He turned onto his parents’ street, the porch light already glowing in the early dusk, and steeled himself for the questions he wasn’t ready to answer.
Dinner at his parents’ house was supposed to be a break. It wasn’t.
He showed up twenty minutes late with a bottle of wine and a headache that hadn’t eased since mid-afternoon.
Paige opened the door with a smirk. “Wow. Wine and running behind. Are you dying?”
“Just trying to soften the crowd,” he said, brushing past her.
“Is that what we’re calling guilt these days?”
His mom appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “You made it,” she said, pulling him into a hug that smelled like rosemary and lemon. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about us.”
“I didn’t forget,” Keaton said. “Just got caught up on site.”
“You always do.” But her voice was gentle, not accusing. “It’s a good thing I know you come by it honestly.”
Ouch. Keaton tried to think back to his childhood, wondering if his dad had been the same way at one point.
“We started working on the apartments today,” he explained as he picked up the platter of chicken quarters to take to the table. It was just him, his mom, and Paige tonight. His dad was outof town, taking care of some things for Keaton’s grandparents. Soon enough, they’d have to move into a smaller place that was more manageable for them. Thinking about them selling their home made Keaton think about Jules and how it must feel for them to lose that part of their history.
They settled around the kitchen table, the three of them passing dishes and catching up on local gossip. Keaton let the rhythm of his family’s banter wash over him without needing to contribute much. Paige did most of the talking—about her students, the art project at the community center, and the mural timeline.
“So,” she said, casually spearing a roasted carrot, “when are you bringing Jules to one of these?”
Keaton paused mid-bite.
Diana raised an eyebrow. “Jules? As in the boy who’s living with you now? He’s the one you hung out with in high school, right, Paige?”
“Mom, they’re nonbinary,” Paige corrected her. Keaton’s throat felt thick, and his chest tightened. Should he have been the one to point out her mistake?
“I’m sorry. You told me that before.” She picked up the bowl of rice, scooping some onto her plate before passing it to Keaton. “Paige, you were friends with him—I’m sorry, them. That’s going to take time to get used to. We didn’t have all these things when I was young.”
“No, you didn’tknowabout people like Jules when you were young. There’s a difference.” Keaton gaped at his sister, in awe of how fiercely she stuck up for others. “People like Jules have always existed, but now they’re free to be their authentic selves openly, and I think that’s amazing. Don’t you, Keaton?”
Keaton sighed. “Um, yeah.” He didn’t want to say enough to give anything away. “I’m not sure Jules will be up for family dinners anytime soon. They’re still reeling from their parents selling the farm and moving.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. That’s the place out on Harvest Mill Road, right?” Of course she knew which property had recently sold. Even when they weren’t her listings, his mom had her finger on the pulse of the local market. “Well, please letthemknowthey’rewelcome to join you anytime. Your friends are always invited to dinner.”
Keaton and Paige both tried hiding their amusement at how she emphasized Jules’s pronouns. He wasn’t sure if it was to show them she was trying or to commit the right pronouns to her memory.
“Yeah, bring yourfriend,Keaton,” Paige said. There was something in her tone that said she didn’t believe he and Jules were just friends and roommates. He glared at her, silently warning her against saying anything else. He didn’t need his mom figuring out he actuallylikedJules as something way more than a friend.
Somehow, he managed to get through the rest of dinner without either of them hounding him about his love life. Not that he was complaining, but it was funny how now that he might actually have one, both of them were quiet.
On the way home,Keaton drove past the apartment building without thinking. His truck turned in like it had a mind of its own, tires crunching over loose gravel. The lot was empty now,the equipment quiet. Just the skeleton of a building under repair—and the promise of something new.
He looked up at the second-floor windows. He was still torn between wanting everything to be perfect for Jules and wishing there was a way to convince them that there was no reason to move out of Keaton’s apartment. Was that why he’d come out here tonight? To think?
After doing a quick walk around the perimeter of the building, he got back in his truck. There were no answers here, and nothing for him to do. He turned the music up on his way home, trying to drive out the thoughts that wouldn’t quit. It worked. Sort of. He sat in the truck long after parking, asking himself yet again what he was doing.
You’re finally taking a chance on something. On someone.
The silence inside the apartment unsettled him. Where he used to crave solitude, now it felt lonely. He dropped his keys in the ceramic bowl by the door and stood there for a beat, listening for something—anything—that might shake the silence loose. Jules’s shoes weren’t by the door. Their hoodie wasn’t draped over the back of the couch where it usually ended up after a shift.
Of course they weren’t. They still had a few hours left in their shift.
He should’ve felt relief, maybe. A chance to decompress alone. But all he felt was restless.
