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Suppressing a laugh, I pull out the seat next to Waylon, joining them.
Mom asks how Jeremy’s doing in college as we pass the mashed potatoes and corn around.
“He’s going clubbing tonight.”
Phoebe gasps. “A gay club?” Her gray-blue eyes are as bright as the smile stretched across her face.
I frown. “Um, he didn’t say actually.” Reaching for my water, I take a sip, feeling eyes on me.
When I look up, I find Shawn watching me with those fathomless dark eyes.
“What?” I say, before setting the glass down, and sitting up straight. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” I blurt a little more harshly than I anticipated.
The room plummets into silence.
Next to me, Waylon is rigid.
“Mason…” Mom says carefully.
Shawn blinks, completely unfazed. “No.”
I stare at him, trying to decipher what he’s really thinking. We’ve known each other for three months now, and while I like to think I’ve become pretty damn good at reading him. Sometimes…like now…I’ve got not a fucking clue where his head’s at.
“He doesn’t,” Phoebe chirps happily. She shoves a piece of chicken in her mouth, chewing as she says, “Knos‘m shmans, and coo wiffit.”
I frown. “What?”
Waylon visibly relaxes, and I wonder when he started speaking whatever language that just was.
Probably somewhere in the last two years, seeing as I might as well have not even been around, for how fucking checked out I was. And that’s before I was physically not here.
The bite of food I just swallowed goes down rough at the reminder, and I rub my fingers over my sternum.
“Phoebe, swallow your food first, please,” Mom says dryly.
My sister rolls her eyes, tipping her head side to side as she does what she’s told.
Finally, she says more clearly, albeit with all the attitude in the world, “I said…he knows I’m trans, and is cool with it.” She stabs her fork into her corn, sending little kernels everywhere. “If he’s cool with that, then he’s cool with everything.”
We just stare at her—Mom and me…even Waylon—our forks hovering in the air halfway to our mouths.
That is the first time I’ve ever heard her say the words outright.
In front of a practical stranger, no less.
Except he already knows…
She whips her head around to look at Shawn who’s currently taking a sip of water. “Right?”
He swallows, and sets his glass down, the bracelet on his wrist peeking out from under his sleeve at the movement. He murmurs, “Right.”
Okayyyyyy…
“Phoebe…” Mom says gently.
“What?” she says, like she didn’t throw us all for a loop.
Mom’s eyes dart from her to Shawn, to me, to Waylon, and then back to Phoebe.
