by J. M. Snyder
Remy hoped not.
Finally, beside him, Braden murmured, “Okay.”
“Okay, what?” Remy asked.
“Okay, I trust you.” But it took almost another full minute of internal struggling before Braden mumbled something Remy couldn’t quite hear.
Remy leaned towards his son. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Braden sighed. “I said, I’m afraid he’s going to make you gay.”
The words shocked Remy. His first response was to laugh, but he knew that would be cruel and only make Braden pull away from him again. No, he had to address his son’s feelings, he had to accept them, and somehow, he had to try to change the way Braden thought.
“Wow.” He hadn’t expected it. Maybe he’s gay, or you kissed him, or even he’s sleeping in your bed and I don’t like that. But not he’s going to make you gay.
Remy checked his mirrors and eased into the right-hand lane, then onto the shoulder of the road. He took his foot off the gas and applied the brake, mind in a whirl. He had to respond to Braden, but how?
And without getting mad, he reminded himself. You promised.
After a few hundred yards, the Jeep came to a stop. Remy took it out of gear and pulled up the parking brake, then turned on the hazards and cut off the engine. He sat back in the driver’s seat, his elbow propped up on the window ledge, thinking. He hadn’t let himself imagine a conversation like this with his son, not yet—Braden was still too young. But here it was. It had come up. It had to be discussed.
“Braden,” he said softly.
His son pouted. “I knew you’d be mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m not.” Remy reached over and rubbed the back of Braden’s neck to assure him everything was fine between them. “But listen to me, okay? Lane isn’t going to make me gay.”
Braden’s face scrunched up in confusion. “But…he’s gay, isn’t he? I mean, I saw him kiss you.”
“Yes, he’s gay.” The minute the words were out, Remy felt free of their burden. This wouldn’t be the hardest talk he’d ever have with his son, he knew, and now that it had begun, it would be over before he knew it. He just had to keep going. “Just because you’re friends with someone who’s gay doesn’t mean they’re going to make you gay, too.”
“But he kissed you,” Braden said again.
Remy thought the simple truth would be best. “Yes, he did. And I kissed him back.”
Braden’s confusion didn’t disappear. “But…but why?”
“Because I love him.” Remy half-turned in his seat to face his son, who looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head or something. “I love him, Braden. We’ve been together for two years now. He’s my boyfriend.”
Slowly, Braden shook his head. “But you aren’t…I mean, you can’t be gay. You’re my dad.”
Remy nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“You were married to Mom once,” Braden pointed out. “Gay men don’t marry girls.”
Delicately, Remy explained, “Some guys like guys, and some guys like girls. Some girls like girls, too. And then, some of us…well, we like both.”
“Guys and girls?” Braden asked, incredulous.
“Not at the same time,” Remy said, grinning. “I married your mom because she was pregnant with you. She was having my baby. I thought maybe things could work out between us. But they didn’t. So we decided to just be friends instead. And then I met Lane. I love him.”
Braden stared at a spot on Remy’s coat, not quite ready to meet his father’s gaze. It was obvious he was working things out in his mind, and Remy wasn’t sure what his next question would be. He was tempted to go into more detail, but he had to remind himself this wasn’t the time to lecture his son on gay rights. All he wanted was for Braden to be more accepting of Lane. Anything else, he’d worry about later.
Slowly Braden looked up at him, the confusion replaced by something akin to fear. “Daddy, I don’t like girls,” he whispered. “Does that mean I’m gay, too?”
Now Remy did laugh. “God, no, son. Boys your age don’t like girls, and that’s okay. Wait a few more years and that’ll change, trust me.”
“But Bobby Mitchell has a girlfriend already,” Braden said. “If he finds out my dad’s gay, he’ll think I am, too.”
Remy asked, “Who’s going to tell him I’m gay? Not me.”
“Not me,” Braden echoed.
“Maybe Bobby likes girls already,” Remy suggested. “Some boys grow up faster than others.”
But Braden shook his head. “Oh no, Bobby hates Mandy. But when she asked him to be her boyfriend and he said no, she punched him until he said yes.”
Ah yes, Remy thought, the fun romance of the third grade. When boys don’t like girls and girls beat them up about it. The bully of his grade school had been a mean brute named Maryanne Willis. Remy wondered whatever had happened to her. One day after P.E., she had tackled him to the ground and rubbed his face in the dirt until he apologized for calling her fat. It was really a wonder he had even dated girls at all, after the years she’d spent tormenting him.
Clapping Braden on the shoulder, Remy told him, “You don’t have to like girls right now—boys, either. You’re too young to worry about all that, so count yourself lucky Mandy didn’t set her sights on you instead.”
“Oh, I am,” Braden said, nodding. “Whenever I see her coming, I hid out in the boys’ bathroom. She tried following us in there once and got in so much trouble! I bet Santa’s not bringing her a lot of presents this year!”
“Probably not,” Remy agreed. “But I know someone who might not get much, either, if he doesn’t start being nicer to my boyfriend.”
For a long moment, Braden stared at him. Then he hung his head, sheepish. “You mean me.”
“Yeah, I mean you.”
Braden sighed. “Well, he did let me pick out the tree. And he chopped it down good, too. And he knew about the snakes in the river.”
With a grin, Remy admitted, “Lane’s a really neat guy. I think you’d like him if you let yourself.”
“And he won’t turn me gay?” Braden asked.
“That’s not the way it works,” Remy assured him. “You’re either born that way or not.”
Braden sat quietly, thinking. Just as Remy was about to start the Jeep up again, sure their little talk was over, his son asked, “Does Mommy know?”
Remy laughed. “Oh yes, she knows. She knew I liked guys when I married her.”
That quizzical look crossed Braden’s face again, drawing a deep line between his eyebrows. “What?”
“Some girls like guys who like guys,” Remy said with a shrug.
Braden shook his head. “That’s weird.”
“Well, it’s good for you,” Remy pointed out, “because your mom is still my best friend. A lot of divorced parents can’t say that.”
“I know,” Braden agreed. “I think Mandy’s so mean because she says her parents hate each other. And they’re still married!”
* * * *
Wal-Mart was a madhouse, just as Remy had feared. Even though his son was too old to ride in the shopping cart, Remy made Braden get in it at first just so they wouldn’t get separated. But as he started piling more and more into the cart—groceries and meat and fresh fruits and veggies, frozen treats like ice cream and pie, toilet paper and paper towels and shampoo and shaving cream, aspirin and Band-Aids and everything they should’ve thought to bring with them but hadn’t—as more things went into the cart, Braden soon became lost beneath it all. “Dad!” he cried, arms in the air for a little help. “Get me out!”
So Remy made him push the cart, and walked closely behind him to make sure they stayed together. Soon their cart was overflowing, but when he went to get a second one, there weren’t any left. “We’ll just have to stack it all real good,” he told Braden. “We’re just about done here, anyway.”
Braden eyed other carts as shoppers passed theirs. Whenever he saw toys in the carts, he would turn to keep them in sight.
The first time he did that, Remy glanced back, wondering what had snagged his attention. Then he saw a cart full of G.I. Joes and Spiderman gadgets, and grinned. Yeah, his son was still a long way off from girls.
Even though this was Wal-Mart, Remy still stopped in the wine aisle. He wanted something special for Christmas Eve, after Braden would be in bed and he would have Lane all to himself. Something that said, Marry me. A rich chardonnay, perhaps. Lane liked red wines.
As Remy struggled to choose from the store’s limited selection, Braden bumped his leg with the cart. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hold on,” Remy said, distracted. The last time they had ordered drinks while eating out, he seemed to recall Lane had had a Pinot Noir. Or, hey, maybe champagne?
“Dad,” Braden repeated, more insistent this time. “Hey, Dad!”
Remy whirled around. “What is it? We’re almost done.”
Braden said, “I need to buy him a present.”
“Who?” Remy had a bottle of wine in each hand, and wanted just two seconds to read the labels and choose one. Two seconds. Was that too much to ask?
“Lane.”
Remy glanced at his son sharply. “What now?”
“Da-ad!” Braden whined. “You’re not listening to me!”
Hell, I’ll just get both. Depositing both bottles into their cart, Remy forced himself to focus on his son. “All right, I am now. What’s this about Lane?”
“I need to get him something for Christmas,” Braden said. “I have something for you, but I didn’t know about him.”
Remy took a deep breath to calm his nerves. At least Braden wanted to buy Lane a gift now. That seemed to be a step in the right direction. “Okay,” he said. “What do you think you want to get him?”
A wide grin slid across Braden’s face. “You said he’s an architect, right? He builds things—”
“He designs them,” Remy corrected. “He doesn’t build them himself.”
Braden shrugged. “Still, I want to get him something to build—to design with.”
“Like what?” Remy asked. “Why don’t you just buy him some cologne, or something? He likes Cool Water. They sell it here, I’m sure.”
But Braden was already turning the cart around. “No, no, no. I want to get him something fun.”
Oh, no. Remy hurried after his son. “Like what?”
“You’ll see,” Braden called back over his shoulder.
Chapter 10
While Remy and Braden were at the store, Lane set about making the cabin feel more like home. After his shower, he unpacked his duffle bags neatly into one of the dresser drawers. He unpacked one of Remy’s bags, too, but was careful not to go through the one his lover had indicated held his Christmas gift. Lane liked surprises, and wasn’t about to ruin his holidays by taking a peek at whatever it was Remy had bought for him.
Lane had a little surprise of his own—a beautiful ring Remy had pointed out in a catalog over the summer. It was a thin, gold band with a triangle-shaped diamond set in it. Getting Remy’s ring size had been tricky; he had a class ring from college he no longer wore, but it sat in a small, shell-shaped dish on the nightstand in his bedroom. One evening, Lane had picked the ring up casually, trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed it before. Slipping it onto his own finger, he frowned when it wouldn’t go over his large knuckle. “Does this thing still fit you?” he had asked.
Remy was in the bathroom at the time, getting ready for bed. With his toothbrush in his mouth, he came over Lane and took the ring, then slipped it easily onto the ring finger of his left hand. “See?” His words were muffled around a mouthful of toothpaste. “Your knuckles are so big because you crack them.”
“I haven’t done that in years,” Lane said, then proceeded to crack every knuckle on both hands as a joke.
“Stop!” Remy cried with a laugh, running back into the bathroom to spit toothpaste into the sink. “I hate that sound!”
Later, when Remy wasn’t around, Lane took the ring and held it up to the chart in the catalog to make sure he bought the right size. Then he logged online and placed an order. He had it shipped to his office, where his secretary signed for the package. When she brought it into Lane’s office, she had commented on how small it was. “What’s in there?” she had asked.
“Forever,” Lane told her.
And it was.
* * * *
Lane debated whether or not he should unpack Braden’s clothes, too. Knowing kids his age, Lane knew he wouldn’t do it on his own. But given the tenuous relationship between them, would he get mad if Lane did it for him? Was it something better left for his father to do?
Whatever he did would have ramifications, of that Lane was sure. If he unpacked Braden’s clothes, the boy could get mad at him for doing so. If he didn’t unpack them, then Braden could get mad at him for not doing it. It was six one way, half dozen the other, as the saying went. In the end, Lane decided to leave that task for last. Maybe, if he were lucky, the guys would be home before he had a chance to even go into Braden’s room.
So next he tackled the tree. The box of decorations Kate had given them contained yards of garland and lights, a star for the top, and not the first ornament to hang on the tree. Lane dug out his cell phone and texted Remy. Need ornaments. Buy lots. It’s a big tree.
Remy’s reply came in as Lane was untangling the lights. No ornaments in the box? WTF?
Lane took a quick photo of the box’s contents with his phone and sent it to his lover with the message, Lights and garland and a star. That’s it. We could paint pinecones. In that case, buy paint.
Within seconds, Remy texted back, Ornaments it is. I don’t do paint.
To Lane’s surprise, all the lights worked. Thank you, Jesus, he thought as he began to wrap the strands around the tree. He had to move the tree closer to the wall because the cord wouldn’t quite reach the electrical outlet, but he managed to do that without pulling down the tree, thank goodness. The garland went up next, then the star. Lit up, the tree looked festive even without ornaments, but it would look better with them.
That done, Lane found the key to the third bedroom on their dresser, where Remy had left it. He unlocked the door and kept it open so he would be able to hear when the guys came home. Sitting on the lower bunk bed, he dumped out the trash bags of gifts to see what all they had. A few were already wrapped—these were from Kate and Mike to Braden, Remy, and even one for himself, Lane noticed. And there was one from Remy to Braden, also wrapped.
The rest were little gifts—video games, DVDs, and CDs, mostly. Socks and underwear, such Mom gifts that Lane wondered why Kate hadn’t just wrapped them up herself. A scooter in the box which Lane hoped could be assembled without any real tools, unless they could find a screwdriver in a drawer or shed somewhere. A new iPod Touch, which was nice, and a handful of accessories to go with it, like a gift card to the iTunes store, screen protectors, and a carrying case. Too bad Braden wouldn’t be able to really play with it until they went somewhere with wi-fi.
Lane chose one of the video games as his gift to Braden. Something that wasn’t too expensive, and that would complement Remy’s gift nicely. Super Mario something or other, Lane couldn’t really figure it out from the pictures on the back. Did they still make these games? He remembered playing Super Mario Brothers on his family’s first computer, an ancient Commodore 64 that would overheat if it was on for more than an hour. Too bad they didn’t have a television to hook up the Wii U to when Braden unwrapped it on Christmas Day.
For half a second, Lane considered texting Remy again. Hey, get a TV 2 while U R out, OK?
He would only be kidding, and if he didn’t think Remy would take him seriously, he would send the text. But knowing Remy, he’d return with a 50” flat screen TV and ask Lane where he should put it. No, that was one thing they had agreed to when they scheduled this vacation. No electronics. That meant no computers, no televisions, no radios, nothing to distract them from the one thing they wanted to focus on at the hol
iday season. Each other.
Yeah, but that was before Braden was coming, too, Lane reminded himself. How were they going to entertain a small kid for two whole weeks without something electronic to distract him?
Well, they could always drive to a Starbucks long enough for Braden to download Angry Birds, or something. That should keep him busy.
And hopefully Remy could ask him not to come knocking on their bedroom door again. Lane wanted some time alone with his lover. If all he could get was what they shared between the sheets, he would take it. As long as Braden didn’t interrupt them just when things were getting started.
* * * *
Lane wrapped Braden’s Santa gifts and tucked them back into the trash bags. Even though he locked the door behind him when he left the third bedroom, Lane didn’t trust the boy not to go snooping as Christmas drew nearer. He remembered being eight years old all too well. And at that age, he’d been more interested in rooting out his parents’ gifts than he had in getting surprised on Christmas morning.
Next he put away Braden’s clothes—he couldn’t find any other excuse not to do it. In Braden’s backpack, Lane found a wrapped gift with a tag that read, To Daddy. He tucked that under the tree with the gifts from Kate, Mike, and Remy, and added his own gifts for his lover, as well. In addition to the ring, he had bought Remy a pale, sky blue dress shirt and a dark, mocha-colored tie that would complement his eyes. There were a few other items, as well, small things like an orange-flavored chocolate, a framed photo of the two of them on Lane’s balcony as the sun set over the James River, and a playful set of stickers he’d found online to be used in Remy’s day planner. They had cute little sayings on them, almost like relationship reminders, which he could use to mark dates in his calendar, everything from Date Night to Hot Sex!
Once the gifts were under the tree, Lane made both Braden’s bed and the one he shared with Remy. He was just beginning to wonder if he should try to make something for lunch out of what remained of their breakfast food when he heard the Jeep’s tires on the gravel outside the cabin.
By the time Lane pulled on his coat and headed out onto the porch, the doors to the Jeep were both open. Remy stood behind the driver’s side door, and Braden must have been standing behind the other, because Lane couldn’t see him inside the car, but he was so short, Lane couldn’t see him through the door’s window, either. Then he saw a skinny pair of jean-clad legs appear beneath the passenger side door as Braden climbed out of the car.
