She got Mac to laugh. Well, laugh with a tear falling down his face, but her humor was like a signal that this was going to be okay.
“You look great, Aunt Rita.”
“Oh, shut up.”
He went over and kissed her on the cheek. He pulled out the keychain. “Just in case you didn’t have yours.”
She held it in her frail fingers. “Mine’s at home. I keep it in my underwear drawer. I like to think that’ll help me with my dating life.”
Helen let out a loud chortle, and Mac smiled in much-needed relief.
“Rita, what about the postman? I keep telling you he’s got a crush.”
Aunt Rita leaned close to Mac’s ear. “He has B.O.”
She kissed his keychain and handed it back. “You hold onto yours. Pull up some good luck for me.”
“I will.” He kissed it and put it back in his pocket.
“You didn’t have to miss school for this. I’ll be fine.”
“That’s what my roommate Gideon said. He said you’re a trooper, and this is nothing.”
“He sounds great. I already like him better than Davis.”
“Oh, no. He’s not my boyfriend.” Mac blushed at the mix up, though for that second, it was a nice thought.
“Rita?”
Mac froze when he heard that voice. Helen’s mouth dropped at who was behind him. His insides ran for cover. He wanted to do the same, but he balled his fists and summoned his courage. For Aunt Rita, for himself.
His parents didn’t look much different from when he last saw them. Perhaps if he took a closer look, he would see more wrinkles from age and from the hard work of the hardware store. But the rush of feelings and anger and hurt flooded his system, as if time hadn’t moved an inch.
“Hello, Cormac,” his mother said. She came over and gave him a hug, which Mac accepted and not much else.
His father nodded hello at him. They went to Aunt Rita’s side, the opposite side as their son. Aunt Rita hated talking about her condition. Mac wanted her to go into surgery in a good mood. He wanted to give her some news that he knew would make her smile.
“There’s actually this guy,” Mac told her. He glanced up at his parents, who did a silent recoil. “The new roommate. We’re friends, but I think…Well, I hope it can go somewhere. You’d like him. He’s a loud, opinionated New Yorker.”
He felt emboldened by the defiance of talking about BOYS in front of his parents. Aunt Rita supported him, and she was the star of the show today.
“So he can sneak me a good bagel.”
“And something called matzo ball soup.” Mac smiled. The spirit of Gideon was here. “He’s smart and has those black hipstery glasses.”
His parents looked away, probably wishing they could unhear this conversation.
“I’ll be wishing you luck while under anesthesia,” Aunt Rita said.
They rolled her into surgery a few minutes later. The four of them watched her go in from the hall. As soon as she was gone, and Helen went to grab a snack at the vending machine, the happy family façade crumbled. Mac’s defenses went back up to maximum strength.
“You’ve gotten so tall, Mac,” his mom said.
“Well, that’s puberty for you. You weren’t around for most of it.”
“I’ve seen pictures.”
“Pictures,” Mac said, as if that could make up for the distance, the distance they wanted. In pictures, they could tell themselves their son wasn’t gay.
