The light is dim in here, because he didn’t turn on the overhead light in the pantry and we’re looking at each other in only the soft glow from the kitchen light spilling in. But I can still tell his face has softened a little. His heartbeat might have calmed a little too. But he’s still, rightfully, upset. “You lied to me.”
“I did,” I admit. “I didn’t know how to explain it. How to tell you that I feel like the biggest piece of shit every time I see my mother and she’s not wearing her cross. Or she’s not yammering on about a church bake sale or whatever. I’ve seen the women who used to come to her house and call her walk by her like they don’t know her now. Because of me.”
“That place made us feel bad about being ourselves. That place made my parents’ love conditional,” Abbott spits out, his eyes are glassy and not just from the booze anymore. I think he has tears in them.
“Your parents were different about religion than mine,” I counter cautiously. I’m not trying to attack his parents, even though I hate them for turning their backs on him. “When I came out, my mom stood by me and that cost her. I know it’s not because of who I am, but because of what that church is, but still I feel guilty about it. So when Gael told me his church is inclusive, and asked me if I wanted to check it out for my mom, I said yes. And I didn’t tell you because… I didn’t know how you would feel about it. Fuck, Abbott, I suck at communication. Always have. So I just didn’t tell you, but I was intending to explain it tonight. I swear.”
We stand there facing each other in silence. And then he sniffs. “You lied.”
“I’m sorry.” I take a tentative step toward him and he doesn’t push me away. Winning? “I fucked up.”
He doesn’t say anything for a minute and then he takes a ragged breath. “So did I.”
“Why?” I ask calmly, working as hard as I can to make sure my voice doesn’t do its usual judgy tone. I have judgy tone the way some people have resting bitch face. It just occurs naturally at the worst possible time. “Is this about why you hit Ronan? Or about finding out I lied?”
He pushes past me, gently this time, and leaves the pantry. “All of that. And more.”
I follow him and close the pantry door as I watch him pace the kitchen. Finally, he drops down in one of the bar stools, his whole body crumpling. He tosses the open bag of untouched chips onto the marble island top and drops his forearms onto it too, resting his head on top of them. “My parents showed up.”
“Your parents? Showed up?” I repeat in confusion. “Here?”
“Charity game,” he replies, lifting his head from his hands. He props his elbows on the countertop and rests his forehead in his heads. His fingers are shoved into his hair so dark gold chunks are sticking up every which way. “My new coach invited them. And they came. And they tried to corner me after the game.”
“What did they say?” I ask because I truly have no idea what those two monsters could want with him.
“They want to meet Andie,” he tells me and my blood runs cold.
“No fucking way.”
“I agree. And Aspen got Andie out of there as soon as she saw them.” He swears under his breath. “They say they changed churches. They’re more tolerant.”
“Did they apologize? Did they say we’re sorry we were horrible people and abandoned you? Did they say there’s nothing wrong with you or your sister and we made your childhood hell for no reason?” I blurt out. I really should shut the fuck up. I know that deep down, like it or not, he wants to be loved by his parents. I mean, for fuck’s sake, they’re his parents. It’s all any child wants. So maybe he wants to forgive them… but in my gut, I know he shouldn’t. Not if they haven’t said the things I just did.
“They said they know what they did… how they acted… was inappropriate.” Abbott finally looks at me. He still looks pissed but now I’m not so sure it’s just at me.
“Inappropriate?” I raise my eyebrows with my incredulous tone. “Are they fucking joking? That’s the understatement of the century. Fuck them.”
He slams a hand down so hard on the marble that I wince. “See? That’s why I needed you today! But you were on a date.”
“It wasn’t that kind of date, Abbott. I told you.”
He stands up and storms back into the living room and I want to scream. Because I don’t know how to get him out of this spiral and I hate that I gave him more reason to fall into it to begin with. But instead, I just follow him. My brain frantically tries to figure out what I’ll do if he picks up another beer. I don’t want him to keep drinking. He needs to sober up. He turns to me, eyes blazing again. “Does that Gael guy know that? Because he called it a date to Jake. Do you fucking know what it was like to listen to your brothers talk about this with so much hope and excitement while inside every word and smile was choking the life out of me?”
“You could have told them it couldn’t have been a date,” I counter, trying not to get angry because, again, I lied. He has reason to be pissed. “You could have said it was impossible because I’d woken up this morning in your bed. With your lips around my cock and that all I think about is wanting to fuck you. And tell my family aboutyou. So this couldn’t have been anything near a date.”
He blinks.
“And his name is Gael. Gay-Elle,” I repeat phonetically. “You would like him. I want you to meet him actually.”
“Fuck you.”
“Abbott, stop!” I demand. “I’m calling Aspen.”
“To help you pack?’
“You want me gone, I’ll go,” I tell him flatly. “But you have to tell me sober.”
I dig my phone out of my back pocket and he’s suddenly right there, in front of me, trying to yank it out of my hand. He smells like stale beer and sweat. It’s not a good scent. I step away from him and put my hand on his chest to keep distance between us. His skin is sticky from the humidity and I can feel his heart hammering away far too fast. His muscles tighten as soon as I touch him. “Don’t call her. She’s dealt with enough with them showing up today.”
