WHEN HE TOLD me he was gay, my world felt as if it were spinning off its axis. What were the chances that the friend I’d fallen head over fucking heels for was gay, too? And the fact that he’d chosen to tell me his biggest secret was only further proof of his friendship.
Something I was determined not to fuck up.
So telling him I wanted him more than I wanted to take my next breath was most definitely off the menu.
But, no matter how much I tried to talk myself out of confessing my feelings to Jude, I kept coming back to the possibility of what he would say if he knew I wanted him, if he knew I was gay, too.
Would he want me back?
How would it even fucking work?
We lived in the thickest part of the Bible belt. Coming out wasn’t exactly the most attractive option out there. And then to add that you’re with the guy who’s been your best friend for the last year.
That last thought had me laughing out loud. So loud in fact that when my mom walked past my room with a laundry basket resting on her hip, she actually walked back to my door and asked me what I’d said.
“Nothing, Mom. Just thinking about something that happened today.”
I thought that would be enough to satisfy her curiosity so I could return to thinking about Jude. But dangling part of your day out there was more bait than deterrent, especially where my mom was concerned.
Probably where any mom was concerned.
Leaning against my dresser, she smiled wide. “Oh yeah? What was that?” she asked as she pulled my clothes out of the basket. Choosing to leave out the part where he told me he was gay, I went with something simpler. But after I told her of how Jude passed out, she wasn’t buying it. “How is that funny? Is he okay? Have you checked on him?” She moved from the dresser, sat next to me on my bed, and slid the laundry basket up by my pillow.
Resisting rolling my eyes meant saving myself from the inevitable smack upside the head. “Yeah, he’s okay, but I haven’t checked on him,” I answered, not attempting to hide much of the sarcasm in my voice. It was enough to get an eye roll back from her which in turn made me laugh. Where everything with my father was complicated and formal, my relationship with my mom was far easier; at least it had become easier in the last few weeks. Something changed in her and, in turn, so had things within our family. I knew whatever was changing in her life had a direct impact on how my father changed his mind where my enlisting was concerned.
She’d opened up to me more in recent weeks. We laughed together. We got each other. We let down the guards we so often put up in place when he was around. For years, we were all we had, and I knew our relationship was an important part of her being able to convince my father to allow me not to enlist in the army.
“I haven’t, but I will,” I assured her, circling back to Jude and his passing out.
She slapped a hand to my leg. “Good.” But what she wasn’t saying was that if I didn’t check on him, no one else would. Smiling, she stood and reached for the basket.
“Mom?” I called back her attention, and she returned to her seat. “What made him change his mind?” It was something I hadn’t had the courage to ask earlier when he told me of his decision. But with Mom, I could ask without fear of her changing her mind, or berating me for simply wanting to know more. I had a feeling it was all her doing, but for some reason, I needed to hear it.
“Oh, honey.” She sighed, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Her hair had gotten so gray, and as she sat there next to me, searching for the right answer, I noticed the wrinkles around her eyes, crinkling deep in the corners. “Your father isn’t nearly as mean as you think he is.”
It was impossible to contain the laughter falling from my lips. “So now you’re sharing something funny from your day, huh?”
She laughed with me but soon turned serious again. “He’s a good man. A little hard around the edges from time to time.” I had the good sense to stifle my laughter at that one. “But he loves you.”
“Sure,” I quipped. That was something I’d never heard from him, and it wasn’t as if I was hanging off the edge of my seat waiting for the words, but feeling as if he was more of a father than drill sergeant would be a welcomed change.
She shot me an icy glare, but her words were warm. “He does. And so do I.” Ruffling my hair just like she used to do when I was a kid made me believe her words, well, her part of them anyway. It would take a lot more to believe the half about my father. “I explained it to him the same way you explained it to me. You’re a young man now. You have a good brain in there,” she added, softly thumping the side of my head. Feigning injury, I rubbed over the offended spot softly, and she laughed. “I told him that we’d raised you right and it was time for you to make your own decisions. He couldn’t argue with that,” she said.
Still overwhelmed by his sudden change of heart, I couldn’t muster up more than a choked, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, honey.” She stood again, taking the basket with her. When she reached the doorway, she turned back around. Leaning against the frame, she said, “You know, at the root of it all, he’s afraid you don’t want to follow in his footsteps. He’s afraid you want to be nothing like him.” Quietly, she confessed part of his deepest concerns, and it endeared him to me. Something about her words made him seem human to me. “Just try talking to him. He might surprise you.”
With a kind smile, she was off, no doubt to finish up the rest of the laundry. But before two seconds had passed, she poked her head back into my room, adding, “After you go check on Jude.”
And just like that, all thoughts about my father and what might become of our relationship went out the window. Something about the brief conversation steeled my resolve when it came to Jude. I needed to start making my own decisions.
And one of them was that I had to tell Jude how I felt.
Reenergized, I cleared my head of all thoughts of him rejecting me. After quickly changing out of my running clothes, I ran to Jude’s house, determined to tell him how I felt.
It was only six o’clock. The early summer sun was still lighting up the horizon, but every shade and curtain in Jude’s small house were drawn shut, surely a side effect of his father’s drinking. As I walked up to the front door, it was quiet. No sound from the television or from conversation. If it wasn’t for the cars in the driveway, I would have thought no one was home.
When Jude answered the door, the stench of vomit came with him. “Are you okay?” I asked as I walked in without waiting for an invitation. “Did you get sick? Do you have a concussion or some shit like that?” I was nervous, but mostly I was mad at myself for leaving him when I hadn’t thought something could be wrong.
