16. Byron Graham
16
BYRON GRAHAM
This was a horrible idea.
Terrible. Disastrous. Bad. Just really, really bad.
Especially after our last date was a wonderful afternoon with Sebastian’s charming mother and her LGBTQIA+ charity.
But Sebastian kept pressing, and I understood why. This was a big part of my life, and it was the one piece that I was determined to keep him out of. Everything about it was ugly and painful. Why would I want to include Sebastian in that? Right now, he was everything that was good and happy in my life. I didn’t want that sliver of happiness to become tainted.
That wasn’t right, though.
Sebastian wanted this to be a real relationship, where we shared all the parts of our lives. Both the good and the bad. How could we ever know if we could date and be in a long-term relationship if we couldn’t share all the important pieces of ourselves?
And I agreed with him. If I were dating someone and I regarded this person as my boyfriend, I’d want to share all of my life with that person. I’d want someone to lean on when shit got hard.
Being honest with myself, I wanted that person to be Sebastian. He was so strong all the time, and he felt like the best person to hold me the moment it got to be too much. I wanted to close my eyes and hear him tell me it was all going to be okay, because I knew if he said it, I’d believe it.
However, sharing this part of my life meant introducing Sebastian to my foul-mouthed, foul-tempered, alcoholic mother. Not only did this feel embarrassing, but it was terrifying. There was a part of me that expected him to take one look at this part of my life, say “Fuck this shit,” and walk right away. I wouldn’t even blame him one bit, either.
“It’s going to be fine,” Sebastian said for the third time as we approached my mother’s house. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
“It won’t be. It’s never been fine before, so I’m not expecting it to be fine now.” But it had been nearly a week since I’d last checked on her. I’d sent some food earlier in the week after talking to her on the phone, but I had a feeling she might need more food and for me to throw a load of clothes in the laundry for her. Not to mention, it was time to search her house for bottles of alcohol.
“Even if it’s not fine, I’ll be right by your side the entire time. I’m not leaving you, no matter how not fine it is.”
His comments warmed some of the ice forming around my gut, but they didn’t chase away all the chill. We still had to survive this afternoon.
I pulled my car up to the curb outside my mom’s tiny house and turned off the engine. Prior to even unbuckling my seat belt, I turned my attention to Sebastian, running a critical eye over him. When I’d agreed to let him accompany me, I’d instructed him to wear his plainest, most ordinary clothes, which he had. Yet, I could still see at a glance that the quality was a hundred times better than what I could afford, even though he was just wearing a pair of jeans and a burgundy polo shirt.
“Take off your watch and put it in your pocket,” I ordered. Thankfully, he didn’t wear any other jewelry. “Keep your watch and phone in your pockets. Also, keep a close eye on your wallet.”
“Is your mother a klepto?”
“No, but I keep a close watch on the money that comes into the house.” I rubbed my forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat forming there in the blistering June heat. Naturally, the air conditioning in my car didn’t work, but Sebastian was kind enough to not mention it. “She shouldn’t have enough to buy as much booze as she does, and yet there it is. All I can figure is that she’s selling the food and other things out of the house to buy it or she’s stealing from somewhere. I don’t even want to think about the amount of cash you potentially have in your wallet right now.”
“Got it.”
“The other thing…” I hesitated, not even wanting to say the words out loud. “It would probably be best if you didn’t talk about dating me or even dating men in general. She’ll probably still guess, but I’ve learned to not throw fuel on the fire. Let’s go. We’ll try to make this as fast as possible.”
I reached for the handle on the door and Sebastian’s hand clamped on my right arm, stopping me. “Is your mom homophobic?”
I huffed out a bitter laugh. “I’ve always hated that word. Phobic? She’s not scared of me. No, she just hates gay people.”
“And yet she relies completely on you for her survival and the care of her eldest son.” Sebastian sounded like he was talking through his teeth.
“It is what it is, but don’t drag Ronnie into this. It has nothing to do with him. None of this situation is his fault.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I flashed Sebastian the best smile I could manage and got out of the car while I still could.
Sebastian followed me, a silent, supportive shadow. During the walk up to the house, I felt a hundred times more aware of the brown patchy grass, the cracks stretching across the sidewalks, worn shutters, filthy windows, and dirt-crusted siding. The entire building needed to be overhauled. Or better yet, torn down. Every step felt like a wide gulf was opening between us. Sebastian had a warm, loving, accepting family made up of financially stable and productive people.
And then there were my mom and me. Everything Sebastian knew about me and my life felt like a cheap plastic Halloween mask, and I was about to rip it off to reveal the true ugliness beneath.
As I reached the door, I stopped and sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. It was like an old set of armor clicked into place around my body, so she couldn’t touch me with her hate-filled words. A hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed, reminding me that for the first time, I wasn’t alone.
I knocked before I used my key to unlock the door. “Mom? Are you awake?” I called into the dimly lit house, even though I’d heard her shuffling through the kitchen and the clink of glass bottles. Hot, stale air laced with the lingering scent of old beer hit me square in the face. “I brought a friend for you to meet,” I continued when she didn’t answer.
“What the hell you want?” she demanded, followed by the telltale scrape of her slippers across the linoleum.
She appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, where she glared at me and Sebastian. A loose ponytail held her dark brown-and-gray hair. The old T-shirt she wore was stained and hung on her awkwardly, making her look even more skeletal. Little holes riddled her black jogging pants. I’d tried getting her new clothes that fit her frame better, but she never wore them. Instead, she opted for the same two or three T-shirts and the same couple of pairs of sweat pants.
“I wanted to stop by and see if you needed anything.”
“Who’s that?” she snapped, her eyes locked on Sebastian. She seemed more lucid than my last few visits, but I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“This is my friend, Sebastian.”
“Friend? What kind of friend?” Her nose wrinkled at the last word as if it were something disgusting.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Graham,” Sebastian chimed in. “Your son and I are work friends. He was kind enough to invite me to hang out with him this weekend.”
An ugly scoff jumped from her as she continued to shuffle into the living room, where she dropped onto the sagging cushion of the ancient brown couch. “Hang out? Is that what you call it when you’re fucking my son?”
In a flash, my face felt like it was on fire, but I held my tongue. I’d learned the hard way that arguing and reprimanding her only made it a hundred times worse. It was smarter to not engage at all.
“I’m going to check the fridge and pantry before putting in a grocery order for you,” I said as my hands snatched up old soda cans, empty beer bottles, and half-eaten food containers from the coffee table and took them into the kitchen. Thankfully, Sebastian followed my lead and didn’t speak.
“Did you know my son is one of them fags?” she announced as if she couldn’t stand that we were ignoring her incendiary remark. Usually her digs flew right past me, but today each word was a bullet finding all the chinks in my armor.
“His father and I didn’t raise him to be like that. They say they’re born that way, but that’s a lot of bullshit. He picked it up at college. He paid all that money to turn himself into a dirty whore. Turned his back on God.”
I rolled my eyes. Same old song and dance with her. Nothing new in her routine, which allowed me to tune her out.
“Are you originally from this part of Kentucky?” Sebastian asked, bravely attempting to change the subject to something different and less controversial. “I grew up across the river in Ohio.”
She answered his question, but her voice was low and mumbled, like she didn’t have any interest in what he was saying if it would not upset me.
It took only a glance to see what she needed. I pulled up the grocery delivery app on my phone and clicked off a lot of the usual suspects from previous orders. This was one of the few times my mom’s limited menu worked to my benefit. She didn’t like most things and refused to do more than simply boil water.
“Mom, why’s it so hot in here? Something wrong with the air conditioning?” I shouted as I submitted the order and started checking her usual hiding spots for alcohol.
“It’s busted. Been broken for three days. You left me here to cook in this fucking oven,” she complained.
I clenched my teeth as I poured out the two half-empty bottles I’d found in the trash. That was pretty sneaky for her, thinking I wouldn’t check the trash as a hiding spot. I would have fixed the AC if she’d told me there was a problem. Surprise, surprise! I wasn’t a mind reader.
The linoleum creaked behind me, and I turned to find Sebastian standing in the middle of the kitchen.
“Where’s the thermostat? I can look at it,” he offered.
I pointed at the hall off the kitchen. “On the right. Down the corridor.”
I was closing up the trash bag to take it out when I heard the air kick on. Sebastian returned a second later, wearing a smirk.
“The temperature was set at eighty-five. I lowered it to seventy-five,” he whispered.
“Perfect.” I exhaled. There was no telling why she’d jacked up the temperature. I was grateful I didn’t have to pay for a repairman to come out to fix it. “Let me throw in a load of wash for her and we’ll get out of here.”
Sebastian winked at me as he turned toward the living room. “Take your time. I’m fine.”
After dealing with the trash, I darted into Mom’s bedroom and gathered up the clothes scattered about. I was taking them to the washing machine as she began her shit, ignoring all Sebastian’s attempts at polite conversation.
“You should stay away from him or he could infect you too,” she admonished.
“Homosexuality isn’t a disease.” Sebastian’s voice was low but firm. My hand tightened on the detergent bottle for a moment, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I was always proud of Sebastian for taking a stand for what was right, but there were some people it was pointless to argue with. They heard nothing and couldn’t be reasoned with. My mom was one of those people.
I rushed through, adding the soap, no longer caring if it was the right amount. It was time to get the fuck out of there.
“It is. Those people are sick. Tainted by the devil. You need to stay away from him before he taints you, too.”
“Mrs. Graham, I’m gay too.”
Fuck .
There was a loud gasp, and then the shouting began.
“Byron! You brought one of them into my home! Out! Both of you get out of my house. I’m calling the police. Get them to arrest you both!”
“I plan to marry your son and spend the rest of my life taking excellent care of him. He’ll never have to deal with your hatred if he doesn’t want to,” Sebastian stated in a booming voice above her screeching.
I tripped over my feet at his words, barely catching myself. Part of me argued that he only said that to get back at my mother. Yet there was such a fire of determination blazing in his eyes as he glared at her. I knew he believed every word he spoke.
But there was no way I was going to hold him to such a promise. My mom had a way of getting under a person’s skin and driving them to do and say things they would regret later.
“Get out!” she screamed, her voice growing shriller to the point of cracking.
I reached Sebastian and shoved him to the door. “Food will be delivered in an hour. I started a load of laundry in the washer and the air conditioner is now working,” I informed her, not caring if she was paying attention. “I’ll return in a few days to check on you.”
“Don’t come back! You’re not welcome here. You’re not my son. Ronnie’s my only son!”
It was not the first time she’d told me to stay away or even the first time she’d disowned me. And without a doubt, it wouldn’t be the last time.