“Where are we going?” I ask for what must be the twelfth time since we got out of the car and started heading for the woods.
“You’ll see, you’ll see,” Ben says, the twelfth and thirteenth times. He ducks under a very low fallen tree, but given the nearly half a foot height difference between us, I have to clamber awkwardly over it.
“It’s cold,” I say, trying not to complain. He flashes me one of his very infrequent smiles and takes my hand.
“Don’t worry. I planned ahead. Come on, it’s just a little further,” he says.
“What’s just a little further?” I ask, but then I see what he’s referring to. As far as secret forts go, this one is top of the line; it seems to be to tree houses what my McMansion is to regular homes. It’s clearly old, but it still seems to be in good enough condition that I’m not too nervous when Ben starts to climb the board ladder nailed to the tree.
“Come on,” he repeats, and I follow him up. The inside of the tree house is surprisingly warm, no doubt due to the fact that there seem to be actual windows, instead of just holes in the walls. The trapdoor entrance also closes securely, and is then covered with a throw rug. I can’t straighten up all the way, but Ben can. He crosses to the other side of the small room to open a large trunk and pulls out two very thick knitted blankets. He spreads one out on the floor like he’s setting up for a picnic, then beckons me over. We sit down cross-legged on the floor, facing each other, and he smoothes the blanket over both of our legs.
“This,” Ben says, “is my tree house. My dad helped me build it the summer after Jane was born so that I could have some place to hang out without always having to deal with babymania. Alex and I practically grew up in this thing.”
“I like it,” I say, and when he rewards me with another smile, I know I’ve said the right thing. “Why did you bring me up here, though?”
“Because I want to talk to you about some stuff. A lot of stuff, actually. Most of it’s really stupid, but a lot of it is stupidly important. And I guess I figure… if anything is going to ever happen between us, you should at least know who you’re with,” he says. He looks slightly embarrassed, and it makes me want to kiss him. I don’t. I haven’t kissed him for four days now, not since Monday at his house. Granted, Monday included making out on his bed for an hour and a half, but since then, there has been nothing, save the shy smiles he gives me when we pass each other in the hall, and the thrilling, excruciating moments at lunch when he occasionally caresses my hand under the table.
Instead of kissing him, I take his hand and intertwine our fingers. “So talk to me,” I say, and for good measure, I press my lips to his wrist. That is one of the only noticeable changes since Monday; no wristbands, no new cuts.
He shivers and extracts his hand from mine. “Don’t distract me and I will.”
I wrap my arms around my own body and nod for him to go on. He takes a deep breath.
“My full name is Benjamin Brendon McCutcheon. My birthday is January seventeenth, I have five siblings and a dog named Lucy, and my favorite color is blue.” He pauses, and I smile slightly.
“These are some very hard-hitting facts,” I say.
“I’m working my way up to the big stuff,” he explains. “I decided I should start small.”
“That’s a good plan. What kind of dog is Lucy?” I ask.
“She’s a Golden Retriever,” he says. “My first kiss was with Alex, when I was fifteen. We were hanging out at the playground on a Friday night because we had nothing better to do, and we were sitting on top of the monkey bars, and he just looks really, really good in twilight. So I leaned over and kissed him, very chaste, no tongue or anything, barely more than a peck. He let me, but I got scared and ran home right after it happened. He didn’t even mention it the next day, like it never happened. My second kiss was with Alex, too, and my third. But he was never sober for any of them, except that first one.”
He pauses, seeming unsure of himself. I want to find some way to show him he can keep going, so I take his hand again.
“I was ten years younger than that for my first kiss,” I say, and he laughs. “It was with Susan Baxter.”
“Susan Baxter’s a huge slut,” he says, and I nod.
“I know she is. She attacked me when we were in kindergarten, and I ran away. And then I cried so hard that my teacher had to call my mom and have her come pick me up. The first time I kissed anybody back though, I was in eighth grade. I made out with my cousin’s best friend behind some trees at a family picnic. She wouldn’t spit out her gum first, and it was really awkward.”
“What kind of gum was it?” Ben asks. He would ask that.
“Cinnamon. I still can’t be around anybody who’s eating Big Red without feeling a little nauseated,” I say. “But go on. This is supposed to be your time to talk.”
“No, I like this. It makes it easier,” he says. I kiss his wrist again, and he blinks at it for a moment before he starts to speak again. “I was fifteen when I started cutting myself. It was about a week after Halloween during my sophomore year. I don’t remember why I started, though. I think eventually, that part stopped mattering.”
I swallow. “If it was a week after Halloween… then you started a few days before I tried to kill myself.”
“Two, actually. It was two days,” he says. I blink.
“You remember the date of my suicide attempt?” I say.
“Sure. November eighth,” he says with a shrug. “I remember because I was terrified. The school seemed like it was going to start a witch hunt for anybody with depression, and all I remember thinking is ‘I can’t believe I gave physical evidence right when they might be looking for it.’ All of those assemblies, all the guidance seminars. It was scary. And it made me mad at you before I even knew you.”
For several minutes, I have no idea what to say. Finally, though, I clear my throat.
“I was thirteen when I started,” I say. “It was a couple of months after my parents got divorced. My sister was a moody bitch over it all, so she wasn’t talking to me. And my mom… I don’t know. I think sometimes I remind her too much of Hank—sorry, I mean, my dad. I think I remind her too much of my dad, and I think it kind of pissed her off for a while. I-I mean, I look a lot like him, you know? We’ve got the same color eyes, and the same color hair, I guess. And I’ve got his freckles, too. And I think for a while, she just didn’t wanna look at me. My friends were great, school was swell, but fuck. I was thirteen and nobody in my house would speak to me anymore. I just… didn’t handle it well.”
Ben leans over and presses his lips to my forehead, keeping them there until I finally manage to stop shaking so much. He presses another kiss to my cheek, then one to my lips.
“I’m sorry your parents’ bullshit had to hurt you so much,” he says. I nod.
“Me too,” I say, and then I sigh. “I keep interrupting, and it’s getting to be really obnoxious of me. Please keep going.”
“I don’t want to keep going. None of this stuff is exactly fun to say,” he grumbles.
“So tell me something fun instead,” I say. He pauses, then after a moment, grins.
“I can count to twenty in Hungarian,” he says. I laugh.
“Bullshit.”
“Egy, ketto, harom, negy—”
“Okay, okay, I believe you!” I cover his mouth with my hand, and he kisses my palm before continuing.
“I can also say ‘Give me the squirrel, or I will behead your grandmother!’ in Swedish. My favorite class in school is my Shakespeare elective, but my Model U.N. course is a close second. I’m allergic to cats and stupid people. I can play the piano, the guitar, a little bit of the drums, and the clarinet, but I try not to let anyone find out about that last one. I can’t sing for shit, either. But I can play ‘Girl At The Rock Show’ on the xylophone. I’ve never gotten drunk in my life, because the first time I ever had any type of alcohol was a big gulp of cheap red wine at my aunt’s wedding when I was ten, and it was so gross that I threw up in the garden. That sort of turned me off of alcohol right then. Instead, I drink Snapple. Like, a lot. I probably have two or three a day. It’s sort of unnatural. My favorite animal is the otter, and I really hate mimes. I’m not scared of them or anything. They just piss me the fuck off.”
“You’re really kind of adorable,” I say.
“I know. Oh, and lobsters creep me out,” he adds. “Also, if you kissed me right now, I probably wouldn’t mind.”
“Just probably?” I say, raising my eyebrows. He grins.
“I just wanna see if you’re willing to take your chances,” he says. I am.
I lean forward to kiss him, cupping his cold face between my even colder hands, and he grips the front of my jacket, keeping me in place even though I had no intention of going anywhere. After a few seconds, the leaning feels awkward, so I shift onto my knees. To accommodate my move, Ben slips his arms around my waist and leans back slightly, tilting his face up to mine. I don’t think I’ll ever get over how soft his lips are.
There’s a sudden buzzing from his coat pocket, and we both jump. He fishes his cell phone out and checks the caller ID.
“Alex,” he says. He presses the ‘ignore call’ button and tosses the phone across the tree house. He pulls me back down to him with such force that he ends up flat on his back with me on top of him, the blankets bunched up beneath him. We kiss slowly, lazily, for a while. I don’t want to stop – maybe ever – but suddenly, there is the sound of voices from below as people ascend the nailed-in ladder. I make a half-hearted attempt to move off of Ben, but his hands grip my jacket a little tighter, anchoring me to him. Instead, we both just turn our heads to the trapdoor, which flies open. Jeremy comes through first, though his focus seems to be on getting into the tree house without getting any slivers, as he doesn’t look up as he clambers inside. Mason comes next, his hat pulled down practically over his eyes. Alex is the last to come in and the first to see us. He pauses halfway through the act of closing the trapdoor and blinks at us.
“...can we help you?” Ben says finally. I burst out laughing. Mason and Jeremy finally seem to notice our position, and both at least have the decency to look a little sheepish.
“Uh, do you want us to go?” Jeremy asks. Ben shakes his head.
“No, it’s fine,” he says. Jeremy blinks at us.
“Then… do you at least wanna stop making out now?” he asks. “And maybe, you know, get off of each other?”
I sit up again and lean back against the wall. Ben takes a little while longer to sit up, first stretching like a cat and then pausing to fold up one of the blankets. He gathers up the other and comes to join me against the wall. I pull him down between my parted legs and he settles in comfortably with his back against my chest, the blanket spread across us.
“So, when did this charming new development occur?” Jeremy asks. “Since at the beginning of the week, you guys were telling each other how much you hate each other. Loudly.”
“Unresolved sexual tension,” Alex informs him, and Ben snorts.
“You know something kind of cool?” Mason says suddenly, turning his glassy eyes towards me. “Travis is like, this major ho-bag database.”
“Um,” I say, and Ben aims a kick at him.
“No, really!” Mason continues, warming to the idea. “I mean, if we wanted to chronicize—”
“Chronicle,” I correct.
“Yeah, that. If we wanted to chronicle the kissing technique of all the different dude-liking dudes in town, we’d just have to like, build a lab inside Travis’ head. Because first there was Garen—” Ben tenses almost imperceptibly, and I wrap my arms a little tighter around him to try to keep him calm. “—and then you hooked up with Alex—”
“I’m not a ‘dude-liking dude,’ though. I’m just an affectionate drunk,” Alex interrupts. Jeremy snorts.
“Al, if you’re getting ‘affectionate’ with another guy’s cock, you’re a dude-liking dude. That is the foundation of dude-liking. Cock-liking,” he says. Ben twists slightly to address me.
“I personally am really enjoying the objectification of everyone of our sexual orientation,” he says.
“Oh, me too,” I say.
“Anyway,” Mason says loudly, “first there was Garen, then there was Alex, and now there’s Ben. Well, I assume. Since usually the making out comes before the horizontal gyrations.”
“There was no gyration,” Ben protests.
“There was a little gyration,” I admit, and he elbows me.
“Can somebody please answer my question?” Jeremy demands. “When did this happen?”
“That’s a complicated question with a complicated answer. But I suppose the abridged version is that Travis jumped me in the hall on Monday, and after a few hours of quiet contemplation, I decided there are worse guys I could get jumped by. It helped that he showed up at my house that afternoon to try to convince me he’s not a complete ass. And today, I just brought him over here after school to talk.”
“And gyrate,” Mason murmurs.
“What is with you and gyrating, Mason? Seriously, we really were talking— Travis, that’s very distracting,” Ben says. I pause in the act of kissing the back of his neck.
“Sorry. Go on,” I say.
“Well, now I don’t remember what I was saying,” he says, and I can tell he’s scowling even though I can’t see his face. I press smiling lips to his skin again.
“Does that mean I can go back to—”
“No, it does not, actually, because there are other people in this tree house, thank you very much,” Jeremy says. His sentence is punctuated by the ringing of my cell phone, which Ben does me the favor of digging out of my jacket pocket and handing to me. I answer it without checking the caller ID, which I immediately regret.
“Hello?”
“Travis, it’s Bill.”
I scramble up a little straighter, suddenly feeling as though he must know where I am and who’s in my lap. “Bill. Hi. What’s up?” I say. Feeling my discomfort, Ben shifts out of my lap and turns around to study my face.
“I was just wondering where you were. I came home early from work tonight. Your mother and I have some things to discuss with you and Bree,” Bill says. His voice is neutral, but if Bill is anything, it’s emotionally controlled, so his tone means nothing.
“I’m—I was just hanging out with some friends. But I’ll come home now,” I say. “See you soon.”
“What was that about?” Alex asks. I stuff my phone in my pocket and move to stand up.
“Watch your head,” Ben says, grabbing my hand to prevent me from straightening up all the way.
“That was Bill. He said he’s got some stuff to talk to me and my sister about, which can’t be good. I’ve gotta go,” I say. “Ben, thanks for the talk and stuff, I’ll—”
“I’ll drive you home,” Ben interrupts, following me out the trapdoor and down the ladder. I let him lead the way back to his house, trying not to hurry enough to step on his heels. Within ten minutes, we’re back in the car and on our way to my house.
“What do you think he wants to talk to you guys about?” Ben asks. I shrug.
“I don’t know. I can’t remember fucking up really badly lately, so I guess it could be anything,” I say. I don’t mention that part of me – some stupid, self-loathing part of me – wonders if it’s about Garen. Wonders if he’s back, or they’ve heard from him, or he turned up dead since he spoke to Ben on Sunday and the cops have only just now called. Ben parks in front of my house and turns to face me.
“I could come in with you, if you want. Moral support,” he says. I shake my head.
“Thanks, but I’d rather save that confrontation for another day. I’ll call you tonight, though?” I say. He nods in agreement and leans forward to kiss me. It’s a short, barely lingering kiss, but it helps calm my nerves nonetheless. I give him a small smile as I climb out of the car and head for the front door. At first, I think the house is empty, but eventually the voices drift out of the kitchen.
“I’m home!” I call.
“Hi, sweetie. Come on into the kitchen, will you?” Mom replies. I take my time hanging up my jacket and going to join them. Bill is rummaging through the refrigerator and Mom is sitting across from Bree, who smiles hesitantly at me. When I force a smile back at her, she looks a little relieved, and I feel a little guilty. I should forgive her for outing me, but so far, I still haven’t had much luck.
“What’s up?” I say.
“There are some things it’s time we discussed with you both. About the wedding,” Mom says. Fuck. I sink into the seat next to Bree and pin my arms to my sides so I won’t cross them defiantly. Bill lets the refrigerator door swing shut and comes to sit down empty-handed.
“We set a date,” he adds. I blink.
“That was… sudden,” I say.
“Actually, we’ve had it set for a while,” Mom continues cautiously. “We sent out the invitations almost two months ago, but given the situation that… arose… we decided it would be better to wait to discuss it.”
In other words, they didn’t want to risk having me put a gun in my mouth if they announced a date too soon after Garen left. Charming.
“When is it set for?” I ask, as calmly as I can manage. I can do this. I can be reasonable, I can keep my tone conversational. I have no reason to mind anymore, now that Garen’s gone and I’m no longer with him. Mom and Bill try to glance at each other surreptitiously, but it’s probably the most obvious gesture I’ve ever seen.
“Well... we want to go on a honeymoon, of course, but we didn’t want to risk leaving you both alone here during a school week. That would just be impractical. So we decided that it would make sense if the wedding was the first Sunday of your spring break. That way, we could spend the week away, but you would be able to stay home and not have any hassle,” Mom says all in a rush.
“Spring break is only seven weeks away,” Bree says, staring at them. For once, she doesn’t seem completely gung-ho about this whole wedding. Took her long enough.
“I know. We’ve been able to make most of our plans, but of course, some of them involve you two. For example, Bree, I need you to come with me to find a bridesmaid dress for you,” Mom says. She seems to be gaining more excitement as the wedding talk goes on. “See, I’ve already chosen the color scheme, and we’ve got all of our reservations made. The wedding ceremony itself will be very traditional, at our usual church. Then we want to have the reception at the Lakewood Country Club. It will all be very beautiful.”
“Wow,” is all Bree can say. Bill turns to me.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to discuss with you, actually, Travis,” he says.
“Okay…” I say slowly.
“Your mother and I have put off telling you both about this for obvious reasons, but we do want you to be involved. Not just in the plans, but with the wedding itself. My original plan had been to ask this of Garen, but since it… it doesn’t look like he’ll be here for the wedding, I can’t do that. So, I’d like to ask you to be my best man,” he says.
I’m surprised that this doesn’t make me want to throw up. In a weird, weird way, I’m actually sort of touched. In another way, though, it’s just strange.
“Are you uh… are you sure?” I ask. He nods. Mom is watching me anxiously, which fuels annoyance within me. Bill wants to unite the family; Mom just wants to do her best to make sure no one remembers Garen or the tawdry affair I had with him. Or, probably, my gayness in general. Luckily, I have a lifetime of experience of pissing my parents off.
“I have a boyfriend,” I say. Bill blinks at me. Clearly, this is not one of the answers he prepared himself for. Bree looks around at me curiously, and Mom’s hopefulness tightens into barely contained disapproval.
“Do you?” Bill finally says. I nod.
“His name is Ben. He’s a senior, but he’s very short, so he looks a lot like a freshman. And he drives an SUV, which he looks ridiculous in and can probably barely see over the steering wheel in. That’s where I was before I came home. With him. We were making out in the tree house he built when he was a kid. He’s a really good kisser, and he’s sort of ridiculously cute. And he wears eyeliner and really tight jeans and old red Converse. And he’s afraid of lobsters,” I say. “I’ll be your best man if I can invite Ben to the wedding. I assume you guys were going to let Bree and I both bring dates. And I want Ben to be mine.”
This declaration is followed by at least two full minutes of silence. Mom hasn’t blinked once since I started talking, and Bree appears to be trying very hard not to laugh. Bill, however, looks pretty neutral.
“Of course you can bring Ben as your date,” he says. Mom whirls on him.
“William, perhaps we should discuss this first,” she says sharply. He shrugs.
“I don’t see what there is to discuss. I’ve met Ben before. Garen introduced me to him months ago, and he’s a very nice boy. I think he’s an excellent choice of a boyfriend for Travis,” he says. This is so fucking surreal. This cannot be the same guy who kicked my last boyfriend out of the house. Apparently, Bree agrees.
“So, wait a minute. Travis’ first boyfriend gets kicked out of the house, but his second boyfriend gets invited to your wedding?” she demands. “Doesn’t that seem a little weird to you?”
Bill is staring at her, though, like she’s speaking a foreign language.
“The problem was never that Travis and Garen are both gay. The problem was that I could not allow my sons to be lovers,” he says. I’m not sure how to respond, but evidently, my mother doesn’t feel I need to say a word.
“What do you expect us to tell our family, William? My mother is coming to this wedding, you know, and the last thing she needs is to find out that her grandchild is a… a…”
“Faggot?” I supply.
“Yes,” Mom snaps. “You know, Travis, we’re all doing our best to accept your preferences, but you cannot expect us to make this day all about you.”
“This day is going to be all about family, Evelyn. And we are all a family. You, me, Bridget, Travis, and Garen, whether he’s here or not. You and I will be husband and wife, and together, we have three children, two of whom are gay. And I do not intend to treat my gay sons any differently than I will treat my straight daughter. If Bree is allowed to invite a date to the wedding, so is Travis,” Bill says. He is rapidly becoming my hero, and I’m not quite sure how to handle that.
“Then maybe neither of them should be allowed to bring a date,” Mom says. Bree opens her mouth to argue, but Bill cuts her off.
“Perhaps you’re right, Ev. Perhaps we should talk about this. But whatever discussion we have won’t change what’s going to happen. Bridget, Travis? Both of you should feel free to invite your boyfriends to the wedding. I hope they’re both able to make it,” he says. He nods once, obviously dismissing us, and my sister and I both scramble to our feet.
“William,” Mom hisses.
“But Travis, one last thing,” Bill says, and I freeze halfway to the door. Of course there’s some sort of prerequisite. Nothing good ever happens in my life without some degree of torture.
“Yeah?” I say.
“I’d like you to invite Ben over for dinner sometime soon. Your mother and sister should have the chance to meet him as well, if you two are going to remain a couple,” he says.
Yep.
Nothing good ever happens in my life without some degree of torture.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
“You’ll see, you’ll see,” Ben says, the twelfth and thirteenth times. He ducks under a very low fallen tree, but given the nearly half a foot height difference between us, I have to clamber awkwardly over it.
“It’s cold,” I say, trying not to complain. He flashes me one of his very infrequent smiles and takes my hand.
“Don’t worry. I planned ahead. Come on, it’s just a little further,” he says.
“What’s just a little further?” I ask, but then I see what he’s referring to. As far as secret forts go, this one is top of the line; it seems to be to tree houses what my McMansion is to regular homes. It’s clearly old, but it still seems to be in good enough condition that I’m not too nervous when Ben starts to climb the board ladder nailed to the tree.
“Come on,” he repeats, and I follow him up. The inside of the tree house is surprisingly warm, no doubt due to the fact that there seem to be actual windows, instead of just holes in the walls. The trapdoor entrance also closes securely, and is then covered with a throw rug. I can’t straighten up all the way, but Ben can. He crosses to the other side of the small room to open a large trunk and pulls out two very thick knitted blankets. He spreads one out on the floor like he’s setting up for a picnic, then beckons me over. We sit down cross-legged on the floor, facing each other, and he smoothes the blanket over both of our legs.
“This,” Ben says, “is my tree house. My dad helped me build it the summer after Jane was born so that I could have some place to hang out without always having to deal with babymania. Alex and I practically grew up in this thing.”
“I like it,” I say, and when he rewards me with another smile, I know I’ve said the right thing. “Why did you bring me up here, though?”
“Because I want to talk to you about some stuff. A lot of stuff, actually. Most of it’s really stupid, but a lot of it is stupidly important. And I guess I figure… if anything is going to ever happen between us, you should at least know who you’re with,” he says. He looks slightly embarrassed, and it makes me want to kiss him. I don’t. I haven’t kissed him for four days now, not since Monday at his house. Granted, Monday included making out on his bed for an hour and a half, but since then, there has been nothing, save the shy smiles he gives me when we pass each other in the hall, and the thrilling, excruciating moments at lunch when he occasionally caresses my hand under the table.
Instead of kissing him, I take his hand and intertwine our fingers. “So talk to me,” I say, and for good measure, I press my lips to his wrist. That is one of the only noticeable changes since Monday; no wristbands, no new cuts.
He shivers and extracts his hand from mine. “Don’t distract me and I will.”
I wrap my arms around my own body and nod for him to go on. He takes a deep breath.
“My full name is Benjamin Brendon McCutcheon. My birthday is January seventeenth, I have five siblings and a dog named Lucy, and my favorite color is blue.” He pauses, and I smile slightly.
“These are some very hard-hitting facts,” I say.
“I’m working my way up to the big stuff,” he explains. “I decided I should start small.”
“That’s a good plan. What kind of dog is Lucy?” I ask.
“She’s a Golden Retriever,” he says. “My first kiss was with Alex, when I was fifteen. We were hanging out at the playground on a Friday night because we had nothing better to do, and we were sitting on top of the monkey bars, and he just looks really, really good in twilight. So I leaned over and kissed him, very chaste, no tongue or anything, barely more than a peck. He let me, but I got scared and ran home right after it happened. He didn’t even mention it the next day, like it never happened. My second kiss was with Alex, too, and my third. But he was never sober for any of them, except that first one.”
He pauses, seeming unsure of himself. I want to find some way to show him he can keep going, so I take his hand again.
“I was ten years younger than that for my first kiss,” I say, and he laughs. “It was with Susan Baxter.”
“Susan Baxter’s a huge slut,” he says, and I nod.
“I know she is. She attacked me when we were in kindergarten, and I ran away. And then I cried so hard that my teacher had to call my mom and have her come pick me up. The first time I kissed anybody back though, I was in eighth grade. I made out with my cousin’s best friend behind some trees at a family picnic. She wouldn’t spit out her gum first, and it was really awkward.”
“What kind of gum was it?” Ben asks. He would ask that.
“Cinnamon. I still can’t be around anybody who’s eating Big Red without feeling a little nauseated,” I say. “But go on. This is supposed to be your time to talk.”
“No, I like this. It makes it easier,” he says. I kiss his wrist again, and he blinks at it for a moment before he starts to speak again. “I was fifteen when I started cutting myself. It was about a week after Halloween during my sophomore year. I don’t remember why I started, though. I think eventually, that part stopped mattering.”
I swallow. “If it was a week after Halloween… then you started a few days before I tried to kill myself.”
“Two, actually. It was two days,” he says. I blink.
“You remember the date of my suicide attempt?” I say.
“Sure. November eighth,” he says with a shrug. “I remember because I was terrified. The school seemed like it was going to start a witch hunt for anybody with depression, and all I remember thinking is ‘I can’t believe I gave physical evidence right when they might be looking for it.’ All of those assemblies, all the guidance seminars. It was scary. And it made me mad at you before I even knew you.”
For several minutes, I have no idea what to say. Finally, though, I clear my throat.
“I was thirteen when I started,” I say. “It was a couple of months after my parents got divorced. My sister was a moody bitch over it all, so she wasn’t talking to me. And my mom… I don’t know. I think sometimes I remind her too much of Hank—sorry, I mean, my dad. I think I remind her too much of my dad, and I think it kind of pissed her off for a while. I-I mean, I look a lot like him, you know? We’ve got the same color eyes, and the same color hair, I guess. And I’ve got his freckles, too. And I think for a while, she just didn’t wanna look at me. My friends were great, school was swell, but fuck. I was thirteen and nobody in my house would speak to me anymore. I just… didn’t handle it well.”
Ben leans over and presses his lips to my forehead, keeping them there until I finally manage to stop shaking so much. He presses another kiss to my cheek, then one to my lips.
“I’m sorry your parents’ bullshit had to hurt you so much,” he says. I nod.
“Me too,” I say, and then I sigh. “I keep interrupting, and it’s getting to be really obnoxious of me. Please keep going.”
“I don’t want to keep going. None of this stuff is exactly fun to say,” he grumbles.
“So tell me something fun instead,” I say. He pauses, then after a moment, grins.
“I can count to twenty in Hungarian,” he says. I laugh.
“Bullshit.”
“Egy, ketto, harom, negy—”
“Okay, okay, I believe you!” I cover his mouth with my hand, and he kisses my palm before continuing.
“I can also say ‘Give me the squirrel, or I will behead your grandmother!’ in Swedish. My favorite class in school is my Shakespeare elective, but my Model U.N. course is a close second. I’m allergic to cats and stupid people. I can play the piano, the guitar, a little bit of the drums, and the clarinet, but I try not to let anyone find out about that last one. I can’t sing for shit, either. But I can play ‘Girl At The Rock Show’ on the xylophone. I’ve never gotten drunk in my life, because the first time I ever had any type of alcohol was a big gulp of cheap red wine at my aunt’s wedding when I was ten, and it was so gross that I threw up in the garden. That sort of turned me off of alcohol right then. Instead, I drink Snapple. Like, a lot. I probably have two or three a day. It’s sort of unnatural. My favorite animal is the otter, and I really hate mimes. I’m not scared of them or anything. They just piss me the fuck off.”
“You’re really kind of adorable,” I say.
“I know. Oh, and lobsters creep me out,” he adds. “Also, if you kissed me right now, I probably wouldn’t mind.”
“Just probably?” I say, raising my eyebrows. He grins.
“I just wanna see if you’re willing to take your chances,” he says. I am.
I lean forward to kiss him, cupping his cold face between my even colder hands, and he grips the front of my jacket, keeping me in place even though I had no intention of going anywhere. After a few seconds, the leaning feels awkward, so I shift onto my knees. To accommodate my move, Ben slips his arms around my waist and leans back slightly, tilting his face up to mine. I don’t think I’ll ever get over how soft his lips are.
There’s a sudden buzzing from his coat pocket, and we both jump. He fishes his cell phone out and checks the caller ID.
“Alex,” he says. He presses the ‘ignore call’ button and tosses the phone across the tree house. He pulls me back down to him with such force that he ends up flat on his back with me on top of him, the blankets bunched up beneath him. We kiss slowly, lazily, for a while. I don’t want to stop – maybe ever – but suddenly, there is the sound of voices from below as people ascend the nailed-in ladder. I make a half-hearted attempt to move off of Ben, but his hands grip my jacket a little tighter, anchoring me to him. Instead, we both just turn our heads to the trapdoor, which flies open. Jeremy comes through first, though his focus seems to be on getting into the tree house without getting any slivers, as he doesn’t look up as he clambers inside. Mason comes next, his hat pulled down practically over his eyes. Alex is the last to come in and the first to see us. He pauses halfway through the act of closing the trapdoor and blinks at us.
“...can we help you?” Ben says finally. I burst out laughing. Mason and Jeremy finally seem to notice our position, and both at least have the decency to look a little sheepish.
“Uh, do you want us to go?” Jeremy asks. Ben shakes his head.
“No, it’s fine,” he says. Jeremy blinks at us.
“Then… do you at least wanna stop making out now?” he asks. “And maybe, you know, get off of each other?”
I sit up again and lean back against the wall. Ben takes a little while longer to sit up, first stretching like a cat and then pausing to fold up one of the blankets. He gathers up the other and comes to join me against the wall. I pull him down between my parted legs and he settles in comfortably with his back against my chest, the blanket spread across us.
“So, when did this charming new development occur?” Jeremy asks. “Since at the beginning of the week, you guys were telling each other how much you hate each other. Loudly.”
“Unresolved sexual tension,” Alex informs him, and Ben snorts.
“You know something kind of cool?” Mason says suddenly, turning his glassy eyes towards me. “Travis is like, this major ho-bag database.”
“Um,” I say, and Ben aims a kick at him.
“No, really!” Mason continues, warming to the idea. “I mean, if we wanted to chronicize—”
“Chronicle,” I correct.
“Yeah, that. If we wanted to chronicle the kissing technique of all the different dude-liking dudes in town, we’d just have to like, build a lab inside Travis’ head. Because first there was Garen—” Ben tenses almost imperceptibly, and I wrap my arms a little tighter around him to try to keep him calm. “—and then you hooked up with Alex—”
“I’m not a ‘dude-liking dude,’ though. I’m just an affectionate drunk,” Alex interrupts. Jeremy snorts.
“Al, if you’re getting ‘affectionate’ with another guy’s cock, you’re a dude-liking dude. That is the foundation of dude-liking. Cock-liking,” he says. Ben twists slightly to address me.
“I personally am really enjoying the objectification of everyone of our sexual orientation,” he says.
“Oh, me too,” I say.
“Anyway,” Mason says loudly, “first there was Garen, then there was Alex, and now there’s Ben. Well, I assume. Since usually the making out comes before the horizontal gyrations.”
“There was no gyration,” Ben protests.
“There was a little gyration,” I admit, and he elbows me.
“Can somebody please answer my question?” Jeremy demands. “When did this happen?”
“That’s a complicated question with a complicated answer. But I suppose the abridged version is that Travis jumped me in the hall on Monday, and after a few hours of quiet contemplation, I decided there are worse guys I could get jumped by. It helped that he showed up at my house that afternoon to try to convince me he’s not a complete ass. And today, I just brought him over here after school to talk.”
“And gyrate,” Mason murmurs.
“What is with you and gyrating, Mason? Seriously, we really were talking— Travis, that’s very distracting,” Ben says. I pause in the act of kissing the back of his neck.
“Sorry. Go on,” I say.
“Well, now I don’t remember what I was saying,” he says, and I can tell he’s scowling even though I can’t see his face. I press smiling lips to his skin again.
“Does that mean I can go back to—”
“No, it does not, actually, because there are other people in this tree house, thank you very much,” Jeremy says. His sentence is punctuated by the ringing of my cell phone, which Ben does me the favor of digging out of my jacket pocket and handing to me. I answer it without checking the caller ID, which I immediately regret.
“Hello?”
“Travis, it’s Bill.”
I scramble up a little straighter, suddenly feeling as though he must know where I am and who’s in my lap. “Bill. Hi. What’s up?” I say. Feeling my discomfort, Ben shifts out of my lap and turns around to study my face.
“I was just wondering where you were. I came home early from work tonight. Your mother and I have some things to discuss with you and Bree,” Bill says. His voice is neutral, but if Bill is anything, it’s emotionally controlled, so his tone means nothing.
“I’m—I was just hanging out with some friends. But I’ll come home now,” I say. “See you soon.”
“What was that about?” Alex asks. I stuff my phone in my pocket and move to stand up.
“Watch your head,” Ben says, grabbing my hand to prevent me from straightening up all the way.
“That was Bill. He said he’s got some stuff to talk to me and my sister about, which can’t be good. I’ve gotta go,” I say. “Ben, thanks for the talk and stuff, I’ll—”
“I’ll drive you home,” Ben interrupts, following me out the trapdoor and down the ladder. I let him lead the way back to his house, trying not to hurry enough to step on his heels. Within ten minutes, we’re back in the car and on our way to my house.
“What do you think he wants to talk to you guys about?” Ben asks. I shrug.
“I don’t know. I can’t remember fucking up really badly lately, so I guess it could be anything,” I say. I don’t mention that part of me – some stupid, self-loathing part of me – wonders if it’s about Garen. Wonders if he’s back, or they’ve heard from him, or he turned up dead since he spoke to Ben on Sunday and the cops have only just now called. Ben parks in front of my house and turns to face me.
“I could come in with you, if you want. Moral support,” he says. I shake my head.
“Thanks, but I’d rather save that confrontation for another day. I’ll call you tonight, though?” I say. He nods in agreement and leans forward to kiss me. It’s a short, barely lingering kiss, but it helps calm my nerves nonetheless. I give him a small smile as I climb out of the car and head for the front door. At first, I think the house is empty, but eventually the voices drift out of the kitchen.
“I’m home!” I call.
“Hi, sweetie. Come on into the kitchen, will you?” Mom replies. I take my time hanging up my jacket and going to join them. Bill is rummaging through the refrigerator and Mom is sitting across from Bree, who smiles hesitantly at me. When I force a smile back at her, she looks a little relieved, and I feel a little guilty. I should forgive her for outing me, but so far, I still haven’t had much luck.
“What’s up?” I say.
“There are some things it’s time we discussed with you both. About the wedding,” Mom says. Fuck. I sink into the seat next to Bree and pin my arms to my sides so I won’t cross them defiantly. Bill lets the refrigerator door swing shut and comes to sit down empty-handed.
“We set a date,” he adds. I blink.
“That was… sudden,” I say.
“Actually, we’ve had it set for a while,” Mom continues cautiously. “We sent out the invitations almost two months ago, but given the situation that… arose… we decided it would be better to wait to discuss it.”
In other words, they didn’t want to risk having me put a gun in my mouth if they announced a date too soon after Garen left. Charming.
“When is it set for?” I ask, as calmly as I can manage. I can do this. I can be reasonable, I can keep my tone conversational. I have no reason to mind anymore, now that Garen’s gone and I’m no longer with him. Mom and Bill try to glance at each other surreptitiously, but it’s probably the most obvious gesture I’ve ever seen.
“Well... we want to go on a honeymoon, of course, but we didn’t want to risk leaving you both alone here during a school week. That would just be impractical. So we decided that it would make sense if the wedding was the first Sunday of your spring break. That way, we could spend the week away, but you would be able to stay home and not have any hassle,” Mom says all in a rush.
“Spring break is only seven weeks away,” Bree says, staring at them. For once, she doesn’t seem completely gung-ho about this whole wedding. Took her long enough.
“I know. We’ve been able to make most of our plans, but of course, some of them involve you two. For example, Bree, I need you to come with me to find a bridesmaid dress for you,” Mom says. She seems to be gaining more excitement as the wedding talk goes on. “See, I’ve already chosen the color scheme, and we’ve got all of our reservations made. The wedding ceremony itself will be very traditional, at our usual church. Then we want to have the reception at the Lakewood Country Club. It will all be very beautiful.”
“Wow,” is all Bree can say. Bill turns to me.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to discuss with you, actually, Travis,” he says.
“Okay…” I say slowly.
“Your mother and I have put off telling you both about this for obvious reasons, but we do want you to be involved. Not just in the plans, but with the wedding itself. My original plan had been to ask this of Garen, but since it… it doesn’t look like he’ll be here for the wedding, I can’t do that. So, I’d like to ask you to be my best man,” he says.
I’m surprised that this doesn’t make me want to throw up. In a weird, weird way, I’m actually sort of touched. In another way, though, it’s just strange.
“Are you uh… are you sure?” I ask. He nods. Mom is watching me anxiously, which fuels annoyance within me. Bill wants to unite the family; Mom just wants to do her best to make sure no one remembers Garen or the tawdry affair I had with him. Or, probably, my gayness in general. Luckily, I have a lifetime of experience of pissing my parents off.
“I have a boyfriend,” I say. Bill blinks at me. Clearly, this is not one of the answers he prepared himself for. Bree looks around at me curiously, and Mom’s hopefulness tightens into barely contained disapproval.
“Do you?” Bill finally says. I nod.
“His name is Ben. He’s a senior, but he’s very short, so he looks a lot like a freshman. And he drives an SUV, which he looks ridiculous in and can probably barely see over the steering wheel in. That’s where I was before I came home. With him. We were making out in the tree house he built when he was a kid. He’s a really good kisser, and he’s sort of ridiculously cute. And he wears eyeliner and really tight jeans and old red Converse. And he’s afraid of lobsters,” I say. “I’ll be your best man if I can invite Ben to the wedding. I assume you guys were going to let Bree and I both bring dates. And I want Ben to be mine.”
This declaration is followed by at least two full minutes of silence. Mom hasn’t blinked once since I started talking, and Bree appears to be trying very hard not to laugh. Bill, however, looks pretty neutral.
“Of course you can bring Ben as your date,” he says. Mom whirls on him.
“William, perhaps we should discuss this first,” she says sharply. He shrugs.
“I don’t see what there is to discuss. I’ve met Ben before. Garen introduced me to him months ago, and he’s a very nice boy. I think he’s an excellent choice of a boyfriend for Travis,” he says. This is so fucking surreal. This cannot be the same guy who kicked my last boyfriend out of the house. Apparently, Bree agrees.
“So, wait a minute. Travis’ first boyfriend gets kicked out of the house, but his second boyfriend gets invited to your wedding?” she demands. “Doesn’t that seem a little weird to you?”
Bill is staring at her, though, like she’s speaking a foreign language.
“The problem was never that Travis and Garen are both gay. The problem was that I could not allow my sons to be lovers,” he says. I’m not sure how to respond, but evidently, my mother doesn’t feel I need to say a word.
“What do you expect us to tell our family, William? My mother is coming to this wedding, you know, and the last thing she needs is to find out that her grandchild is a… a…”
“Faggot?” I supply.
“Yes,” Mom snaps. “You know, Travis, we’re all doing our best to accept your preferences, but you cannot expect us to make this day all about you.”
“This day is going to be all about family, Evelyn. And we are all a family. You, me, Bridget, Travis, and Garen, whether he’s here or not. You and I will be husband and wife, and together, we have three children, two of whom are gay. And I do not intend to treat my gay sons any differently than I will treat my straight daughter. If Bree is allowed to invite a date to the wedding, so is Travis,” Bill says. He is rapidly becoming my hero, and I’m not quite sure how to handle that.
“Then maybe neither of them should be allowed to bring a date,” Mom says. Bree opens her mouth to argue, but Bill cuts her off.
“Perhaps you’re right, Ev. Perhaps we should talk about this. But whatever discussion we have won’t change what’s going to happen. Bridget, Travis? Both of you should feel free to invite your boyfriends to the wedding. I hope they’re both able to make it,” he says. He nods once, obviously dismissing us, and my sister and I both scramble to our feet.
“William,” Mom hisses.
“But Travis, one last thing,” Bill says, and I freeze halfway to the door. Of course there’s some sort of prerequisite. Nothing good ever happens in my life without some degree of torture.
“Yeah?” I say.
“I’d like you to invite Ben over for dinner sometime soon. Your mother and sister should have the chance to meet him as well, if you two are going to remain a couple,” he says.
Yep.
Nothing good ever happens in my life without some degree of torture.
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