Chapter 25
My heart is breaking in my chest, but I still feel Mom’s warmth, so I know she isn’t gone yet.
If she wants to see me happy, there’s only one way to guarantee it.
A sure-fire HEA to save the day. In order to get my happy ending, I’m going to have to remind Bubba and Johnny why they love me so much, and why they should never let me go.
Cue the theatrics.
“You call that a high kick? For God’s sake, Evangeline, we’ve practiced this at least sixty times.”
“My name ain’t Evangeline, it’s Maybelline, and we ain’t never practiced this dance before. You just woke me up, dragged me out to the field, and told me to dance like my life depends on it. I don’t even know what the heck that means.”
“Yes, well, you’re easily twenty-six years old. If you need me to give you step-by-step instructions, I don’t know what to tell you.”
She furrows her brows. “I’m six. I’ve said it a whole bunch of times.”
“Six going on sixty. And don’t think I didn’t see the way you half-assed your backflip. Honest to God, it’s a wonder you didn’t fall flat on your face.”
“I already told you, I don’t know nothing about tumbling. I didn’t even want to do this, Momma and Mamaw are making me.”
I gape at her, because that makes no sense whatsoever.
When I mentioned it to her, she was goddamn giddy.
She went around to the family at the dinner table, one by one, telling them she was going to be a quote-unquote Las Vegas showgirl.
I don’t know how the fuck she knows what about Las Vegas showgirls when no one here even knows what a Tylenol is, but it’s another mystery for another day.
Right now, I’m stuck on the fact she doesn’t want to be here.
“You don’t want to do this? You seemed so enthused when I asked.”
She shrugs. “I don’t like the dancing, but I like hanging out with you. You’re fun.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. You make funny faces and say stupid stuff.”
“I don’t say stupid stuff.”
“All you ever say is stupid stuff.” She hops up from where she’s lying on the ground, places her hands on her hips Wonder Woman style, and gives me a decided nod like she’s more sure of this than she’s ever been sure of anything.
“I bet you’re thinking of something real stupid to say right now, aren’t you? ”
I scowl at her. “I am not.”
She thumps my nose. “Are too. That’s okay though, Ezra. I don’t mind when you say stupid stuff. You always sound real pretty when you say it.”
I hold a hand over my heart. “Be still my beating heart. What a lovely thing to say. Thank you, Mistress Maybelline.”
“You’ve got real neat hair. Did someone ever tell you that?”
I can’t argue with facts, so I just nod. “A few men, actually. I used to use a lot of product in it. You know, before your father and Mamacita—”
“Mamaw,” she corrects me.
“Mamaw,” I agree. “Before your father and mamaw kidnapped me. I’m feeling a bit lost without it, to be completely honest.”
Her smile stretches wider across her face.
“I love when you talk like that. Like something out of a book. We only got three books, and they’re all real boring, but the words are pretty sometimes, when Momma reads them to me.
You’re gonna make a really good husband, and I promise, I’m gonna be the best wife ever. ”
“Oh, Jesus. Not this again.”
“And we’ll get married by the mud puddle, just past the cornfield. We can wear rubber boots.”
“We’ll be doing nothing of the sort.”
“Well, if you don’t want to wear rubber boots, you can just go barefoot. Nobody’s going to mind, Ezra. Promise.”
She’s in love with me. I can’t hold it against her.
I’m quite lovable. Still, I don’t want to be the source of childhood trauma for her one day.
I would hate to know she held out a torch, hoping against hope my sexual orientation might change.
Her family didn’t know about homosexuality until I came into the picture.
Will they be mad at me for saying too much?
Will I unintentionally hurt her heart by saying too little?
Ugh. This is why I’m gay. So I don’t have to navigate tricky situations like this.
It’s not the reason I’m gay, obviously. I’m aware I was born this way, but not having to fear every unexpected ejaculation, knowing situations like this may be the result, is certainly a plus.
I wouldn’t know where to start when it comes to raising a child.
I don’t have it in me. Parents will always have my respect, because I know me, and I know what I’m capable of, and bringing up baby simply is not in my wheelhouse.
That being said, I like this child. She’s sassy and snarky, and she holds no punches when it comes to telling the God’s honest truth, whether you’ve asked for it or not. She’s got gumption, and I’m pretty sure I’m here for it.
“Listen, Maybelline, you’re sweet and all, but I’m not wired that way.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not romantically or sexually attracted to women.”
“What’s ‘sexually’ mean?”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head quickly. “No, that’s a tunnel we shan’t be journeying through today.” I eye her curiously, trying to come up with a game plan. In the end, I think of nothing, so I simply speak my truth. “You want to marry a man one day. So do I.”
“Yeah. You’ll want a wife.”
“Close, but no. I don’t want to spend my life with a woman. I want to spend it with a man.” Two men, actually, but I can only manage one dumpster fire of a situation at a time. “I’m a man who wants to fall in love with another man.” I pause. Who am I kidding? “I’m in love with a man.”
Her brows scrunch together. “Oh. Is that all? Why didn’t you just say so?”
“Pardon?”
“When we first met. You let me think we had a chance. That we’d get a pretty house behind Momma and Daddy’s and we’d live here forever. Now, you’re telling me you don’t want to marry me. You should have said something right from the start.”
“You’re literally ten. Even if I was into women, it would have been highly problematic of me to entertain your foolishness.”
“I’m six,” she repeats. “I don’t know why I gotta keep reminding you. Don’t you listen?”
“Sometimes. Not often.”
“Not surprising.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “So, you like boys?”
“Men,” I correct her. “I like men.”
“Well I like boys and not men.”
“Look at us. Twinsies for the winsies. One might go as far as calling us the Ying Yang Twins.”
“I don’t know what that is, or what it means.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. We’re two sides of the same coin, you and I.”
“I don’t really know what that means, either, but I’m worried you’re gonna go into another rant if I ask you.” She hops up from her seat on the grass. “I’m tired of all the talk-talk-talk. You wanted to dance. Let’s do this dumb dance.”
So, we do. We run through the choreography for another two hours before falling flat on our asses, exhausted.
With our choreography in order, we hide behind an old, hollowed-out school bus near the front of the property.
It’s been painted with pink and purple flowers, giving it a hippie-chic look.
It’s pretty fucking adorable, as is the little girl at my side.
Maybelline and I are wearing matching outfits, each as awful as the other.
We’re in overalls, but mine have been cut so high that half of my ass cheeks are visible.
Maybelline, thankfully, doesn’t share my need to show as much skin as possible, so she almost resembled a Cabbage Patch doll. She’s low-key adorable.
I have fuck-all phone reception here, but I have three music videos downloaded on YouTube, apparently, though I don’t recall saving them.
The first is Mariah Carey’s Obsessed, but that’s hardly a song I would sing to welcome the men I love.
The next is pop powerhouse Madonna, singing about being a bad girl, drunk by six.
I don’t drink, and I’m not a girl, so it’s not terribly apropos.
Finally, we’ve got Annie Lennox’s Walking on Broken Glass.
It’s the closest thing to a love song on the list, so we’ve been forced to make do with it.
We’ve practiced and practiced, all for a shot at surprising the men I love.
When the hum of a vehicle’s engine sounds in the distance, I give Maybelline a nod.
“Like we practiced. We wait until we hear the car doors open, then we launch into action.” I put my hand in front of me like I’ve seen sports teams do at games when Bubba watches his stupid football.
It’s always seemed like a bonding moment, so I figure that’s what this could be.
I thought wrong, because Maybelline just stares at my hand like it’s stupid.
“What are you doing with your hand?”
“You’re supposed to put your hand on top of mine, and then we shout a morale-boosting shout.
“A morale-boosting shout?”
I nod. “I don’t know what they yell on Bubba’s football games, but the players always seem hyped.
Come on, don’t leave me hanging.” She places her hand on top of mine, but she’s still giving me a judgmental glare, like if I do something stupid she’ll never let me hear the end of it.
“On three. One, two, three …” I didn’t think of what to shout ahead of time, so I’m feeling a bit daft, standing here with my arm in front of me, at a complete loss for words.
“Ezra? Are you having a stroke? Papaw had a stroke and he died in front of us. Are you going to die in front of me?”
I close my eyes and sigh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“That’s what Papaw said when Daddy asked if he should take him to the emergency room.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ You’re gonna die, aren’t you?
Oh, God. Are you gonna poop your pants when you die like Papaw did?
There was something sticking up in his lap, but when I asked Daddy about it later, he told me to shut my mouth when I’m talking about Papaw’s election. ”
“Election?” Did the man run for state senate?
“That’s what Daddy called it. He told me not to ever look at no one’s election again, because it’ll make me go blind.”