Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
"What's the plan for today?" My mom inquiries upon handing me a plate of sunny-side eggs paired with bacon. I swiftly shuffle the food into my mouth, downing it with a glass of orange juice.
"Paris and I have another date."
"Sounds like fun," my dad pipes up from behind his newspaper.
Meanwhile, my mom's silence is palpable. I thought things would be better after she apologized when I came out. Instead, I sense that my sexuality is still difficult for her to accept. I'm trying to be patient with her. It helps that my dad is wholeheartedly supportive and doesn't go quiet whenever Paris comes up in conversation. Nevertheless, it hurts knowing that my sexuality makes my mom uncomfortable. Even if she says it doesn't, I'm reminded of the weeping mess she became when I came out to her and my dad.
"Yeah," I reply, "He won't tell me where we're going though. Says it's a surprise."
"Do you need any money?"
I smile before patting my dad on the shoulder, thankful for his offer, "I appreciate it, but I can manage."
"Alright. See you later!" I say as I pack my little backpack with two bottles of water, my wallet, car keys, teal aviators, and my camera. Paris told me to pack the essentials, which didn't shed any light on where he's taking me. Not that I even have a good enough background on Santa Barbara to make any good guesses anyway.
My dad says goodbye but my mom remains quiet by the sink, drying the dishes from breakfast.
"Bye mom," I offer, encouraging her to reply. She replies with a hurried goodbye but doesn't turn around to face me. With a sigh, I step out the front door and make my way to the truck, hoping the sound of the revving engine will drown out the fear that my mom will never completely wrap her head around the fact that I'm gay.
***
Soon after I pull up to Paris' house, he walks out in a loose turquoise tee that hangs from his thin frame and low-cut shorts.
As soon as he gets inside my truck, I reach over and plant a kiss on Paris' lips, and I'm instantly reminded why I came out. If being with Paris means putting up with my mom as she adjusts to my sexuality, then I'm happy to make that sacrifice.
Following our kiss, fizzy bubbles collect in my abdomen and arouse a delightful airiness that I've only ever felt with Paris. I'm electrified for the day ahead. I don't care where we go, as long as Paris and I are together.
Once he queues up the music, Paris directs me out of our cul-de-sac. Despite not knowing where I'm going, I can't help but follow along to Lady Gaga's "Donatella," the sound of glasses overflowing blaring through my truck's speakers. Simultaneously, Paris and I sing the iconic intro:
"I am so fab/Check out, I'm blonde, I'm skinny, I'm rich/And I'm a little bit of a bitch."
We emphasize the last line, laughing over the synth instrumental infiltrating our ears. Gazing over at Paris, I imagine what he'd look like as a blond. Of course, it would be a crime to disturb his delicate black curls. Nevertheless, I'm sure he could rock the look. Then again, there's no way he'd ever look any less gorgeous in my eyes.
In between verses, Paris directs me onto the freeway until we get off around downtown.
"This is our stop!" Paris exclaims, setting his hand on top of mine as it shifts the truck into park.
Eagerly, Paris grabs hold of my hand and leads me toward State Street, Santa Barbara's expansive city center. The area is bustling with residents and tourists alike buzzing about, weaving in and out of countless booths selling clothes, antiques, and food.
"Is this a street fair?" I ask. Paris nods, swinging our hands back and forth. Paris as we swing our hands back and forth. Excited by this wonderful surprise, I swiftly kiss Paris on the cheek before dragging him to one of the nearest booths.
***
After perusing the booths for a while, Paris and I settle down on a vacant bench and share a plate of yummy street tacos. As I finish off the last one, Paris rests his head in my lap and lays out on the bench, stretching himself like a boisterous cat. I laugh, enamored by how unrestrained Paris acts when he's around me. I'm happy to make him feel relaxed and carefree. He's spent too much of his life apprehensive and closed off from the world. And so have I. Perhaps now we can both become our completely candid and unapologetic selves.
Unfortunately, the thought of my mom's disapproving gaze sends me down from this temporary euphoria. Even though I'm ready to share my true self with the world, is she?
"Babe?" I ask while running my fingers through Paris' soft curls.
"Yeah?" He replies, softly opening his eyes to stare up at me.
"What would you say to meeting my parents tomorrow night? We could have dinner and then, maybe, you could spend the night?"
"I think that would be wonderful, Gray. You think your parents are ready?"
I consider Paris' question for a moment. There's no doubt in my mind that my dad would be perfectly fine with the idea, but I'm unsure about my mom. It doesn't matter. She can choose to accept it or grin and bear it. I'm tired of all the lies and cover-ups. Paris and I's relationship doesn't deserve to be hidden.
"Yeah," I reply, "I do."
"Good," Paris mewls, closing his eyes once more.
After a soft pause, I say three words that have been on my mind for a long time, "I love you."
"I love you too," Paris whispers back, making an intimate declaration for the whole world to hear.
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