“All yours. I always say tux rentals are a scam. Do you like it?” she asks, her voice slightly eager.
I nod. It feels nice, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t feel like the version of Waylon I’m ready for the world to see.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “I saved all the receipts. Honestly, I bought it on a whim. You’ve been so busy, and I didn’t want you fighting half your senior class for whatever’s left this week. You know most of those boys haven’t given a single thought to what they’ll wear to prom.”
“No, no,” I tell her. “It’s really nice. I think I need to find the right bow tie.” I remember Kyle and Alex’s matching bow ties, and I can’t help but wonder how Tucker and I would look in matching bow ties.
“All right, baby, I’m going to do my hair and then we’ve got family dinner at Grammy’s later. Bring the suit.”
“Yes, ma’am... and thank you, Mom.” I step forward and give her a tight hug, last night’s discussion with Tucker still fresh on my mind. I’ll take all the boring clothes in the world if it means I get to have her around.
“Real proud of you. Always have been.” On her tiptoes, she gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Take a shower and brush your damn teeth.”
I definitely pulled a muscle. Or ten. Note to self: future death drops will require extensive stretching prior to execution.
“Moving a little slow there, son?” Dad asks as he reaches a hand out to me and hoists me from Grammy’s couch.
“Waylon really left it all out on the dance floor at Kyle’s party last night,” says Clem while she helps Mom set the table.
“Well, I think it’s nice y’all had a little end-of-the-year get-together for your club,” Mom says.
“It was very quiet and intimate,” I say. “Truly a restorative evening.”
Clem’s eyes bug out, telling me to shut up.
For some reason, I think Mom and Dad wouldn’t actually flip out too much if they knew about last night’s party, but I guess I’d rather not have to find out. Honestly, we’re so close to full-fledged adulthood that it feels like we’re going through the parent/child motions.
“Waylon, let me see this suit of yours,” Grammy says.
I whimper. “Do I have to try it on?”
“I’ll pin you in it later this week, but at least come show me what I’m working with.”
I follow Grammy to the end of the hallway where she, Bernadette, and Cleo share a crafting room.
After I unzip the garment bag, Grammy’s brow furrows and she holds her chin in her hand.
“Boring,” she declares, diagnosing the tux.
I sigh, and shut the door so Mom won’t hear. “Thank you.”
“Do you even want to wear a suit?” she asks.
I think about that for a moment. I think I might really love being Pumpkin, but for prom night, I really just want to be me. With a sprinkle of Pumpkin. “I think so. But I guess I pictured... have you ever had this idea of something in your head and you want to make the thing in real life match the idea in your head so badly?”
“Pumpkin, I’ve never worn a piece of clothing straight from the rack in my life. What you’re talking about is my calling.”
“I don’t know what exactly it should look like, but right now it feels like I’m wearing a curtain. A drab curtain. I want this suit to speak for me. I want people to see this suit and know exactly what I’m about.”
She throws an arm around my shoulder. “Well, baby, that’s a tall order, but Grammy is on the case.”
She lays the suit out on her sewing table and begins to inspect every seam and stitch.
The doorbell rings and in unison from half a house apart, Grammy and Mom call, “Can someone get that?”
“On it,” I say, leaving Grammy with my suit.
I limp over to the front door, and open it to find—“Tucker,” I say breathlessly. “Is everything okay? What are you doing here?”
