Page 130 of The Gaybor War

"This must be Benji," his mom says the second she spots me, her face lighting up.

"Yes, ma’am," I say, bracing myself.

She immediately pulls me into a hug. Not a polite one. A full, warm, maternal squeeze.

"Oh, you’re adorable." She steps back, holding my shoulders. "Carter’s told us so much about you."

I blink, feeling a little stunned. "He has?"

Carter clears his throat. "Some."

"Enough," his brother calls from the couch. "We know he smiles at his phone now. That’s already suspicious."

"Mark," Carter warns.

"What? I’m supportive," he calls again.

His dad shakes my hand, firm and kind. "It’s good to finally meet you. Anyone who can make our son loosen up is welcome in this house."

Something in my chest unclenches at that. "Thank you."

Dinner is loud and layered and wonderfully messy. There’s overlapping conversation, gentle ribbing, and shared stories. Carter’s mom asks about my work and listens as though she genuinely cares. His dad wants to know how the HOA functions, which sends us down a rabbit hole of rules and regulations, newsletters, and Eunice Dobbins’ dangerous relationship with clip art.

At one point, Mark squints at me thoughtfully. "So… how serious is this?"

"Is what?" I ask.

He gestures vaguely between Carter and me. "Whatever this is."

Carter sighs. "Can you not interrogate my boyfriend at the dinner table?"

The table goes still. I freeze.

Mark’s grin spreads slow and delightedly. "Oh, so we’re using the B-word now?"

Carter’s ears go red. "I meant⁠—"

"I like the B-word," I say quietly, though my heartbeat is anything but.

His mom presses a hand to her chest. "Oh, that’s lovely."

His dad nods. "Took you long enough."

Carter looks between all of them, baffled. "You’re all on his side?"

"Obviously," Mark says. "He brought baked goods."

After dinner, while plates are being cleared and pie is sliced, Mark wanders toward the front window. He stops and stares, then bursts out laughing.

"Oh my God," he calls. "The flamingos."

I follow his gaze. In my yard, my beloved flamingo pair stand proudly in the fading light, both sporting tiny pilgrim hats and miniature black felt buckles.

Mark wipes his eyes. "He’s perfect for you, man."

Carter glances at me, soft and a little shy. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," his brother says easily. "Just what you need."