Only for the Weekend

by Jen FitzGerald

  Jacinda nods.

  Tucker makes his way across the room and a sniffle catches his ear. As he glances around, the source of said sniffle is not immediately apparent, but then he spies it—a gigantic pink and purple bath sponge underneath a table. Tucker sets his plate on the table and kneels. “Patty, honey, are you hurt?”

  She’s sitting cross-legged with her skirts poofing around her, elbows on her knees, chin on her fists. She sniffs and shakes her head. “No.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “No one wants to have a tea party with me.”

  Tucker’s heart clenches. There are no other kids her age that he’s seen, so of course she’s lonely being surrounded by adults who don’t remember what it’s like to be young. Or ignored. Or invisible. Tucker’s been all of those as a child, as an adult as well.

  “Well, goodness, I do. I mean look—” He grabs the plate and shows her. Her face lights up. “I just grabbed us some snacks to have. C’mon.” He holds out a hand. She scoots forward and takes it. A clacking bag follows her out from under her hiding place.

  “What kind of tea should I get from the ice chest?” Tucker asks. May as well have something real.

  “Can I have orange?” Her brown eyes get very big, and she’s grinning and looking very expectant. Warning bells go off in Tucker’s head.

  “Are you allowed to have orange?”

  She deflates, her bottom lip sticking out. “No…”

  “Uh huh. Well, why don’t you go over there and set up our tea party, and I’ll find us something.”

  “Okay.” She clatters over to a nearby table and sets her little pink tote bag on a chair. He looks up to see the lady at the food table smiling at him again like she’s a ray of sunshine and he’s a budding flower. He hasn’t even done anything.

  Tucker darts outside in search of Thommy and comes back hiding a can behind his back. “Look what I have, Patty,” he says, holding out the can of orange soda with a flourish. Now he’s being beamed upon by another ray of sunshine. “I asked your dad and he said we could share.”

  Patty runs over and throws her arms around his legs. “Thank you, Mr. Tucker.”

  He’s not quite sure how he feels about being “Mr. Tucker,” although he appreciates Thommy’s ability to instill manners and respect into such a young kid. Right now, though, Tucker barely feels older than the ten-year-old he had once been having tea parties with his girl cousins.

  This little pixie has dredged up his fonder memories of childhood. Summer days making mud pies in the ruts between the tree roots, hiding out in the tree house in the huge willow tree at his Aunt Lulah’s house with his cousins, snapping beans with Aunt Lulah and Nana Mae on the deep porch decking of Nana’s shoe-box-sized house in the holler.

  “Okay, Patty, let’s tea party,” he says, putting those cherished visions back into their box. He grabs the paper plate he’d filled and sits at the table next to Patty. The fizzy orange-soda scent tickles his nose when he pops the top and fills two small plastic tea cups.

  They pick up their respective cups and tap the sides together before taking delicate sips.

  “That’s mighty fine tea, Patty. Thanks so much for inviting me.”

  She giggles. “Welcome.”

  After dropping a few chips on a tea-set-sized cake plate, he says, “I love your tea set.” It’s a miniature plastic replica of something the Queen of England might use with its scalloped edges and floral pattern in blue.

  “Santa gived it to me.”

  “Well,” says Tucker, trying to look impressed, “you must have been a very good girl last year.”

  She chatters on and Tucker nods and replies as needed. She’s precious and he hopes more little kids are coming to this shindig. He hates to think of her moping around all weekend. He might have to abandon Cole for Patty.

  A pair of hands squeeze his shoulders, and he looks up, startled, to find Cole looking down at him.

  “What have we here?” Cole asks, taking in the scene.

  Tucker loops a hand behind Cole’s neck and tugs him down for an upside-down kiss. Big eyes peer down at Tucker and a hint of a flush colors Cole’s cheekbones.

  “Mr. Tucker, why you kissin’ Uncle Cole?” Patty asks, looking curiously between the two.

  Yeah, she’s probably never seen that. And maybe Tucker shouldn’t have done it. Maybe Thommy can accept gay love, encourage his brother to pursue it even, but maybe he doesn’t want his four-year-old exposed to the reality of it.

  “Because he’s my boyfriend and because sometimes boyfriends kiss,” Cole replies with a shrug before Tucker can freak out any further. And okay then.

  Patty considers Cole’s response for a second and then nods. “Okay.” Patting the chair next to her, she says, “We’re having a tea party, Uncle Cole. Sit with us.”

  “Yeah, Uncle Cole, sit with us,” says Tucker with a wink. If their kiss becomes an issue all he can do is apologize, right? “An offer I can’t refuse.” Cole drops into the chair next to Patty and accepts his cup of orange soda and a mini-plate of chips.

  Patty talks about school and her teacher and Cole listens attentively. Sipping from a small plastic tea cup, he couldn’t look any more adorable if he tried. Tucker’s had somewhat of a crush on Cole for years—okay, so it’s based more on lust than anything—but Cole sitting here with Patty and him just reinforces what a genuinely nice guy Cole is.

  “This looks like fun,” says a familiar voice.

  Tucker looks up and grins wide. “My favorite library patrons.” He jumps up to hug Marva and her sister Wanda.

  “Abercrombie,” she says, smiling, “what are you doing here?”

  “Abercrombie?” Cole asks, confused, at the same time Tucker says, “I didn’t know you were related to Cole.”

  “Cole’s Granny Evie is our great-aunt,” explains Wanda.

  “Tucker here always reminds me of those Abercrombie & Fitch models on TV. Chiseled jaw, cleft chin, well-built,” Marva answers Cole’s question.

  “Would you like some tea, Mrs. Marva?” asks Patty.

  With a wink, Marva says, “Well, you know, I don’t mind if I do.” She plunks herself down in a chair and accepts her cuppa. Wanda stands behind her sister.

  “Deviled egg or olives?” Tucker asks, sliding the paper plate toward her.

  “These olives look delicious.” She snatches a couple of green ones. She looks at Patty and asks, “Did you make these?”

  Patty cackles and shakes her head.

  The five of them sit and talk for another ten minutes, including Patty in the conversation about the library, books, and reading.

  “Patty, look who’s here,” calls Thommy, stepping into the pavilion with another little girl.

  “Misty,” Patty shrieks, hopping from her chair to clatter across the space and hug Misty.

  Misty’s a head taller with lopsided strawberry blond pigtails, wearing a pink tank top and little boy swim trunks covered in cartoon bulldozers and dump trucks.

  “Scott’s gonna take me swimming. Wanna come?” asks Misty.

  Patty nods and looks up at Thommy. “Can I, Daddy?”

  “After you clean up the tea party and ask Scott if it’s okay.”

  “’Kay!” She whirls around and rushes to Tucker, throwing her little arms around him. “Thanks for playing with me.”

  A bloom of warmth overtakes Tucker. He hugs Patty and presses a kiss to her head. “You’re very welcome.” The simple acceptance of children is heartwarming. It goes to show prejudice is taught and not inherent.

  Patty cleans up as instructed, plastic heels and tote bag clacking her whereabouts the whole time. There’s finally silence once she pushes outside with Misty.

  Marva rises. “As fun as this was, I should go say hello to Evie. I’ll talk to you boys later.” She pats Cole on the shoulder and goes outside.

  Cole slides into the seat next to Tucker. “What’s up with the tea party?”

  “She had no one to play with. Don’t you re
member what that was like?”

  “Honestly, no. I always had Connie.”

  “Well, some of us aren’t so lucky. I spent a lot of time playing with my imaginary friends. I sympathize with her, so…a tea party. No skin off my back and she was thrilled.”

  “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown,” says Cole. “Since Misty’s here, that means the rest of the Thompsons are here. Let’s go say hey.”

  Chapter Seven

  They follow everyone else outside and join the group near Granny.

  “Hey, Ben,” says Cole.

  Ben whirls around and comes their way, hand outstretched.

  “Cole, good to see you, man.”

  “Good to see you. This is Tucker, my, ah, my boyfriend.” Glancing at Tucker, Cole says, “Ben is one of my—”

  “Cousins?” Tucker supplies.

  Ben grins and offers his hand to Tucker. “Yep. One of more than a dozen. Good to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Misty’s getting so big,” says Cole.

  “Oh, God, I know.” Ben glances down to the water’s edge where two little girls splash in the water with a dark-haired man. Ben lifts a hand and gets a raised hand in return. “She just started first grade. That’s Scott, he’s my boyfriend.”

  Tucker nods. Cool to know there are other queers in this family. Makes Tucker feel a little less self-conscious.

  They talk for a good thirty minutes before Tucker excuses himself. He hadn’t gotten to eat much of his previous plate of goodies, since he’d shared them with Patty, then Cole, and then Marva. Breakfast seems a long time ago and his stomach is making itself known. Back in the pavilion, he checks out what’s on offer now; finger foods and snack items have given way to more substantial fare: sandwich fixins and picnic food.

  Tucker wasn’t completely kidding when he told Pammy free food was part of the draw for the weekend. Of course, his promise, commitment, whatever-it-was to Cole is his top priority. But he loves trying homemade family dishes. He loves tasting new flavor combinations and new foods in general. He’s also fine with the standard chips, dips, and salsas. He eyes the macaroni salad, three types of potato salad, and a pasta salad. Bright veggies and colorful fruits tempt him as well. He studies a bowl of pink fluff. He can’t identify anything but the pecans on top.

  “It’s Pink Stuff.”

  Tucker looks up to find Cole’s nephew Nathan, who’d been introduced in passing earlier in the day, on the other side of the table, flipping a paper plate in his hands. His dark brown hair is brushed straight back from his forehead and curls slightly at his neckline. His eyes are a shiny chestnut brown and a hint of a mustache darkens his upper lip. Brawny, but not fat, in the football player way of Texas. He’s cute, Tucker supposes; youngsters are not his thing, but for a legitimate teenager, he’s a good-looking kid.

  “Pink stuff?” Tucker peers closer. “What the heck’s in pink stuff?”

  “I don’t know. Cherries, I think.”

  “That explains the pink.”

  “Yeah. Um… Tucker, right? Can I ask you something?”

  Tucker’s internal early warning system goes off. It’s more along the lines of a watch than a warning for the moment, but it’s never failed him since he learned to listen to it. “Sure, honey.”

  “I have a friend…”

  Oh, God. Tucker’s stomach drops, but he nods and keeps his face as neutral as he can and drops some lunch meat and cheese on his own plate.

  “His name’s Trevor…”

  Tucker’s surge of relief is twofold. There really is a friend and Nathan’s not coming out to him, because, God that would be—well, Tucker doesn’t even know what that would be. But he’s profoundly relieved.

  “…and he’s gay, and he wants to tell his folks, but he’s worried about it. Do you have any advice that I could pass along?”

  “Do you want to walk, maybe?” Tucker asks, grabbing some bread and dishing up some veggies and ranch dressing.

  Nathan nods and grabs a handful of chips. Tucker smirks inwardly—he expected nothing less.

  They exit the building and walk toward the lake without speaking. The little girls and Scott are back up at the pavilion. A slight breeze ruffles their hair. Nathan shovels a chip in his mouth, crunching, and wipes his hand down the back of his shorts. Tucker trails a length of red bell pepper through the dip and takes a bite before opening the conversation.

  “So is Trevor a more or a less obvious gay?”

  “What?”

  “Do his clothing choices and demeanor indicate at all that he’s gay?”

  “No, he dresses mostly like me. Wears glasses. Plays in the band.”

  “Okay. Well, sometimes parents just know, depending on how obvious their kid is or how much they’re really paying attention.” Tucker shrugs. “There really was no question with me, you know? I didn’t have to say anything, and we pretended I wasn’t queer for a long time.”

  Tucker takes a seat on one of the large boulders set a few yards back from the shoreline. Nathan wades into the water a few steps in his heavy-duty brand-name flip flops.

  “The thing is,” Tucker continues, “sharing that kind of thing with others is hard, and there’s no doubt that it really shouldn’t be anyone’s business but that person’s.”

  Nathan nods, eats another chip. “Yeah, but, he wants to tell them. There’s a guy he likes and they want to, you know, go out and stuff. Like his sisters do.”

  Nathan’s ears go red and he’s looking out over the water, and Tucker gets the sudden feeling that Nathan’s avoiding looking at him. The twitching in Tucker’s eye kicks up a notch and, yeah, okay. Tread with caution. Because while Trevor is part of the equation, so is Nathan. Until he confirms Tucker’s suspicions, though, it’s mere speculation, and Tucker would never betray someone’s trust. Not a fellow queer, especially not a closeted teen, and not about something like this.

  Tucker would bet a week’s pay that it’s Nathan asking, maybe on Trevor’s behalf, but mostly on his own. And shit. After Doug’s reaction to Cole and Tucker’s little display earlier, the importance of this conversation has risen. Doug could just be uncomfortable with the tangible evidence of men liking men, so he lashes out a bit. Which is, you know, fine. Tucker gets it. Doug could also be a zero-tolerance homophobic prick who’d beat the shit out of his kid for being gay. And that scares the hell out of Tucker. He’s been there, done that, gotten the tee shirt, and no way in hell will he stand by and let that happen if he can help it.

  “Nathan, get up here,” barks a voice.

  Tucker startles at the sound.

  Nathan’s head whips around to look at his father at the top of the incline leading down to the shore.

  Tucker turns as well.

  Doug’s got his hands on his hips, feet shoulder-width apart, looking distinctly displeased. “Go find the football. We want to toss it around.”

  Who’s we? Tucker wonders. What the hell is that all about? Doug doesn’t want his kid being tainted by a gay guy? Considering there are three gay men related to his family, that seems a little farfetched. Of course, Cole, Scott, and Ben don’t immediately come across as gay…so maybe it’s Tucker’s obviousness. Well, whatever. He’s only here for the weekend and he didn’t come to cause trouble.

  Nathan sighs and Tucker stands to follow. He places a hand on Nathan’s arm.

  “Trevor must have some inkling about how his parents are going to react. I guess I’d say if one parent might react negatively, then tell the other parent first.”

  “Nathan, let’s go.” Doug’s voice is harsher than it needs to be.

  They’re just talking for Christ’s sake.

  “Coming, Dad.”

  “Nathan.”

  He stops and glances back.

  “If Trevor thinks both his parents might react badly, then maybe tell some other trusted friend or grownup first and have them present. His physical safety is just as important as his emotional safety, okay?”

  “O
kay.” Nathan nods, smiling faintly. “Thanks.”

  “Sure. If he needs temporary shelter, I’m sure Cole would help. I would too.”

  With another nod, Nathan jogs up the hill and doesn’t look back.

  It’s Tucker’s turn to sigh as he trudges back to the party. “Well, fuck.” He’s not sure why Doug’s got his panties in a wad. Does he just hate the thought of a queer talking to his son? Or does he have suspicions about his kid? Either way, the chances of that ending well have dropped significantly if Doug feels threatened by a mere conversation. Nothing to do but keep an eye on Nathan and try to enjoy the party as much as he can.

  Chapter Eight

  Cole’s nowhere to be seen when Tucker reaches the top of the slope a few moments after Nathan. Nathan is jogging toward the parking lot, presumably after the football. Doug is assembling a sandwich on the plate in his lap. Dark glasses hide his gaze, but Tucker gets the distinct impression Doug’s eyes are glued to him.

  Granny Evie waves a hand his direction and Tucker shifts trajectory, glad that someone doesn't hate his very existence. Which isn’t fair at all. He takes a breath and shakes it off. With the exception of Doug, everyone’s been super welcoming and pleased as punch for Cole. Unfortunately, when you’ve spent most of your life being a target, it’s hard to shake the feeling even when you know you’re really not.

  Tucker plasters on a smile and it’s mostly genuine. “Hey, Miz Evie. How are you doing? Can I get you anything? Something sweet, tea or cookies or anything?”

  She shakes her head. “Just you. Come sit with me.”

  “I’d be delighted, ma’am.” He was taught to be respectful and polite to his elders. His father had tanned his hide more than once and Aunt Lulah had cuffed his ears a couple of times. But Nana Mae had explained the importance of treating anyone over a certain age with dignity, patience, and respect, and he’s never forgotten.

  Tucker drops to a cross-legged position on the ground next to her.