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Chapter Four

Turner at Twenty-Four

When I’d been here two years ago, it had been unseasonably warm for the week before Christmas. I distinctly remembered Brett’s brother wearing shorts the day I’d met him. He’d worn them every day that I stayed with them that winter break.

I’d left to get home in time for Christmas, but Brett had sent a picture of the two of them in front of their cozy, chaotic, multicolored Christmas tree, in matching sweaters, Brett wearing jeans and Dalton in his ubiquitous khaki shorts. I remember texting back:

please tell me he owns more than one pair of those shorts.

At my house that year, Father and I had been in suits, getting ready for church, when that text came in. We had a Christmas tree, too, adorned with white lights and white ornaments, a white silhouette of the nativity sitting on top.

Brett and Dalton stood in front of what looked like dozens of wrapped presents. My parents and I had exchanged one gift each before eating breakfast and getting ready for church, where we would spend the majority of the day.

It was strange seeing Dalton again, especially because that picture had been on my mind so much and may have been a big part of the reason I was standing in Breakwater Toys and Gifts days before the Christmas holiday instead of spending it back at home, at some church function, with my parents.

I’d stared at the Christmas tree in that picture so many times, with its multicolored lights and gold tinsel, its mishmash of ornaments, some ornate and beautiful, some handmade by Brett or his brother at various stages of their youthful development. Festive, I remember thinking. Fun.

It was the pop-culture ornaments that really got to me. There amongst the delicate snowflakes, shiny red balls, painted macaroni, and the baby pictures, were superheroes and spaceships, a cartoon dog and a Delorian.

And standing in front of that tree, my best friend, the first person I’d ever come out to, and his brother, his teenaged brother, who had come out to his parents when he was thirteen, and who was just unapologetically himself, festive sweater, khaki shorts, and all.

Mere hours before stepping into the toy store all alone, I’d sat at a pre-Christmas church social listening to my mother speculate about a former parishioner who had “turned evil” and was living in the city. The women around the table had all nodded as if living in the city was a sin in and of itself. They all knew who and what she was talking about, and even thought it remained unspecified, so did I.

Heart hammering around a folding table full of women in a church basement, I thought about another woman, one with frizzy hair and a kind smile. A woman who had seemed to know what I needed, even when I hadn’t. I’d been there for one week and had stopped by that toy store most mornings while Brett was spending time in the office with his father. I’d learned a lot about business, but I’d learned a lot about myself as well. About how great it felt matching an anxious grandparent with the perfect gift, and about how the sound of the waves, always present, always constant, were like a balm to my soul. How I just knew that even though we mostly talked about business, Anita saw me, she knew me. That in some strange way, Anita and I were kindred spirits.

I thought a lot about Brett and his family too. The mother whose warmth and hospitality made me feel welcome; the busy father, who disappointed his family every time he was late, but who always showed up in the end even if still only to talk about work. The little brother, who became my partner at BT&G, the two of us working together by the end of the week in a syncopated rhythm, complementing each other’s work style with little need for direction or conversation. He’d seemed as interested as I was in learning about the business and the building even though Anita confided in me, when he wasn’t around, that she envisioned Dalton becoming a scientist and maybe traveling the world as part of his studies.

I knew I wanted to get back to my best friend, the one person I trusted, the one person who truly knew me. Looking around that church basement, at the people I spent most of my time with, there was no one there for me, not even my parents. No one who knew me or would open their arms and their homes and accept me, the way Anita and the Garners had.

I wanted to get back to a place that accepted kids like Dalton and his friend Austin, a place that might accept a man like me. I wanted to get back to a family; to a community that allowed whimsy and fun to be part of the holiday season; to people who didn’t look down on you for being different or having different opinions or not wearing a suit to church. Hell, I didn’t know if the Garners even went to church.

I’m not proud of how I handled it, but I’d left that pre-Christmas social, my pulse rate like a sharper version of the ever-crashing waves. I had dinner with my parents, then excused myself early, with the explanation that I wasn’t feeling well. I changed out of my shirt and tie and packed a single suitcase. Once I was confident my parents were asleep, I’d slipped out of my house and set the GPS for Breakwater Beach, New Jersey.

I arrived in the early morning hours and parked in a lot with a view of the ocean. It felt like the waves were pulling tension from me and washing it out to sea. I fell asleep for a few hours, exhausted from driving straight through. I woke up midafternoon and exited the vehicle, chilled from my respite in the car in the freezing weather. I bundled up, lowered my head to fight the piercing wind, and entered the boardwalk, hell bent on finding the perfect gift for Brett’s family. I knew which store I wanted to find it in.

Much as he’ d invited me when we’d spoken earlier that week, Brett didn’t know I was there. I’d thought about texting him a few times during my overnight drive but stopped myself each time. I was hesitant to explain my impulsive decision. Or maybe I was just hesitant to admit to myself how much I longed for the random town where I had spent a few days two years earlier.

Though he was thinking about moving inland to be closer to his job and his girlfriend, Brett still lived at home. I hoped to be welcome at the Garners’ when I showed up unexpectedly for the second time, but I figured that if I was in the way, I could rent a hotel room. I’d use the funds I had saved by living with my parents for the past two years while working for one of their friend’s property management firms. If I wasn’t welcome for the holiday, I’d make some excuse about passing through for a few days because I missed the beach. I’d assure my friend I was just there for an impromptu and short visit, and not because I had torn my life apart and run away from home, at the age of twenty-four, in the dark of night.

If the Garners didn’t want me, I’d make my escape even though I had no idea where I wanted to visit next. I’d thought a big city would be the answer to my prayers, but a recent visit to Milwaukee did nothing but make me feel more lost and alone.

As I walked, I braved a glance at the horizon, the bitter wind stinging my eyes, the loose strands of hair at the nape of my neck tickling my frozen skin.

It didn’t matter how severe the weather was, I was so thrilled to be back at the beach.

Only I didn’t want to be in Brett’s way. Not when he seemed so happy with both his girlfriend and the job he had thought he’d hate but seemed to love two years in, with Mallory in the office across the hall. If Brett moved, he’d told me he’d be an hour inland. Closer to work, closer to her.

“Too far,” I said, my voice carrying on the wind, only the ocean waves to hear me on the desolate boardwalk.

Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe I should have just slipped over to the hotel, gotten a room, and texted Brett in a few days, asking if the offer still stood for me to come and visit after the holiday.

I toyed with that notion but kept to my original intention of visiting BT&G. I may have told myself I was going there to buy a gift for the Garners, but that was only part of the reason.

I passed more than one gift shop before ending up in front of the toy store. If I bought an ornament and didn't end up giving it to the Garners, maybe I could just hang onto it. Maybe it would be the first ornament on my very own chaotic, colorful Christmas tree someday. Maybe spending the holiday alone was better than spending it in the closet, feeling twisted tighter than the coil that held a nativity scene to the top of a Christmas tree that I’d left behind, eight hundred miles away in a house that no longer felt like home.

My memories of the toy store were as vivid as the image of Brett’s family’s Christmas tree, and I thought it would be the perfect place to find a trinket that would maybe be my contribution to that family’s holiday décor.

From outside, I could see the woman I’d met two years earlier. The bright and effervescent Anita, who’d hugged Brett like a second mother, and who Brett’s little brother was excited to start working for. There was a man in the store as well, leaning over the cushioned chair, which was off to the side of the store but featured on a little riser, the focal point of a section of the store crammed with books. I hadn’t witnessed but could imagine story time in that corner, with excited kids and parents happy for a little break while Miss Anita animatedly read a story. The children’s books on my bookshelf were all Bible themed. I may have been in my mid-twenties, but part of me wanted to peruse the secular selection of children’s books in Anita’s store. Secular children’s literature. Something else I had missed out on, like colorful Christmases.