Page 25 of Within These County Lines

I came out to Whitley first. It wasn’t by choice, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

She caught me and Murray making out in my bathroom sophomore year.

Mom worked night shifts at the hospital and Dad took odd construction jobs in other parts of the state, leaving the house empty most evenings. No one was home when I brought Murray over. Or so I thought.

“Damn it, Stetson,” she yelled, hands on her hips. “I told you years ago that if you were gay to just tell me. And here you are kissing in secret like this is some dang truck stop.” She turned to Murray. “How long have you been together?”

I kicked Murray out of the house shortly after that. Then I collapsed in my room, crying in Whitley’s lap.

She ran her fingers through my hair. “Oh, Stetson.” She sighed. “Nothing will change. Times are different.”

I nodded, smearing my tears across her thigh. “I’m afraid my parents will change.”

“I’ll make sure they won’t,” she promised. “When do you want to tell them?”

“We might as well just get it over with.”

Mom was first. We planned on telling her the next day right before she left for work so I wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath for at least a few hours.

She was finishing up her ponytail in the bathroom when Whitley grabbed her shoulders and steered her to the living room.

“What in the hell are you doing to me, Whitley Wyomen?” Mom demanded.

Whitley plopped her onto the couch. “Your son has a declaration.”

Mom checked her watch. “Better be a short one,” she said. “You got thirty seconds.” She crossed her arms, then her legs.

I sat in the armchair, yanking on the neckline of my white undershirt. “I . . .” My throat dried up.

I looked at Whitley.

Whitley raised her eyebrows.

Mom looked at Whitley.

Whitley looked at Mom.

Mom looked back at me.

I pulled so hard on my shirt that I ripped the crew neckline and turned it into a V-neck.

Mom stood. “It seems like the only thing Stetson is declaring is that he needs a new shirt. I have to get to work.” She grabbed her keys from the kitchen and threw her purse over her shoulder.

“Stetson,” Whitley whispered from the other side of the living room.

“I can’t,” I whispered back. “You do it.” It was like I couldn’t speak the language. I needed Whitley to be my translator.

“Mrs. Delancey,” Whitley said, her voice firm. “Stetson is gay.” The words hit me like a rockslide. Every boulder landed on my chest, cutting off oxygen and making it impossible to breathe. My toes gripped each thread of the beige carpet as I fought for air.

Mom froze beside the front door. Her hand slid off the doorknob. She turned slowly to look at me, her mouth slightly open.

“Oh, honey,” she said, her voice much higher than usual. She walked over and kissed my forehead.

“Look at this thing.” She grabbed my ripped shirt. “I’ll pick up some new undershirts tomorrow. Do you like the V-neck? Because I can get you the V-neck if that’s what you want.” She checked her watch. “Oh Lord, I’m going to be late. There’s still roast beef in the fridge. Stetson, heat that up for you two. And grab a bag of green beans from the freezer. You put that in the microwave.”

She turned for the door.

“Do you think the neighbors will care?” I shouted, randomly. I was somehow able to get those words out but not the ones that actually mattered.