T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 2 - Who We Are (11 page)

“We’ll be right back, Mom,” he calls out over his shoulder. “We’ve got to talk to Bear and Otter for a moment.” She waves her hand in an easy dismissal.

Neat.

Creed grabs me by the arm and pulls me none too gently out of the kitchen, leaving Anna and Otter to follow. I catch the Kid’s eyes, who’s looking at me like he’s about to go on the attack, but I shake my head just once, and he settles, his gaze following me out of the room.

I’
M GOING
to be upfront with you, probably a little more than I’ve been

since we started talking again. It’s not like I’m trying to hide things, but I can’t see how this conversation is going to go without you figuring out just how fucking miserable I am about this whole situation with Creed. I’ve had a problem with honesty for quite a while, but obviously not because I enjoy it. I couldn’t (and still kind of don’t) stand the thought of those around me thinking less of me, that I’d disappointed them somehow with the choices I’ve made. It’s not fair, I know, that I keep talking bullshit when it could be so easy to have everything out in the open, consequences be damned.

But fuck that. I think about the consequences incessantly. I worry over them to a point that it’s almost paralyzing, and the only thing I can do is freak out about what the hell is going to happen next. You don’t need to tell me this because I already know it. Consider it one of my defining traits, no matter how ridiculous it is. I don’t know if we could have lived through the fallout if I hadn’t second-guessed everything I thought to be true. It’s not easy when your view of the world has so completely shifted that it’s barely recognizable.

And now that it seems to be shifting to some normalcy (there’s that word again,
normal
) there are still things tugging at it, pulling it out of whack. And while it can’t all rest on him, the biggest part of it is Creed.

Otter had tried to talk to me about him, although not on Creed’s behalf. We’d both agreed that Creed wasn’t a homophobe, but that was as far as we could get. As much as I love him, Otter just can’t understand what it is I have with his brother. Sure, they are
actually
brothers, but it’s not the same, at least in my eyes. Otter and Anna had been there almost as long as Creed had been, and even though I’d started out loving one and then the other, Creed was there no matter what, and through all the shit, he remained my constant in this world. I’m an ass, I know, for thinking that not having Anna around is easier for me than not having Creed around. I can only say this because it’s true. I love her, and I think part of me always will, but I
need
him. I need him in my corner. I need to know I can pick up the phone and call him and talk about whatever just because we can.

I know, I know:
I, I, I
. Same old shit, right?

But I don’t know how to fix it because I don’t know what the fuck is wrong. Is it because I lied to him about Otter and me? Is it really about the fact that there
is
an Otter and me? Or is it something as simple as a combination of all the shit I’ve put him through for the last three years? I leaned on him so much. Probably too much. Just because I had to deal with her leaving doesn’t mean he had to.

But he did. And that’s why I’ve got to fix this. I can’t have this go on anymore. I have to get my best friend back.

W
HICH
is what I want to say. But when I open my mouth, what comes out when we reach the back patio and they turn to face me is, “Are you guys still messing around? Or whatever?”

My brain is broken and I missed the recall order.
There’s a beat of silence where everyone feels embarrassed for me, but they are used to me by now not thinking before I speak, so I’m almost relieved when they let my rudeness slide.

“We’re taking it as it goes,” Anna tells me softly. They stand close to each other again, and Otter stands in my space, and I almost wonder if it’s us versus them, and I can’t stop myself from thinking about the last time I’d actually felt like that, when Creed had—

does anna know why otter left to begin with

 

—felt the need to cut me out, where he’d retaliated in the only way he knew how. I know I’d backed him into a corner—

 

that’s the real reason otter left

 

—and it was no fault but my own, but I can’t stop the bitterness from welling in me, that he’d seem to give up on me so easily because—
everything else was a lie

—he couldn’t seem to handle the fact that his best friend and his brother had found something together, even if it had never started out to be like that. I try to stop the anger from rising, because anger can’t fix anything right now. It’ll only make things worse, and I already have a feeling tonight is going to be a blowout.

“That’s… cool,” I mumble, feeling Otter reaching down and squeezing my hand. I look up at him, and he’s calm as he watches me, and when he squeezes my hand again, I know what he’s trying to say, to just hear them out, whatever they wanted to say before I decided to ask them if they were still fucking. I’m surprised I don’t get punched in the face more than I do, to be perfectly honest.

“I’m happy for you guys,” I try again, even though it sounds like I’d rather have my balls stabbed with a pair of garden shears. “Really.” Anna rolls her eyes at me, but I see the corners of her mouth begin to quirk. “Same old Papa Bear,” she says quietly.

 

“Same old me,” I agree. For better or worse.

“That’s not what I pulled you out here for,” Creed cuts in, obviously wanting to stop his best friend and girlfriend (gross!) from falling back in love and screwing right here in front of him.

“Then what’s up?” Otter asks him.

Anna and Creed glance at each other before Creed says, “We just need to know how we should play this. We don’t want to mess anything up by saying something we shouldn’t.” He chuckles darkly. “But I don’t know how long that’s going to last. Did you see the people that are here? I think we should take bets to see if we can even get through Mom’s foot-loaf before we’re all talking about the big gay wedding we’re going to be attending.”

I swear to God if someone talks about marriage one more time, I’m going to go postal and junk-punch everyone in this house. It’s only been four goddamn months!

Or it’s been years, if we’re being honest with ourselves
, it whispers.
It’s the butt sex that’s only four months old.

At least Creed seems to be joking about it, though. I catch his eye and he holds the gaze, and there’s something there, not quite a spark, not quite an acknowledgement, but it’s there nonetheless, and I know I’m going to have to indulge him if I’m going to get anywhere. That’s okay, though. I’m not above groveling. When there’s no other choice, of course.

“We haven’t really decided what we’re going to do,” Otter admits.

Creed and Anna gape at us. “You
what
?” Anna says, incredulity pouring off her in palpable waves. “You do know this is
Bear
we’re talking about, right? You mean he hasn’t gone over this again and again until he’s made himself sick? That’s got to be a first.”

Anna Grant, everyone. She’ll be here all night, with additional shows at seven and nine. Hurray.

All three look at me like I’ve got a bug on my face that, if they even so much as move, will rip off my nose. To spite my face. See? I can be funny too.

“Look,” I say begrudgingly. “It’s not like we can keep this a secret forever, right? One day Alice and Jerry are going to start to notice that Otter and I live together and spend every waking moment together, and even if they don’t notice
that
, there’s no way they’re not going to be able see what happens when I look at him. Jesus, it’s a dead fucking giveaway because I get that stupid, goofy grin on my face and… and…. What the hell are you all staring at?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Bear?” Creed asks, eyes wide.

 

“Aw,” Anna says sweetly. “You love him.” And she looks like she means it.

This is the weirdest conversation of my life.
But it’s Otter I notice the most, when he reaches down and cups my face in his hands, kissing me gently, his thumbs rubbing along my cheeks. I sigh quietly as he pulls away, that gold-green gaze filled so full of only God knows what. “You know everything I do is for you, right?” he asks quietly, searching my eyes.

I nod. Because I do.
“You know I would never pressure you into anything?”
I do. Because he won’t.
“Are you sure about this?”

The hell with it. “Yeah,” I say, and he grins like I’ve given him the greatest gift the world has ever known. “Creed’s right; it’ll get out sooner rather than later. At least we’ll be the ones controlling it, you know?”

“Oh, man,” Creed says. “I am so glad I came home for dinner. This is going to be seriously epic! Can I record it? Like, set up a camera? I swear I won’t put it on YouTube.”

“Creed,” Otter warns.

“Is there a gay YouTube, though?” he asks Anna, and he sounds so much like himself that it knocks me off center. “I mean, there has to be, right? Like, it’s called GayTube or something? We can call it ‘When Bear Made My Parents Shit Themselves Silly’ by Creed Thompson. I bet I can get one of the tech geeks to put special effects in, maybe have rainbows shooting out of Bear’s eyes like gay laser beams. Oh my God, what if they could make him look like he’s riding a unicorn too!”

“GayTube’s a porn site,” I say without thinking.

 

Their mouths all drop open again. I pray for a plague of locusts to fly in their mouths, but God seems to hate me today and doesn’t send one.

“You watch gay
porn
now?” Anna asks, and for some reason, it seems like she’s vaguely turned on and that makes me wish God would forget the locusts and just send the fire.

“You watching without me?” Otter growls at me heatedly. “Stop doing that voice!” I scold him. “We’re in your
parents’
house.”

“We were in my parents’ house all summer,” he reminds me. “You didn’t seem to mind when I did it then.”

 

“You
did
do it in my room, didn’t you?” Creed accuses me. We did. Once. But he doesn’t need to know that. “Of course not,” I scoff as Otter snorts.

 

“So, you really want to do this?” Anna asks me. “Because if you do, there’s something else you should know. My—”

She’s cut off when the doorbell rings.
“Who the hell is that?” Otter mutters, looking over his shoulder.

Anna and Creed look sick. “Uh,” Anna says. “Surprise! My parents are here too.”

 

Otter, Creed, and Anna are able to stop me before I flee the house in terror.
A
NNA
’
S
parents, Ian and Stephanie Grant, sit across from me at the table,

their daughter to their right, and Creed next to her. I can’t help but notice the looks her parents exchange at the seating arrangement. I try to ask Anna silently what she’s told her parents about us, about
anything
, but she is studiously avoiding my gaze. On my side of the table, Otter is at my left, the Kid to my right, and Mrs. Paquinn on his other side. Jerry Thompson is at the head of the table to my right, Alice Thompson seated at the head to the left. She hands me a glass of wine, which I immediately chug and hand back to her for a refill. I’ve already had two since coming back to the kitchen, and my face feels a little numb. Alice arches her eyebrow, a trick her son has mastered, as well, and for some reason, I feel the strange need to tell her that I think Otter has a fantastic ass, but I drink more wine instead and finish the second glass. A gentle buzz begins to wash over me, and I know I need to slow down before I’m sloshed. I tend to act stupidly when I’m drunk. She fills me a third glass and waits for me to drink it, but I smile at her instead and she knows I’m done. For the moment.

Alice sits down and smiles at all of us. “Shall we say grace?” she says, not really asking a question, but telling everyone to shut up so we can talk to God. None of us are overly religious, but this is something we’re expected to do at the Thompson dinner table. It’s not like we go to church or anything. We’ll each go around the table and say something that we’re thankful for and blah, blah, blah. It’s how it’s always been here, when Alice and Jerry are around. It’s not like I
mind
talking to God; we just have a weird relationship, me and him. He seems to think he can jerk me around all he wants (like I’m his personal plaything), just to see me get back up to knock me down again. If God is real, I think he might be some kind of masochist. I imagine he sits there up on his cloud, long white robes flowing, drinking a forty of Mickey’s and smoking a Winston as he flips me the bird and plans what he’ll do next to piss me off.

Wow, that was some really good wine.

We join hands, and I almost want to laugh at them because, ha, ha! Otter and I are holding hands in front of them! I squeeze his hand and give him a grin, and I can see he is highly amused by something, but that’s okay with me. I’m feeling fine. He squeezes my hand back before bowing his head. I look around and see everyone else has their head bowed and their eyes closed, so I figure I should do the same. So I do.

“Hey, God,” Alice says, and this causes me to snort, which I cover up in the guise of a cough that sounds like I have advanced emphysema and am about to hack up something that looks like the tofeatloaf. Alice allows me the honor of finishing before she continues. “We’d like to thank you for the food we’re about to eat”—oh yes, thanks, God, for the foot-meat—“and for the family that surrounds us. I am thankful to have both of my sons home, even if it is just for a short time.” She squeezes Mr. Grant’s hand, so he goes next.

“I’m thankful for the health of my family and friends,” he says.

Dammit, that was going to be mine. Just vague enough not to need further explanation, just sentimental enough to hold up to inspection. Shit, I’ve got to think of something else. You can’t repeat in the thankful prayer dinner circle. It sounds like a cop-out if you do.

Mrs. Grant says, “I’m thankful that my friend Margie was able to beat cancer and is now in remission.”