Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
ANGEL
Wednesday night is Mama’s weekly cards night with the neighborhood ladies. So when Sabrina made plans to go out with her girlfriends, she just assumed that I would be around to babysit. It was midmorning by the time she texted me at work, “reminding” me that I had to look after Jonah.
For a split second, I considered telling her no. I’d already agreed to go to The Bronzed Rail to watch Rhys dance. Why should I have to cancel my plans when Sabrina’s the one who didn’t ask me ahead of time?
But then I’d have to explain why I wouldn’t be home on a weeknight and I don’t think I’m ready to do that. Not that there’s really anything to explain. I’m certainly not telling Sabrina or Mama that I did gay porn. And there’s nothing wrong with going to a nightclub—they don’t have to know it’s a gay one.
Still, I’m a terrible liar. Even the thought of lying by omission gives me the sweats. So babysitting it is .
I don’t really mind hanging out with Jonah. As long as he’s not crying, he’s a really cool baby. I even got to put him in that cute bear onesie after I gave him a bath.
Mama gets home around eleven, kicking off her shoes and easing into the recliner. I’m sprawled out on the couch where I’ve spent the evening texting with Rhys.
“How was cards?” I ask.
“Eh, Maria cheated.”
I stifle a laugh. “Maria always cheats,” I say, typing a quick message back to Rhys. He’s been giving me a play-by-play of the shenanigans going down in the dressing room backstage. Who knew drag queens were so funny?
Mama waves away my comment while pulling on the lever at the side of her chair. The footrest pops up and the chair reclines back. She peers at me from her stretched-out position. “Why are you smiling like that?”
I pause, realizing only then that I’ve got a giant grin on my face. I drop my phone onto my chest, face down. “Smiling like what?”
“Angel.”
I don’t need to glance at Mama to know what expression she’s wearing. A very not impressed one. “No reason. Just chatting with a friend.”
“A friend?”
I do glance at her this time. Why does she sound so suspicious? Like chatting with a friend is a weird thing for me to do. I have plenty of friends. Look at all the guys I grew up with.
“Mario?”
Oh no, she wants to know which friend? What should I say? I can’t lie to save my life. “Uh, no. ”
Her eyes narrow even more, and I swear she’s trying to see inside my brain. “Nico?”
My ears go hot. Shoot. Crap. Don’t blush, dang it! “Uh, no?” My voice goes up at the end, like I’m asking a question. Ugh.
“No? You’re not sure if it’s Nico?”
“No, it’s not Nico.”
She studies me for another long, tense moment before her eyes widen. Reaching for the lever on her chair, her voice is tinged with excitement as she asks, “Is it a girl?”
“What?” Why would she think it’s a girl?
Mama shifts forward in the arm chair. “A girl, Angel. Are you seeing someone finally? Are you dating?”
I push myself upright and scoot a few extra inches away from Mama. “No, I’m not dating anyone, Mama. When would I have the time to do that?”
She grows suspicious again. “You’ve been acting strange lately. Glued to your phone all the time with that dopey grin on your face.”
My pulse skyrockets as my hand flies to my cheek, as if the grin is a speck of food that accidentally got caught in my beard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mama shakes her finger at me. “Don’t give me that, Angel-boy. I know you better than you know yourself.”
I sputter, ears heating and palms growing clammy. “What— I don’t— I’m not?—”
“Angel,” Mama says, voice admonishing. “You’re such a good boy. Handsome and strong. Kind and gentle. I want to see you settled down with a sweet girl. I want some grandchildren before I die.”
“You already have a grandchild,” I mutter, pointing toward the bedrooms where Jonah’s already asleep .
Mama tsks at me. “More grandchildren. Your grandchildren. You’d make such a good papa. Nothing like your father.”
My stomach churns with a sickly, sour feeling. Mama doesn’t bring up this topic often, but when she does, it always leaves me feeling a little panicked. Like there’s a clock ticking somewhere, counting down the days and hours before I run out of time.
Like there’s a universal deadline for getting married and having kids. Except I haven’t been told when that deadline is, or how long it takes to do all the things I need to do before it arrives. I keep waiting for someone to let me in on the secret, but then Mama says things like “I want to hold your grandchildren”, and I wonder if I’ve missed the announcement somehow.
Everyone else makes it look so easy. They meet girls all over the place. They know how to act and what to say, and the next thing I know, they’ve got girlfriends who turn into wives.
I don’t know how they do it. Is there some kind of manual I don’t know about?
I hardly ever meet girls I don’t already know. Either they’re related to me or they’re already dating one of my friends. There are a few I grew up with, but they feel more like sisters to me than potential girlfriends.
The few times I’ve met someone who I think I could like, they never like me back. They think I’m nice, and maybe they’ll hang out with me a few times, but no one ever wants to take things further.
The only girlfriend I’ve ever had was Claudia in high school. But that was mostly because every other football player and cheerleader had already paired up, and we were the only two left. She was kind and we got along okay. We went to parties together, hung out after school together, went to prom together.
But after we graduated, she moved away for college, and we ended things as friends. I haven’t spoken to Claudia in years. I think she’s married now.
“You should bring her to Sunday dinner.” Mama pushes herself slowly to her feet.
“Sun-Sunday dinner?” I stammer.
Mama waves a hand toward my phone. “The girl you’re dating. Bring her to Sunday dinner so I can meet her.”
She says that like it’s not the most terrifying thing ever.
“Uh, I’m not dating anyone.” I scramble off the couch and follow her into the kitchen.
“It’s okay if you’re not dating yet. You can still bring her. It’s probably better this way. I can tell you if she’s any good. If she’s not, you won’t need to waste your time.”
There’s so much wrong with what she said that I don’t know where to start. But I don’t get a chance to say anything because Mama cracks open the door to the room Sabrina shares with Jonah. Slipping inside, she quietly shuffles up to the crib and peers over the side to gaze lovingly down at her grandson.
She smiles so sweetly, with so much tenderness. Guilt seeps in through the cracks of my panic. She’s such a great nonna to Jonah. She’s got so much love to give. And I want to give her more grandchildren, I do. I just… I don’t know how.
Suddenly, an image flashes in my mind.
Long, rainbow-colored hair and a slim figure. A gurgling baby held adoringly close .
“Teddy bear, come here.”
I step in closer and the baby smiles up at me with big, brown eyes that bring me to my knees.
“He looks just like you, teddy bear.”
My breath hitches as I recognize the voice. Then the bowed head lifts, and Rhys’s glowing face turns toward me.
I grip the doorframe as my knees actually go weak at the vision my imagination feeds to me. What the heck? Why? How? That’s not… I can’t…
“Angel? You okay?” Mama’s in front of me, holding the door with one hand, waiting for me to back up so she can close it.
I nod and stumble backward. “Yeah, I’m just tired. I’m gonna go upstairs.”
I’m already halfway to the door when Mama calls, “Don’t forget Sunday dinner!”
Yeah, that’s not happening. Because there’s no girl to bring. There’s only Rhys. Who’s a guy. Who I imagined holding a baby—our baby. What the actual heck?
I’m numb by the time I’ve climbed the stairs up to my apartment, and I head immediately to my bedroom where I collapse onto my bed. It groans under my weight, the squeaking sound reminding me of another bed that squeaked loudly while I was on it. While Rhys was on it with me.
Oh good heavens, what is wrong with me? I give myself a few knocks on the head, as if I can somehow reset my brain and stop thinking about Rhys.
But I’m not just thinking about him, am I? I’m imagining him as—what, the father to my child? Like we’re married?
I’m not so sheltered that I don’t know that gay couples can have babies these days. But that’s a far cry from putting Rhys in the role of my husband and turning us into dads. It’s like my brain has gotten its wires crossed, conflating my conversations with Rhys with Mama’s pestering about finding a nice girl.
That’s it. My brain is just confused. I just need to untangle these two things and put them into separate boxes in my mind. Rhys in one. Wife and kids in another. They have nothing to do with each other. They have no reason to interact. If I’m thinking about one, I’ll make sure the other is sealed up tight.
Tonight was just a momentary mix-up. I’m tired and Mama caught me at a bad time. It won’t happen again. I’ll explain to her that there is no girl and I’m just catching up with Nico’s brother after we reconnected at that party a few weeks ago. No big deal. No need to mention porn or nightclubs or pole dancing.
I drag myself from the bed and listlessly change into a t-shirt and boxers. Once my teeth are brushed, I crawl under the covers and turn onto my side, pulling a pillow to my chest. I hug it and my thoughts drift automatically to Rhys.
He’s probably still at the nightclub. I wonder how many times he’s performing tonight. He says he always goes on stage at least twice, usually three times, and sometimes four. He likes to try out new routines on Wednesday nights because there are fewer people.
Friday is when things get kinda rowdy. I’m not a huge fan of crowds, mostly because I tend to be the one knocking into other people. But if I find an out-of-the-way spot, I don’t mind hanging out for a few hours.
Rhys says Sebastian and Hayden will be there, and maybe a couple others too. They’ve all been so nice to me and at least I won’t be completely alone in an unfamiliar environment.
Two more days and I’ll finally get to see Rhys dance in real life. I wonder if it’ll be as good as the videos I’ve watched. Who am I kidding? It’ll probably be better.
My eyes drift shut as I snuggle into the bed, and my dreams are filled with rainbow-colored hair.