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“I’m thankful for being the normal one in this family.”
“You have three nipples,” Emery says, eyeing Zane over his blueberry muffin.
“It’s a mole, Emershit.”
“Whatever makes you feel better, Zanips.”
Despite the boulder sitting in my gut, I can’t help the ghost of a smile on my lips listening to them.
The Bennets have always been a safe place for me. This is where I came when life at home was hard as a teen. These are the people I turned to time and time again. When I think of family, these are the people I think of. I gave my damn daughter the beloved middle name, Lee, for fucks sake. I take a tentative sip of sweet tea, listening to them continue to talk to and over each other. I take a slow inhale, set the glass down and pick up a muffin instead.
Emery’s eyes flicker over to me and I smirk. The lasso in my chest loosens just enough for me to find the words.
“I’m gay.”
Every pair of eyes moves to me then, and I bite into my own muffin.
Emery
I will never condone drinking and driving. I normally have one glass of wine with dinner, and by the time we’ve eaten and I help Ma clean up, I’m good to go. That’s on a normal family dinner night.
The wine bottle practically popped itself when I pulled up the drive and saw the red truck parked. I had to take a healthy drink to contemplate what the hell Dillon was up to, and by the time I realized I had free will and could just leave instead of subjecting myself to a whole evening with him and my family together, I was half a bottle deep and drank my way into being stuck with them.
Now I’m really just getting to stew in my own shitty life choices, huh?
I’m gay.
His truth was dropped right here on the resurrection dinner table, and I feel…
“I guessed that with the sausage, honey,” Ma finally says, breaking the silence. “We all love you. It doesn’t matter to any of us.”
Zane is drilling his eyes in to the side of my face and all I have to say is I’m glad it was him with me yesterday when we saw Sabrina and not Ian. Otherwise, the whole thing would have been pouring out of his mouth immediately.
I knew he was gay. She all but spelled it out for me yesterday.
So why does it still feel like I can’t breathe?
I’m not actually sure I’ve taken a full breath since she dropped it on me yesterday, and I mean that in the most honest, most dramatic way. Because bottom line is, what the fuck do you mean?
What the fuck did she mean?
What the fuck does he mean?
Dillon Montgomery can’t be gay.
That is not a thing.
That cannot possibly be a thing.
“You do give bottom energy, now that you mention it,” is what my stupid wine buzzed, anxiety-ridden brain decides to say.
“Bottom, huh?” Dillon asks, taking a sip of his sweet tea.
I laugh. Just cackle and laugh like a moron, leaning over the table to take Ma’s wine glass from her hand. I drain it in one go, burping when I set the empty glass down on the table with more force than necessary. I fix my tilted tiara and point to myself. “Come on, is it my turn for resurrection reflection yet?”
“No, Dillon first,” Dad says, grinning and popping shrimp in his mouth.
Dillon watches me for a drawn out second before looking away. “I’m thankful your whack ass son decided what he wants now and didn’t drag Morgan through his shit for another year.” Dad nods, snorting. “I’m thankful my business is doing well. I was offered a big contract in Kentucky.”
