Finally, I spotted the dirt road with a big sign that readGrisold Christmas Tree Farmnext to it. AWhad been spray-painted in so it read Griswold Tree Farm. I rolled my eyes. I’d been hearing those jokes my whole life.
When your family owned a Christmas tree farmandhad a last name so similar to the family in one of the most iconic Christmas movies of all time, it was unavoidable.
Shitter’s full, Noel!
Someone grasped the back of my neck and shoved my head toward the toilet?—
“What’s going on in here?”
Water, humiliation, laughter. A large hand on my shoulder, pulling me back.
I spun, catching a glimpse of the pity in Hopper Kelly’s eyes.
Pushed past him, face so hot I thought I’d self-immolate, almost wished I would.
“Leave me alone. All of you. Fuck off!”
My right front tire hit a pothole in the road, jolting me out of the memories. I raised a hand to my hot cheek. Ten years later, and I hadn’t even made it all the way home before I was thatdevastated gay boy who didn’t know how to hide the part of him that everyone hated so much.
Not my parents. They’d taken my coming-out in relative stride. My mother said she’d just been waiting for me to tell her. My dad told me he’d figured it out when I wanted to learn to dance instead of joining the peewee baseball league. I’d informed him that was a sexist notion, and straight guys could like dancing. He’d followed that up by asking me if I was straight, then.
Touché, Dad. Touché.
But as supportive as my parents were, they couldn’t change the culture of a Midwestern state that wasn’t yet open to queerness or the nasty Riverton High School bullies who feared their own latent homosexuality so much that they couldn’t let me live in peace.
I swerved around the next pothole, focusing intensely on the road to keep the memories at bay. I wasn’t that kid anymore. I was an independent, strong, talented man with a whole life far from here.
Maybe that life was imploding at the moment, but no one needed to know that.
As far as they were concerned, I was a rock star chef with a little holiday vacation. Thankfully, none of them were in the business, or they’d recognize that had to be a lie.
The parking area lay ahead, covered in gravel. With a sigh of relief, I pulled in and shifted into park, then threw open the car door and stepped out, eager to stretch.
My dad’s golden retriever in a red bandana raced toward me, tongue lolling out one side of her mouth.
I crouched down to greet her. “Well, aren’t you just the prettiest girl!”
“Cinnamon sure likes you,” a deep voice said, startling me.
I jerked my head up, nearly toppling, as a giant of a man stepped out of the trees. He was dressed in jeans, hiking boots, and a red fleece pullover that matched the dog’s bandana. A beard covered most of his face, and a green stocking cap hid his hair, but his eyes were the same.
Even if Mom hadn’t mentioned that Hopper was helping them with the tree farm, one look at those eyes—the same ones that looked at me with such pity in high school—would have slapped me with recognition.
“Hopper,” I said tightly, feeling awkward crouched at the man’s feet.
I gave Cinnamon a final pat and straightened to my full height, which still only brought me as high as his shoulder. I huffed. He must have gotten even taller since high school. How was that even possible?
“Noel.” He dipped his head, eyes narrowed. “You finally made it home, I see.”
I bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Must have been a long drive, is all.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t totally convinced that’s all he meant by his comment, but it wasn’t like I visitedoften.Tough to be mad about something that was true. “Well, yeah.”
He rounded the car and popped the trunk. “I’ll help you carry your bags. It’s a trek to the house.”
“I seem to remember that,” I said mildly. “But I can manage.”
