Who We Are

by T. J. Klune

  But he did. And that’s why I’ve got to fix this. I can’t have this go on anymore. I have to get my best friend back.

  WHICH is what I want to say. But when I open my mouth, what comes out when we reach the back patio and they turn to face me is, “Are you guys still messing around? Or whatever?”

  My brain is broken and I missed the recall order.

  There’s a beat of silence where everyone feels embarrassed for me, but they are used to me by now not thinking before I speak, so I’m almost relieved when they let my rudeness slide.

  “We’re taking it as it goes,” Anna tells me softly. They stand close to each other again, and Otter stands in my space, and I almost wonder if it’s us versus them, and I can’t stop myself from thinking about the last time I’d actually felt like that, when Creed had—

  does anna know why otter left to begin with

  —felt the need to cut me out, where he’d retaliated in the only way he knew how. I know I’d backed him into a corner—

  that’s the real reason otter left

  —and it was no fault but my own, but I can’t stop the bitterness from welling in me, that he’d seem to give up on me so easily because—

  everything else was a lie

  —he couldn’t seem to handle the fact that his best friend and his brother had found something together, even if it had never started out to be like that.

  I try to stop the anger from rising, because anger can’t fix anything right now. It’ll only make things worse, and I already have a feeling tonight is going to be a blowout.

  “That’s… cool,” I mumble, feeling Otter reaching down and squeezing my hand. I look up at him, and he’s calm as he watches me, and when he squeezes my hand again, I know what he’s trying to say, to just hear them out, whatever they wanted to say before I decided to ask them if they were still fucking. I’m surprised I don’t get punched in the face more than I do, to be perfectly honest.

  “I’m happy for you guys,” I try again, even though it sounds like I’d rather have my balls stabbed with a pair of garden shears. “Really.”

  Anna rolls her eyes at me, but I see the corners of her mouth begin to quirk. “Same old Papa Bear,” she says quietly.

  “Same old me,” I agree. For better or worse.

  “That’s not what I pulled you out here for,” Creed cuts in, obviously wanting to stop his best friend and girlfriend (gross!) from falling back in love and screwing right here in front of him.

  “Then what’s up?” Otter asks him.

  Anna and Creed glance at each other before Creed says, “We just need to know how we should play this. We don’t want to mess anything up by saying something we shouldn’t.” He chuckles darkly. “But I don’t know how long that’s going to last. Did you see the people that are here? I think we should take bets to see if we can even get through Mom’s foot-loaf before we’re all talking about the big gay wedding we’re going to be attending.”

  I swear to God if someone talks about marriage one more time, I’m going to go postal and junk-punch everyone in this house. It’s only been four goddamn months!

  Or it’s been years, if we’re being honest with ourselves, it whispers. It’s the butt sex that’s only four months old.

  At least Creed seems to be joking about it, though. I catch his eye and he holds the gaze, and there’s something there, not quite a spark, not quite an acknowledgement, but it’s there nonetheless, and I know I’m going to have to indulge him if I’m going to get anywhere. That’s okay, though. I’m not above groveling. When there’s no other choice, of course.

  “We haven’t really decided what we’re going to do,” Otter admits.

  Creed and Anna gape at us. “You what?” Anna says, incredulity pouring off her in palpable waves. “You do know this is Bear we’re talking about, right? You mean he hasn’t gone over this again and again until he’s made himself sick? That’s got to be a first.”

  Anna Grant, everyone. She’ll be here all night, with additional shows at seven and nine. Hurray.

  All three look at me like I’ve got a bug on my face that, if they even so much as move, will rip off my nose. To spite my face. See? I can be funny too.

  “Look,” I say begrudgingly. “It’s not like we can keep this a secret forever, right? One day Alice and Jerry are going to start to notice that Otter and I live together and spend every waking moment together, and even if they don’t notice that, there’s no way they’re not going to be able see what happens when I look at him. Jesus, it’s a dead fucking giveaway because I get that stupid, goofy grin on my face and… and…. What the hell are you all staring at?”

  “Who are you and what have you done with Bear?” Creed asks, eyes wide.

  “Aw,” Anna says sweetly. “You love him.” And she looks like she means it.

  This is the weirdest conversation of my life.

  But it’s Otter I notice the most, when he reaches down and cups my face in his hands, kissing me gently, his thumbs rubbing along my cheeks. I sigh quietly as he pulls away, that gold-green gaze filled so full of only God knows what. “You know everything I do is for you, right?” he asks quietly, searching my eyes.

  I nod. Because I do.

  “You know I would never pressure you into anything?”

  I do. Because he won’t.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  The hell with it. “Yeah,” I say, and he grins like I’ve given him the greatest gift the world has ever known. “Creed’s right; it’ll get out sooner rather than later. At least we’ll be the ones controlling it, you know?”

  “Oh, man,” Creed says. “I am so glad I came home for dinner. This is going to be seriously epic! Can I record it? Like, set up a camera? I swear I won’t put it on YouTube.”

  “Creed,” Otter warns.

  “Is there a gay YouTube, though?” he asks Anna, and he sounds so much like himself that it knocks me off center. “I mean, there has to be, right? Like, it’s called GayTube or something? We can call it ‘When Bear Made My Parents Shit Themselves Silly’ by Creed Thompson. I bet I can get one of the tech geeks to put special effects in, maybe have rainbows shooting out of Bear’s eyes like gay laser beams. Oh my God, what if they could make him look like he’s riding a unicorn too!”

  “GayTube’s a porn site,” I say without thinking.

  Their mouths all drop open again. I pray for a plague of locusts to fly in their mouths, but God seems to hate me today and doesn’t send one.

  “You watch gay porn now?” Anna asks, and for some reason, it seems like she’s vaguely turned on and that makes me wish God would forget the locusts and just send the fire.

  “You watching without me?” Otter growls at me heatedly.

  “Stop doing that voice!” I scold him. “We’re in your parents’ house.”

  “We were in my parents’ house all summer,” he reminds me. “You didn’t seem to mind when I did it then.”

  “You did do it in my room, didn’t you?” Creed accuses me.

  We did. Once. But he doesn’t need to know that. “Of course not,” I scoff as Otter snorts.

  “So, you really want to do this?” Anna asks me. “Because if you do, there’s something else you should know. My—”

  She’s cut off when the doorbell rings.

  “Who the hell is that?” Otter mutters, looking over his shoulder.

  Anna and Creed look sick. “Uh,” Anna says. “Surprise! My parents are here too.”

  Otter, Creed, and Anna are able to stop me before I flee the house in terror.

  ANNA’S parents, Ian and Stephanie Grant, sit across from me at the table, their daughter to their right, and Creed next to her. I can’t help but notice the looks her parents exchange at the seating arrangement. I try to ask Anna silently what she’s told her parents about us, about anything, but she is studiously avoiding my gaze. On my side of the table, Otter is at my left, the Kid to my right, and Mrs. Paquinn on his other side. Jerry Thompson is at the head of the table
to my right, Alice Thompson seated at the head to the left. She hands me a glass of wine, which I immediately chug and hand back to her for a refill. I’ve already had two since coming back to the kitchen, and my face feels a little numb. Alice arches her eyebrow, a trick her son has mastered, as well, and for some reason, I feel the strange need to tell her that I think Otter has a fantastic ass, but I drink more wine instead and finish the second glass. A gentle buzz begins to wash over me, and I know I need to slow down before I’m sloshed. I tend to act stupidly when I’m drunk. She fills me a third glass and waits for me to drink it, but I smile at her instead and she knows I’m done. For the moment.

  Alice sits down and smiles at all of us. “Shall we say grace?” she says, not really asking a question, but telling everyone to shut up so we can talk to God. None of us are overly religious, but this is something we’re expected to do at the Thompson dinner table. It’s not like we go to church or anything. We’ll each go around the table and say something that we’re thankful for and blah, blah, blah. It’s how it’s always been here, when Alice and Jerry are around. It’s not like I mind talking to God; we just have a weird relationship, me and him. He seems to think he can jerk me around all he wants (like I’m his personal plaything), just to see me get back up to knock me down again. If God is real, I think he might be some kind of masochist. I imagine he sits there up on his cloud, long white robes flowing, drinking a forty of Mickey’s and smoking a Winston as he flips me the bird and plans what he’ll do next to piss me off.

  Wow, that was some really good wine.

  We join hands, and I almost want to laugh at them because, ha, ha! Otter and I are holding hands in front of them! I squeeze his hand and give him a grin, and I can see he is highly amused by something, but that’s okay with me. I’m feeling fine. He squeezes my hand back before bowing his head. I look around and see everyone else has their head bowed and their eyes closed, so I figure I should do the same. So I do.

  “Hey, God,” Alice says, and this causes me to snort, which I cover up in the guise of a cough that sounds like I have advanced emphysema and am about to hack up something that looks like the tofeatloaf. Alice allows me the honor of finishing before she continues. “We’d like to thank you for the food we’re about to eat”—oh yes, thanks, God, for the foot-meat—“and for the family that surrounds us. I am thankful to have both of my sons home, even if it is just for a short time.” She squeezes Mr. Grant’s hand, so he goes next.

  “I’m thankful for the health of my family and friends,” he says.

  Dammit, that was going to be mine. Just vague enough not to need further explanation, just sentimental enough to hold up to inspection. Shit, I’ve got to think of something else. You can’t repeat in the thankful prayer dinner circle. It sounds like a cop-out if you do.

  Mrs. Grant says, “I’m thankful that my friend Margie was able to beat cancer and is now in remission.”

  I don’t know Margie, and good for her, but what can I say? Are you there, God? It’s me, your favorite punching bag. I might be intoxicated.

  Already.

  Anna says, “I’m thankful for this past summer.” Uh, what? “For allowing the people in my life to be what they needed to be.”

  I glare at her. Everyone’s eyes are still closed, so no one notices.

  Creed says, “I’m thankful that Bear finally opened his eyes to what was right in front of him.” There’s a pause that’s so pregnant, I swear it’ll give birth to a litter of adamant follow-up questions if it’s not aborted. He finally finishes, “And decided to get custody of the Kid.”

  Jerry goes next and says, “I’m thankful that we have the resources to be able to help Bear and the Kid through what is undoubtedly a trying time.”

  Me too, Jerry. Me too.

  Mrs. Paquinn says, “I’m thankful for Medicare and for God letting me get old enough that that hot nurse gets sent out to me once a week to assist me around the house. I’m also thankful for the tight scrubs he wears. And if my husband is listening in on this, tell him that I love him but that it’s rude to eavesdrop.”

  Quiet chuckling.

  The Kid says, “I think it’s odd that we are praying to something that has never been proven to actually exist, but to avoid any… issues, I’m thankful for Papa Bear and for Otter and Anna, and Mrs. Paquinn and Jerry and Alice and Creed and Mr. Grant and Mrs. Grant and Dominic and….”

  And he goes on in this vein for a while, but I’m stuck on the name

  “Dominic.” Who the hell is Dominic? Ty has never mentioned that name before. Does the Kid have an imaginary friend? Oh, Jesus, the therapist is going to have a field day with him.

  Crap. It’s my turn. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. Thankful… uh, thankful. I grip Otter’s hand tightly and hope he understands that I need another moment. Just another second to think of something to say, to stop what I know is welling up inside me.

  Otter says quietly, “God knows why I am thankful. He knows it every day.”

  Ah, of course he goes straight for the heart, the bastard. I’m not going to be able to speak past the lump in my throat, and he knows it. That doesn’t stop him from squeezing my hand. I want to break his fingers, but I resist the urge.

  My turn.

  Goddammit, what am I going to say? Um… I’m thankful for… it’s not that fucking hard! There’s a shitload of things I’m thankful for! Like… crap!

  Like Otter? it chuckles. The love that seems to shine down from his eyes every time he sees you? The way you can suddenly see what was right in front of you this whole time? The house he bought for you? God only knows you did nothing to deserve it. Oh, Bear, just open your mouth and see what happens! Isn’t that part of your charm? What fun!

  I don’t think that “charm” is the right word for what I do. By now, the silence has dragged on, but heads are still bowed, giving me an opportunity to collect my thoughts. Still it goes on. Finally, Anna looks up and stares at me curiously, followed by Creed, who cocks his head. The Kid leans forward and is quizzical, and Mrs. Paquinn is smiling at me because, oh my God, she knows exactly what I’m thinking, knows exactly what I’m going to say, and then Otter opens his eyes and he sees it too, and even though he knows it won’t be eloquent (how can it be, especially since I’ve realized I’m drunk?) I’m going to say it regardless. He looks like he is about to stop me, but I won’t let him.

  Here we go! it cackles gleefully.

  “Jerry and Alice,” I say quickly, a slight slur to my words that come out fast. “Otter and I live together, and the Kid lives with us too, and we have a house that Otter bought for me because he realized he was in love with me a long time ago, but it was too much for him to take because he thought I was straight. I pushed him away and that’s why he ran off to San Diego, but then he came back for me, even though he said he didn’t, and then Anna and I broke up—sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Grant—because she knew how I felt about Otter even before I did, but somehow I figured it out. Then Otter and me did it, oh shit, that’s not what I mean to say, sorry, sorry, but I love him and he loves me, and my mom came back and threatened to take the Kid away from me if I didn’t break up with Otter. I still don’t get why she did that or how she knew about me and him, and it broke my heart, but I did it anyways, and then I got an attorney, and for some reason Otter took me back. Now we all live together in the Green Monstrosity, but we’re trying to fix it up, and it’s starting to be a home for us, and I don’t think the best name for the tofu meatloaf is tofeatloaf because it reminds me of feet and I think that’s gross, but I’ll still eat it because you made it. You are like a mom to me and that’s really cool, and I think I’ll love your son forever because I always have and I always will, so please don’t freak out, in Jesus’s name, can I get an amen!”

  I gasp in air. I let go of Otter’s hand and suck down the wine, emptying my glass for the third time.

  Now everyone is staring at me.

  “That… that was so awesome,” the Kid breathes. “My Lord, it’s li
ke we could hear what he thinks like.”

  I wonder if it would be polite to ask Alice if I can just forgo the glass and chug the wine directly from the bottle. See? This is why I don’t drink. I either end up making out with my best friend’s older brother or I effectively out myself to his parents, my ex-girlfriend’s parents, and for some reason feel the need to tell them we have sex. I would have preferred they thought of me as an asexual being because from the looks on their faces, I think they might be trying to understand how the mechanics behind that would work.

  That is freaking me out.

  Mrs. Paquinn is smiling so widely I think her dentures might fall out onto the table. The Kid is still in awe. Creed looks like Santa barfed Christmas presents in his lap (excited and disturbed all at the same time, natch). Anna is shaking her head, a small smile on her face. Oh, same old Papa Bear, I’m sure she’s thinking. Her parents are looking between the two of us like they are watching a game of tennis that just got a whole lot more interesting. And a whole lot gayer. Jerry drops his fork, and it clangs down onto the table, bouncing off his plate and onto the floor. Alice is squinting at me as if narrowing her vision will cause me to disappear.

  But while everyone around us reacts in the way that they will, it’s him I turn to, him I need to see the most, to make sure I haven’t just made the most egregious mistake of my life, that once again my mouth hasn’t caused a shitstorm that will cause him to run screaming to another state just so he won’t have to look at me because I’m a stupid moron who doesn’t fucking think before he speaks, who gets drunk and says/does things that can’t be taken back.

  I should know better.

  He’s watching me, yes, and the gold-green is shining, oh yes, but it’s not as if I’d fucked up again, or that I’d spoken out of turn. No, it’s with that thing he does every now and then, that regard that leaves me breathless, that shows me that for some damn reason, he thinks the sun rises and sets with me. He’s a fool, to be sure (how could he not be, with all that he’s put up with to get here?), but goddammit, he’s my fool, and he’s looking at me like I’ve just done something extraordinarily right, that I’ve made him the happiest son of a bitch in the world, and that I am so getting laid when we get home.