I’d been here before, of course, but it had been a while, and the mood was entirely different. For some reason, I was scared. Would she yell at me for what I did at the funeral? Would she tell me I was an ungrateful son and an unnatural one at that? When Mike asked me if I wanted him to wait outside, I grasped his arm so tight, he almost blanched with pain. We went inside together.
A woman at the front desk led us to a small room where people were just sitting. The drapes were pulled open, letting in dull sunlight, and there were potted plants almost everywhere. Couches and stuffed chairs were scattered around almost at random. Mom was on a soft chair with a lap quilt covering her legs. There was a TV on, but it was muted. After a quick glance at Mike, who smiled, and drawing in a deep breath to calm myself, I sat down on a hard chair near her.
“Hello, Mom. How are you?”
She turned a wrinkled, powdered face toward me. She squinted. “I don’t know you.” Then she looked at Mike and smiled. “Son! It’s so good to see you. You’re looking more like your father every day. Have you heard from that no-good brother of yours lately? He never writes or comes to see me. Where’s he living now, some island or something? He never was much…” Her thoughts seemed to just trail off.
I had time to glance at Mike, whose face reflected what I felt: shock and sadness.
Then Mom livened up again. “But you, Michael, you were always such a good son. You made your father so happy and me, too, except when you married that bitch. Stella, is that her name? What an awful woman. Did you know she had the nerve to tell me that my other son, the no-good one, was never going to marry? Why I asked her, but she mumbled like the heathen coward she is and wouldn’t tell me. Have you seen your father lately? He said he’d come over a lot, but I haven’t seen him in a couple of months. He never comes to see me, just like, um, whatshisname.” Then she looked at me again. “You look familiar. Do I know you? It was nice of you to come. But you can go now.”
My mouth had fallen open far enough by now that I could trap flies.
Mom added, glaring at me, “Close your mouth. You look like a fish.”
I bolted. I didn’t even look at Mike for help. I didn’t say goodbye or hug her or anything. I just leapt to my feet and literally ran out of the room, sprinted across the lobby, out the door, and then around the corner of the building and behind a tree. I fell to my knees and hugged the tree trunk, sick to my stomach and terrified.
My own mother didn’t even know who I was. Sure, I hadn’t come to see her in ages. It was a long way! I’d been afraid of just this sort of thing happening. Now it had, and it was every bit as awful as I had thought it would be. I just knelt there in the dirt, hugging that stupid tree, crying like the abandoned child I felt I was. After a while, it started to rain, and I went back to the car.
* * * *
I must have dozed, for I sat up startled when Mike got in the car. He reached over and pulled me to him, smiling, enfolding me to him. I just sagged against his shirt like I belonged there. Which, perhaps, I did. He patted my back.
“Never mind, dear. Her mind has gone. She was still complaining about her husband not coming to see her. Then she talked for a while about the affair she’d had back when she was beautiful and that her husband had never discovered his younger son wasn’t his. Now there’s something to think about later. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. But frankly, I don’t think that’s such a bad thing, do you?”
I sniffled and nodded, wondering if I could get away with wiping my nose on his shirt. He must have known because he leaned forward and pulled a tissue out of a small pack on the visor, handing it to me.
“And then, when I could get a word in edgewise, I reminded her that I was you, her favorite son, and that I’d been there every day and she loved me so much and I loved her. She believed me just long enough for me to give her a hug and get the hell out of Dodge. And here I am! Your favorite boyfriend!”
But I was busy sobbing on his shoulder by then.
That man took advantage of me. We sat there, with him holding me and me being miserable. He started kissing my cheeks, the edge of my lips, my eyebrows, my ear, my neck, and then the vee of my chest above my shirt. I stopped crying and started pushing his hands away. They had been on my shoulders, and patting me on the back, and then holding me around the waist, and then, uh, lower. I think he was getting annoyed, well, okay, hot and bothered then, for sure.
Finally, he raised his head and said, “Fuck this steering wheel. Let’s get in the back seat.”
This cracked up both up, and things calmed down.
I was laughing so hard, I could hardly speak but managed to squeak out, “I’m not that kind of girl!”
Michael smoothed my hair and replied, “Yes, you are, and so am I!”
Later, we caught the last ferry back to Seattle, drove to his place, and went to bed, as comfortable together as the old married couple we would eventually manage to be.
THE END
ABOUT EMERY C. WALTERS
Emery C. Walters was born Carol Forde, a name he soon knew didn’t fit the boy he was inside. Transition was unknown back then, so he married and then bore and raised four children. When his youngest child, his gay son, left home, Emery told Carol that she had to step aside, and he fully transitioned from female to male in 2001.
Emery worked in county government and as a college writing tutor before retiring. He and his wife Robyn, herself raised mistakenly as a boy, live in Hawaii where they combine snorkeling, scuba diving, and volunteer work with activities to boost LGBT rights and awareness.
Interested in Ninjutsu, both land and underwater photography, and writing, Emery can usually be found writing, reading, or sailing on his imaginary pirate ship.
Emery’s 2010 first published novel, Last Year's Leaves, is an intense story of recovery from abuse and loss, finding love, and coming out whole. The book is laced with his trademark humor. His recent publications include four other coming of age novels involving coming out and overcoming obstacles as well as two books of short stories. All are humorous and filled with hope. Drystan the Dire, Emery’s Welsh pirate ancestor, shows up at times to help the heroes and annoy the villains. Emery currently has two more novels in the publishing pipeline.
Between them, the Walters have eight adult children, umpteen grandchildren, and one great grandchild, none of whom can do a thing about the genetic material handed down to them—their gift to the future. So there. More information can be found online at ftemery-theemeryboard.blogspot.com.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!
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