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Jonah
Our cramped 1940s farmhouse gets so crowded on Thanksgiving you can’t even breathe, but no one would dream of hosting it somewhere bigger because tradition always trumps convenience. What started as just my immediate family has grown into my aunt and uncle and my four cousins, our neighbor and his wife and two daughters, my dad’s two bachelor “car buddies,” and my mom’s best friend, all crammed into a tiny living room. Everyone talks at once as we watch the football game, the air thick and musty with sweat, erupting into cheers during big plays.
I’m right here in my dent in the center of the couch, like I never left, full of beer-can turkey and lumpy mashed potatoes. We’ve gone through all the old stories,the time Jonah got in the wrong family’s car after school,the time Jonah misspelled the homecoming banner, and I’m getting used to being the butt of all the jokes again. I’ve been set up with my neighbor’s daughter, my cousin’s friend that works at the movie theater in the next town over, and the girl who volunteers with my mom at the Salvation Army. I accidentally said yes to the last one and now I have some girl’s number in my pocket with a promise to take her up to Cedar Falls for dinner sometime.
Everyone’s happy, my cousins ribbing me and hugging me, my parents glad to have me back even if they’re upset about my arm, the beautiful snow outside. But I kind of want to go out to the back porch and curl up behind the beer fridge and bawl my eyes out. There’s nowhere around here to catch my breath, to process everything. I’m just Jonah again, the Jonah without all the new words likebiandperfectandsmart, and that’s how it’s going to be, I guess. Gray would hate it here, everything about it.
Denver scores on Seattle with a killer pass and the whole room howls. “Does anyone want some cobbler?” my aunt hollers over the din. “Jonah made it.”
My uncle shakes his head. “You’re gonna have to cut that out when you get a wife, J. You’ll hurt her feelings.”
“Girls dig a guy who can cook, Dad.” My cousin grins, kicking me in the ribs. That’s about the most liberal opinion you’re likely to see around here, but I appreciate the thought.
Someone rings the doorbell, then raps on the rattling storm door. “Magazine salesmen on Thanksgiving?” my mom’s friend gripes.
“Let ‘em freeze.” Dad cracks open another Pabst. “We don’t have enough pie to share.”
When I realize no one’s getting up, I sigh. “Fine, I’ll go see.” Favoring my arm, which I took out of the brace today for the first time, I crawl out over all the bodies and legs and people sitting around the edges of the room in miscellaneous dining chairs. Straightening my hoodie, I open the front door in a rush of frigid air.
“Can I help–” I stop, staring through the screen door with my mouth hanging open. My brain can’t even take one and one and make two.
Gray climbs the last two cracked, uneven steps and stops in front of the screen, his eyes fixed on mine. He’s wearing—God, I have no idea what it is or where he got it. A pair of dark jeans. A New York Jets sweatshirt and a black synthetic winter jacket with his hands stuffed deep in the pockets. I’m not sure I would have recognized him if we passed on the street.
“You’re letting in the cold,” my uncle complains behind me, and Gray’s eyes widen when he realizes how many people are in the room.
“Who is it?” Mom asks over the TV.
“I don’t know,” I say like a genius, still gaping, my fingers probably crushing grooves into the metal of the front door.
“I need to talk to you,” Gray demands in that smooth, dark voice.
“I–I can’t,” I babble as my brain short-circuits. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
He steps forward until his forehead bumps the screen. “Listen to me, Jonah. I came here to say something and you can shut the door in my face if you want, but not until I’ve finished.”
I’m struggling to get enough air. I can’t reconcile him, the body and voice that I know, in those clothes, standing in the last place in the world I ever thought he’d be.
“I love you, Jonah. I’ve loved you since—fuck, I don’t even know. Since long before I lost the case. I’ve been monumentally stupid, and I made you wait so long to hear it, but I’m here now to say I’m sorry, because if there’s any chance that I can fix this…” He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, looks at me pleadingly.
“Whoisit? We don’t want any magazines.” I hear my aunt getting out of her chair behind me.
“Say it again,” I whisper, my voice all weird and fucked.
“I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “The first part.”
“I love you, Jonah. You gave me the freedom to choose and I choose you. Whatever that looks like.” He glances down at himself, trying not to grimace. “I told you I’d dress this way for you someday, and I had to keep my promise.”
“Again, please. Please.” It’s all my one-track mind can focus on, getting those three words in my veins, mainlining them until I overdose. I hear footsteps behind me, and Gray starts talking faster.
“I love you. And I don’t want to out you to your family without your permission, but if you don’t get out here or tell me to leave, I’m going to come in there and I’m going to say it again and fuck if anyone cares.”
I’ve only seen two romantic movies:The Princess Bride, because everyone loves that one, and the old-timey one where they dance a lot and the guy strides through the field in the morning dew to declare his feelings to his woman. That should be enough to know how to react in a situation like this. I’m supposed to run outside and kiss him, or say something snarky and clever liketook you long enough. So many options.
What I’m really, really not supposed to do is take two steps back, sit down hard on the rickety arm of the couch, and burst out full-on ugly crying. I’m just so exhausted, so worn out from trying to do the right thing. I wanted him to be happy, but deep down I wanted to know that he could be happy with me, that anyone could be happy with me, that I was worth that.
The room behind me gets very quiet when Gray shoves the screen door open and drops to his knees to pull me into a bawling heap against him. “Shh,” he breathes. “I’m here now. I’ve got you.” And he doesn’t sound like he cares at all that we’re surrounded by strangers who have never seen a gay person outside of a shitty sitcom.
