by Leta Blake
After a few more minutes, Joel chose not to wait. He was going to get reamed out anyway. It might as well be tomorrow.
Placing the McDonald’s bag on his father’s pillow, golden arches up, he beat a retreat to his truck and drove to the store, memories bubbling up like old poison.
“Most rich assholes are queers,” Pop snarled. “Cowardly queers who hid behind books instead of fighting in the war.”
He was deep in a bottle of Christmas rum, so Joel knew better than to contradict him, but he was itching to anyway. He was no fan of Casey’s stuck-up dad, but the man wasn’t cowardly and he wasn’t a queer. He was just born twenty-five years too late to go to Vietnam, for God’s sake.
“You keep hanging out with that sissy boy, and you’ll be licking his balls and begging like a bitch before you know it.”
Joel blinked at his pop, taking in the way his muscles bulged even as he reclined in his La-Z-Boy. Joel bit down on his cheek hard. He wasn’t going to say anything. Nothing at all. He wouldn’t give anything away.
“You think I don’t know? You think I don’t have eyes that see?”
“What do you see, Pop?”
Joel wanted to knock himself unconscious for being stupid enough to ask a question. If he’d been smart, he’d have gone to his room long before now, before his father’s attention even fell on him.
“I’ve seen all kinds of things. Like you and that boy wrestling in the backyard back when you were kids. And I see you now.” He waved his glass Joel’s way. “I see you looking at him all moony-eyed. You a fuckin’ queer? You better tell me so I know what to do with you.”
Joel never wanted to know what that meant. “I’m not a fucking queer, Pop.” He was a queer but not a fucking one. He was a virgin all the way. So it wasn’t even a lie.
“That’s what they all say,” Pop slurred.
In all likelihood, his pop wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. But Joel hoped like hell he did. Whenever Charlie drank enough to get his asshole out and show it around, he felt guilty as sin the next day.
That’s how Joel had convinced Charlie to agree to let the band practice in the garage, and that’s how he wrangled his first bass guitar and amp too. He’d been hoping to pick up a tube preamp so they could make better-sounding demos to put up on YouTube. If his pop remembered these accusations tomorrow, he might be able to buy it.
“Your mom’s brother was a fuckin’ queer,” he whispered, taking a sip of his drink and eyeing Joel angrily. “Died like the rest of ’em in the eighties. Should’ve known better than to knock Jenny up. Should’ve never given in and let her have you. Maybe she’d still be with me.”
Joel didn’t know what the hell that meant since her death had literally nothing to do with him. How was it his fault that his mom died in a freak electrical accident while visiting a friend? He hadn’t even been with her. He’d been at home with a babysitter.
“Go to your room. Come out when you’re not a damn faggot.”
Joel did as he was told, though when his alarm went off the next morning, he ignored the last part of his father’s injunction. He grabbed his iPhone, backpack, and the freshly pinched pack of cigarettes before heading out the door to wait at the bus stop with Casey. Queer as ever.
Gripping the steering wheel, Joel choked down the mix of shame and anger and resentment. He thought of kissing Casey and managed to smile, even if it was more of a smirk. He was still a damn faggot, and Pop could go to hell.
Chapter Nine
“Gloria in excelsis Deo!”
Casey’s mother had a light voice that bounced around the living room as she unboxed all the ornaments for the tree. The Bluetooth speaker sat in the middle of the giant glass coffee table and spewed Christmas carols all around. They’d strung the tree with lights the night before, but everyone had been too worn out—and Casey too distracted—to hang the ornaments.
The tree was the one thing about Christmas that didn’t have to follow his father’s rules. That was because his mother had developed a story about the decorations, one that his father bought into. She told anyone who commented on the wild mish-mash of ornaments and colors that it was tradition in their home to have a tree that reflected the life and love a family shared, not to reflect the décor of the house. So, their tree had ornaments from their travels and his childhood, his grandmother’s old tree, and his mother’s time in college. Handmade items that barely stood the test of time now.
“Hey, Hank. Glad I caught you. I’m thinking of upsizing our boat next summer. If I did, would you want to buy the old one?” His father paced like a tiger by the windows that overlooked the lake. He looked older than the last time Casey had seen him, when he’d popped up to New York for a business meeting over the summer, but no less powerful. Still an inch taller than Casey’s six feet, his blond hair had only just silvered over the last year or two.
Talking on the phone with a country club pal, Jonathan Stevens’s voice boomed like no one else was in the room. “You’ve been running around on that old speedster too long. You really should consider my offer. I’ll make you a good deal.”
“Why do we need a new boat?” Casey asked his mom, poking through the box for his favorite ornament. It was a monkey playing a drum, and he’d picked it out for himself at Hallmark when he was four. “And why isn’t Dad at the office?”
His mother, dressed in black jeggings and a stylish snowflake sweater, sorted through the box of mixed-up ornaments. “Heather needs to take better care when disassembling the tree,” she muttered, smoothing her pixie cut around her ears. “She broke some ornaments last year.” Then she smiled at Casey. “Your dad took today off to spend with you.”
Casey’s stomach dropped, and he glanced toward the clock. He had just enough time to help his mom decorate the tree, swing by Ham & Goody’s for the sandwich and cookies he remembered Joel had once liked, and then get to Vreeland’s in time for lunch. Assuming Joel ate lunch at noon like a normal person, and assuming Joel actually deigned to eat lunch with him. But he hadn’t said not to come. And he’d seemed pretty into the kiss while it was going on, so Casey had reason to hope.
His entire body buzzed with excitement, like someone had caffeinated his blood, electrified his skin, and jazzed up his bones. There was no way he was going to cancel on seeing Joel at lunch today to awkwardly hang out with his dad and listen to him pontificate about the petroleum business. Casey chewed on his lower lip.
“What’s wrong?” his mother asked.
“I have other plans.”
“What sort of plans?” She blinked at him, her blue eyes glinting. “You know how much your father and I have been looking forward to your visit.”
“I do, but…”
She lifted her pale brows. “But?”
“I’m meeting Joel. For lunch.”
“Joel?”
“Yeah. Joel Vreeland.”
Her voice tightened. “I know which Joel, honey. I’m just surprised. I thought you understood it was a good thing you’d let that friendship go by the wayside.” She glanced toward his father, who was still pacing by the windows, nodding along to whatever Hank was saying. “Joel isn’t ever going to be at your level.”
Casey shook his head, refusing to engage in this line of conversation. He’d gone down that path with them before in high school, and he didn’t see their opinion changing. But he was an adult now. It wasn’t up to them. “I saw him at Vreeland’s last night when I bought the tree and—”
“You went to Vreeland’s? I sent you to Costco.” She turned her gaze suspiciously toward the tree like she now suspected it of being infested with bugs.
“Does it matter? You said it was beautiful when I brought it in last night.”
“It is,” she agreed reluctantly. “I just thought… Never mind.” Her shoulders sank. “I see. You went to Vreeland’s where you saw Joel. You’re still rebounding from Theo, so of course that old crush has risen to the surface. The holidays can make us nostalgic like that.”
Ann had said to avoid arguments he couldn’t win. She said he needed to learn to state his plans as a fait accompli and his parents would have to learn to deal with them—and him—accordingly.
“We’re meeting for lunch,” he said firmly. “So I won’t be able to hang out with Dad today. Sorry.”
His mom darted a glance toward his father to make sure he was still distracted before reaching out and taking his hand. “Joel’s straight, Casey. Remember? I hate to see you hurt yourself this way.”
Casey kept his face smooth, but it was harder than it used to be when he’d lived with his parents and everything rode on making them think he agreed with them.
“We were friends, Mom. And I wouldn’t mind being friends again.” He wasn’t about to betray Joel’s confidence by telling his mother the truth about Joel’s sexuality. “I’m lonely in New York. It’s a big city, full of strangers with lives that don’t include me. I miss knowing people the way I did here.”
It was true enough. He hadn’t made the friends he’d anticipated when he’d gone away to college. He didn’t know if it was his Southern accent, or his nouveau riche background, or his country-come-to-town awe of the city, but somehow he just never fit in.
Before he’d left Knoxville for NYU, he’d imagined four years of intellectual discussions, drunken parties, a dedicated friend group, and everything the Internet and TV had promised him about college. Instead, it’d been a lot of studying and casual acquaintances and being alone, aside from his doomed relationship with Theo. And meaningless sex via horrible hookup apps. Joel was right. What had the world come to?
He didn’t necessarily regret any of his own experiences, but he was glad Joel had missed out on that rite of passage. Joel deserved better. He deserved to be loved by any man who touched him. Casey wanted to show him that truth.
“Well, you’ll have to tell him,” his mother whispered, shooting a meaningful look at his father. “I’m not going to be the one to say he took a day off for nothing.”
Casey barely restrained his eye roll and marveled that he really must have lost control of his expressions by living alone. “I’m fine with that.”
“Are you?” She raised a brow.
He raised one of his in return. “He can be pissed if he wants, but he didn’t ask me if I was available to spend the day with him. That’s his problem, not mine.”
“What’s this?” his father said, slipping his cell phone into his pocket, the conversation with his friend ended. He walked toward them, away from the windows. “Did you say I should have asked if you were available?”
“Did you sell your boat to Hank?” Casey’s mom asked, moving aside the ornament boxes and reaching out to take his father’s hands, squeezing them and giving him a bright, conciliatory smile.
“Hank said he’d think about it.” He narrowed his brown eyes on Casey again and tilted his head. “I took today off to spend with you. Did I just hear you imply that you aren’t available?”
Sweat broke out on Casey’s forehead, but he held his tone steady. “Sorry, Dad. I have plans. Maybe you can still go into the office to get some work done and we can spend the day together tomorrow.”
“I have appointments all day tomorrow. I had Natalie clear the schedule today.”
“It’s a misunderstanding, that’s all.” He returned to hanging the ornaments on the tree, his fingers shaking. He hated that his dad still evoked this reaction in him. “We’ll see plenty of each other. I’ll be here until the day after New Year’s.”
His father grumbled slightly but already had his phone out, placing a call. “Natalie, I’ll be in today after all. Can you pull the files on the Branson deal for me? I want to double-check those numbers against last quarter’s.” He walked away still talking with his assistant. Casey took a slow breath and let it out even slower.
“That was lucky,” Mom said softly. “He took that really well.”
Casey shrugged. “He’d rather be at work anyway. We both know that.”
She sat on the sofa, dangling an ornament from one finger, as she tsked at him. “I can’t believe you’d say that. You’re his pride and joy.”
“He loves me, Mom, but that doesn’t mean he likes me. I don’t think he’s ever really liked me.”
“What nonsense! Of course he likes you and always has. He’s your father.”
Casey didn’t argue any more, but he didn’t agree either. He remembered far too well how frustrated his father used to get with him, how the time he’d spent with Casey always felt like it was more out of obligation than any shared interests or enthusiasms.
But Casey couldn’t blame him entirely. He’d been a boring child and was an even more boring adult. At least as far as his father was concerned. He had no interest in social climbing, golf, or oil. Even less interest in his father’s ideas for Casey’s future.
He didn’t want to work in a corporation. His dream, uncovered after months of talking to Ann about what he didn’t want to do with his life, was to work in branding and marketing. He wanted to contribute to the growth of underdeveloped areas and help bring the shops and stores in a town or small city back to life. He loved working on marketing plans, and he enjoyed the idea of being part of a bigger social movement of shared vision for a community.
But it wasn’t like Casey was going to confess his genuine interests or plans for post-graduation with his father anyway. The few times he’d made the mistake of thinking his father truly wanted to know his thoughts on anything, it hadn’t gone well for him. It had always devolved into Casey being told he was wrong—back-to-front, top-to-tail wrong. And sometimes when he was younger…
He chose another ornament. The past was in the past and there was no sense dredging it up. His mother was right—he’d been lucky his father hadn’t thrown a fit about Casey messing up his day. Maybe his father was mellowing with age. Unlikely but possible, he supposed. Or maybe he’d decided that temper tantrums, even in the privacy of one’s own home, weren’t classy.
Casey snorted. If only.
Shoving such mopey thoughts aside, Casey focused on decorating the tree. After all, it was the only thing standing between him and leaving to meet Joel for lunch. With a smile, he dangled his favorite monkey ornament, discovered beneath a trove of glittering balls. “Aha! Mr. Drummer Monkey. My favorite.”
“He has such a sour face,” his mother said archly, standing to hang a shimmery, gold ball on a mid-level limb.
“Nah. Mr. Drummer Monkey’s adorable.”
“I was talking about Joel.”
Casey frowned and took his time choosing the perfect spot for his ornament. “I like his face,” he said steadily. Ann’s voice in his head told him to calmly stand his ground and protect his interests. “It’s not like anyone else’s face, and I like it.”
“To each his own, they always say.” She took up another ornament and frowned at a rip in the skirt of an ancient doll figurine ornament she’d brought to the marriage with her. It’d been a favorite from her own childhood. “I’ll have to ask Heather to repair this when she arrives this afternoon to make dinner.”
“About dinner,” Casey said casually, “I might not be here for that either.”
“But why?”
“I might have a date.”
She blinked at him and sighed, shaking her head. “Chasing after a straight man is only going to cause you pain.”
“Mom, it’s none of your business. I’ll let you know in plenty of time for Heather to adjust her cooking plans,” Casey said.
The next song his mother’s Christmas playlist offered up turned out to be “Frosty the Snowman,” and excitement at seeing Joel later stirred again in his blood.
Irritable, grumpy Joel could be a Mr. Frosty Pants indeed. He might have been cold last night, but his lips had been warm for Casey’s kiss today.
Casey sang along as they trimmed the tree, a bubble of irrepressible joy in his chest. His mother didn’t offer any more objections, and they finished decorating with plen
ty of time for Casey to head out to pick up lunch.
Chapter Ten
Joel’s stomach was in knots, and he couldn’t stop checking the time on his phone. Ten minutes until noon, and who knew when Casey might show up? What if he didn’t? What if he did? But what if he didn’t? Joel wanted lunchtime to be here already.
“Why do you keep smiling like that?” Angel asked with her nose wrinkled like she smelled something rotten. She stood behind the register wearing a black T-shirt and black overalls, with new Sharpie tattoos decorating her exposed arms.
“Like what?”
“Like that. It’s creepy. Like you’ll be glaring, all normal and stuff, and then all of a sudden, you’ll just…smile.” She shuddered. “Like you can’t even help it, and you don’t know why you’re doing it. Are you possessed?”
“No.”
“You are. You’ve got the devil in you.” She waggled her dark eyebrows. “Call the priest! We’ll exorcise this freakish happiness right out of your body.”
“I’m not happy.”
Angel tilted her head and examined him. “No, you’re not. Which is what makes that smile so creepy.”
Joel snorted dismissively. “Get back to work.”
He knew the smile she was talking about. Ever since he was a little kid, when he was nervous about something, he’d break into what his pop called a “simpering face,” like a whipped dog. He hated it. He resented having a nervous, anxious tic of any sort.
But he wasn’t exactly scared for Casey to show up. Eating lunch with his old friend didn’t terrify him. It was more about what Casey might expect or want from him now that they’d kissed, and even more what Casey wouldn’t want from him. He didn’t want to deal with the horrible confirmation that, yeah, he really wasn’t worth anyone’s effort after all. Or face the possibility that the kiss this morning was a bizarre hallucination born out of lonely, desperate insanity.
Joel left Angel behind the register where she was using a tiny stamp she’d brought in to add green Christmas trees to her black-lacquered nails. He should reprimand her for messing around at work, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He pulled on his jean jacket and headed out to straighten the rows of trees in the lot again. It’d only been a few minutes, but it was possible one had gotten blown out of line by a freak gust of wind. It gave him something to do at least, and that calmed his mind.
