"Yeah," I say. I turn the heat up when the car fully warms up and prop my phone in the holder before backing out of the spot. My brain is so ready to stop thinking for a couple of hours. I have a microwavable dinner waiting for me, maybe acouple episodes of a show, hopefully another video chat with my Daddy. "What time are we meeting?"
"Bea, Chandler, and their little one have to go to Chandler's parents at four so we were thinking noon?"
Bea, my older sister, has a four-year-old daughter. She is adorable and I wish that we were a closer family sometimes so I could watch her grow up more consistently. We weren't really close before Paul's death, but after, I know I distanced myself more. They didn't understand why I couldn't move on. Until now.
I overheard my mom once say in another room that my grief wasn't normal. It'd been eight months after Paul's accident, a time when I was struggling the most with finding a new job, a place to live, and not having anywhere or anyone to regress with. Paul's family was understanding in the beginning, but since I wasn't on the deed to the house and we weren't married yet, they were the ones that decided to sell the home Paul and I lived in.
Charlotte, my only niece, doesn't know all of that. She doesn't judge me for not being around much when she was first born, doesn't care that sometimes I just sit quietly. The handful of times I've seen her over the last three years, I've become too overwhelmed with playing blocks or with stuffies that I had to stop. I know it isn't fair on her, but it was hard for me to play without wanting to slip in that space or just think of Paul.
"I'll have to double check with Remington, but that should be fine."
"Who's Remington?" My mom's voice perks up and I realize what I said. I close my eyes briefly, since I'm already driving and open them back up to watch the road. I explained whoRemington was to her last time we spoke. Only a week ago. "Austin?"
"We're… dating. He's my boyfriend." It's the first time I've used the word and my stomach swoops happily at it. "I might see if he can come with me. If you're okay with it."
"Of course," she says quickly. "Oh, I'm happy for you Austin. It's been a while. I was just talking to your sister the other day—"
"I'm sorry, Mom. I have to go. I'm driving home." I don't want to get into this conversation once again. Each holiday for the past two years brought up the same questions and conversations.
Are you bringing someone with you?
Seeing anyone?
Still working at the coffee shop?
My answers have been the same and I see the light dim in their eyes when I say I'm not looking for anyone. The plus with my family is none of them care that I'm gay, but it doesn't stop them from asking and overstepping. And not in a cute, just want the best for you way.
By the time I'm pulling into the driveway, my mind is swirling with more things I have to deal with over the next week and a half. Work, family, asking Remi if he wants to meet them, going to Remi's family to meet them. I barely remember meeting his sister before— it was a brief interaction with her at a cookout— but I'm excited to see them. The way Remi speaks about his family is warm and makes me happy for him.
He invited me to his nephew's birthday party, but they had it planned for half an hour before I got off work so I missed it.
I get inside and hang my coat up before dutifully calling Remi. He answers on the first ring.
"Hey, baby. How was work?"
"Not good," I sigh. I recount the day while I grab my frozen meal and set it in the microwave. By the time I'm done telling him everything, down to the short conversation with my mom, I'm leaning with my back against the counter and watching the timer on the microwave.
"I'm sorry, Aussie." His voice is soothing and I let out a deep sigh, letting my eyes close and my head drop back. When the timer beeps I open my eyes back up and listen to Remi continue to talk. "Are you going to your parents on Thanksgiving?"
"Probably," I say. I grab a fork and mix up the food. It's a basic chicken and rice meal, with some veggies thrown in. The container it comes in is sectioned off, so my food isn't touching. "I know we talked about it a bit on Sunday, but I was going to see if you wanted to go with me. My mom said that they planned to eat around noon."
"Only if you'll go to breakfast with me and my family," Remi responds. "We like to do something around eight and then we hang out for a bit."
"Two big meals in one day?" I look from what I'm eating now and thinking about all the yummy breakfast that Remi has made for me recently. Having his whole family making breakfast foods? "I'm in."
"Great," Remi says and he sounds genuinely excited about it. "I'll let them know you're coming. They're excited to meet you."
That surprises me. "You've told them about me?"
"Aussie, I've told everyone about you." Remi says it like it should be common knowledge but it brings a lump to my throat. "Is that okay?"
"Yeah, of course it is." I forget about the food for a second and walk toward my bedroom to change into my pajamas. Without thinking, though, I end up in the playroom. The room calms me now, instead of making me think of Paul and how much I've missed over the last three years. "I called you my boyfriend today. To my Mom. I know it's such a simple thing, but it just came out naturally."
I open the closet and look through the options. I have so many outfits here, more than I thought. I have a suspicion that Remi has added a few things in. I don't feel like slipping into my Little space alone, but it doesn't mean I can't put something comfy on and maybe read a book in the oversized chair Remi bought. When he told me he bought a chair, I expected a rocking chair or something. Not this big, fluffy thing that we can both fit on and snuggle easily. I'm not complaining, but I know that it wasn't cheap.
"You can call me whatever you want, Aussie." Remi's voice is getting deeper, letting me know that he's close to sleep. I want to ask him to read me a book again, but I decide I can wait one more day. "I'll see you tomorrow when you get home, okay? Sweet dreams, baby."
"Goodnight, Daddy."
