I shove the phone in my back pocket as if it might burnme if I continue to grip it like a lifeline. I’ve got enough fire to deal with tonight without adding to it.
Chester’s smellslike overcooked green beans and yeah…overdone meatloaf.
It’s the kind of place with fake wood paneling on the walls, framed Bible verses next to seasonal decor for whatever holiday is next, and servers who call everyone “hon” no matter their age. My parents love it. They say it’s “wholesome.” I say it’s where joy goes to die.
Daniel walks in beside me, polished and presentable, wearing the button-down he pulled from my closet, and somehow still manages to look like he stepped out of a Gap commercial. His hair’s been smoothed down, not a trace of glitter on him. We make a hell of a convincing couple.
Too bad the act is for the people who birthed me.
“Luke!” My mom’s voice rises over the clatter of cutlery and hushed post-church conversations. She stands from the table to greet me, arms open as if she’s starring in a Hallmark reunion movie.
I let her hug me. She smells like lavender dryer sheets and judgment. You wouldn’t think judgment has a smell, but it does, and she wears it every time I see her.
“You look so thin,” she says, holding me at arm’s length. “Are you eating, sweetheart?”
“I eat plenty,” I say, and step aside so she’s forced to notice Daniel.
Her smile strains, but it holds. “And you must be Daniel. It’s so lovely to finally meet one of Luke’s… friends.”
Daniel, bless his petty soul, beams. “Boyfriend, actually.”
I hold back my smile. This is why I wanted to bring him.
“Oh,” my mother says, like someone just handed her a basket of snakes. “Well, how nice. You boys sit down. Your father’s already ordered appetizers.”
Dad doesn’t get up. He offers Daniel a firm handshake and a look that saysI’ll tolerate you because Jesus told me to.He doesn’t offer the same to me—because I’mhis son, and that means his disappointment can come in deeper cuts.
“Luke, your mom says you’re still not attending church,” he says after we’ve barely opened the menus. “You know, the new pastor is really trying to make it more inclusive.”
“Inclusive,” I repeat. “Like rainbow flags and drag queen story time, or just ‘we’ll pray the gay away’ vibes?”
He doesn’t laugh. He never does.
Mom steps in, ever the peacekeeper. “We just want you to feel welcome, sweetheart. We miss seeing you in a community where people care about your soul.”
Daniel makes a noise next to me. I elbow him before he can start.
“We love you, Luke,” Mom says, placing her hand on mine. “We just want what’s best for you.”
Which in their minds is: me, straight. Or at least celibate. Married to a nice girl who bakes casseroles and gives them grandkids they can parade around the church potluck.
I pull my hand back gently and smile, pretending I’m not screaming inside. “Thanks, Mom. That means a lot.”
Daniel squeezes my knee under the table.
Then Dad turns to him. “So, Daniel. What do your parents think of your… lifestyle?”
Daniel grins. “They threw me a coming out party, actually. There was cake. And a slideshow of how they knew before me.”
Silence falls over the table. My dad blinks. Daniel takes a bite of his roll like he just won bingo night. My mom clears her throat and waves the waitress over.
Once our food comes, I can feel my parents ramping up the intervention that happens every time we do family dinner.
My mom cuts into her grilled chicken like it personally offended her, but she keeps smiling. That’s the thing about her—she could deliver a fatal blow with a butter knife and still call it a blessing.
“You know,” she says, turning to Daniel like this is girl talk and not a staged intervention, “Luke used to besoinvolved with the youth group. He even led the summer retreat once. Those kids just adored him.”
Daniel nods politely. “I can imagine.”
