Catching Chance

by M. E. Parker

  When I looked back up, my mother was standing in front of me. She squeezed my arm. “Did you tell him?”

  “Tell him what?”

  “That you were sorry?” A mischievous smile passed across her face. “That you were fucking stupid?”

  I shook my head and laughed out loud. It was a day I thought I’d never see come to pass. My mother, the second-grade teacher, the pastor’s wife, stood in our kitchen, clutching the strand of pearls draped around her neck, and actually said the word “fucking”, without the slightest blush crossing her face.

  I picked up the plates and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I did,” I said, smiling back at her.

  “Well, good,” she said, grabbing my arm again to keep me from walking out of the kitchen. “You know, Andy is the kind of person that you can always count on. He’s the kind of friend that’ll always have your back, no matter what.”

  “I know, Mom,” I said pulling away from her.

  “I hope you do. You owe it to him, and yourself, to be that for him as well. You know, the older you get, you’ll figure out how rare it is—how precious a friendship like yours and Andy’s can be.”

  My cheeks heated at her words. I wondered if she had any real understanding of the extent of our “friendship”. And if she didn’t, I wondered what she’d think if she knew the truth.

  “That’s real deep, Mom,” I teased as I walked out of the kitchen.

  She hit me on the back with a dish towel as I left. “It may be deep, but it’s true. You should listen to your mother. She’s older and wiser,” she called out as I carried the plates to the dining room.

  “And now she’s referring to herself in third person,” I joked.

  “Don’t get smart with me, Chance Wyrick,” she called from the kitchen.

  Twenty minutes later, I found myself clutching the wall in our entryway. My heart began to pound erratically in my chest as I watched Andy hug my mother. She held onto him for longer than needed. He looked incredible. His hair was styled in a perfect mess. He hadn’t shaved, and the stubble on his jaw looked thicker than it had several hours before. My eyes drifted from the red scarf around his neck to the rest of his body. He was wearing a dark green sweater that I’d never seen before. It hugged his chest and shoulders as flawlessly as the faded jeans that were ripped at the knee hugged his perfect ass. His eyes looked greener than usual and sparked with laughter as he listened to my mother whisper something in his ear.

  “Merry Christmas, Lizzy,” he said, as he pulled away from her.

  My heart exploded. He was the only one who ever called her Lizzy.

  It started when we were twelve. She’d scolded him over and over, “Andy, how many times do I have to tell you—stop calling me Mrs. Wyrick? I’m practically your mother.”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Wyrick,” he’d said, with a mischievous grin.

  “Andy!” she scolded.

  “Lizzy!” he’d teased her.

  Somehow it stuck. I doubted she’d ever let anyone else call her Lizzy. Dad always called her Liz, unless he was irritated with her, then it was Elizabeth. It made my heart warm to hear Andy call her that again. Then I realized he’d probably been calling her that for the last three years, but I just hadn’t been around to hear it, which made me sad, and then mad, for wasting so much time away from him. I looked down at the floor, feeling both ashamed and embarrassed. I looked back up to see my father shaking Andy’s hand.

  “Merry Christmas, Pastor Wyrick,” Andy said, with a smile that had lost its authenticity. My father returned the sentiment with an equally fake smile. I wondered if either of them was aware of the pretense of the other. I rested my head against the wall and let out a breath.

  When I looked at Andy again, our eyes met.

  “Hey, man,” Andy said, nonchalantly, with a genuine smile returning to his beautiful face.

  I nodded and uttered, “Hey.” I could feel the scrutiny of my father’s eyes.

  As he walked towards me, I sucked in a deep breath, and every muscle in my body immediately tensed up. He held out his hand. I tried not to roll my eyes as I shook his hand.

  “Merry Christmas, man,” he said, in a deeper voice than usual. I nodded again as he patted my shoulder with his other hand.

  Luckily, my mother interrupted the awkward moment. “Chance, why don’t you and Andy grab something to drink from the kitchen?” she instructed, as she poured herself and Julie a glass of wine at the dining room table. “There’s beer in the fridge,” she added.

  My father frowned. “Since when do we keep beer in the fridge?” he asked.

  My mother laughed. “Drinking a beer isn’t a sin, Charlie.”

  He sighed. “I never said it was, Liz.”

  “Maybe you should have one, it might do you good,” she said, giving my father a look I couldn’t decipher.

  “Maybe I will,” he said, with a fake smile. “Chance?” He turned to me expectantly.

  Am I in the twilight zone? “Really?” I asked, with a raised eyebrow.

  “Why not?” he chuckled. “It’s Christmas, right?”

  “Uh, sure,” I responded as I walked to the kitchen in a daze, feeling Andy trail behind me. My hand shook as I pulled three beers out of the fridge and put them on the counter. I scrambled through a drawer for a bottle opener and Andy clutched my forearm, causing me to flinch.

  “Chance,” he whispered softly.

  I looked up at him. “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  I shrugged and pulled my arm away, hating myself. “Yeah.”

  “You look like you’re about to puke.”

  I let out a breath. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It’s not just you. My father’s drinking a beer. My mom just said ‘fuck’—it’s a weird night.”

  Andy chuckled. “Your mom said ‘fuck’?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Chance, look at me.”

  I forced myself to look up at him. “They don’t know. Everything’s fine. I’ve had dinner with you guys hundreds of times. It’s the same. Nothing’s changed,” he promised.

  I rolled my eyes. “Things have changed. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with you. Everything’s fine, Chance. Just breathe. We’re okay.”

  “We are?” I asked, looking at him, hoping he would forgive me for being such a coward.

  He nodded as a heart-melting smile spread across his face. “We’re a lot better than okay.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, we are,” I said, returning his smile. I reached out and grabbed his hand and squeezed. “We’re better than okay,” I whispered.

  That stolen moment in the kitchen with Andy got me through dinner, but it still wasn’t easy. I couldn’t look across the table at him. At some point, I wondered if my father would think I was intentionally avoiding looking at him. The entire night was exhausting. Mom and Julie were carrying most of the conversation. Mostly gossip—until Julie brought up the game against UNC. I looked up at Andy, his eyes sparkling with happiness.

  “That two-point conversion was amazing. The best game I’ve ever watched,” he said.

  My father cleared his throat. “You were there?” he asked Andy, as our mothers got up to serve desert.

  Andy shook his head. “No, I watched it on TV with some friends. It was a great game though.”

  “Agreed. The Lord was with Chance that night,” my father said, smiling.

  I shook my head in frustration. I knew my father thought I should give God the glory for that win. But the truth was, I’d never believed God cared about football. And if he did, he sure wouldn’t take sides. If anyone deserved the glory for that game, it was Andy. And, maybe, Travis. But I was sure that God didn’t care.

  I shrugged. “It was just luck.”

  My father narrowed his eyes at me, choosing to ignore my insignificant rebellion. “So, how are your studies, Andy?” he aske
d, looking away from me.

  Julie had just set a piece of cake down in front of me. “It’s Andy’s chocolate pound cake,” she said. No other explanation was needed.

  I looked down at the hot fudge melting over the top. “My favorite,” I said, smiling at Andy. I was disappointed when he nodded and turned his attention towards my father.

  “Fine, sir.”

  Andy’s mother laughed. “Andy won’t brag on himself. So, I guess, his mama will. He has all A’s,” Julie said, laughing.

  Andy rolled his eyes. “I haven’t gotten my organic chemistry grade. Don’t brag yet.”

  “He’s taking the MCAT in the spring,” she said, ignoring him.

  “What’s that?” my mom asked.

  “It’s the entrance exam for medical school,” Andy said.

  “Where are you applying?” my father asked.

  Andy shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Andy’s mother looked over at him, clearly surprised by his response. “We decided Duke, UNC, UT, Vanderbilt, and Emory.”

  Andy shrugged again. “You decided. I’m still deciding.”

  “Deciding what?” Julie asked, with a dumbfounded look on her face.

  “If I want to apply,” Andy said, putting his hand on her arm.

  I watched as tears pooled in her eyes. I watched Andy’s eyes fill with guilt as he made the confession to his mother. I wanted to run around the table and hug him.

  My mother interrupted. “You know, I think it’s crazy that these kids are supposed to make such important decisions at such a young age. It’s not right. I mean, think about it. Chance is in Architecture and it’s a five-year program; if he decides to play pro-ball, he won’t be able to finish his degree. It’s a huge decision,” she said, looking at me with a smile.

  Don’t get me wrong. I was grateful that she was defending Andy, I just wasn’t sure she needed to throw me under the bus to do it. My father looked at me with disappointment in his eyes.

  “They’re both responsible young men. I’m sure they will both make the right decisions about their futures. There’s power in prayer. You both should pray for God to lead you down the right path,” he said, staring into my eyes.

  I shook my head. I felt like he was talking in riddles. Nothing he said to me anymore meant anything other than, Don’t be a fag.

  Too late, Dad, I thought.

  I looked at Andy. His head was down. His mother was staring at him in disappointment. I couldn’t take another second of it. I stood up.

  “I’m heading out to meet some friends,” I said, pushing my chair under the table.

  “Tonight? What friends?” my mother asked, looking at me with plenty of disappointment in her eyes.

  “A group from high school. You should come, Andy,” I said, putting my hands in my pockets.

  Andy looked up at me like I’d lost my mind. “Huh?”

  I nodded as forcefully as I could, hoping my father wouldn’t notice. “We won’t be too late.”

  Andy looked up at me. He tried, but he couldn’t disguise the shock on his face. “Uh, yeah. Okay. I guess.”

  He hugged his mother and she squeezed him extra tight. “You guys be careful,” she said, looking straight at me. I got the message—Don’t hurt my son.

  Chapter Three

  Andy

  I grumbled as I stepped up into his truck. “What the fuck, Chance?” I shook my head and looked at him sitting behind the wheel of his pickup. He smiled at me and it pissed me off a little. “Seriously, are you fucking crazy?” I asked.

  Chance shrugged. “Maybe.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair. “Look, you’re the one who wanted us to be a secret. If that’s gonna happen, you can’t invite me to visit with your high school friends. It’s weird.” I wasn’t going to lie. I loved the idea of Chance coming out. I loved the idea of never having to sneak around again. But that wasn’t what was happening.

  He cleared his throat. “I just thought you needed to get out of there.”

  I whipped my head towards him. “I needed to get out?” A sarcastic laugh rumbled from my lips. “You’re the one who looked like you were about to throw up at any minute.”

  Chance brushed the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “I was.” He shrugged. “But I was dealing. I just thought …” he said, looking out the window.

  “You thought what?” I asked, staring at him.

  “I thought you needed out. I figured that was the first time you mentioned to your mom that you may not want to go to medical school. She looked surprised. You looked like you felt like shit. I just thought you may need to escape for a little while.”

  I laid my head back on the seat and closed my eyes. That was not what I expected him to say. I hadn’t expected him to know exactly what I needed and give it to me. It scared the shit out of me.

  I managed to lift my head and smile at him. “I’m sorry. Thank you. So, what now? Were you really going to meet people?”

  He grinned at me. “Hell no.”

  “So, what then?”

  He shrugged as he pulled out of the driveway. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “Okay.” I sighed.

  As we approached the stop sign to leave the neighborhood, Chance slowed down and reached over to lay his hand on my knee.

  I looked over at him. He turned to me.

  “You look good tonight,” he said.

  I smiled at him. “We could go back to my place. Our mom’s will be in your living room drinking wine for the next several hours.”

  “Nah. Let’s go out,” he said.

  “Where? Everything’s closed.”

  “The bowling alley, the movie theater, or Clyde’s … we have options.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You know that everyone will talk.”

  Chance shrugged again. “I don’t give a shit. What’s your preference?”

  “None.”

  “Clyde’s, I guess. At least we can drink there,” Chance said.

  Clyde’s was the only bar in town. I’d never been. I guessed Chance hadn’t either. I was nervous walking through the door until I saw Donovan at the bar. Donovan was a couple of years ahead of me in high school. In school, I wondered if he was gay. I wasn’t sure if it was his lingering glances towards me or his sense of fashion, but my baby gaydar pinged anytime I was around him. It wasn’t until I graduated from high school, and he followed me on Instagram, that I knew for sure. He’d posted a picture at least once a week with some hot guy. I always wondered where he found all those guys living in Wytheville, until I found out that Casey, his on and off boyfriend, was from Asheville.

  My legs shook a little as I walked towards the bar. It was pretty much empty, save a few older guys crowding the foosball table. Donovan’s face lit up when he saw me.

  “Well, look what the cat drug in … Andy Michaelson,” he called out as I approached the bar. I waved at him awkwardly. “Look at you,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me across the bar into a hug. He whispered in my ear and I blushed, immediately letting go of his hand. I glanced back at Chance, who was standing behind me with his fists clenched in his pockets.

  Chance gave me half of a fake smile and asked, “You wanna get a table and I’ll grab us a couple of beers?”

  “Sounds good,” I replied, shoving my own hands in my pockets. “Good to see you,” I said, nodding to Donovan as I searched for a booth in the back of the bar and scooted into the side facing the door. I couldn’t help but think that Donovan was a bit of a cliché … blonde highlights in his dark hair, a black tank top in the middle of winter, a spray tan, his muscular arms, a beaded choker … I rubbed the back of my neck. Who was I kidding? He was hot. But he wasn’t Chance. He wasn’t anything like Chance. Sure, Donovan was out. But he’d never be Chance. He’d never be what I wanted.

  Chance slipped into the booth across from me, sliding a glass of beer in my direction. “Who the fuck was that guy?” he asked.

  “Donovan McNalley. He
was a couple of years ahead of us—you don’t remember him?”

  Chance shrugged. “I guess. A little. His reaction to you was just a little over the top. I didn’t know you were friends.”

  I straightened up against the booth. “I didn’t really know him that well in high school. We’re more social media friends than anything else.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Chance asked with a clenched jaw before he took a gulp of beer. “He acted like he was about to blow you right there on the bar.”

  I sat up straighter. “Are you being serious right now?”

  Chance took another sip of beer and shrugged. “I saw what I saw. What did he whisper to you?”

  I took a drink of my beer. “Chance, are you pissed?”

  He shook his head. “I just wanna know what he said to you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Really? Okay. He said I look hot tonight.”

  Chance let out some sort of grunt and took another sip of his beer. “Figures.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said as he looked down at his beer.

  I was pissed. “Okay. Well, I’m just trying to figure out if you’re pissed because Donovan hit on me instead of you, or if you’re just pissed because an obviously gay guy hit on me and you’re with me. What is it? Are you afraid that everyone in the bar—all six of us—are gonna figure out that you’re out with a gay guy? What pisses you off exactly? Help me out, Chance.”

  “Fuck you, Andy.”

  “Fuck you back,” I said, feeling my eyes fill with tears. That pissed me off. Really pissed me off. I’d promised myself I’d never cry over him again.

  “Jesus, Andy,” Chance said in a whisper. “I just don’t like that guy hitting on you.”

  My eyes flew open and I saw the hurt in Chance’s eyes. I couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “Are you jealous right now?” I whispered back.

  He let out a sarcastic laugh. “What do you think?”