¤ LONGLISTED IN THE OPEN NOVELLA CONTEST 2022 ¤
// COMPLETE
- stand-alone sequel to featherlight -
Chase Collins steps onto a late night train, his last in the city before he moves to a new state with a job promotion.
What he doesn't expect, how...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I'm so happy for you," Chase heard from the doorway.
He looked up. His dad stood there, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Chase watched him survey the room. It had been an absolute mess a week ago, with open drawers and heaps of clothes on the floor. But now, it was mostly empty. Suitcases and bags were piled up in the corner, he had vacuum-cleaned his whole carpet this morning, and the only things left to pack were the miscellaneous items. Like photographs and extra socks.
"Happy for me how?" Chase asked. His dad leaned against the doorframe, crossing one neon yellow sock over the other. At least he wasn't wearing those hideous Birkenstocks. When he was younger, his parents would just come into the room and sit down on the bed whenever. But as he got older, there was definitely a lot more lingering at the doorway that went on.
"I'm just proud, Chase." His dad smiled at him. "I'm happy that you've gotten into the college you wanted to go to, and I'm happy that you seem happy."
Chase sat down from his crouch, crossing his legs over each other. "I am happy," he agreed. "It's a new beginning. I loved Melrose, don't get me wrong. But I am so excited for college." He gestured to the bed with his chin. "You can come in, Dad."
His dad finally came and sat down on the bed, absentmindedly smoothening a crease in the navy comforter. "You know you can talk to me about anything."
Chase knew that, and had possibly always known that. Actually, that wasn't true. There had been a very large portion of his eighteen-year existence where he hadn't believed that. He looked at the framed photographs of his football team on the walls, and the semi-mortifying, semi-heart-warming little trophies that he'd won as a kid. He stood up, stretching his muscles. "I know," he said. "I know now. I didn't always. But I know now."
He went to sit beside his father on the bed, toying with the edge of his pillow. He knew that if he put his face to it, it would smell like Kyle, from the time last weekend when he had slept over. Kyle's parents didn't like the thought of their son coming back drunk, so he usually crashed at Chase's place after a party. Which meant that Chase's pillow often smelled like whisky and deodorant and the salt of Kyle's sweat.
Chase's parents had probably had inklings about the fact that he was gay. It wasn't as if his dad hadn't found the wrong gender of porn on Chase's laptop once, years ago. He could just remember the moment, humiliation still rising up his throat like bile at the recollection: stumbled excuses, frantic explanations as to why he wasn't jerking off to girls. He'd brushed it aside as just wanting to see what it was like at the time, but he had a niggling feeling that his dad hadn't been completely convinced. Maybe Chase had only said that because he'd wanted it to be true. As if being gay was an experimental thing that he'd grow out off, the same way you tried on a pair of sneakers at the store. Gay? Nope. Just doesn't fit well enough. I reckon it'll give me a hell of a hard time with blisters. How about another size, heterosexual? I'll be taking that one, then.
