"Grayson Allen Pierce! You better be in this fucking house!" My mom shouts as she bursts through the front door, using my full name in quite a different context than Paris' teasing last night.
"I'm here," I reply from the dining room table.
It's time. I'm sure Naomi told them about the letter. About everything. But they still need to hear it from me.
"Thank goodness you're alive. What were you thinking leaving like that? No warning. No note. Not even a call. Nothing!" My dad exclaims, slamming their suitcases down beside the dining room table. The loud banging of the wheels hitting the floor tightens the horrible knot in my stomach, my anxiety swirling into a tangled ribbon.
"Naomi's parents had to drive over to pick her up! Can you imagine how embarrassing it was for us to tell them you'd left her stranded with us?" My mom complains, the anger from her entrance not dissipating at all.
"It's a long story. I think it would be best if you sat down."
"Whatever you say," my mom hisses, rolling her eyes with a biting sarcasm that stings my already vulnerable skin. Nevertheless, she reluctantly complies and sits down across from me, my dad joining her side. They both stare at me with expectant looks, eager to hear what I have to say.
If only it wasn't so hard to make the words escape the lump in my throat.
"Any day now," my dad mutters, clearly losing the tiny ounce of patience he has left.
I anxiously stand up from the table and pace around the dining room, tapping my fingers against the walls in a futile attempt to calm myself down. I knew this would be difficult, but I'm seconds away from breaking into an uncontrollable surge of tears. I try to recall how comforting Paris' lips felt on my forehead. It was a kiss of courage. Courage that I need now more than ever.
"I left so abruptly because I read the letter."
"What letter?" They ask simultaneously.
I can't believe Naomi didn't tell them about the letter. I guess she was bluffing after all.
"You know how you grabbed the mail before we left? There was a letter addressed to me. Naomi grabbed it and read it before I could. When we got back from shopping, she confessed to stealing it."
"Why would she do that?" My dad asks confused.
"Because it was from Paris telling me that he was sorry about the fight we had the other day-"
"Wait. You and Paris got into a fight?" My mom inquires. She seems hurt that I didn't tell her about the fight, but I couldn't tell either of my parents about what happened without potentially outing myself. Which is what I'm about to do right now. If I don't vomit all over the dining room table first.
"Why couldn't you just call him to discuss it?" My dad groans, clearly assuming the fight was just a silly dispute between friends.
"Would you let me finish?" I snap, tired of their irate glances and desperate to get this over with.
My parents go silent, their anger turning to concern as they watch me struggle to fight back cries, my eyes breaking with tears as I force out the next few words.
"Paris did more than just apologize. He...he told me he loves me."
For a moment, they say nothing.
Finally, as if ending an era of silence, my mom speaks, "But what about Naomi?"
"I never loved her. I never even liked her. I was just trying to convince myself that I wasn't-"
"Gay? How could you possibly be gay? What about Holly?"
YOU ARE READING
Bathe in Color
RomanceParis 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...
