Grinning, I reach over, clumsily using the pad of my thumb to wipe the sour cream off his face in a classic mom move. Before I can pull my hand away, he captures it and makes a show of licking the little bit of white sauce off my thumb, which literally causes my balls to tighten.I am so screwed with this guy.
I giggle as he returns my hand with a satisfied lick of his lips. “My mom called while you were sleeping,” I say, and he nods, mouth full.
“I thought I heard you talking. How’s your mom? And how is your sister doing with the baby?”
“Good, everyone is good. I guess Grace is keeping my mother at arm’s length right now, probably for her own sanity, but Mom isn’t happy about it.”
Reed nods. “I hear that’s pretty common with moms and daughters. Having a baby can bring up lots of emotions.”
“Anyway,” I continue. “My family always does a big Thanksgiving gathering, and since Mason must have told her I’m dating someone, she asked me if I wanted to bring a date.”
I grin at him, but instead, I’m shocked to see the color drain out of his face, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything. A moment later, his expression returns to normal, but he still looks uncomfortable.
“Is that okay?” I ask. “I wasn’t sure whether you were planning on visiting family or anything. You haven’t said anything, so I thought I would ask, but there’s no pressure if you can’t make it.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he says, waving one hand in front of him and picking up his orange juice glass with the other. After taking a swallow, he pulls in a deep breath and chews on his bottom lip, making me want to kiss him so he stops abusing it.
“I guess I haven’t told you about my family, huh?” he asks.
“No, not really,” I say. “But it’s okay. I don’t want to pry.”
His next words have a hard edge to them, and his eyes are colder than I’ve ever seen.
“No, Dylan, I am never going to be visiting them. Ever.”
Chapter 19
REED
DylanlooksshockedwhenI blurt out that I’m never going to visit my family. Not for Thanksgiving… not ever.
I know I need to be up-front with him about my messy family, and I know he’ll be understanding, but even thinking about them ramps up my anxiety, and talking about them is even worse.
“I haven’t spoken to my family in a long time,” I say. “I think I told you they couldn’t accept my sexuality, but I didn’t really explain the whole story.” Setting my juice down, I suck in a deep breath before focusing on Dylan.
“My parents were—are, I guess—very religious, and our household wasn’t exactly a place full of joy. My father was a big believer in the whole ‘fire and brimstone, sinners will burn in the fiery pits of hell’ dogma, so, as you can imagine, that wasn’t a great environment for a gay kid.”
Dylan nods, his eyes kind.
“I had feelings about other boys from when I was pretty young, maybe eleven or twelve years old. But even before I knew what those feelings meant, I was taught that they were evil, the work of the devil trying to tempt me into sin.” I roll my eyes as I always do when I think about this stuff because even after all this time, it’s just so unbelievable to me that such ridiculous, evil bullshit is what people tell little children to scare them away from being themselves.
“I don’t really know how my father knew I had inappropriate feelings about other boys. It’s not like I ever acted on them, but maybe I looked at boys too much, I don’t know, but somehow, he knew.”
Reaching across the table, Dylan covers my trembling hand with his. This is exactly why I don’t talk about my family. Turning my palm over, I lace our fingers together and grasp onto his like it’s a lifeline.
“So,” I continue, “part of the reason I don’t do well with holidays is because things that brought joy didn’t go along well with the whole fire-and-brimstone theme my father had going. Holidays were about extra trips to church for more scary sermons, not presents and Santa Claus.”
Blowing out a sigh, I pause, reaching for my orange juice.
“My mother once told me that when they first met, my father was a rule breaker; religion wasn’t part of his life at all. Then, when I realized my birthday is only six months after their wedding anniversary, it became clear that I was an accident, conceived out of wedlock.”
Dylan nods cautiously. “Oh. Is that something that bothers you?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. It makes no difference to me, but it explains why they ended up married, even though they always seemed to hate each other’s guts.”
Dylan nods, compassion on his face.
“Anyway, they were miserable together, and in some fucked-up way, I think they both blamed me for the fact that they were stuck together. I don’t think my mom hated me quite as much as my dad did, but she never tried to stop him from hurting me.”