Bloody Texas

Why are you such a douche?

The McClain house was bustling with the sounds of playing children and clanking dishes. Lance held a tray of cookies up high to avoid dropping it on two kids that ran through the kitchen. When it was safe, he maneuvered himself over to his mother's side and placed the tray onto the counter. He went to lean over and kiss her temple, but caught himself and opted out. "Can you hand me that spatula, Mama?"

She handed it to him with a fake smile, then returned to the cookie dough. Lance watched her roll it into balls and place them in neat rows on the worn cookie sheets. The sound of playful screaming caught his attention and he glanced over his shoulder for a second. His beige sweater hung from his shoulders, slightly covering his shorts and white cat tights. Lance pushed up his sleeves, then scraped the cookies off to put them on a flower platter.

He paused for a second, letting his hands fall to the counter and his eyes look up at the ceiling. "Ma, I'm fine. Really."

She sighed and shook her head, keeping her eyes on the bowl. "I don't know what you're talking about, m'ijo."

He raised his chest a little and stared at the side of her face, "I'm talking about what happened in the hospit-"

She slammed her hand down onto the counter, clattering the tin and causing Lance to jump. Her eyes didn't meet his, "I don't want to hear it."

Lance's heart pounded against his ribs. He took a deep breath and returned his gaze to the counter, "He is going to be in my life sometimes, you know that r-"

"Lance!" She kept her eyes down, "I said no."

Lance pushed his lips together and threw the spatula down onto the counter. He stomped away, muttering under his breath loud enough for her to hear. "I'm not a fucking disgrace."

He shoved open the doors to the living room and met the gaze of his brother, Mark. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall next to the short stairs. The doors behind Lance swung back and forth until they found their spots. The brothers stared unmoving at each other for a while. When Mark finally opened his snarky mouth to speak, Lance grabbed the railing and pulled himself up the stairs. He slammed his bedroom door and fell onto his bed. Sounds of various people filled the house. Lance closed his eyes to pick out the distinctions among them. His nieces and cousins chased each other; his aunts and uncles talked by the grill; and Mark entered the kitchen to assist his mother. His room door opened, then shut quietly.

Lance opened his eyes to his father sitting on the floor beside his bed. He gave Lance a smile and reached over to stroke his hair. "Lo siento, m'ijo."

"It's not your fault, Papi." He pushed himself up and braced with his arms, "She doesn't understand."

"She just wants what's best for you."

Lance rubbed his eyes, "Then why doesn't she want me to be happy?"

He took a deep breath, "They don't know him well, but I can tell he makes you happy."

Lance averted his eyes, "I don't know what I think of him."

He hesitated, "Well, can we meet him?"

Lance locked his wide eyes to his father's, "Keith? Here?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Maybe if they met him, they would like him."

"But what if it doesn't go well?"

He stood with a grunt, "Invite him over, m'ijo. You aren't happy. I can tell that you need him right now." He motioned to the house, "This party is all day, just invite him."

"But wh-"

He stopped Lance with a finger, "If anyone gives you trouble, tell them it was my idea."