semantics and could I agree that everyone loved me and was here for me?
Of course I agreed with that.
“Eeeee!” Rosa confirmed as Emmett and Jackson returned.
With a wan smile, Jackson took Rosa back from Roe and sat on the couch. It didn’t escape my notice that he wasn’t looking at me, wasn’t talking to me. Emmett met my eyes and shrugged, then sat down next to his husband, wrapping a protective arm around Jackson’s shoulders.
I wished Logan were here. Obviously I was glad he could hang with his friends and they were getting along now—though their constant fighting proved how fragile friendships were—but I wanted his arms around me while everyone stared at me like I’d taken a dump on the floor. I’d come to see my friends and have fun, to get some of last weekend’s stress off my chest, but I seemed to have taken more on instead. I’d lost my family, Logan was being weird, and now my friends were silently brewing that I didn’t consider them family. Everything was piling up while all my supports were being washed out from under me. I was drowning on solid ground.
I almost wanted to tell them I did think of them as family, if only so they’d stop being mad. In the end, though, lying seemed a greater sin than our conflict warranted, so I said nothing.
The rest of the day, I barely said a word as conversations swarmed around me, never pulling me in.
I knew my friends were still upset with me over the next few days, because our group text chat was oddly silent. Usually it was filled with random thoughts, pictures, or links that we came across throughout the day, but now half of what happened in there was from me.
See, I wanted to tell them, bitterness on the back of my tongue, this is why you’re not family. Family wouldn’t break apart over something so small as this. Because family loves you no matter what, because you’re bound by blood.
Well, no matter what, unless you’re gay and your parents are homophobes.
I was screwed.
Then I shared my concerns with Logan while he was chopping vegetables for dinner. I was spending most nights at his place, but I hadn’t raised the question about moving in together again. I wasn’t sure I could face his apathy. Or rejection.
“They’re probably busy with things,” he said.
“Too busy to text?”
“Didn’t you say Roe was freaking out over edits or something for that thing they wrote? And Rosa had a bad cold?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled beside him, prodding the steak on the skillet. “But they’ve all been busy before and it never stopped them.”
Logan sighed. “Or it did, but you weren’t concerned about it. Now you think there’s a reason, so it seems bigger than it is. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
It’s nothing became my mantra for the next week, and it got me through. By the following Thursday, the chat was back to being a bustle of conversation. Thank goodness. They weren’t mad; Logan was right and they’d been busy. I felt silly, but at least Logan was the only one who’d witnessed my anxiet
y.
Then Friday happened.
Jackson: In some sort of miracle, Rosa’s cold is all cleared up! Everyone want to come over for brunch on Saturday morning?
Jenna: Laura and I are in!
Roe: Sounds good. I’ll bring that french toast casserole.
Mark: Exactly what I need. I’ll be cliche and bring the mimosas.
I frowned at my phone, wishing this conversation had happened two days ago, although it couldn’t have as they’d been waiting for Rosa to feel better. But still. I typed, Sorry, I can’t make that. I promised to go into work and do overtime for this project. What about Sunday?
Jackson: Saturday is really better for us. We’ll see you next week, I guess.
I barely saw the flood of texts that followed, my phone pinging constantly in my hand, my screen flashing to life every five seconds.
“We’ll see you next week, I guess.”
I swallowed as the chat continued moving, and I had to scroll up again to read those words. Again and again. As if I might have misread how easily I’d been dropped. Nope. Every time the words were the same.
“We’ll see you next week, I guess.”
Eventually I silenced the conversation and opened my texts with Sue.
How are you doing?
It was Friday night, and she probably had plans with her own friends or her boyfriend, but that didn’t make the silence that answered me any easier to take.
It’s nothing, I tried to tell myself. But the mantra wasn’t working. I felt detached—not like an emotionless robot, but like a balloon that had slipped—no, that a child had let go of. I was drifting away on whatever currents wanted to take me, and the child was tearlessly watching me go. Or, worse yet, had already forgotten me.
I shuddered. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s nothing.
Yet it certainly felt like something.
I was still sitting on the couch when Logan got home. The mantra had become a faint buzzing in my head, white noise that lulled me into a Zen-like state. The click of the door closing snapped me out of it, and then Logan’s warm voice said, “Honey, I’m home.”
Hard Truths Page 17