Coming Out on the Mountain

by P D Singer

  “You and Kurt have been together how long? And I’m just now hearing about it?” Gramps shot right back.

  I hung my head. “I deserved that. Let me guess. Everyone was telling you, ‘you have to have the discussion with Jake yourself,’ the same way everyone’s been telling me I had to talk with you myself.”

  “Something like that.” Gramps chuckled. “You and Kurt have certainly been through a lot together.”

  Just like that, we were on to the telling of stories, and singing of praises, and hopes for the future. Gramps and Floyd’s. Mine and Kurt’s.

  And when our beloveds tired of trains, or perhaps grew alarmed at the absence of thumps and shouting and came to see if we’d laid each other out cold on the floor, they walked into laughter and love.

  CHAPTER 15

  Kurt and I left with promises of a trip to the store for leaf bags and a return in the morning, with reinforcements of Elliott and other larger niblings to fill them. We might even have the lawn tractor functional, to clean up the rest of the property.

  The Escape made a good bubble for solitude on the way back to the house.

  “You and Gramps got things worked out okay,” Kurt told me more than asked.

  “Yeah. Thanks, Kurt.” I turned right on Lahser, just to make sure Kurt got to goggle at his witch’s hat church from the other side. “I needed the reality check.”

  He reached across the console to rub my neck. “You’re the smartest idiot I ever met, Jake. You just needed a smack upside the head to see things clearly.”

  “You certainly delivered.” I’d need a while to chew on the adjustment of my world, because for all that I was okay, on the surface, with Gramps and Uncle Floyd, I would need a while to let this new aspect of my grandfather percolate all the way into my soul, to my deepest knowledge of “this is how my world works.”

  While I percolated, I’d be kind and polite and accepting, because they deserved that. Floyd had to be a good man, because my grandfather wouldn’t choose any other kind. That knowledge rested at the core of “how Jake’s world works.”

  Maybe Floyd and I could become at least friends, even close. Our family acquired members, and Gramps brought him to us, the way I brought Kurt home, wanting their acceptance.

  I had to give to others what I wanted for myself. Including the grace to handle initial reactions as kindly as Gramps had handled mine.

  “Dad did say he’d had other shocks that put my coming out into perspective,” I mused to Kurt. “He must have meant Gramps.”

  “Probably. Bet he had the same initial attitude you did.” Kurt played with the clipped-velvet at the back of my neck. “Worse, because ‘father’.”

  “I hope he didn’t act like as big of an asshole as I did.” I hadn’t edited anything between my hindbrain and my mouth—everything erupted into words. Embarrassing. Now.

  “You stopped.” Kurt tweaked my earlobe and undid his seatbelt. We were home.

  Kurt and I walked into a post-Thanksgiving Friday in full swing. Cousins and aunts, none of which were Aunt Patrice, had the Scrabble board out again and were arguing over whether a British spelling was acceptable or counted as a foreign language. Football players crashed into each other on the TV, with boos and cheers from the audience on the L-shaped sectional. Leftover feast lined the kitchen counter, with a stack of plates for anyone hungry to come serve themselves. Dad had a sandwich half made, and was eyeing the spinach souffle, which was as tasty cold as it was hot. The kitchen smelled of sage and celery—someone’s plate rode in circles to the humming song of the microwave. Mom played rummy at the kitchen table with Shari and some niblings, laughing about having a handful of cards and no way to lay some down.

  Yes, we were home.

  CHAPTER 16

  Kurt and I got hailed without the mob scene of yesterday, but we had fewer than twenty people at the moment, and most of them didn’t get up. We left our shoes at the door and stashed outerwear in my bedroom.

  Our bedroom. I would go with “Mom and Dad are cool until demonstrated otherwise.” Still might not get brave enough to jump Kurt’s bones on this side of the Mississippi, but I’d add my urge to the make-up-for-lost-time event we’d enjoy the first time I felt confident enough. Anticipation added savor.

  I did feel up for a big hug and a kiss with the door open. Little steps. Maybe not so little—Kurt eyed the door but went with the flow when I wrapped my arms around him.

  “Thanks for talking me down out of the trees,” I whispered into his ear.

  “No problem.” He rubbed his cheek against mine. “That’s what partners do.”

  What else partners did needed to be put on hold while we went out to be social. I handed Kurt a plate to serve himself from the spread of leftover feast while I built a turkey sandwich with slices of dark meat and stuffing glued to the bread with cranberry sauce. We’d earned our lunch with the yard work.

  The rummy game ended with Mom counting out her penalty points and ceding defeat. Shari winked at me as she herded the niblings to the basement with promises of air hockey, them against her. Mom stayed put. We joined her with our lunch.

  “How did things go?” She kept her voice too soft to carry over the raucous bunch behind her in the TV room.

  “I was a butt, and Kurt kicked me until I saw sense.” I glanced to my partner, who turned pink and got suddenly interested in the corn casserole’s ratio of kernels to pudding. Yeah, he might be a little sensitive about “damage Jake” jokes, especially with my mom. “He gave me an attitude adjustment, and we’re all on the same page now. Floyd’s good for Gramps. I like him.”

  I could say that now. We’d left their house with hugs all around.

  “You let me walk face first into that.” I chided my mom gently between bites of what had to be the most heavenly sandwich in the world. “Would have been nice to get my initial reaction over with before seeing Gramps.”

  “I thought the rule was ‘don’t out people’. Seems like a damned if I do, damned if I don’t situation, so I erred on the side of caution.” Mom raised an eyebrow at me. “However, you had every opportunity to notice yesterday. Though perhaps you were turned inward more than usual.”

  That was Mom’s kind description for “self-centered.” I’d own it. “Kurt, did you notice anything?”

  Of course, I’d just asked the most situationally aware man if he’d noticed something Mom thought was obvious.

  “Hard not to. I thought you knew.” Kurt eyed his sandwich, built tall with better food than we could possibly cook for ourselves. “You introduced us.”

  “About thirty-seven seconds after I’d introduced myself to him.” This not getting home for two years thing had more drawbacks than I thought. “Anyway, the current situation is we know, they know, all is good.”

  “I’m glad. That’s going to be easier all the way around.” Mom stole an olive off my plate. “Have you considered how to deal with the rest of the family? Or were Dad and Gramps on your mind to the exclusion of everyone else?”

  “Kind of,” I admitted around a forkful of mashed rutabaga. I’d been lucky to get some—the leftovers went fast.

  One thing I had noticed, though I hadn’t thought enough of it at the time, was how at ease everyone, except the banished aunt and uncle, were with both Gramps and Floyd. Because of course they were, this was Gramps or Uncle Ray or Dad, and his partner.

  Though Gramps made it clear “of course” wasn’t easy or automatic, or even fast, since last year’s Christmas had been spent in the Caribbean.

  If nobody boggled at Gramps—now—they probably wouldn’t boggle at me.

  Last night, at this very table, Dad told me I’d find support by looking at who was here and who was not, though he didn’t say why. Now I knew.

  I owed Gramps for blazing the trail.

  “I guess, play it by ear?” I could stand up and yell, “Hey, everyone! This guy Kurt Carlson is my boyfriend, and yes, I’m gay. Please hold all app
lause and questions until the sun grows cold!” Or just let the information trickle out, one conversation at a time.

  “You’ll do fine.” Mom made off with another of my olives and went to congratulate Aunt Wanda on scooping the Scrabble game with a triple-word-score for “kudzu.”

  We caught the tail end of a football game no one cared about, except Elliott, since neither of the teams were the Lions nor up to play the Lions. The game left him jazzed to play—he dashed to the garage for the football I’d left behind when I headed to Colorado, five years ago.

  The two years since I’d seen him turned him from spindly limbs and acne to a young man with shoulders, skills, aspirations, and an older cousin who’d do his best to warn him away from the pitfalls of college life. I’d made some mistakes. Perhaps he could learn from them.

  “Come on, guys!” Elliott called, and the thundering herd of uncles and cousins followed him out to the relatively horse-chestnut-free back yard to play catch. Kurt and I thundered with them, ending up on different sides of the field.

  Kurt drilled a pass hard enough to make Uncle Steve yelp with the sting of catching it. At least he could catch it. I’d left the football behind for a reason.

  Staying in the game just long enough to fumble twice, I bowed out. I caught Kurt’s eye and motioned, “me, in, talk, you stay” with a series of points and fingers to thumb motions.

  I left them tossing, or hurling, the ball, amid encouragement and laughter. Turning around at the door for one last look, I watched Kurt run and throw, laughing with the fam like he’d always been one of them. One of us.

  I wanted him to always be one of us.

  I headed downstairs, where I could probably find one on one conversation. I’d spent enough time hiding—any questions that came up, I could handle. Now.

  Shari had rotated out of the air hockey battles and was sitting on the couch watching Lucas duel with two primary-grade niblings, shooting the puck at half-speed and laughing when they scored on him. I sat down next to her.

  “Everything good with Gramps?” she asked quietly. The crack! crack! of the paddles against puck drowned out half her words, but I’d know what she meant if she restrained herself to a quizzical look.

  “All good. You could have told me.” Although I think I would have been pissed if she’d told anyone about me. Never let it be said I can’t hold two contradictory ideas at once.

  “Some things you just have to find out for yourself, oogie snookums.” She tickled my kneecap with one fingertip in a ritual that went back fifteen years when she used that dreadful nickname.

  I tickled her kneecap with the same fingertip motion. “Thanks a lot, poopsie pie.”

  I hadn’t realized how much I missed our traditional silliness until we did it. Her next volley would probably be “muggie wumpus.” Or “pooky lou.”

  Instead, she settled back in the couch and asked a serious question. “Did it mess with your head much, since you’re, you know.”

  I knew. I’d get mad at the euphemism, except I’d rather the cousins heard about it from me instead of their children. The niblings absorbed everything like meat sponges and squished it all back at the worst possible moment. Bailey and Olivia, the two currently “beating” Lucas, were particularly horrible at awkward info regurgitation. I should know, I’d known them since they were poo-larvae.

  “Yeah, it did, but I got over it.” Not sure me being gay made much difference, since my problem had been “things changed” and “now I knew.” Universal issues. “They seem happy.”

  Lucas missed a blocking shot, or “missed” the block. The puck toppled into the goal with a clatter, promptly drowned out by the yelps of triumph from Bailey and Olivia. I hadn’t seen their mother, my cousin Jasmine, upstairs; she was probably out shopping with Nicole.

  Their squeals of victory turned to squeals of delight. The girls had been so intent on their game with Lucas they hadn’t noticed me. Seven-year-old Bailey flung herself into my arms, shrieking, “Jake! Jake!” Five-year-old Olivia probably didn’t remember me that well, but anyone Bailey glommed onto, Olivia did as well. Can’t let older sis have all the good stuff, right? I settled them on my lap, facing me, and hoped I wouldn’t get a knee to the nuts.

  “Heya, girls!” got me a quick gabble of “We’re doing karate now!” and “I’m a big girl in kindergarten!” and “you and Kurt were in a fire!”

  I hoped they hadn’t told the small fry about that, but someone spilled the beans. “Yes, we were. Forest rangers fight fire sometimes.”

  Olivia giggled. “Are you and Kurt like Smokey the Bear?”

  “Rawr!” I snorfled at them, getting more giggles. “Yes! We have to prevent forest fires. Sometimes Kurt and I had to put them out.”

  “But not anymore?” Olivia asked.

  “Other people are rangers now. We’re living in the city while I go to school.” I had textbooks that outweighed Olivia.

  “Mommy said you and Kurt are gay. What’s gay?” Olivia asked.

  Well, fuck my life. Of all the conversations I’d imagined, all the potential landmines, getting asked directly by a nibling wasn’t one of them. My brain flinked in and out. Buying more time, I asked, “Did Mommy tell you this?” Just let me get my hands on Jasmine—she was so dead.

  “No, she told Daddy, but we heard.” Bailey decided the neckline of my Henley wasn’t buttoned high enough and stuck her tongue into the corner of her mouth while she poked the buttons through the holes.

  I shot Lucas a What do I do now? look. Shari’d be no help at all—she had her hand over her mouth, shaking hard enough to rattle her fillings. I hope she busted something internally.

  Lucas lifted one shoulder, smiling wryly. Guess he didn’t have any more clue than I did. And then he leaned, hipshot, against the air hockey table, ready to watch the show.

  Okay, what the fuck was an age-appropriate explanation? Because who knew what the Queen of the Gossip Mills would tell her kids?

  If the meat sponges were going to squish out this information to anyone else, it would be the sweetest description I could think of. “It means Kurt and I like to kiss each other.”

  “Silly ‘Livia, it’s like Gramps and Uncle Floyd.” Bailey shot her little sister the biggest rolly-eyed Duh! look. “It’s nothing special.” Bailey turned to me. “I thought it was something exciting.”

  “No, that’s just how it is.” I found my nonchalant voice. Because that’s how I wanted this news to be in the family. Nothing special, just the way things were.

  Hope Lucas saw it that way, because the little brats had just outed me to him.

  I glanced at Shari, who did that sisterly telepathy and created a diversion. “You know, I think Aunt Diane brought the pie out. Did you see how pretty Uncle Floyd made the pumpkin pies?”

  “I want pie!” Bailey scrambled off my lap, dull grownup things like being gay forgotten for the lure of desserts. Olivia was right behind, the two of them shooting up the stairs.

  Shari patted my knee and followed them, leaving me alone with my cousin. I’d been the little guy, underfoot and saying embarrassing things to him the way Bailey and Olivia were to me. Eleven years older and the object of much hero worship, he’d propelled me into pharmacy, because following him into medicine meant dealing with blood.

  And now I was out to him, at a time and place neither of us chose.

  Lucas unhitched from the air hockey table, coming to sit next to me on the couch. Coming closer, good sign. He arranged himself comfortably, one leg up on the couch, his arm extended along the back cushion. “I presume you like kissing Kurt a lot, since you brought him home to meet the family.”

  I flushed. “Yeah. He’s a great guy.”

  “Good. I’ll look forward to getting to know him.” Lucas smiled at me and lifted a weight from my heart. “So, what have you been studying?”

  And just like that, we were off on “bugs and drugs,” talking like colleagues, although his stories were a l
ot more detailed and half quiz. He regaled me with, “Had a hot shoulder come in, turned out to be P. acnes, which we’re seeing more, where does that bacteria live? Gram positive or negative? What’s it susceptible to? How do you think it got to the shoulder?”

  I knew enough of the answers to please him, and he filled in the blanks, and it was all good, professionally, personally. Him, me, Kurt. If Gramps and Floyd hadn’t taken the initial heat last year, this conversation might have gone a different way. I owed them a debt.

  Lucas liked my idea of benzoyl peroxide washes before shoulder laparoscopies too—keep the P. acnes out of the joint with a simple procedure and at low cost. If it was already standard of care, he didn’t pop my bubble of a lowly first year student contributing something.

  Now I was out to more of my family, Lucas, some niblings, Jasmine and Victor. This was the best of my family, and so far there’d been a lot more of the best than the worst.

  Things were gonna be okay.

  Lucas and I wound down the medical talk and decided to head upstairs to see how the football game was going.

  We’d missed the chance to play. Everyone was headed in, flushed with the exertion and the chill. Kurt was pink and had another leaf in his hair. I removed it, letting it flutter to the ground.

  Yeah, he was dear to me, and anyone who cared to look could know it. I wouldn’t try to hide it anymore.

  The crowd of us milled around the kitchen, putting away the leftover feast and sorting out the next contestants for the ever-present competitions. Kurt accepted an invitation for rummy. I prepared to get trounced at Scrabble, my head being more filled with words beginning with hydroxy- or ending in -cillin than there were Cs and Ys. Another football game started on TV, and a rousing discussion of something that sounded suspiciously like politics pulled others into the living room and out of most everyone’s earshot.

  More people trickled in as the sun went down. I’d missed this—Thanksgiving with our friends in Wapiti Creek wasn’t the same. But Mark, Allan, Kim, Julie, Charlie and the rest had given me the courage to use here with my family.