"Good morning, Wesley," my mother called, her attention trained on Annabelle. Maybe they hadn't noticed. "What has you up and out at this hour?"
"No but seriously, what happened with Vermont? That was real, right? Vermont was real? That happened?" I sputtered.
"Last I checked, Vermont continues to exist, yes," my father replied as he cut something on Abby's plate into small pieces. It looked like a waffle. Maybe a pancake.
"And you were supposed tobe there," I continued. "In Vermont. The state that does exist."
"Ice dams," my mother said with the kind ofoh darn them ice dams!tone that made me think I was supposed to understand anything about this conversation. "All over the place too. It was a mess."
I was quaking. My entire body, quaking. Shaking from the inside out. I couldn't do this right now. I couldn't talk about sex or identity or anything like that with my nieces in the middle of everything and my father sawing away at a pancake and my mother playing peek-a-boo with Annabelle's little feet. I couldn't.I couldn't.Not now, not today.
"We decided it was better to turn around and come back but we picked up some syrup and maple candy on the way," my mother continued. "I want you to take some maple candy, Tom. It's such a fun little treat."
Oh my fucking god.I was so busy with all the soul-deep quaking and the collapse of my grip on this reality, I'd forgotten about Tom. I glanced over but instead of standing beside me, Tom was lurking near the door, extremely interested in his phone.
"Thank you, Mrs. Halsted. It's very kind of you to think of me," he replied. "I'd love some maple candy."
"It's right over there on the counter, next to those jugs of syrup," she said, laughing a bit to herself. "Is there a better name for them? I've spent my entire adult life around sailors and I can't seem to say jugs without giggling."
"I'm going out," I announced, louder and more forceful than this conversation required. "I'll be gone for the day."
My father, still working on that pancake, raised a hand with a tiny pink knife snared between his fingers, saying, "Enjoy yourself."
Tom collected his candy and marched straight out to his car, never once acknowledging my presence as I trailed behind him. I required several minutes to come down from the human earthquake situation and when I did, I found I wasn't drowning in those happy hormones anymore. I wasn't light or loose. It wasn't until I sucked in a deep breath that I felt the tight cording of my shoulders, the pressure on my chest, the burn in my throat.
And the ice dam beside me.
But fuck, I'd earned that ice.
"So," Tom started, glimpsing in my direction as he stopped at a traffic light, "which part of this are you hiding from your family?"
All the buoyancy I'd experienced before walking into that kitchen was gone and I was not buoyant, not floating, not even treading water. I was at the bottom of the ocean, gazing up at the world above and wondering why everything was so fucking difficult.
"I'm sorry," I said, trying to shape remorse from the tense air between us and failing because it was only air and I was only a man and this was heavier than either of those states.
Tom pursed his lips, dipped his chin. "Okay."
We were both aware that wasn't an acceptance of my apology. "I'm not out with my parents."
He stared ahead, offering no outward reaction, which succeeded in killing me a bit. "Okay."
"Or the military," I rushed to add, as if that made it better. It wasn't simply my parents but the entire military-industrial complex too and this was clearly an improvement on the situation. "I mean, it was illegal—Iwas illegal—when I joined. It hasn't been that long since that order was repealed."
"And yet you still did it," Tom murmured, frowning at the traffic ahead.
I held out my hands and let them fall into my lap. "Of course I did. I understand the point you're making but I always knew I'd join the Navy and I believed better days were to come. And I believed it wouldn't be that difficult to keep my personal life separate as a matter of smart teamwork. I don't know how your office works but in my line of work, there's no space for anyone's love life in a war zone."
"Okay."
I shoved my fingers through my hair. "But it's not okay. That's obvious, Tom."
"I'm just trying to understand," he replied. "That's all. I'm trying to understand the motivation behind this choice."
"It's just—it's complicated," I said, sighing through another round of hair pulling. "There's the military, and my father, who is the military, basically, and it's complicated."
"Families are really fuckin' complicated," Tom said softly. "I get that part. Believe me, I do."
Assuming that was an invitation, I asked, "What's your family situation like?"
