She nods and he huffs out a frustrated breath. “So you know how we feel about people like you.”
“I know some people like to believe that some passages in the Bible condemn homosexuality. Those same people forget that the Bible also condemns wearing wool and linen together,” I reply making sure my voice is light, easy-going. Unaffected. “Lovely linen dress you have on, Mrs. Taylor. The blue matches the color of your cashmerewoolcardigan thrown over your shoulders almost exactly…”
“What are you insinuating?” she hisses sharply.
“Nothing, ma’am.” I smile. “Oh, and like I mentioned, I also know the cotton candy will sell out. Always does.”
“Well then… so be it,” he says sharply. “My grandkids will understand.”
“Understand what? That you didn’t want to wait?” I’m turning this into a thing. If I could just keep my mouth shut, it wouldn’t be a thing. But I can’t. I’ve done it for far too many years. “Or that you didn’t want to stand in line next to a gay man?”
She gasps. Brenda Taylor literally gasps like I just grew horns and a tail right in front of her. I guess I kind of did, in her ignorant mind, by saying it out loud. This time when he gives a little tug to her forearm she moves, stepping closer to him and out of line. “Son, you can live in sin all you want. And twist scripture to fit your woke agenda. And your poor mother may feel she has to tolerate it, but I certainly do not. God will judge you when the time comes.”
“Maybe God will judge me. I’ll let him, but I won’t let you,” I say simply. The effort it takes to keep my voice even and calm is almost causing me to sweat. “Also, my mom doesn’t tolerate me. She loves me. Because she’s a good Christian. Unlike you. Have a great night.”
I turn my back to them so I’m facing the booth now and I focus on Mrs. Jones and her daughter, who is older than me, as they make the cotton candy, swirling the paper stick through the gauzy deliciousness. I take a step sideways when the line moves and then close my eyes and take a long, deep breath of the sweet, sugar scented air.
That, thankfully, doesn’t happen often. In fact, that’s only the second time someone has been blatantly homophobic toward me in this town since I came out, officially, this spring. But that doesn’t mean the last few months haven’t been uncomfortable, because they have. The people who don’t give a shit, morally, that I’m gay still have plenty to judge me for. And this is Ocean Pines. This town put the small in small town. People have nothing to do but gossip. The non-homophobes still whisper about the fact my ex-wife is about to move in with one of my little brothers. A packed Saturday lunch crowd once went completely silent at our family’s lobster shack because I walked in while Finn and Nova were working together.
No one understands why I’m okay with them. Maybe because I took a swing at Finn when I first found out, which is on me. And that swing was at a very public, very crowded college graduation party for my sister. Also on me. And I happened to appear there, out of seemingly nowhere, because I’d left town with nothing more than a note. Definitely my fault. Anyway, unfortunately Ma, who is a devout Catholic and active member of the local parish, hasn’t been so lucky when it comes to homophobia. When her congregation found out, a lot of them decided it was their job to say something to her. Some thought they were being helpful, offering to pray for my soul or giving her pamphlets on how to turn me back. Others blatantly told her she did something wrong and she needed to condemn me. So the thing that Ma held dear - her faith and her community involvement through her church - became a thing of the past. She no longer volunteers with them. She no longer attends service. She no longer talks about it either. And that guilt is heavy. If I’d just shut up and not told them my truth, Ma would still have friends and be happy.
“Hey Deck,” Junie Jones says. “The usual?”
I nod with a smile. The usual is the biggest size they have. In pink, not blue or any of the new modern colors they now made cotton candy in. I’m a traditionalist. I watch her pour more sugar crystals into the machine and reach for a stick. She swirls the stick through it until it’s massive. I swear I’ve never seen a bigger pile of it. My eyes widen. “Did you change your sizes?”
“Nope, but this one is a custom-made double order.” I furrow my brow, and she pulls a see-through bag over it and leans through the booth opening and winks. “Your bestie pre-ordered it with me the minute he got here this evening. And I don’t say no to Ocean Pines most famous resident.”
He didn’t…
“How much do I owe you?” I say even though I know what’s coming next. Abbott doesn’t do things half-way, be it kissing or surprising someone with cotton candy.
“Oh sugar, that’s all covered too,” she replies with a soft smile.
“I insist.” I fist some rumpled dollar bills from my pocket and shove them in her general direction.
She ignores them and shoves the oversized cotton candy at me. I sigh. She smiles. “Ah come on. When your best friend buys you a gift, you take it.”
“He’s not my best friend,” I say too quickly and a little too sternly to a woman who is giving me my favorite treat. She looks a little taken aback.
“He’s right. I’m not his best friend anymore,” I hear behind me. The voice is like comfort food for my soul. It’s familiar, soothing, addictive and all those good things it shouldn’t be. Not anymore.
I feel him take a step closer without even turning around. I clear my throat and take the cotton candy from Junie as she grins at Abbott over my shoulder. I slowly turn to face him, shoving my cash back in my pocket. “Thanks for the sugar fix but you shouldn’t have.”
“I do a lot of things I shouldn’t.” He shrugs and gives me one of his Mr. Perfect smiles and I instantly feel a wave of nostalgia. It turns to acid in my gut.
“Thanks again.” I start to walk off. “Oh, and congrats on the whole hockey thing.”
It’s flippant and lame and I know that makes me a bit of a bitch. It’s just hard. I want to be happy about the news. I know he’s always wished there was a professional team in Maine, ever since he was a kid. He’s just as in love with this state as I am, so I know this is a dream come true for him. And when I was a kid, I really hoped, with all my stupid, naive heart, that they’d put an NHL team in Maine because then I would get to keep him. But I can’t want that now and he doesn’t want it so… flippant bitch boy it is.
“Yeah. Thanks. You know I’ve always wanted this,” Abbott says what I already know. “But, you know, I guess I just thought it would be different.”
I should keep walking, but I don’t. I stop and turn to face him again. He looks… healthy. Like, could tear logs in half with his bare hands type of healthy. And he’s kind of tanned, like maybe he and his Stanley Cup winning teammates partied somewhere warm after their win. And his beard is lighter than it looked in the pictures. And softer. Fuck, I bet it would feel good against my skin. I shove the thought aside. He may look hot but he also looks kind of lost. I wonder how his sobriety is going. I know, from watching Logan, that it can be a very bumpy ride, especially in the first few years. “You okay?”
“Yep.”
We stare at each other. He grows self-conscious. He always does. He’s told me before my stare rattles him. I get that a lot because I have angular cheekbones, a sharp, straight nose, and wheat colored hair. Terra says I have Resting Intense Face. I usually don’t care. But I care when Abbott says it. At least… I did. “You know Logan can help you out. Now that you’re home. I know it’s called anonymous and everything, but you know his history. He goes to meetings. He can tell you which ones are good or whatever.”
He kind of smiles. It’s this half-smile thing that Abbott perfected when we were about thirteen. He somehow manages to look delighted and bored at the same time. And after that Founder’s Day where we made our own fireworks out by the rocks, I’ve found it more than just fascinating. It lights my insides on fire. “So you’re offering your brother as my personal Yelp reviewer for AA meetings?”
