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My mom gives me a grin. "You're on clean-up duty," she says. She quirks an eyebrow up at me and nods me over by the fridge.
"I got the Nintendo like you said, honey. But once I found out the boy is Ezra, I ordered all the games for it."
"All of the games?" I gape at her.
Mom shrugs. She leans in and whispers, "Also, a gift card to that bookstore in Tuscaloosa for four hundred dollars. I got you one, too, to your Auburn bookstore."
I take my mom by her hand and tug her into the dining room on a whim. "I'm going to have to have a heck of a shopping spree right after Christmas. Because, Mom..."
"Yes, honey?" Her eyes are peeling wide.
"I'm transferring to Tuscaloosa. Starting January."
Her jaw drops and her eyes pop out, and she looks like she might blow a gasket.
Finally she manages, "Does Ezra know this? I suppose he—"
"No, he doesn't. I'm giving us both Crimson Tide sweatshirts on Christmas morning. Dad knows, though, and we're working out the details."
"So it's serious?" she asks me softly.
"The most serious," I manage, my voice rasping as I say it.
"All that bit about the writing your name on his arm." My mom fans her reddening cheeks. "That's the stuff of real love stories, Joshua. That boy really loves you."
"I love him, too."
I'm wiping a tear when Ez runs into the dining room, covered in icing and beset by small children. "Get out of here!" My mother shoos them all back into the kitchen. Carl shoos them out the back door. Ezra collapses in the grass and my cousins jump on him. Wendy, the littlest, scoops some icing off his face and eats it.
"A good daddy, too," my mother whispers as we watch from the sidelines. "Just like Carl."
It's the last cringe moment until Carl gives Ez and me matching rainbow underwear on Christmas morning.
"Is that still cool?” he asks. “Rainbow stuff?"
Ezra and I look at each other.
"We don't know," I tell Carl. "We're baby gays. And we live in Alabama."
"I was thinking...you know...taste the rainbow."
And I die. We both die.
At least we’re together.
Four
Ezra
Holy shit. Here we are. In the clouds, up in the blue sky, cruising toward LAX on a chilly winter afternoon—an afternoon when I'm not taking Xanax...or drinking. I'm in first class, in an aisle seat, sitting beside Clint Ross, one of the running backs. I've got a lot of leg room, a decent handle on my claustrophobia, and my phone in my hands.
I send Mills a dumb selfie with my head tipped back against the chair's headrest. Then I take one with a smile for Dad and Suzanne. I fire it off to Luke, too, on a whim. He replies before my dad or Miller—with a picture of two Rose Bowl Tickets.
'Whatttt,' I reply.
'It's too close for us to pass up. National championships is big stuff. V says tell you hi.'
I text back, 'Hi to V.'
'See y'all after the game?' I text them both. 'Quick hello, or dinner?'
'For sure,' V texts back. ‘Eden is being babysat during, but we'll grab her after, and Luke and I will make some reservations.'
'Could you make them for 4 adults?' I include a blushing smiley, and I watch Vance texting for a minute before he actually sends something.
'You bringing someone for us to meet? See if he gets McDowell approval? U know Eden is the harshest critic. 10/10 would recommend bringing a baby treat.'
I send a laughing face. 'His name is Miller...'
'Oh fuck,’ Vance replies. ‘Is this the situation you told us about on the phone a few weeks ago?’
‘Mmhmm’
‘You doing ok?’ he asks. ‘Feeling happy?'
'Actually- very. It's kinda weird.'
'I know the feeling. Take care of yourself, ok? Hoping for a great game- nothing but fun.'
I think that might be Vance's way of telling me not to take things too seriously. That they don't care if Bama wins?
'For sure. Nothing but fun. Josh Miller. That's his full name.' On a whim, I send them a pic of Miller and me—taken up on the cemetery wall the day we left Fairplay.
I spend the rest of the flight texting with Mills as he makes his way through security and pre-flight at Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta. By the time we're dipping into the smooth, cotton-candy pink sky over LAX, he’s boarded his plane and is sending me a smiling pic of him with AirPods in his ears and a Crimson Tide hat on his head. He's doing the American Sign Language sign for ‘I love you’ with his hand.
Ross leans over right as I smile, and he screws up his eyebrows. "That's a boy?" he says.
My stomach dips as I laugh—trying to sound smooth. "Yeah, that’s a boy."
"That's a boy doing the I love you?"
I arch my brows. "That's a boy doing the I love you."
