And now, just like last weekend, I’m in my condo alone, with the LA and New York game on TV. I don’t know how the thing hasn’t burst into flames, having to play football two weeks in a row. Spending time with Hunt is fucking with my head. Hunter, who is playing another incredible game today. While he doesn’t have a touchdown, he’s doing his job and getting the football up the field, his rushing and passing yards climbing high and fast.
At halftime, I consider turning the TV off, but I want to hear what they’ll say about him. There’s not a chance in hell they won’t mention his play, so I’m not surprised when they start out with, “We’re seeing flashes of the old Hunter King the past two games.”
“I was thinking the same thing. His instincts when it comes to finding an opening have always been incredible, but he’s been missing that a lot lately, except for these last two games,” another broadcaster says.
“He used to credit that to his partner, Ellis Blake Jr. The two of them really were a special story.”
My stomach twists. Is it cool that a hypermasculine sport like professional football has accepted Hunter and other queer players? That they talk about his relationship with Ellis the way they do? Yes. But does it make my chest acheevery…single…fucking…timeI hear it? Also, yes.
I mute the television, not in the mood to hear more. As if the universe wants to remind me how much it hates me, my cell rings. It’s Mom. I relax slightly knowing it’s her, but I’m also aware of how talking to her always makes me feel. She loves me, she supported me, but why didn’t she ever do anything about the way my father treated me?
“Hey, Mom.” I sit back on the couch, trying to remember how long it’s been since I let myself talk to her.
“Look who’s decided not to ignore me today,” she says with a soft playfulness. It hurts her. It has to, but as much as I love her, she’s hurt me too.
“Sorry. I’ve been busy. I…moved to LA.”
“What! Lucas! Youmovedto another state and you’re just telling me?”
“It’s only been a couple of months,” I counter, but as soon as I say it, I realize how ridiculous that sounds. I couldn’t find a moment in the past few months to tell my mom I moved and opened an art gallery? “I’m sorry,” I say, and Mom sighs.
“You know I love you, Lucas, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I answer automatically. And I do, but then all that bitterness resurfaces, and…I know I don’t make it easy on her. “I’ll be better.”
“I will too,” she replies.
“I, um…opened an art gallery.”
“That’s incredible! Tell me all about it,” Mom asks, and I do—about Isla helping me run it, how well it’s doing, and about recent contracts I’ve secured and shoots I’ve been involved in.
“Is she your girlfriend? You’ve mentioned her a lot over the years.”
“No, but she’s my best friend.”
“That’s good. I’m glad you have her.”
The game is back, halftime having finished, but I don’t unmute it.
“I always knew you would make all your dreams come true,” Mom says.
“Thank you for supporting them, even if they weren’t what was expected of me.”
She sighs softly. “Your father loves you.”
“Yet you felt the need to tell me that, though I didn’t even mention him.” She would only have to do that if there was room for doubt. “Is he there?”
“No. They have a game. Speaking of football, I know you’re probably not paying attention, but Hunter was on fire last week. He’s doing great this game too.”
I am paying attention. I’m watching his games, the way I used to sneak and do when he was in college.
“That’s good, but I don’t want to talk about Hunter.”
“He’s basically a brother to you. It would be nice if the two of you could spend some time together now that you’re in LA.”
Maybe he should be, but Hunter is nothing like a brother to me. He’s my first crush, the man I’ve secretly craved since before I even understood what it meant, and all seeing him has done is remind me it hasn’t gone away. She wouldn’t be telling me to spend time with Hunter if she knew what I wanted from him.
“I should go, Mom.”
