Chapter 31 Dane
Dane
It takes five whole minutes of sitting outside Mom’s house to commit to unbuckling my seatbelt. White twinkle lights frame the roof, and there’s a garland wreath on the front door. There are four cars in the driveway, and the sedan Artie bought Thalia is parked at the curb right behind us.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Connor asks from the driver’s seat, sounding as anxious as I feel. He presses a button on the ceiling to turn the overhead light on, illuminating the trepidation written in bold on his face.
In a topsy-turvy way, Connor’s nerves ease my own. I guess I like it when he worries for the both of us. It makes his one eye kind of squinty and his mouth pucker small. Adorable.
“Of course I want you to come in with me,” I say. “I want you to come with me everywhere, but I refuse to be that evil of a boyfriend.”
He reaches up to pick a rogue curl off my forehead and fix it back into place. “You’re not evil at all. You’re an angel.”
I don’t know what’s funnier, the notion of me being in any way angelic or that Connor genuinely believes that shit. “You’re the angel, Connor. I’m just a recovering train wreck.”
Recovering because, despite losing everything of value besides the man to my left, life’s been looking up.
We’ve been in Sacramento for two weeks, making Connor’s childhood bedroom our own while his folks let us stay rent-free.
I’m officially enrolled at Sac State, registered for spring classes, and on Coach McDonough’s roster.
I’ll go to my first practice after New Year’s, and McDonough says I could be a real asset next year if I keep letting Connor train me.
I got a job too. An actual, bona fide, W-2 sort of job at a camping supply store that’s walking-distance from the Whitlock house.
Part-time, but the manager is giving me full-time hours through winter.
I should have enough for a used car by the time spring semester kicks off.
It won’t be a Beemer, but it’ll be four wheels of my very own that Artie can’t take away.
After that, everything I make will go toward school and getting me and Connor into our own apartment.
Don’t get me wrong, work sucks, but I’m enjoying the adultness of real responsibility. I enjoy showing Connor I’m capable of responsibility, like keeping a job is evidence I can be a dedicated and loyal life partner. Not so reckless.
“You were never a train wreck,” he says, “and I’ll die on that hill.”
Beaming, I lean in and kiss Connor’s mouth. “Don’t die. I love you too much.”
“Love you too.” His smile falls as his eyes flicker over my shoulder, and I twist around to see my sister standing on Lori’s porch, one arm crossed and the other sending us a lackluster wave. Her dull, borderline-pissed expression promises a tedious evening of pretending to get along.
“I’m gonna come in with you,” Connor says, even more nervous than he was a minute ago.
“What, in your ratty sweatshirt? On Christmas Eve?” I send him a smirk so he knows I don’t need my hand held all the time, as much as I’d love that. “Go play with your friends. I’ll be okay.”
“Text me if you need me to pick you up early. I mean it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I ruffle up his hair until he’s laughing through a grimace. The sound alone mends my lingering nerves, and I pop the passenger door open confidently.
“Don’t forget your jacket.” Connor reaches into the backseat for the early Christmas gift he bought me and shoves it into my hands.
I put the thing on, then I dip my head back into the car to say goodbye. “Have I ever told you you’re adorable?”
He answers with a happy, “Have fun,” and even though I know I won’t have fun, I answer with a two-finger salute before swinging the door shut.
My darling older sister is still shivering on the front porch when I come up the walk, and she stares at Connor’s Jeep until it pulls away from the curb.
“Your boyfriend didn’t wanna come in?” she asks dryly.
“He has plans.”
“Has he knocked you up yet?”
“No, but he loves trying.” I breeze past her and through the front door—into a house just as cozy as the Whitlock home, only with different clutter and different photos on the walls.
“Dane!” Mom clobbers me with a back-popping hug. “You came! I’m so glad you’re here.” She loosens her stranglehold to a manageable lasso around my waist, gazing up at me like I really am an angel. “Look at you. So handsome.”
“Thanks.”
If I look handsome, it’s the fault of Mrs. Whitlock, who styled my hair and tore Connor’s closet apart until she found a button-down and a navy sweater that would look “so precious” on me.
It does go really well with my midnight blue nail polish, so I had Connor paint my fingernails before driving me over.
Festive music plays from a Bluetooth speaker, and piney candles make the house smell forest-fresh.
There are faces around me I don’t recognize, and they stare right at me.
Not just the pictures on the walls, but the other sharply dressed people orbiting the entrance with wine glasses sitting on their fingers.
I recognize Martin, but not the others. His kids, probably, and their significant others, maybe.
A handful of kids ranging from small to extra-small race around the living room with toys freshly opened from under the tree.
A boy with chocolate on his face crashes a remote-control Bugatti into the wall beside me, and a man in business casual hollers out a lazy plea to keep all the toys in the living room.
The front door shuts, and now Thalia is one of those faces staring at me. I really don’t like that.
Mom releases me only to grab my wrist while grabbing Thalia’s too. “Both my kiddos here for the holidays. I can’t believe it. Now, I know you two have never been the best of friends, but we’re all family, and I’m just so, so happy. Best Christmas gift I could have ever asked for.”
I’m glad Mom considers this a gift, because I forgot to buy her anything. What can I say? Holidays aren’t my specialty.
The distant look Thalia and I share reiterates our silent truce. Unfortunately for me, that truce only extends to when Mom is within earshot. As soon as she scurries off to tend to dinner, I’m stranded on an island of wholesome family banter with people I couldn’t care less about.
Martin introduces me to his son, Vincent, and daughter, Lucy, then to their respective wife and husband, but I’m too in my head to commit more names to memory. They all look so much older than me. Not decrepit, but old enough to make me feel childish when I’ve only just begun feeling adultish.
Vincent is a market analyst, whatever that means, and Lucy is a lawyer, just like Thalia’s planning on.
They all chitchat about things I don’t know about using words that don’t exist in my vocabulary.
At one point, Martin asks me what I’m majoring in, and when I answer honestly, everyone stares at me like I’m the one speaking nonsense.
Briefly, Mom comes back to the living room, but only to deliver me a cocktail that tastes like something I’d drink to make my cum sweeter.
“This doesn’t have pineapple in it, does it?” I ask before Mom can flit back into the kitchen.
“No, just cranberry,” she answers while Thalia eyes me like she knows exactly why I’m asking.
A little boy who looks like a mini version of Vincent spits a candy out of his mouth and calls my mom Grandma in a whimpery baby voice.
“Grandma, I don’t like this.” He puts the half-chewed candy into Mom’s open hand like it’s a dead spider he found, and Mom threads her fingers through the kid’s hair and tells him to try a cookie instead.
They disappear together through the opening to the kitchen, and my chest feels tight.
“So, Dane.” Vincent’s wife ekes her voice through the chitchat. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I'm gay.”
The wife hiccups a reflexive laugh that dies when no one else laughs along. “Oh, are you actually gay?”
“Yep,” I mutter before occupying myself with this drink. It’s not nearly strong enough to give me a buzz, but it’s something to do.
“We actually have a good friend who’s gay,” Vincent interjects between sips of brown liquor. “But he’s…you know.”
“He’s what?” I ask.
“He just…makes it more obvious, I’ll just say.”
Chuckling beside him, his wife says, “Yeah, he’s hilarious. Such a fun person.”
Ignoring her, I tell Vincent, “Well, if you check out my browser history, I make it pretty obvious too.”
An awkward silence is broken by Thalia muttering, “Can you act like a normal person for one day?”
Still smiling, the wife asks me, “So, do you have a boyfriend then?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You should’ve brought him. We would’ve loved to meet him.”
Before I can think up a normal-person response, Thalia says, “Oh, you met him last year when he was my boyfriend. Remember Connor? Turns out he prefers men, which isn’t that surprising in hindsight. But I guess he doesn’t care enough about Dane to spend Christmas Eve with him and his family.”
The comment buzzes in my head while Martin’s brood all exchange uncomfortable glances, not saying a word while their shrieking children weave between their legs.
“You’re not my family,” I tell Thalia plainly.
“Dane.” Martin sighs my name like I’m supposed to feel guilty for speaking the truth, but it only pisses me off more. “Let’s leave our outside drama outside, shall we?”
I should’ve left myself outside.
I don’t speak or even look at Martin. He’s not my family either. None of these people are. Just the woman in the kitchen, thinking she can make this event more tolerable if she whisks the gravy just right.
Over this, I break for the kitchen, chugging back my drink as I go and wishing it was a lot heavier on the alcohol.
I find Mom hovering her face over a big pot of something steaming on the stove, stirring it with the patience of a fisherman waiting for a nibble. My heavy steps trigger her head to pop up and a big grin to stretch across her face.