Taking Chances (10 page)

“You know, that doesn’t sound so bad to me,” I admitted.

“Oh really?” he said with a grin.

I nodded and felt my cheeks get red. “Sounds awesome if it was with you.”

His grin turned into a wide smile, and I felt my heart skip a beat. “So how long you gonna be in town?”

My mouth moved faster than my mind. “How long do you want me to be?”

He arched an eyebrow in response.

“I mean, I don’t have any plans yet,” I lied, knowing I had meant to leave the first flight after Christmas.

“Hmmm…,” he murmured as he pulled me in close. “You want some plans?”

“You offering?” I asked, pressing my face next to his, as happy as I have ever felt.

“I think I am,” he said, the joy in his voice clear as a bell.

We got up after a while. I fixed his computer, and he fixed us lunch. We sat across from each other at his dining room table, the smiles on our faces never fading for long. “I’m glad you came home for Christmas,” he said between bites of his sandwich.

“I am too,” I said, feeling one of his feet stroking one of mine under the table.

“You know, if your house is too crowded, you’re always welcome to sleep here,” he offered brightly. I noticed he blushed slightly as well, and it was adorable.

“Oh really?” I asked.

“I could sleep on the couch,” he clarified.

“If you sleep on the couch, then I’m not interested,” I replied suggestively.

He smiled back, and I knew where I was going to be for the rest of my vacation.

“So, your family coming back for Christmas?” I wondered out loud.

He shook his head. “They couldn’t make it and, believe it or not, this is one of our busiest times of the year, so I can’t leave the store.”

“You’re going to be here alone?” I exclaimed, shocked.

“It’s just a day,” he reassured me. “I think I already got what I wanted for Christmas.”

It took a while for the smile to fade off my face. And it kept sneaking back every time it faded.

Sometimes a moment in life comes when you have to make a choice you know is going to change everything. You’re sitting at a blackjack table staring the Fates in their faces and they are asking you, “Hit or stand?” You can say nothing and let the moment pass, letting the chance pass by, leaving your life as it always was. Or you take the hit, daring that is what you need and the results don’t destroy your hand. I was miserable, there was no getting around that, and nothing I had done had changed that in the least.

Until now.

“I want you to come to dinner,” I blurted.

“What? Where?” he asked back.

“My house,” I clarified in a tone that said I thought I had made that point very clear.

“You’re serious?” he asked, staring at me like a baby owl.

“I am,” I said, putting my sandwich down. “I’ve never brought anyone before, but I think it’s because there isn’t anyone I want other than you.”

I could see his hesitation; he wasn’t out and, though the dinner wasn’t going to be telecast on TV, there were going to be a lot of people present. “Why would you want me to go?” he asked after a second.

I stared at the dealer and said,
“Hit me.”

“Because I’m tired of being alone,” I admitted. “I was hoping we could be alone together.”

I was worried I had said too much by the way he stared at me with those piercing hazel eyes. Finally he asked, “You’ve liked me since you saw me reading in the backyard?”

I nodded.

“And if this works out?” he asked.

“I move,” I answered instantly.

“And if it doesn’t work out?”

I smiled. “I never have to come home again.”

He laughed at that and nodded. “Okay—fine! I’ll come to dinner.”

“Can I say you’re my date?” I asked, getting up and walking around the table to pull him to his feet and into my arms.

“You can say I’m your date,” he said, faking a put-upon sigh. Of course, the grin on his face told the real story. Sighing with a smile.

“And can I squeeze your leg under the table?” I asked, kissing him on the cheek. He pushed me down into the chair next to his, then straddled my hips when he plunked down on my lap facing me.

“Not if you don’t want your family to see me take you on the dining room table.”

I sat there, eyes staring contemplatively at the ceiling as I pondered.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Wondering if sex with you is worth my mother having a heart attack.”

He leaned in and kissed me deeply. “Then don’t squeeze my leg.”

I promised him I would consider it.

While Tyler got dressed, I called my mom and told her I was bringing someone to dinner and to set an extra place.

“You’re bringing someone?” she asked in shock.

“I am,” I said.

“A man?” she asked.

“He is,” I answered.

“A date?” she asked, her voice bursting with joy.

“Is that okay?” I asked.

She half covered the phone and called out. “Johnny! Set another place at the table!”

I had to laugh at that.

We walked down the street toward my house in the dark. Halfway there, he grabbed my hand and nudged me with his shoulder. “This okay with you?” he asked, squeezing my hand just in case I need clarification.

“Is it okay with you?” I countered.

After a second, he nodded. “For some reason, with you I just don’t care.”

That made me glow inside.

We got to my house and I knocked on the door, knowing my mother would want to make a thing of it. She opened the door and looked at me, and then at Tyler, and her smile was infectious. “Oh, it’s
you
!” she said, clapping her hands.

I looked over at Tyler and then back. “You know him from down the block?”

She grabbed Tyler’s hand and pulled us inside. “No, you silly,” she said, closing the door behind us. “I knew I was right!” she crowed.

“What are you taking about?” I asked as we took off our coats.

She turned and looked at us with obvious pride. “This is the boy I was telling you about.” I looked even more confused. “
This
is Frances’s son!”

I looked over at him with narrowed eyes. “You knew about me?”

He shrugged and smiled. “What can I say?” he said sheepishly. “Um, Merry Christmas?”

I
T
WAS
the first time I was another guy’s date for dinner.

Matt’s brothers kept taking turns looking at me with equal measures of curiosity and hostility. Curiosity because they had had no idea I was gay, hostility because they were realizing that a gay guy had owned them on the football field back in high school.

“So you were gay back then?” the oldest asked me, mouth half full of turkey.

I nodded. “If you’d asked me I would have said no, but yeah, I was.”

“But you had a girlfriend,” William, the middle one, more pronounced than asked.

“Hey, doofus! Back off,” Matt snapped at his brother. I motioned to him that I was okay with the question-and-answer period.

“I did have a girlfriend, who had no idea I was gay because I was in the closet. But I was still gay.”

John’s eyes narrowed as he stabbed another forkful of meat. “But did you have sex with guys back then?”

Matt’s dad slammed his hand on the table. “John! That’s enough!”

He ignored his father’s admonishment as he waited for an answer from me. I saw that more than a few people were waiting for my answer. I finally admitted. “No, not in high school.”

He dropped his fork and cheered as William did the same. They high fived across the table at each other and went back to the food. I looked over to Matt in confusion. “If you didn’t actually have sex then, in their minds, you couldn’t have been gay when you beat us.” The look on my face must have told him what was going through his mind because he just shook his head. “Hey, I have no idea where they get that from; I’m just telling you what they’re cheering about.”

“So how are your parents?” Mrs. Wallace asked me. I’m pretty sure she talked to my mom more than I did, so she would know better than I would.

But I smiled and answered, “They’re good. I think my dad is bored with Florida, but she loves the sun.”

I saw her nod. “She does make Florida sound lovely, but I don’t think I could ever leave Foster.”

“The winters there have to be better than ours,” Mr. Wallace grunted.

John looked up from his plate. “What’s wrong with some snow?”

“Plenty, if you’re the one who’s trying to shovel it or drive through it,” his dad complained.

I noticed that Matt and his mom were doing a pretty good job of avoiding eye contact with each other. When William started debating with his father about how much snow was too much, I leaned over to Matt. “What’s going on?” He looked at me, a puzzled expression on his face, and I glanced quickly toward his mother and then back at him.

“She’s pissed at me,” he whispered back.

“What did you do?”

He gave me a shocked look. “Why do you assume I did something wrong?” he whispered.

“Because it’s your mom, and that woman couldn’t hurt a fly,” I whispered back. I had known Mrs. Wallace via my mom for a couple of years and was taken by her incredible kindness. She was also a regular around the shop, though I had to admit I had no idea who she was buying all the gear for. “Whatever you did, go apologize.”

He stared into my eyes for a long time and realized I wasn’t kidding. “You are really going to make me apologize to my mom? Right now?” When he could see the earnestness in my eyes, he sighed and tossed his napkin on the table. “Mom, you need some help with the pies?”

She looked like she was going to automatically say no but saw him already half standing up and rose to join him.

“Whipped cream?” John asked as they made their way to the kitchen.

Mrs. Wallace turned around. “Eat what’s on your plate first before you start demanding more food.”

His head went back to his food quickly, as if slapped.

We all sat in silence as we collectively finished our meals.

I
WALKED
into the kitchen with the same spring in my steps that I imagine prisoners being led to a firing squad would have.

Mom was pissed, and the way she threw open the oven and yanked out the pumpkin pie more than told me that. I stood there feeling like I was ten years old waiting for a scolding, and it sucked. I went over to try to help her cut the pie but she ignored me and began to slice it up herself, each motion one of deadly precision. My fingers twitched and insisted on heading for my pants pockets.

I might have underestimated how mad she actually was at me.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry—” I began.

She grabbed a stack of plates from the overhead cabinet and put them beside the pie. “Fine” was all she said.

The coward in me wanted to just say “Well, I tried” and make a break for the dining room, but I knew better than that. I had screwed up and I needed to make it better. “Mom,” I said, moving closer to her. “Can you stop that and look at me?”

She did turn to look at me, and I felt even worse when I saw the hurt and anger in her eyes. “What do you want me to say, Matt? That I’m not mad? That you didn’t hurt my feelings—again—by assuming I’m prying into your life? What do you want to hear? Tell me so I can tell you and then get this pie served.”

“I didn’t say you were prying.” Which was about the most lame sentence I could have come up with. We both knew it. Of course I had thought she was prying, but denying it was the only thing that came to mind. She crossed her arms and shot me an angry stare, which told me she wasn’t buying it either. “Okay,” I amended before she could explode. “I guess I did. But you seem to think I’m always miserable and need help to make me less miserable when I’m not miserable in the first place.”

“Yes you are, Matthew,” she responded frankly. “You’re miserable. You have been since you realized you were gay, and we both know it. You know, Matt, some parents disown their children when they come out of the closet. Those parents turn their backs on their own flesh and blood because of who they love. If the worst thing you can complain about in your life is that your mother is concerned for your well-being, then you have it a lot better than most. Are we done?”

I felt like my face had been slapped.

“Why does everyone insist on thinking I’m miserable all the time?” I asked, anger creeping into my voice. “Shouldn’t I be the one who knows what I am and am not?”

“
Tha
t is the problem,” she threw back at me. “You and that horrid woman you pal around with have convinced yourself you aren’t, but you are, and it has you stalled. Here you are at an age where you should be thinking about what you’re going to do with the rest of your life, and you’re still hanging out in bars!”

“And where else am I supposed to meet guys, Mom?” I asked her. Suddenly I didn’t care how I sounded. “Do you know a magical place where gay men congregate so I can meet them?”

She didn’t back off an inch. “Yes. You can be introduced to them by family and friends, say, over vacation.”

I just stood there stunned, not only by how right she was, but by the staggering amount of wrong I had been.

“You are your own worst enemy, Matthew. You always have been,” she added with real regret in her voice. “In your entire life, has one person been mean to you about being gay? Ever? I mean, think about it for a second. Have your brothers ever been mean to you because of it? Your dad? Me? Matt, the only person who has a problem with you being gay is you, and I don’t know why and I wish I could fix it, but I can’t. That’s up to you.” She turned and picked up the tray with the pie and plates on it. “Come get some dessert.”

She stalked out and left me standing there, wondering when exactly my life had broken away from me.

T
HE
rest of the night passed with the same sense of awkwardness that can come up during the holidays when all the family gossip has been exchanged and there’s still a long time left for conversation that no one seems to be comfortable with.