“Even if ninety-nine percent of people they know—which is a generous estimation as it is—are fine with queer people, that still leaves one-percent who will judge, or pity, or even just be unimpressed.”
“That’s a very sad way to live a life.”
“I know.” He swallows. His throat sounds dry. “And that’s exactly why I want out.” His eyes get wide, like he just admitted something he hadn’t meant to admit. “I don’t mean I want to turn my back on my family, I just mean?—”
I hold my hand up. “I know what you mean.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror and he flashes me a grateful smile before he looks away.
We’ve beenon a quiet road for a while now, passing a house on either side every few acres or so, each house more impressive than the last. But now we’re turning off onto a driveway leading up to the biggest mansion I’ve ever seen in real life.
While the gravel crunches under the tires of Ben’s hatchback, I try to keep my jaw off the floor. Before we even reach the house, we stop at a three-car garage with parking spaces outside. The garage is the size of three apartments in Berlin. A small house in Cologne.
When we get out, Ben hands me my bag from the trunkand we walk up a slight hill with a water feature the size of an elephant. Only once we’ve traversed these obstacles do we find ourselves on the doorstep.
I stand behind Ben while he lets us into the house, suddenly nervous about meeting his parents.
While the foyer isn’t as instantly impressive as the outside would lead you to believe, we only have to round a corner for my jaw to be on the floor again. Behind a set of stairs is the main part of the house. All shiny wooden floors and high-beam ceilings lit with spotlights. There’s a big wraparound couch and a huge TV, and beyond that, the kitchen. Classic wooden cabinetry, a waterfall island, a second circular island, and a huge American-style fridge.
“Come on, let’s put our stuff away, Mom will have you in the guest room.”
I’m expecting a box room full of work-out equipment or something, like the guest room at my parents’ house, but no.
The guest room is a huge downstairs bedroom, with its own en-suite. It’s sparsely decorated. With a king-size bed sporting crisp, white sheets and an amazing view to the kidney-shaped pool outside. And beyond that…oh wow.
“Are those the courts?”
Ben is rubbing the back of his neck, looking embarrassed.
“Um, yeah. Mom knew we were coming here to practice, so they’ll definitely be well-maintained, not that they’re not usually.…” he trails off, his cheeks impossibly pink.
The sound of heels clacking on wood makes Ben bristle. He turns to the sound, painting a fake smile on his face.
“Benny!” a beautiful woman with dark blond hair says, holding her arms out to hug him.
“Hi, Mom.”
Benny?
The woman pulls away, studying me like I’m her next meal.
“You must be Benny’s friend from school.”
Ben squirms beside her.
“Hello ma’am, I’m Elias.” The ‘ma’am’ sounds weird in my accent, but I’ve heard people here say it, so when in Rome….
The woman laughs. “Darling, don’t call me that, you’ll make me feel old.”
I open my mouth to apologize, but she interrupts.
“Call me Tabitha.” She leans in closer, dropping her voice. “And if we become really close friends, you can call me Tabby.”
I blink, catching Ben’s cheeks flush with heat from the corner of my eye.
Tabitha throws her head back and laughs. I force myself to join in.
What the hell was that?
