It's All Relative

by J. M. Snyder

  Somehow, I don’t think that’ll go over well. Frowning down at Emily, who has finished eating and now sits in front of an empty plate, I ask, “Aren’t you done yet?”

  But she’s mad that Caitlin brushed her off, and I’m sure in her pre-teen mind, she blames that on me. So she flicks her hair back in that infuriating way she has that suggests she’s so much better than anyone else here and doesn’t look at me as she says, “No. Sit somewhere else.”

  “Here,” Dan says again. I glance back at Aunt Sarah by the stove, but she’s busy dishing out more pancakes to whoever holds up a plate, and what do I care what she says or thinks, anyway? Before I can change my mind, I plop down on Dan’s leg. He moves his plate over so I can put mine beside it, and his arm comes up around my waist protectively, as if he’s afraid I’ll fall off his knee. He’s become more open around my family, and I like that—it must be because there’s no threat of running into someone he knows from Fort Myers way out here, and he can be himself, just a boy in love with me and not a soldier in the Army. His hand splays flat across my stomach, his fingers ticklish through my t-shirt, and his chin brushes against my shoulder every time he leans forward to take a bite. If anyone minds, no one says so, and by the time Emily finally decides to relinquish her chair, I’m too comfortable—and too busy eating—to switch seats.

  Dan finishes before I do, as usual. I’m always the last to finish a meal, and if it wasn’t for our dishwasher, I have a feeling that I’d be washing the plates every night because Dan doesn’t wait for me to be done before he cleans up after himself. On one of our first dates, I took him to a classy steakhouse just to impress him a bit. “Are you usually like this?” he asked, watching me eat.

  Confused, I wanted to know, “Like what?”

  Dan shrugged—at the time we weren’t where we are today, this comfortable with each other, and that whole evening was spent on edge, both of us afraid to say or do something to chase the other away. But even then there was something between us, some magic that transcends our corporeal beings and allows our souls to touch. We were old friends from lives before, come together again in this world, to find in each other a love that is deeper, older, more real than any other I’ve ever known. There, in that steakhouse, I stared across the table at him, his short cropped hair, his glistening eyes, the cut of his jaw and the slightest smile on his lips, which might have been nothing more than a shadow cast by the dim lighting. “Like what?” I asked again.

  “Like this,” he replied, motioning at my plate. We’d been at the restaurant for about an hour already and I still seemed to have more food left than I had eaten. “Are you always such a slow eater?”

  With a wink, I grinned at him and purred, “You wouldn’t complain if it wasn’t this steak I was going down on.”

  That earned me a smile, not a figment of my imagination or a trick of the lighting but a genuine smile, and later that night, I could’ve sworn his kisses held more ardor than before, more passion. There was no denying the hand that snuck between my legs to rest against my crotch when I drove him back to the barracks, either. And after the first time I did go down on him, twenty long minutes of my tongue around his shaft, my lips working him, sucking and licking until he couldn’t possibly hold it in any longer and he came in a sweet, explosive rush that I drank down like honey…after that, he never complained that I took too long to eat again.

  And I’m still eating when my mom joins us in the kitchen. Finished, Dan rests his head on my back, both arms now around my waist, waiting patiently. I look up from my perch on his knee to give her a bright smile. “Hey, Mom,” I say between bites.

  Her eyes narrow into thin slits, and when she speaks, her words are chipped in ice. “Hello, Mike, Dan.”

  My lover’s voice rumbles through me as he says, “Morning, Mrs. Knapp.” He’s so polite—how can she not fall for that the way everyone else has?

  But her face is like stone, her eyes obsidian beads, I have to turn away from the hurt I see in their depths. So I lean over my dish and shovel food into my mouth, hurrying now. I don’t like the way she looks at us, at Dan but particularly at me, as if I’ve driven a knife into her very heart and every word of love spoken twists the blade deeper, every touch, every smile. Already I’m thinking that if she’s going to be like this next month, we’ll visit Dan’s parents out in Ohio for Thanksgiving instead of coming to the house. His dad doesn’t know we’re lovers so we’ll have to tone it down while we’re there, but his mom has no problem with who I am to her son.

  “Do you have to sit there?” Mom asks, frowning at us. “How old are you, Michael? There’s a perfectly good chair right here…” She pulls out Emily’s chair, now empty, and indicates it with a sweep of her hand. “Why don’t you sit here?”

  “She just left,” I explain, making no move to follow her suggestion. “I’m fine, Mom. Dan doesn’t mind—”

  “No,” he agrees. He holds me closer, if that’s even possible. “Not at all. You’re fine.”

  I smile sweetly at her and she plops into the chair herself with a disgusted little sigh. “Billy,” she starts.

  My aunt doesn’t look up from her insurance papers. “Hmm?” When Mom doesn’t answer, Billy glances over at us and says, “Oh Laura, hush. They’re fine, really. You get all worked up over the silliest things.”

  “I don’t think this is silly,” Mom announces. Her voice rises in sudden anger. “My son being gay is not silly.”

  Quietly, Aunt Billy points out, “And it’s not something you can change or control, either. Admit it, that’s what has you so upset.”

  Mom shakes her head, indignant. “I’m upset because it’s wrong,” she says, and I have to clench my fork to keep from throwing it at her. Wrong—how can what I feel for Dan be wrong? She’s too damn blind to see what a good man he is, how much he loves me. When she surges to her feet and levels a finger at Aunt Billy, Dan holds me tight to keep me from jumping up, as well. “Don’t you dare get on me about this, Billy,” she threatens. “He’s my son, not yours. The way he’s living isn’t natural and you know it. It’s not right and if he can’t respect me enough not to flaunt it—”

  “He’s right here,” I cry out—I hate her doing this, talking as if I’m not standing right in front of her or I’m a child incapable of understanding what she says. Tossing my fork onto my plate, I slide off Dan’s knee and stand beside her, my hands curled into fists at my sides to keep them from shaking. “I’m right here, Mom. Don’t talk about me like I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”

  “Michael,” she sighs. “This is between me and Billy—”

  “And it’s about me,” I point out. I feel my lover stand behind me, his hand tentative on the back of my waist, and I reach out for him blindly, clutch at his arm to keep myself steady. Around us, the kitchen falls silent, and I find myself once again the unwilling center of attention. Everyone’s watching us, everyone…“You don’t approve of my relationship? Fine, I didn’t ask you to. I’m not your little boy anymore, in case you haven’t figured that one out yet, and I don’t live under your roof any longer. If you’re going to treat us like shit when we visit, I can guarantee you we won’t make the mistake of coming down again.”

  Before she can reply, I turn away and storm from the room. A few older kids clog the doorway, curious what’s going on, but I shove through them and they shrink back to let me pass. Dan keeps his hand on my waist and follows so close behind me that he almost treads on my heels with each step. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I don’t need this, not today.

  In the hallway, Penny stops me with a light hand on my arm. “Michael?” she asks, unsure. She still sounds drugged, and her gaze wavers between me and Dan but can’t seem to focus on either of us before flittering away again. “What happened? Who’s arguing?” At the closed look on my face, she adds, “What’s Laura said now?”

  “Nothing,” I mutter, pulling away. I don’t need her concern, I don’t want it. Right this second, my mind is too clouded
to keep my voice civil, I don’t care who I lash out at while I’m like this. I should’ve never woken up this morning. No, I should’ve never gotten out of bed. Everything was fine when it was just the two of us beneath the sheets—I should’ve locked the door on the rest of the family and maybe I wouldn’t be in this mood from hell.

  Penny’s eyes widen, and a hand flutters to cover her mouth. “Michael,” she sighs. “I’m not the one you’re fighting with here. Keep that in mind.”

  Her gentle tone of voice diffuses me, and my ire is gone as quickly as it sprung up. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, taking her arm. When I rub her wrist, she nods in forgiveness. “Penny, I’m sorry. It’s just—she’s so wrong about me.”

  With a wan smile, Penny admits, “She’s just stubborn, honey. Where do you think you get it from?”

  “I’m not stubborn,” I mutter. Penny raises a questioning eyebrow that makes me grin sheepishly. “I’m not,” I say again, this time crossing my arms in front of my chest to prove my point.

  Dan massages the bunched muscles in my upper arms and winks at Penny. “Excuse me?” he asks, teasing me. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

  I try to shrug him off but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he plants a kiss above my ear and murmurs, “I’m playing, babe. I love you just the way you are.” His arms come around me, hold me back against him, and he presses his cheek to mine. “Even if you are ornery,” he adds.

  “Hey!” I cry out. He makes it hard to stay angry for long, and it takes all the strength I have to keep the frown on my face. Penny laughing at us doesn’t help any, either. I’m mad, I tell myself, but without my mom right in front of me, I can gloss over her self-righteous attitude and forget what just happened in the kitchen. This is a big house, there’s a lot to do before we leave, and there are so many other people here, I can easily stay out of her way while we’re here.

  “Don’t pout,” Dan tells me, and that just makes the corners of my lips pull down harder. “Michael,” he warns. I struggle to hold the expression, but he’s giving me that look now, the one where I can see everything I am reflected in his eyes, and I can’t even help it, I turn away so he won’t notice my shy smile. With a soft kiss in the corner of my mouth, he purrs, “There you go.”

  I could lose myself in him. But Penny touches my arm, bringing me back to the chaos that is Aunt Evie’s. “Just give your mother some time,” she says. I nod grudgingly—time, yeah, sure, but how long? It’s just been two days and already I’m sick of the way she acts around me now, as if with Dan, I’m not the same son she’s known for the last twenty-five years. Patting my arm, Penny asks, “Can you do that, Michael? Just give her some time. She’ll come around, you’ll see.”

  “Thanks,” I whisper. Her words are meant to be comforting, even if they don’t quite work.

  She gives us a tight smile. “Go on up with the others,” she says, nodding at the stairs. “Evie once told me when she passed…” Her eyes cloud over, her lips tremble, and her smile is more forced than ever. She has to take a deep breath to steady herself before she can continue. “She said that this place belongs to you kids,” she says softly. Tears bead in her eyes but she blinks them away. “She once told me that she wanted you guys to pick out whatever means Sugar Creek to you and take it, keep it, make it yours. Evie told me she would rest easier knowing that you all had something to look at and remember her by.”

  “Penny,” I sigh, covering her hand with my own. I’d like to say something more but I can’t, there are no words left that could possibly explain everything inside me right this second. Pick out whatever means Sugar Creek to you…God, just one thing? Every corner of this house holds memories for me—every knick-knack means something, every picture on the wall, every piece of furniture, every room. How can I possibly choose just one thing that would remind me of everything I’ve ever done here? I have toys packed away in the attic, and I bought that vase by the credenza for Evie at a yard sale one year for Christmas, and there’s a spoon in the kitchen drawer that I found one day while digging at the creek with Stephen. If only I could capture everything at once, shrink the house and its surrounding land and the creek until it’s no larger than a dollhouse or even smaller, something I can hold in my hand, and I’d gaze into the windows whenever I want to relive the moments trapped inside.

  “Go on up,” she tells me. “There’s a ton of stuff to go through, Michael. I can’t keep it all. Take what means the most to you, okay?”

  I nod. Another pat on my arm, then she extracts her hand from beneath mine and heads for the kitchen. To calm my mom down, I hope. Turning to Dan, I suggest, “Let’s see if we can find a private room.”

  We’re halfway up the stairs when the front door bangs open and my dad calls out, “Mike? Hold up.”

  I stop and behind me, Dan stops too, his hands on my hips. Leaning on the banister, I look down into my dad’s upturned face, his cheeks windblown and red. “Yeah?”

  He’s been drinking already, I can tell that from the way his gaze wavers, as if he’s trying to see something behind me and I’m in the way. “You ever change a lock?” he asks.

  “A what?” I don’t know what he’s talking about.

  With an impatient sigh, he says, “A lock. On a door. Ever change one?”

  “I have,” Dan offers. When I look at him, he shrugs. “Busy work on post, changing knobs, replacing locks, whatever they can find for us to do. It’s not that hard.”

  “Then come on,” my dad says. “We’ve got a few we need to get up—”

  I shake my head. “No, wait. We’re cleaning out the upstairs—”

  My dad gives me a hard look that dares me to argue. “You can’t clean without him?”

  Yes, there’s definitely an edge to his voice that beer puts there. “It won’t take long,” Dan murmurs.

  “Why do you need to change the locks?” I want to know. “Dad—”

  He wears a baseball cap with the Phillies’ P embroidered on the front, and he takes that off now to scratch at the top of his head. His salted hair stands up in the back from the cap. Smoothing it down, he mutters, “Your aunts think Jessie might come by or something, I don’t know. The sooner we get these locks changed, the sooner they’ll stop pestering me about that damn woman.”

  “Jessie?” I ask, dubious.

  “God dammit, Mike!” my dad cries. I cringe at his outburst. “We’re wasting time.” To Dan, he asks, “Are you coming or what?”

  My lover gives me a helpless look—what can he say, no? Not when my dad’s the only one other than Caitlin who seems to like Dan. “Go,” I tell him.

  “You okay with this?” he asks. I take a step up, another, and he tugs at the belt loop on my pants to make me look at him again. “Michael?”

  “Fine,” I lie, hating the fact that I’m not okay with this, I’m pissed. There goes my whole day—he won’t be done anytime soon, I know my dad, he’ll find a hundred other things for Dan to do and I won’t be able to kiss him or hold him or joke with him while I work through the rooms upstairs, I won’t have him as a buffer to help keep my emotions at bay. Because I can see he doesn’t believe me, I turn away and hurry up the steps. “Go on, Dan. It’s cool. Find me when you’re through.”

  If you’re finished sometime today, I add silently. I hear footsteps descending the stairs and don’t look back when the door shuts between us.

  Chapter 22: A Visitor

  I’m not mad at Dan. I have to keep telling myself this, it’s not his fault my dad wanted his help…what could he do? He doesn’t have it in him to say no, and that wouldn’t have gone over well at all. You don’t say no to my dad. I’ve never done it, and Ray’s not that stupid nor Caitlin that brave. It’s just something you don’t do.

  So this irritation that spreads through me like an infection, it’s not directed towards my lover. Even when the minutes turn into hours and I stop looking up every time I hear footsteps out in the hall because I know it’s not going to be him, even then it’s not his fa
ult. It’s my dad’s for snagging Dan away from me. It’s Penny’s for keeping us in the hall so long. It’s my mom’s for the argument in the kitchen that sent me storming out. Hell, for all I know it might even be my fault, but it’s not Dan’s. He said he’d just be a few minutes, and any second now…

  But I don’t see him all morning. When I get upstairs, I pick the first room I come upon to work in, one of the guest bedrooms that Evie used to reserve for the children when we came to visit. The only furniture in it is a daybed along one wall and a couple of low dressers with enough small drawers for each of us. We used to sleep in this room, sleeping bags spread out to cover the middle of the floor, pillows and blankets tossed every which way—the makeshift beds are still here but they’re neat now, folded against the walls and out of the way. Already my aunt Ginger reclines on the daybed, flipping through an old photo album, and my cousin Theresa sits in front of the closet, folding clothes into a black garbage bag. She looks up as I enter the room, a tired smile on her face. “Michael, hey.”

  Ginger glances at me and turns back to the album. “Where’s your boy?”

  “My dad stole him away,” I joke, trying to pretend I don’t want him right here with me.

  Ginger sighs. “Don’t you hate when that happens? My daddy was always stealing my guys.”

  Across the room, Theresa laughs. Then she pats the floor beside her and says, “Sit with me, Mike.”

  To be honest, going through old clothes isn’t what I had in mind when I came up here. I was thinking more of a continuation of what Dan and I started this morning, and I don’t like that he’s not here with me. I should’ve went with them—how hard can it be to change a lock? “What are we doing this for anyway?” I want to know.

  “Because Penny can’t,” Theresa tells me. She shoves more clothes into the bag as she talks—it’s already swollen like a full sponge and I’m almost sure I see the plastic stretch thin in places. “This is old stuff. I’m talking ancient—most of the clothing I’ve found so far belonged to Aunt Evie’s parents, if you’ll believe it. I don’t think anyone ever got rid of anything in this house.”