Chapter 6 #2
I had to admit he was a sexy distraction, and one I needed right now. I had no intention of telling Miranda what I’d seen. All that would do was worry her, and honestly, I’d had enough of people fussy over me about it.
“What are you grinning about over there?” my sister asked.
“Me? Nothing. Just checking in with friends and letting them know where I am.”
“Friends, huh? I’d like to have a friend who had that expression when they read my text messages.”
I rolled my eyes at her and let out a sigh. My big sister was always up in my business.
“He really is just a friend,” I insisted. But that wasn’t actually true, was it? I mean, Gator wasn’t actually even my friend. I didn’t know him at all outside the club, and the thoughts I had about him were definitely not friendly in nature. “For now at least.”
Lainey perked up. “Do you have a boyfriend, Uncle J?”
“I do not have a boyfriend. I’m way too busy at the salon to worry about a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, Mom says the same thing.” She rolled her eyes and shrugged. “I think you two should try internet dating.”
“Oh, we should, should we?” I laughed on the inside. Sweet summer child, I had no intentions of telling her that most dating apps that catered to gay men had very little to do with dating at all.
“Yeah, and I mean actual dating, not hooking up on Grindr.” Okay, maybe not such a sweet summer child after all. WTF?
“Drrrpp. Grindr. Drrpp.” Trixie squawked in an almost perfect imitation of the Grindr notification. I didn’t like leaving her alone if I could help it, so I tried to bring her with me when I hung out at Miranda’s house, but too often that just meant a third person to give me shit.
I glared at Trixie. “You be quiet.” Then I turned to Lainey. “And what do you know about Grindr?”
She rolled her eyes again, much more dramatically this time. “Uncle J, I’m not a kid. Everyone knows Grindr is for hookups.”
Miranda chuckled. “She’s not wrong, Jules. She’s not a kid. And you need to find someone to take care of you.”
“I take good care of myself. I run almost every morning, and I do yoga on the days I don’t. I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
“I don’t mean it like that, and you know it. You work too hard. You need someone you can build a life outside of work with.”
“Ahem,” I cleared my throat. “Pot meet kettle.”
“Pot meet kettle,” Trixie said and flapped her wings.
Lainey and I both laughed, but Miranda didn’t. She shot me a warning glare. Oops. We both knew why she didn’t date. She had a teenage girl in the house, and there was no way she was bringing a strange man into their home.
“He’s right, Mom,” Lainey said. “I’ll be leaving for college in a few years, and you’ll be here all alone. So see, you both need to start dating. I can research some apps for you and figure out which one gets the most long-term results.”
Miranda and I shared a look, and then we both said, “No” at the same time.
The last thing I needed was my teenage niece looking into gay dating sites for me.
“Whatever,” she grumbled and went back to scrolling on her phone. We’d both said no, but I still wouldn’t be at all shocked to get a detailed list with marriage stats all laid out here shortly. Once Lainey got something in her head, it was hard to talk her out of it.
“So,” I said, hoping to change the subject. “I talked to Yaya the other day. She’s really excited about her party.”
“Yaya. Yaya is coming.” Trixie loved my grandmother, and all I had to do was say her name for her to get excited.
“No, Trixie, Yaya isn’t coming tonight. Yaya is at her home.” I turned back to Miranda. “Do you think Mom will come?”
“I hope not,” she said without thinking, but then took a breath. “Forget I said that. Of course she would want her daughter at her birthday party, and this isn’t about us, it’s about Yaya.”
“I know, but even if she comes, you know she’s just going to breeze in here in her fancy car, wearing her fancy clothes, and judging all of our choices. It’s what she does.”
“Like you’re not going to show up looking pretty fancy yourself.” She grinned at me.
“Of course I am, because I’m fabulous. How else would I show up? That’s different.”
Which was true. I was fabulous, and that had been my mother’s problem all along. She didn’t care that I was gay. Hell, she probably loved it because saying she had a gay son gave her something to talk about. No, her problem was that I was too gay. Too loud. Too colorful. Too much.
Our mother had been a poor single mother until she married our stepfather. He had money, and she was all about projecting the perfect image that would allow her to fit into his world, and a flamboyant, over-the-top son did not fit into her plan.
Plus, nothing made her feel better than looking down on other people.
She loved to put herself in situations where she could do that.
I often wondered not only how we were her children but also how she was our grandmother’s daughter.
Yaya was the kindest, most loving person, which just goes to show sometimes it really was nature, not nurture.