Who'd Have Thought

by G. Benson

  “You too, Miss.” He turned to Sam. “Your family is in the evening lounge. Drinks?”

  “Whiskey. With ice. Hayden?”

  “Wine—please.”

  A note of desperation was in her voice, and she could swear she saw a small smile on Ron’s mouth as he nodded and they walked through the door. When Hayden took off her jacket, he whisked it away from her, along with Sam’s and that adorable hat of hers, and disappeared. The entrance was all shining, polished wood and high ceilings. A chandelier even hung above them, glittering.

  “You have a butler,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

  Sam rolled her eyes again and turned. Hayden followed her down the hallway and toward the lion’s den.

  “But seriously, Sam. You. Have. A. Butler.”

  They paused outside a huge, carved double door. It was so ornate. This was bizarre. Hayden could barely fathom how people lived like this. And her childhood had not been poor by a long shot—her family home was spacious and nice and well looked after.

  But this was just ostentatious.

  And now they had to go devastate Sam’s parents and, Hayden was thinking, devastate Sam. Maybe they should back out and not do it. But this wasn’t Hayden’s call. Besides, as far as Hayden could tell, a lot of this was also about Sam not wanting to hide a part of herself anymore. And Hayden could understand that. To not…be herself, every day? To have to hide a huge part of her life? Unimaginable for her.

  Again, she felt so lucky for that.

  Yet they didn’t walk through the door.

  “Sam?”

  Sam’s hand hovered over the handle. “Hm?”

  “We don’t have to do this. If you’re not ready, there’s time later.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t mind. I—I signed on for a year. It’s not even been half that.” Hayden was whispering, not wanting their secrets to be sucked up by this ridiculous house.

  “Yes. But that’s in case it gets…difficult.”

  “I don’t mind if it drags on longer. If you’re not ready—”

  Sam turned her head sharply. “You’d what? Put your life on hold for more time?”

  Her eyes were bright, sharp. Hayden swallowed. “Well, yeah.”

  Sam cocked her head. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

  Her voice was such a soft murmur Hayden could barely hear her. The words settled deep in her and Hayden wanted to forever remember how Sam looked after she’d said them.

  Before Hayden could gather a response, Sam pushed the door open and walked through. Squaring her shoulders, Hayden followed, keeping close to her.

  The room was half-lounge, with squishy leather couches and armchairs, and half-library, with the walls covered in bookshelves. Her fingers twitched, wanting to sort through the titles and see what they held. But that faded quickly as a woman walked forward and wrapped her arms around Sam, pulling her into a hug. It was short, very short, but warm, and was finished with the flourish of two cheek kisses. When she pulled back, lines fanned around her eyes as she smiled with her hands on Sam’s shoulders. A string of elegant pearls sat around her neck. Her clothes were neatly pressed and expensive-looking. But her face was kind, her eyes the green of Sam’s.

  “Hello, darling.” Sam’s mother’s voice was so genuine. “Did work run late?”

  “It got busy.” She pulled back, and a man with hair as red as Sam’s hugged her. However, his hair was streaked with gray, and the stubble on his cheeks was salt and pepper. Sam pulled back and turned to Hayden. “This is Hayden, the friend I said was coming. Hayden, these are my parents, George and Irene.”

  It was as if Hayden had tripped on a step that wasn’t there. She’d pictured cold. Awkward. Uncomfortable. This was warm, welcoming, and bordering on familiar. She was wrapped up in a handshake from George and air kisses from Irene. Hayden kept herself looking polite until Ron appeared with her wine, which was thankfully very full, and Hayden took a gulp that was probably too large. Sam pursed her lips, almost imperceptibly, at her and George hid a smirk that reminded her of Sam’s and made her wince.

  “I was supposed to wait to toast, wasn’t I?”

  “You’re fine, dear.” Irene patted her on the shoulder, and Hayden’s head swam.

  How were these people the type to kick out their son for being gay? They could be described as a bit stiff and, okay, a hug didn’t have to mean much, but the picture wasn’t fitting with the image Hayden had put in her head.

  Maybe that was the point. Villains didn’t always look the part. Hopefully there was more wine.

  “Merry Christmas.” George raised his glass, and they all followed suit. “It’s nice to have you here, Hayden, and to have all the family together.”

  Sam was like a statue next to her, and Hayden’s eye actually twitched. Except his son? But he glossed over it as if it didn’t even matter.

  Jon was at home that night. He’d told them he planned to binge TV in his underwear and would wait until the twenty-fifth to have dinner with them both, like they’d planned. Was he sitting there wondering if his family was having a wonderful evening without him? Even though he knew Sam’s coming out plan, he must feel that. How much must that hurt? To know Sam could walk in and he was sent away at the door?

  Hayden’s heart ached, and she had another long sip.

  “We read your article, Sam. In the latest journal you were in.” Irene was hovering at Sam’s side as if anxious to share her warmth. Hayden knew that smile.

  “Yes, good work there.” George had dropped into one of the armchairs and had his whiskey balanced on his knee. It looked like he took it the same way as Sam. “Still hardly understood a word, but good to see you’re keeping your professional portfolio buff.”

  He was almost jolly. A wink added to the effect.

  Irene sat on a couch and patted the edge, so Sam sat near her and Hayden plopped into one of the other armchairs. Her drink almost sloshed over, so she took another sip, purely to prevent that from happening again, of course. It had nothing to do with trying to manage the twilight zone she was in.

  “Hayden.” Irene’s smile was on her now. It was like Sam’s, but there was something fake about it. As if it was there for appearances. Or was Hayden inventing ideas about them? “Tell us something about you.”

  “Uh—” Hayden had no idea where to start with a question like that. She had a cranky cat? She liked pears? Bananas freaked her out? Why was she thinking about fruit? Sam took a sip of her drink, her eyes on Hayden.

  “Are you from New York originally?” Irene asked, her eyes warm. She’d clearly realized Hayden was floundering.

  “No, actually. I was born in Miami.”

  “Oh, how nice.” Her voice made Hayden believe she didn’t really think that. “What brought you here?”

  “College, and work.” Hayden’s finger traced over the rim of her glass. Everyone’s attention was on her. “And then I guess I just fell in love with the city.”

  “New York will do that to you.” George grinned at her, dimples on his cheeks. Jon was so similar to him. It was uncanny. “Great city.”

  “It is. Are you a native New Yorker?”

  “Born and raised.” His chest puffed out. “All of us are.”

  “And where do you live at the moment?” Irene crossed her legs like Sam, looking as if she belonged exactly where she sat.

  “Do you mean what area?” Hayden asked.

  Before Irene could answer, Sam cleared her throat. “Hayden’s been staying with me.”

  Oh no. Hayden raised the glass to her lips with two hands and drank some more.

  “Oh?” Irene looked at George then quickly back at Sam. “Aren’t you too old for a housemate?”

  Sam actually didn’t look like she belonged here now. Months ago, Hayden would have thought she did—slightly stiff, surrounded by stiff people and stiff things. But now, Hayden had seen her in sweatpants and thick socks, legs pulled up on the sofa as she watched television and absently stroke
d Frank.

  She didn’t look comfortable here with her parents, in her childhood home.

  The heaviness of Sam’s gaze landed on her for a second, and Hayden wasn’t sure if she was going to blurt it out, to get it out. But instead, she offered a small shrug.

  “No.”

  “Don’t shrug, Sam.”

  If someone had said that to Hayden, she would have shrugged again. But Sam straightened.

  “So,” George said, “are you dating anyone?”

  Hayden resisted the urge to glare at George, who was clearly trying to brush over whatever was going on between Irene and Sam.

  “No, Dad.”

  “Well, the son of the Jamesons is single. He’s divorcing his wife.”

  “Because he was caught with his secretary.”

  “Sam.” Irene’s voice was indulging now. “Gossip isn’t always the most reliable.”

  Sam sipped her drink, and Hayden realized the glass was as empty as her own. As if on cue, Ron appeared and topped up all the glasses, moving as if he weren’t even there. Hayden flashed him a smile in thanks.

  “It’s hardly gossip. He was caught with his pants down in his office.”

  “Samantha!”

  “Well, I’d like to think you’d want to set me up with someone who can at least keep it in his pants.”

  “Fair enough,” George said abruptly. “What about you, Hayden? Are you seeing anyone?”

  Hayden’s gaze flicked to Sam, but Hayden had no idea what to say.

  “Dinner is served.”

  Hayden jumped, wine almost sloshing over the sides of her glass again, and turned to see Ron standing behind her, his arm held behind his back. She narrowed her eyes at him, and she could swear his eyes were laughing at her. No one else seemed to notice.

  Good timing. Avoiding that question helped everyone.

  Sam’s parents stood up and led them through a door on the right. Sam gave Hayden a tight nod. She wanted to reach out and tangle their fingers together and squeeze. To watch that hardness in Sam’s eyes melt away as she huffed a laugh at something silly Hayden said. Instead, Hayden walked a step behind, and they entered a dining room.

  With another chandelier.

  The dining table looked decorated for dinner with royalty. Gleaming plates with glints of gold rims, crystal glasses, and what Hayden was pretty sure was real silverware. Holly and Christmas decorations sat in the middle. Hayden followed Sam when she slipped into her seat across from her mother. In front of her was more cutlery than she’d ever think she would need, including three types of forks.

  Three.

  Hayden barely used one fork.

  Bowls of soup had been filled and were waiting, the steam rising—thick pumpkin, from the look and smell of them. Just the thought of soup for Christmas dinner was strange to her.

  “So, Hayden.” George settled his napkin on his lap, so Hayden quickly did the same. “Sam tells us you’re a friend from the hospital?”

  “We met there. I’m a nurse in the ER.”

  “Ah.” He nodded, and Hayden wasn’t really sure what for.

  “You never considered doing something more ambitious?” It was hard to hear a question like that from Sam’s mother, framed so differently from how Sam had asked the same thing so many months before.

  No one had started to eat, so Hayden waited.

  Sam reached for a glass of white wine that had already been at her place setting when they’d walked into the room. “Mother—”

  “Not really.” Hayden cut in, because there wasn’t any point. She had nothing to prove to them. “I like being a nurse.”

  “Charming.” And the smile she gave then was anything but.

  Hayden was used to chatter and the clanging of plates and cutlery at Christmas dinner, the sound of several types of food being dished up and passed back and forth all at once. She guessed they were having courses here.

  Hayden took a deep breath. She had to be there for Sam. And to be someone Sam’s parents could relate to. Or something like that. “I started in medicine. But for personal reasons, I switched to nursing.”

  “And why not go back?” Irene asked.

  “I like being a nurse. It’s rewarding.”

  “Hm,” George said. “Well, let’s say grace.”

  And they did. They all bowed their heads and said thanks for the food and to the Lord for bringing their family together. Hayden’s cheeks burned as she thought of Jon again, alone at his place. She didn’t say amen. Abuela was religious, but they never really said grace. And here, in this house, it didn’t sit well. Hypocrisy was something she had a hard time stomaching.

  When they looked up, they started eating and Hayden wished the soup didn’t taste as good as it did.

  “So what do your parents do?” George asked.

  The questions weren’t going to stop, it seemed. And was that question really important? “My parents were both in law. It’s how they met.”

  “What area?” A spark of interest lit him up. Was this a respectable job?

  “Well, my father was in fiscal law. And my mother worked for the DA for a while. She did a lot of pro bono work.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw, and Sam’s foot slid next to Hayden’s under the table. Nothing more than that, but it was enough for Hayden to remember why they were here and to take a deep breath. And a sip of her wine.

  “Well, that’s nice.” His tone said it was anything but.

  “Have you heard from Jon?”

  Hayden whipped her head around to stare at Sam. Her soup hadn’t been touched. But her glass was half-empty. Well. That escalated quickly. Sam took another sip of her drink, her eyes on her parents. Hayden sucked in a breath and looked back across at them.

  Their faces were like stone.

  “No,” was all Irene said. She delicately raised her spoon to her mouth.

  “Are you even going to ask how he is?” A tremor in Sam’s voice gave her away. Hayden pushed her foot harder against Sam’s. Anything to show support.

  Apparently this was happening now.

  Why had the plan changed?

  George swallowed slowly, as if thinking. He rested his wrist against the edge of the table, his spoon held like royalty, delicate in his hands. “No.”

  The silence stretched over the table. A server, not Ron, walked in and went around, topping up their drinks again. Another gulp. Hayden wished none of this had been necessary. Not because it was awkward for her: she would get over it. This wasn’t going to have a long-term effect on her or her life. Or her feelings.

  But Sam’s fingers trembled as she reached for her glass, and something fierce rose up in Hayden’s chest. She clenched her teeth and looked back to Sam’s parents. Irene caught Sam’s eye and gave a short shake of her head. George was eating again.

  Red crept up Sam’s neck.

  “He’s doing well,” Hayden chimed in. “He’s such a nice guy.”

  Three sets of eyes bore into her, and Hayden had another sip of her wine. Probably not what she should have said. Maybe she shouldn’t drink anymore.

  They were really staring at her. So that’s where Sam had gotten that shielded, impassive, impossible-to-figure-out look from. They could be wishing for her death right now and she’d have no idea.

  “You’ve met him?” George asked. His voice was too measured.

  “Yes.”

  He looked to Sam. Maybe Hayden shouldn’t have said anything. But it was clear Sam had been ready to start the conversation, and Hayden had never been very good at not saying what she was thinking. “Why would your work friend have met that boy?” he asked Sam.

  That boy?

  “Because she’s not my work friend.”

  Oh no. Here it went. It was happening. Hayden reached for her wine again.

  “She’s my wife.”

  All the air sucked out of the room and there was a thump as someone’s leg jumped under the table and hit the wood. Hayden almost laughed. Mostly to relieve the hysterical feeli
ng in her chest, but also because it was so ridiculous that this statement could cause such a reaction.

  Irene’s hand slammed down on the table, her spoon hitting her plate with a clang. George’s face was absurdly red.

  Hayden sipped her wine.

  Sam sipped her wine.

  “Your what?” Irene’s voice was low, and in contrast to her husband’s, her face was drained of color.

  “My wife.” Sam’s voice was steadier than Hayden would have thought. She was looking from one parent to the other, her eyes like stone. “We’re married.”

  “No, you’re not,” Irene said.

  “We are.” Hayden smiled. “Very.”

  Sam’s foot twitched next to hers.

  Both ignored Hayden, attention unwavering from Sam.

  “You’re a—” George looked as if he’d swallowed something extremely bitter.

  “Lesbian. Yes.”

  “No, you’re not.” Irene shook her head. “You’re intelligent, beautiful—you’re too old to think this about yourself.”

  “I assure you, I’ve always known this about myself. I also assure you that there is no correlation between being a lesbian and your intelligence or looks.”

  “You’re making a joke.” There was a hard edge to George’s voice that made Hayden think that even if it had been a joke, this would not have blown over quickly. “To punish us for your—your brother.”

  “No joke.” Sam’s voice was still steady. “We’re married. I have all the paperwork.”

  “Stop this, Samantha. Immediately.” George’s face was as pale as Irene’s now.

  A slash of angry red was on Sam’s cheeks that made the green in her eyes almost luminescent. “Or what? You’ll tell me to go to conversion therapy or I’m out of the family? Like you did with Jon?”

  Stomach roiling, Hayden stared at Sam’s parents, her mouth hanging half-open. Conversion therapy? She knew they’d backed the idea, but not that they’d said that to Jon. “You tried to make your twenty-year-old son go to conversion therapy?” Disgust crept into her tone, and she couldn’t care less. “You know all it does is teach vulnerable groups to hate themselves, right? That it has a disturbingly high rate of attempted suicide—like, fifty percent?”