I want to pull him to me, intertwine our legs, and lie here watching mindless TV. I want to hold his hand.
My hand twitches, wanting to reach for him, and it must not be subtle.
Seth’s mocking stare burns into us, as if we’re doing a terrible job of hiding our relationship even though we’re not even touching.
I scratch my nose with my middle finger, pointed in his direction.
He only laughs at me.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mom sing-songs from the kitchen.
Seth and I fight for the seat at the head of the table opposite Dad, like we do all the time, and I come out victorious.
Zach slides into the seat next to me, and Seth takes his other side.
I give Zach a quick wink, and his cheeks turn the pink I love. If my parents don’t pick up on something between us, I’ll actually be mildly offended I was born to such oblivious people.
After we pile our plates high with food, as per crappy tradition in every TV show and movie there is with a Thanksgiving scene, Mom insists on going around the table and making us say what we’re thankful for.
Hers is always the generic, “Having both my boys home for the holidays.” Dad’s is always, “What your mom said.”
Seth is apparently thankful for four days of no classes this year, and Zach’s is polite gratitude for having somewhere to spend the holiday since he can’t afford to fly home.
Every year, I say hockey. Because, duh.
But this year I’m thankful for more than just that. I still want the NHL—more than anything—yet, there’s an answer on the tip of my tongue that’s different. It’s raw. It’s scary. It’s exciting. It’s … everything.
“I’m thankful for …” Hockey. You’re thankful for hockey. “I’m thankful Zach transferred schools this year.”
Seth snorts.
I hold my breath.
“Aww, have you boys become close?” Mom asks.
Zach looks at me wide-eyed, probably more terrified than I am.
That doesn’t stop me from reaching for his hand. “Really close. Uh, Zach and I are actually together.”
I didn’t know it was possible for my mother to be stunned speechless, but here we are.
Both Mom and Dad are staring at us, gazes flicking between Zach and me.
My boyfriend is the shade of a cooked lobster, and my brother starts shoveling food into his mouth with a smile.
Dad turns to Seth. “How do you feel about this development?”
“Huh?” he asks around a mouthful of food. He swallows before continuing. “Well, I was worried at first, but they both really like each other, so I’m happy for them.”
Dad’s brow furrows. “I … it …” He leans back in his seat. “You really don’t care, Seth? Honestly, your mother and I have been waiting for the day you come to tell us you’re more than friends with Zach.”
Seth chokes on his food. “What?”
“Well,” Mom says, “you’re you. And he’s … him. And—”
I start laughing because the whole thing is hilarious to me right now.
“I’m straight,” Seth says.
I’m still laughing.
“Are you okay?” Zach asks.
“Yep. I come out and my parents ask if my brother is okay. Is. This. Really. Happening?”
Mom turns her attention on me. “Sorry. We … didn’t expect this from you is all.” Her eyes widen. “Not that it’s not allowed or we don’t approve. We do! Completely. We even googled PFLAG once.”
“Wait,” Seth says. “You thought I was gay? Me? I’ve brought girls home.”
“So has your brother,” Dad points out.
“I’m not gay. I’m bi. Not that now is probably the time for that conversation, but I wanted to put it out there.”
Dad looks confused again. “So you’re … bi.” He turns to Seth. “And you’re straight.”
“Not everyone fits a stereotype,” Zach says quietly. “Not including myself in that, obviously.”
I laugh.
“Sorry,” Zach mutters. “It’s not my place.”
My mom smiles at him. “It is your place. Especially if you’re making one of my sons happy.”
“Doesn’t matter which son?” I ask.
“Not at all. We’ve been waiting for this day. We just thought … Yeah … Anyway. We can still use the same speech.” She turns to me. “We love you no matter what, and as long as you’re happy, we’re happy. But if anyone gives you shit, we give you permission to … oh wait, we rehearsed it to say that Seth could recruit you to beat someone up, so … I guess you’re on your own.”
“Thanks, Mom. Really.”
Dad sits there twirling his glass of wine between his fingers.
“Dad?” My heart stutters.
“I don’t want to be the one to bring down the mood. We’re happy for you, but … what about hockey?”
“My teammates know.”
He looks surprised.
“In fact, the whole school basically knows. I’ve been putting off telling you guys because … Shit, I don’t really know why. Maybe because I don’t care what anyone out there thinks, but I want you to be proud of me, and—”
“We are,” Dad says. “So proud.”