“I know what it is,” he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t see why we need to make a big deal about it every year.”
“We need to promote equity and acceptance. Families want to know they’re moving somewhere inclusive, and this is an easy way to do that.” Again, this wasn’t my first rodeo. Every year, he made me go through a laundry list of the ways refusing to recognize Pride month, when Harmony Grove had been one of the first small towns in the area to do so, would be detrimental to his political hopes of eventually moving beyond the city level.
He grumbled something under his breath, his eyes darting around my office as if looking for a way out.
“This is political correctness run amok,” he finally said, his voice filled with venom. “But I suppose there's no choice. We don't want to be on the wrong side of the news cycle, do we?”
“Exactly,” I agreed, trying to keep the relief out of my voice. Maybe he was starting to understand we all had our parts to play. I wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d ever genuinely accept the LGBTQ+ population in town, but at least this year’s battle was short-lived. “It’s about fairness and recognizing everyone's rights.”
“Fine. But I’m not doing some foolish ceremony out front of City Hall. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was for me to face my friends after last year’s spectacle.” He made a show of grabbing the pen from my desk, signing the proclamation with a flourish that seemed more fitting for a death sentence than a statement of inclusivity. As he stormed out of my office, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him. It must be exhausting to live with so much hatred and prejudice.
After lunch, I got back to work, but the afternoon dragged on. Mayor Thompson’s grumbling about the proclamation had left a bitter taste in my mouth. His bigotry was a stark reminder of the hurdles my community still faced, even in a place as accepting as Harmony Grove.
I tried to focus on the positive, reminding myself of the strides we'd made over the years. The rainbow flags that hung in shop windows, the local businesses owned and run by LGBTQ+ individuals, the same-sex couples walking hand in hand through town. But still, it was hard to shake off the harsh reality of the mayor's prejudice.
As the day wore on, I found myself in a meeting with the city's public works director, discussing a road construction project. As he droned on about asphalt and concrete, I found my thoughts drifting back to the proclamation. To Mayor Thompson's reluctant signature.
People like him had made life around town hell when we were younger. Couples like Teddy and Patrick had carved a path for the rest of us to live openly, but it was obvious we still had a lot of work to do. Thinking about Teddy’s second chance had the corner of my mouth tipping up in a smile. He’d given up on love after his divorce but life had something else in store for him in the form of his sweet and spicy little baker, Shiloh. The two of them almost made it possible to imagine there might be a second chance for me out there someday.
After the meeting, I returned to my office and the proclamation still on my desk. I stared at the harsh slashes of Mayor Thompson's signature, a stark contrast to the positive, inclusive words printed on the paper.
In that moment, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I would continue to fight for acceptance and equality, for the rights of all residents in Harmony Grove. I would stand up to Mayor Thompson and anyone else who sought to spread hate and division.
And maybe, I could find some personal peace along the way. Maybe I could finally let go of the guilt and regret that had haunted me for so long. Maybe I could accept that I couldn't change the past, but I could influence the future.
I picked up the proclamation, carefully folding it and slipping it into my messenger bag. It was more than just a piece of paper. It was a symbol of acceptance, a testament to how far we'd come, and a reminder of the work still ahead. I wasn’t about to leave it on my desk where it might “just happen” to disappear before it was time to file the notice with the Harmony Grove Gazette.
2
BILLY
From the outside,Harmony House looked like any other building along this side of Main Street with its turn-of-the-century architecture and façade restored after painstaking research and the approval of the historic preservation committee. But, inside, it was so much more. It was refuge, solace, acceptance. It was a place where anyone could be unapologetically themselves.
The House was my heart and soul. Every brick, every mural on the wall, every worn-out couch was a testament to the journey my brothers and I had embarked on years ago. We’d had one another’s backs our entire lives, and when I suggested that we invest our inheritance to make sure kids like our brother, Danny, knew they were loved as they were, none of them had balked. What started as nothing more than a fanciful daydream had led to a safe space for LGBTQ+ teens in Harmony Grove.
And so, when the piercing echoes of a heated argument reverberated through the usually serene corridors of the youth center, I jumped to my feet. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I approached the room where the voices were originating.
Inside, a family was on the verge of falling apart. A middle-aged couple stood on one side, anger and confusion etched onto their faces. On the other, their son, James, looked like he was trying to find a way to disappear into the wall. His tear-streaked face reflected the pain of his reality.
“Mrs. Davis, Mr. Davis,” I began, trying to put on a calm exterior. “I'm Billy. I run Harmony House. I understand that emotions are running high right now, but I have to ask that you keep your tone civil.”
“I’m not sure I understand why you feel you have a say in a private family matter,” Jack Davis spat out. He turned to face his son. The icy glare he leveled on James was severe enough I had to fight the urge to not take a step back. They may not have been blood relatives but James loved them as his own after being with them for years. “I should have known it was something like this when you asked us to meet you down here.”
Crap.
It seemed this was turning out just as unpleasant as James had feared it would. He’d asked to talk to them in one of the conference rooms because he didn’t feel comfortable talking to them at home. I’d asked him point-blank if he felt safe at home, and he’d assured me it was nothing like that.
My gut churned as I remembered him telling me life would be better if his foster father was physically abusive.“Bruises heal, Billy. Words get stuck in your brain and then they play on a never-ending loop.”
That was one lesson I could have gone my entire life without hearing from a teen.
“Mr. Davis, again, I’m going to ask you to try to remain calm.” It was unlikely to work but I needed to turn things around for James’s sake. It was a long shot but something in my gut told me a change of scenery was needed. “Why don’t we take this to my office? There’s a study group that’s going to be starting soon, and I’m sure James would rather we have some privacy so everyone can work through their emotions.”
“I just don’t understand,” Mrs. Davis mused as they followed me down the hall. I had ushered James ahead of me since he knew where we were going. That way, I could provide a physical buffer between him and his parents. “We raised him better than this. He’s gone to Sunday School every weekend. We taught him right from wrong. How did this happen?”
I jerked my head toward the door, silently telling James to head in so I could talk to his parents alone for a moment. “Being gay is not a matter of right or wrong,” I replied, keeping my voice steady and calm. “It's simply who James is. And he's still the same person you've loved and raised all these years. He wanted to talk to you specifically because he doesn’t want to lie. He loves you, and right now, he’s terrified you won’t feel the same as soon as you walk out the door.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mr. Davis scoffed. “He’s still our son, even if we don’t condone this foolish notion of his.”
