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She slipped inside, the dim glow of a nightlight in the hall illuminating her from behind. She was in her pajamas, a thick flannel top and pants with green pine trees and candy canes. Mom was big on Christmas. How she and Dad managed to give all four of us what we asked for every year was a real holiday miracle. I bet they had all their credit cards maxed out, which was why I only mentioned a new hoodie and maybe having a boyfriend named Tyler on my wish list. The girls had lists for Santa that ran from here to the capitol building. The boyfriend wish was private, between me and Saint Nick.
“Hey, you need to talk?” She moved into the room, closed the door, and walked over to sit beside me on the bed. She started rubbing my arm. “I saw your face when you came in. You didn’t say hello to Dad and me, so I assumed something bad happened after that big win.”
I blew out a breath. The door cracked open. We both glanced away from each other expecting to see my baby sister, but it was my father peeking around the door.
“You two having a heart-to-heart?” he asked, easing the door open, but not coming in. “I was going to offer to make some hot chocolate and dish up some of those sugar cookies.”
“Terrence, those cookies are for the rec center senior party tomorrow night,” she said.
“Oops,” Dad whispered, then hurried to swipe at the sprinkles on his lips. “You didn’t see that.”
I chuckled, then sat up, pulling my knees to my chest, and hugging them tight, as they mock-wrangled with each other about cookies. My folks were really cool for the most part. Sure, they were kind of cheesy at times, like with my mom’s Bowie adoration and my dad’s off-key singing of old songs, but they were good people. And I was not. The bit of good humor that they’d brought out dimmed as I recalled what Miles had said tonight.
“I think I’m a really terrible human being,” I coughed out. Dad and Mom both stopped the cookie talk. Mom pulled me in for a hug. Dad sat beside me. And I started crying, my head resting on my knees, all the crap that was my life came bubbling out of me like a backed-up sewer.
“Honey, you are not a bad person; you’re a good young man who just got a little sidetracked,” Mom cooed, moving her hands in wide tender circles on my heaving back. “We all fumble around in life, baby. Just because you make mistakes doesn’t mean you can’t learn from them. That’s what it’s all about. Learning from our mistakes. Isn’t that right, Terrence?”
“Yeah, totally. Heck, Jonah, if you knew half the stupid shit I did at your age, well, let’s just say there’s a reason my mother has gray hair.”
“Your father was a bit of a hellion when he was younger,” Mom confided. “Tell him about the time that you and your cousin Leon stole your grandfather’s produce delivery truck, then drove around town chucking veggies at your neighbor’s house.”
That brought my head up. Dad was skewering Mom with a look. “I don’t figure I have to tell him since you just did. In my defense, it was mischief night, and Leon was driving.”
I swiped at my face. “Did you get into trouble?”
“Oh, hell yes,” Dad laughed, then quickly cleared the amusement from his face. “Neither of us had licenses. Why not ask your mother about the time she and Aunt Nelly were caught smoking Virginia Slims behind the 7-11 when they were thirteen.”
My sight flew to my mother. “Mom?” I gasped because she was super against smoking.
She threw a flat expression at my father. “We’re not talking about smoking, Terrence.”
“We weren’t talking about throwing rotten rutabagas at Old Man Wilkes’ door either, but there it is.”
“The point that we’re trying to make is that we all stray off the path on occasion, but that doesn’t mean we’re bad people. It just means were human, honey,” Mom said.
Dad handed me his hankie. I blew and wiped and blew some more, then tucked it under my butt for later because I was overwhelmed.
“I kissed a boy tonight,” I whispered, staring at the knees of my jeans. Total and utter silence fell over my room. I didn’t dare look up. I knew I’d see all kinds of disgust on my parents’ faces, and after the shit with Miles I—
“Was it Tyler?” Mom asked. A small atomic detonation took place inside my skull. No kidding, they could probs see tiny cartoon mushroom clouds leaking out of my ears. My sight flew from my knees to my mother. She smiled in that kind mom way that made me cry a little bit more. “Oh, honey, there’s no need to cry. Your dad and I suspected there was something more to you and Tyler than just friends. The way you look at him is pretty telling.” She patted my back as I struggled to drink all that in.
“So, like… you knew?”
“We suspected. Also, you started wearing a bi bracelet, which was a big tell,” Dad said, reaching over to drape his arm around my shoulders. “Did you get consent?”
“It was kind of a mutual thing,” I confessed, my cheeks burning hot. “We had noodles and… total Disney thing. And it was amazing, and I wanted another kiss, then Miles showed up and starting tossing around the f-word.”
“I swear that kid needs a firm size thirteen right up his—”
“Terrence, violence solves nothing,” Mom was quick to say, but I could see the ire in her blue eyes. “I hope you boys ignored him. He’s in quite a bit of trouble as it is without harassing you in public places. Maybe we should file a restraining order or something.”
“No! God, no, please, nothing like that. We handled it, me and the guys, and the booster club. There are videos of him getting in our faces all over social media. I just…” I blew out a breath, then scrubbed at my face with the tips of my fingers. Dad gave my neck a soft squeeze while Mom continued holding me to her side. Were there any hugs better than Mom hugs? “I just… he said things that were really shitty. Sorry, crappy. Really crappy, but all true. About how I just let kids get bullied, how I called people names and slurs. Not racial slurs, but queer slurs. Then, he leaned in real close and said that I was a dirty N word F word.”
Dad shot to his feet. “That’s it. Size thirteen in the keister time!”
“Terrence, sitdown. Please.” Dad sat, but he was muttering hotly under his breath about buying steel-toed boots just for the upcoming ass-kicking. Mom turned her attention back to me. “Jonah, we’ve taught you that words are just words. They mean nothing. I know they hurt, and I know that they’re used as weapons, but you have a shield against bad words. That shield is knowing your self-worth, something that racist homophobes have no clue about because they hate themselves more than they hate others. You are a good, strong, smart young man. That Miles wishes he had what you have.”
“I don’t think he wants to kiss guys,” I replied, then sagged into her arms even more.
