Mac ripped it out of his hands. “You don’t know what it’s like, Rafe. You grew up in cushy Arlington where everyone was so happy you were gay. You didn’t have fists slammed into your face. You weren’t practically disowned by your own parents. You don’t have to put on your game face whenever you see your mom and dad, just wondering what they’re going to say that will make you feel like complete shit!”
Mac kicked his nightstand crate over. Memories splayed across the floor. He hoped the Disney World picture shattered. “I’m not perfect, Rafe, but I’m doing the best I can.”
Rafe looked toward the door. He was the scared freshman, far too young and sheltered for the shitstorm that was Mac’s life.
Mac stared him down until he got the hint to leave. He left the chicken noodle soup behind. Mac sunk to the floor. Someone reached inside of him and yanked out all his dirty secrets.
He instinctively began to text Gideon, but he stopped himself. Rafe’s words reverberated in his ears. His apartment had been downgraded from mess to outright disaster. Mac put down the phone. He went to the narrow closet next to the front door and rummaged for the cleaning supplies Delia had forced him to buy. They were still in the shopping bag, in their original packaging. He pulled out the dustpan and brush set. He got on his knees and chased every single dust bunny in his apartment into submission. He shoved his overflowing garbage into a trash bag and tied it up. He lined his trash can with a fresh garbage bag and filled it up with dustpan after dustpan of trash. Next he filled up his sink with hot water and soap and soaked his dishes, then set them out on the drying rack, which Delia also forced him to buy. He made hard choices with his boxes of memories on what to throw out and what to keep. He got on his hands and knees and scrubbed his hardwood floors with a washcloth soaked in warm water.
Three hours had passed. He had laundry in the washer and the soup heating on the stove. He sat at the dining table, making a list of what he needed to buy for the apartment. Mac had this feeling swell within his chest, which he couldn’t describe, but it was like a compass telling him he was going in the right direction. Maybe Gideon was onto something about being a neat freak.
He texted Gideon to come over later for dinner and a movie. He was cooking. Well, he would go to the supermarket and pick up one of those pre-made meals that just had to be heated up. But still, he was in charge of dinner.
CHAPTER twenty-six
Gideon
Gideon took the stairs to Mac’s apartment three at a time, basically jumping up each flight, ready for whatever dinner Mac had concocted, and ready to see his man. He enveloped Mac in a deep kiss, complete with tongue.
They sat on Mac’s bed. Gideon couldn’t help but notice how clean the place was. Had Mac done this all himself?
“The place looks great, by the way.”
Mac pulled lasagna out of the oven. The box peeked out from the trash, but Gideon would let him have all the glory.
“Smells great!”
They ate at his dining table. The whole time, Mac seemed distracted, like how he was on the bus. After all the drama that happened with Gideon and him hooking up and then his parents, Gideon had to remind myself that Mac lost his closest family member. He was still fragile.
Gideon rubbed his hand over the table. “I really admire you, Mac. You’ve handled all of this so well.”
Mac gave him a half-smile, mostly for show.
“What’s wrong?”
“I hate how I left things with my parents.” Mac hung his head, and Gideon could feel waves of stress coming off him.
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But don’t forget what they did. They believed you were hitting on that kid. They pretty much sold you out.”
“Maybe they were just as scared as me,” Mac wondered aloud.
Gideon hated how Mac’s parents had this control over him. Despite everything, Mac was still trying to be the good son.
“If they want to make things right, they should make that first move.”
After dinner, Mac and Gideon sat on his floor and went through more of Aunt Rita’s photo albums. Mac showed Gideon all of his embarrassing school pictures. Gideon didn’t tell him that he found every picture of Mac freaking adorable, bad haircuts and all. Even as a third grader, that ear-to-ear grin held so much kindness.
“Holy shit.” Mac reached into a folder in the back cover of one photo album. He pulled out a handful of old letters.
“Oh? Did Aunt Rita have a secret lover?” Gideon scooted closer. Mac’s smile faded, and he showed Gideon the envelope.
“These are from my dad.” Mac’s eyes widened. He studied the letter in his hand, but couldn’t bring himself to open it.
Gideon was just as curious as him. “How old is that letter?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to read it?”
