“Okay, my first guess is television.”
“Look at that, you were right.”
He grinned at me, making my heart thump a little out of whack in my chest. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to him smiling at me like that. At least, I hoped I wouldn’t. “First guess,” he said. “Right on. Go me.”
I couldn’t even bother to correct him, because I was too busy kissing him instead. It was starting to get a little more heated than it should have, standing in the entryway to my parents’ house, but I couldn’t find a reason to give a shit right then.
“Well,” Nana said from somewhere behind me. “If only Matty and Larry had let me wire the house with multiple video cameras like I wanted to for a pay-per-view show starring me. I’d be raking in the dough right now because of you two. Gay guys doing gay-guy stuff always sells. Look at that Doogie Howser. He’s got a husband and some kids and makes a lot of money. You can’t tell me those two things aren’t related.”
I sighed against Vince’s mouth even as he smiled wider.
I pulled away, reminding myself to pick this up later. “Hi, Nana,” I said. “And I don’t know if gay guys doing gay-guy stuff means the money you think it will. That’s not quite how it works.”
“Please,” Nana said with a snort. “If people will watch women reenacting the time they sat on a toilet and crapped out a baby they didn’t know they were having, they’ll certainly watch you two doing gay-guy stuff.”
“What’s gay-guy stuff?” Vince asked before I could stop him.
“Oh,” Nana said. “You know. Living happily. Having nice taste. Keeping a clean home. Being successful and kind. Hosting classy dinner parties with watercress sandwiches and dry martinis. Living and laughing and loving each other.”
“Aw, Nana,” I said, surprised.
“Also butt stuff,” Nana said. “Lots and lots of butt stuff.”
“And there it is,” I said.
“I don’t know if you can show butt stuff on TV,” Vince said seriously. “Studies show that people are still seriously homophobic in America’s heartland. Religion plays a major role, and while we’ve made great strides, people still fall back on their misguided faith rather than practicality.”
“Whaaat,” Nana said slowly as she stared at him.
I sighed. “The radio in my car got stuck on NPR for the last few days.”
“I’m informed,” Vince said with a grin.
“You know things?” Nana demanded. “I know things too! Did you know that there are significant declines of shellfish in the Chesapeake Bay?”
“I’m a Bernie-bro,” Vince said. “I feel the bern and then tell everyone about it, even when it’s not appropriate to do so.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered, making my way toward the kitchen. As I passed by the living room, I saw Wheels sitting under Johnny Depp’s perch, growling at him, the parrot spitting, “Bad dog, baaaaaaad dog,” down at him. Since Wheels only had two legs, he couldn’t jump and tear Johnny Depp to pieces, much to my chagrin, so I wasn’t worried. Plus, it lightened my soul to hear Johnny Depp sound nervous.
Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, Mom singing along with the radio while she bent over to check something in the oven, and Dad, not one to miss an opportunity, smacking her ass. Which apparently was to her delight, if the way she giggled meant anything.
“My eyes,” I groaned. “It burns. It burns.”
“Oh stop it,” Mom said. “You know that your father and I still enjoy a healthy sex life. We’re all adults here.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek when I sat on a stool at the counter.
“Doesn’t mean I want to see it,” I said. “Or hear about it. Or acknowledge it at all.”
Dad dropped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “We know you and Vince have sexual relations. It’s just the same for us.”
I snorted. “Trust me, you do not have the same sex life that Vince and I do—oh my God, what am I saying? Stop it!”
“Son,” Dad said. “I may not understand what it means to be a pony, but your mother and I aren’t exactly vanilla.”
“Nope,” I said, shoving him off me. “Nope, nope, nope. We’re done. Conversation over. Vince, we’re leaving. Grab Wheels and run.”
“But we just got here,” Vince said as he walked into the kitchen, Nana trailing behind him. “And I’m hungry. Your mom made lasagna. You know how I feel about that.”
“At least someone appreciates the hours and hours I’ve spent slaving away in here,” Mom said, grabbing Vince’s arms and sashaying with him around the kitchen. He laughed as he moved with her, still able to surprise me with the grace of his movements. Mom leaned over and whispered something in his ear, and if it were possible, his smile got even bigger.