by T. J. Klune
“When?” Stephanie asks him.
Otter shrugs. “We haven’t gotten that far yet. Bear’s got the teaching contract here with the Seafare School District for the next school year. Tyson is leaving in a few months. I’ll probably go with him to get him settled and then come back after a few weeks. I’m thinking of going back to school, but I don’t know yet. I’ve got a few more shoots lined up that I can spread out over the next few months.”
“You guys better hurry,” JJ says. “You’re getting pretty old.”
“JJ,” Creed scolds. “That’s not a nice thing to say to the elderly.”
“Otter just turned forty!” Bear says.
JJ shrugs. “I was talking about you.”
Bear glares at his godson. “I don’t want kids anymore.”
“Kids?” Otter says, going a bit pale. “As in plural?”
“Well, yeah,” Bear says with a drunken grin. “Isn’t having kids like Pringles and tattoos? Can’t have just one?”
“Yes, Bear,” Anna says. “Having children is just like having potato chips and tattoos.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s going to open the floodgates,” he says to Otter. “Aren’t you going to be sorry when we have, like, thirty. We could adopt half from other countries and have our own mock United Nations.”
“I don’t think that’s as good of an idea as you think it is, you wino,” Otter says.
“Why don’t you just start with one?” Anna suggests.
“What’s your position on breastfeeding?” Bear asks her. “Because I read this article that says—”
“You need to stop reading articles,” I say. “Now.”
He rolls his eyes. “I just wanted her opinion on nipple sensitivity.”
“Uh, Bear?” Anna asks. “You know you can’t breastfeed, right?”
“I would have made a good mother,” Bear says sadly.
“You would have,” Otter says, kissing his cheek.
“Who’s hungry?” Alice asks. “All this baby talk has left me famished.” She begins to cut the irradiated lasagna.
“I have a question,” JJ says.
“And what’s that?” Anna asks, putting the cloth napkin in his lap.
“We’re all here, right? Our family?”
“Right.”
“And it’s pretty big news that babies are coming, right?”
“Right.”
“Then how come Dominic isn’t here? He’s part of us too. Is he working or something? I can’t wait to tell him I’m going to be a big brother.”
Silence. Except for the high-pitched buzzing in my ears.
Anna looks embarrassed. “JJ, I—”
“You guys still see him?” I ask.
The only one who’ll look at me is Creed. “Sure, Kid,” he says. “Why wouldn’t we?” There’s a bit of a challenge in his voice. “We have him over for dinner once a week. Like JJ said, he’s family.”
I swallow thickly. “That’s… nice of you.”
“People mess up, Kid,” he says. “Everyone in this room knows that. Sometimes people mess up too much and there’s no coming back from it. Other times, it’s something mishandled, but it’s in the past and needs to be forgiven. You, of all people, should know the difference between the two.”
“Creed,” Otter warns. “Not now. This isn’t—”
“No,” I interrupt. “Let him talk.”
“Creed,” Anna says, but he ignores her.
“Hasn’t this gone on long enough?” he asks.
“You don’t know everything,” I tell him. “Not about him. Not about me.”
“Don’t I? I was there when it was about Bear and Otter. I might not have seen it right at the time, but I can see it now.”
“It’s not the same. I’m not like them. This is different.”
“Really? You left, Kid. Doesn’t get much more the same than that.”
“Creed,” Bear says. “That’s enough.” His voice is hard. “I told you not to talk about this.”
“You did?” I ask, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. “When?”
Bear sighs. “Before we left New Hampshire.”
“Why?”
“Because it needed to be said.”
I’m pissed, though I can’t quite figure out why. “So you just thought that I shouldn’t be aware of this? Poor, fragile Tyson couldn’t possibly handle it?”
“Panic attack,” Bear snaps. “Two hours ago. On the beach.”
“That’s not fair!”
He shakes his head. “It’s not. But that is how it is. I was just trying to do what’s best for you. As I’ve always done.”
“Maybe I don’t need you to do that,” I say coldly. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
“You better believe I’m going to do it. As long as you live under my roof, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you—”
I laugh. “Practicing already, Dad? That’s not quite how it works.”
“Tyson!” Otter barks in that voice even I can’t ignore. I’m such a fucking shit, but I can’t stop the anger rolling through me. I feel betrayed.
Oh? it whispers. You thought… what? That just because you stopped seeing him that the rest of them would? That just because you couldn’t handle the thought of him loving anyone else but you that they’d feel the same? Tyson. Kid. Child. You may be a genius, but sometimes, oh sometimes, you are so very fucking stupid.
“Apologize,” Otter growls. “Now.”
Bear’s trying to keep the hurt off his face, but he’s not quite succeeding. Goddammit. How did we get here so quickly? We were just laughing. All of us.
“Sorry,” I mumble. I’m pretty sure I’m the world’s biggest dick.
Bear shrugs. “It’s okay.” It doesn’t take away the pained look in his eyes.
“You and Dominic had a fight?” JJ asks me.
“That’s enough,” Anna says. “Time to eat.”
“It’s fine,” I say, waving her away. “Yeah. We did.” And he broke my heart. And somehow, every single person in the room knows it. Which means they all know I was in love with my best friend. That’s… fuck.
“When?”
“A long time ago.”
His face scrunches up as he thinks. “Then why are you still mad?”
“I’m… I don’t know.”
He nods. “We’re not related, right?
“Not by blood. In other ways, though. That matters. Just as much.”
“And Dominic’s not related either?”
“No.”
“But he is too, though. In other ways. Just as much.”
“Yeah, JJ.” My voice is hoarse.
He smiles. “Then you can’t stay mad. Dad says that’s not what family does. He says we can get mad, but we always forgive.”
Creed looks adoringly at his son.
Plates are handed around. Food is served.
Corey squeezes my leg in comfort. Otter whispers something to Bear. Conversation picks up about children and homes and school and the weather and how Mrs. Paquinn would have just loved this, would have just loved every piece of it.
And it’s funny, really, because all I can think about is how a nine-year-old kid sitting across from me might actually be smarter than I am. I wonder if Bear felt like this with me. It’s terrifying.
Shit. I messed up. Big-time. With him and with Dominic.
And I have no clue how to fix it.
9. Where Tyson Plans Attends a Protest
A WEEK later, I still have no idea. And trust me when I say I’ve thought about it harder than anything else. I know the simplest ideas are usually the best, but I can’t bring myself to pick up the phone, the nightmare scenarios of how those calls would actually play out running through my head.
Hello?
Dom? It’s Tyson. Let’s be friends again!
*click*
Or:
Hello?
Hiya, Dominic! It’s me, Tyson! Long time no talk? How you been, best friend (and guy I used
to be in love with then cut out of my life when you married someone else BEHIND MY FUCKING BACK)?
I’m sorry, I don’t remember any Tyson.
*click*
Or:
Hello?
Hi, Dom. It’s Tyson. I’m so sorry for being really shitty to you.
Hi, Tyson! Glad you called! Stacey and I were just on our way to church to renew our vows because we’re so madly in love! Would you like to join us? You could be my best man! Don’t worry about your heart. I’ve already stomped all over it. But you’ve had four years to get over it, which, as a normal human being, you clearly should have, because that’s how things work in the real world.
It’s been so long since I’ve heard his voice that I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m pretty sure if I called him, all I’d be able to do is squeak and grunt and he’d think a gorilla was having sex with a mouse on the other end.
The alternative is to see him face-to-face, and since that is completely out of the question, I’m stuck where I started.
“It can’t possibly be that hard,” Kori tells me as we drive toward town in Otter’s Jeep. She has a scarf around her head, large sunglasses covering her face. She looks awesomely glamorous. That is until she speaks. “You’re being such a fucking douche about this whole thing.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel,” I grumble. “Seriously. Hold nothing back.”
“Someone has to,” she retorts. “You obviously have no common sense. Otherwise, this whole thing would have been resolved long ago. Men are so idiotic sometimes. I swear, you’d rather sit in a pile of angst than actually have a single conversation that could go a long way to resolving years of shit that you yourself were the cause of.”
“I was the cause?” I say, outraged, even though I have no real right to be. “I didn’t marry a woman!”
“Which affected you how?”
“It was… he should have… it was for….” Goddammit.
“Exactly. Should he have told you before the wedding invites went out? Probably. But you never gave him a chance to explain because you had this foolish romantic notion in your head about how this would all play out. He’d wait for you, and when you got done doing whatever the fuck you were going to do, he’d be there with open arms and you guys would be together forever.”
“Well, that certainly reduced my entire life to a few sentences of what-the-fuck.”
The scarf flutters around her face. “He’s straight, darling. You’re gay. He’s your best friend. Or at least he was. You were like brothers. He did love you, but not in the way that you would have wanted.”
“But Bear didn’t come out until—”
“I love Bear,” she interrupts, “to death. Don’t get me wrong. But it doesn’t surprise me he had no idea about how he was gay until it was blaring right in front of him. He’s not always the quickest on the uptake. Wait. Is he gay? Bi? What?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t think anyone really knows. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s got Otter and that’s all he’ll need. It’s sickening. Really.”
Kori grins at me. “Bullshit. You love it.”
“Yeah.” Because I do.
“But you’re not just gay for someone,” Kori says. “That’s not really how the real world works. Life isn’t some romance novel, no matter how hard we might wish it so.”
I sigh. “It’d sure make things easier, though.”
“Well, sure, and we’d all be well-endowed, have six-pack abs, high-paying jobs, and perfect teeth. We’d all go on quirky adventures, and in the end, everything would turn out right because that’s the way it should be.”
“I’m well-endowed,” I say.
Kori snorts. “Above average, I’d say.”
“I think I had an ab. Once.”
“Most likely a bout of gas, darling.”
“I’ll have a high-paying job.”
“Mired under piles of mounting credit-card debt.”
“Perfect teeth?”
“You’ve got that one crooked one that is so very endearing, but doesn’t know if it’s coming or going.”
“We’re going on a quirky adventure right now,” I conclude.
Kori sighs. “Dragging me to a protest over a new restaurant is not what I would consider quirky.”
“There’ll be hippies,” I say, as if hippies make everything better. In truth, they were the only ones who responded to my post on the underground vegetarian message boards I’m a part of. The group (one of many, I assure you) is called Don’t Eat Animals, Dammit! or DEAD! for short. I know. It’s the most ridiculous name in the history of activism. But they’re the only ones this far west.
“If you think hippies are supposed to be a bargaining chip,” she tells me, “then you seriously need to work on your negotiating tactics. I chipped a nail making your hilarious protest signs.”
“Hilarious? They’re not supposed to be hilarious! They’re supposed to be serious!”
She laughs. “Okay, sure. Keep telling yourself that. I’m sure carrying a sign that says ‘Do You Want A Side Of Lies With Your Burger?’ is meant to be taken with a straight face.”
“That’s not funny! It’s a clever play on words that brings to light the injustice of beef farming that plagues this country! You’re being force fed untruths on a daily basis. The beef industry wants you to believe that—”
“Tyson.”
“What!”
“Have you ever asked yourself why God made cows so delicious if we weren’t supposed to eat them?”
“God? God? God had nothing to do with cows! Bovines are naturally evolved, just like everything else on this planet.” I shake my head. “God. Santa’s not real, either, in case you were wondering.”
“Naturally evolved, huh? So the way they are now is the way they were meant to be?”
“Exactly.”
She nods and her scarf flutters in the sea breeze. “Well, then, they naturally evolved to taste great with ketchup, so I guess that’s one thing.”
“It’s only because you’ve been conditioned to think so. You were just raised to believe that was okay.”
“Oh, careful, Ty,” she teases me. “That’s what the conservatives say about the gays. Pretty soon, you’ll be sending me off to a conversion camp where I’ll have to pray to beat the meat.”
“You’re impossible!”
“Which you only say when you can’t think of any kind of comeback.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Not for another month,” she says. “You’re stuck with me for now. And I’m going to eat sausage in front of you. So very, very slowly.” She licks her glossy lips, a sweet, little swipe of her tongue.
“I’m driving.”
“I noticed.”
“I don’t know why anyone would want to go back to Tucson voluntarily. I’m pretty sure Arizona is the closest thing to fascism that America still has.”
“It’s home,” she says. “Or as much of a home as it can be. I do miss it sometimes. But I miss the people there more. I had a lot of help when I was a poor, confused little bigender. One friend in particular.”
“But you’re okay now.” I don’t mean it as a question. I reach out and take her hand, curling her fingers in mine.
“Of course,” she says, giving me a beautiful smile. “But he talked some sense into rebellious seventeen-year-old me that I needed to hear at the time. I got everything back on track and am the stunning vision you see before you today because of it.”
I know Kori and Corey had a rough go of it for a while, but I didn’t know how big of a part her friend played in it. She’ll tell me when she’s ready. “And he’s a drag queen? Your friend?”
“Yes, she is. One of the best, even. And that’s saying a lot….”
“I should have been a drag queen,” I sigh. “But then pride happened sophomore year and well… you remember that disaster.” Let’s just say I do not make an attractive woman. There are many gorgeous queens in the world. I ended up look
ing like duckbilled platypus in a dress and heels.
“It was certainly… interesting.”
“‘Catastrophe’ is a better description, I think.”
Kori squeezes my hand. “The world is definitely lacking without a Minerva Fox. You’ll get to meet her one day, though. And when you see her perform, you’ll be in the presence of a true queen. You guys would really get along, I think. Hell, her friend Paul reminds me of Bear. Same type of open-mouth-what-the-hell-did-you-just-say kind of thing, so you’ll at least be able to commiserate together.”
The idea of another person in the world like Bear is surely a sign of the coming apocalypse, so I try not to dwell on it too much. “What’s her drag name?” I ask, trying to match the pronouns like Kori does. It’s important to her. And therefore to me. Kori keeps things close to the vest, and if this is the first time I’m hearing about an old friend, I need to make sure I don’t screw anything up.
“You’ll love it,” she says as she looks back out to the sea. “It’s Helena Handbasket.”
That’s so much better than Minerva Fox. “Epic,” I say.
“Indeed,” she says. “Oh, and Ty?”
“Yeah?”
“You know how you’re forcing me to protest even though I don’t believe in this?”
“I’m saving your soul. But sure.”
She grins evilly at me. “Just remember not to be nervous when you’re getting interviewed by the reporter today. I’m pretty sure you won’t screw up all your words on live TV and get put onto YouTube for all the world to see and make fun of you. Too much, anyway.”
Oh, goddammit.
IT STARTS out well. Or, at least as well as a last-minute, slap-dash protest of a chain restaurant initiated by a nineteen-year-old ecoterrorist, assisted by his bigender best friend, who seems to be doing her best to channel Marilyn Monroe today, and a group of five hippies who I think live in some kind of compound thing on one of the beaches, can get. And since they live in a compound, I’m pretty sure they probably belong to some kind of cult and dance naked every full moon and then go back to their drum circle and have orgies so Mother Gaia renews them with vigor or some such thing. I’m not judging, especially when it comes to these kinds of protests. The greater the numbers, the louder the voices, and rah-rah-rah. To each their own. I just don’t want to be in a hippie orgy.
