Ryan woke up at eight in the morning on Christmas Day feeling just as exhausted as he'd feel if he hadn't slept a wink that night. His parents never really bothered with Christmas presents, getting him something small, if at all. They were short on money these days. Neither of his parents had well-paying jobs, and neither of them were the most financially responsible. So Ryan didn't bother going to wake them up ("It's Christmas! It's Christmas!") like he had as a child. He just laid there in bed, covers tossed aside, staring at the ceiling, his mind as blank as the white plaster above him.
"Ryan, sweetheart?"
Ryan looked over to his doorway, where his mom stood, holding something behind her back. He sat up, looking at her with mild curiosity. What could she possibly want?
"Yeah?" he asked.
"I wanted to talk to you," she said quietly. "Can I come in?"
"Sure," he said. She was making him nervous. Who died?
Was she kicking him out? Surely not on Christmas. They didn't celebrate it much, but for God's sake, it was Christmas.
She sat down on the bed next to him. "I got you a Christmas present."
That only made him feel a little better. It could be a sympathy present. Then she held it out. It was a book. Ryan read the cover.
Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda. The book Love, Simon was based on.
A book where the main character was in Ryan's boat—he was gay.
Ryan took the book from his mother's hand, staring at it like it might disappear any second.
"Think of it as a peace offering," his mother said.
Ryan's gaze shot to her in an instant. "A what?"
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," she exclaimed suddenly, reaching out to touch her son's shoulder. She looked like she was about to start crying. "I've been a terrible mother to you since you came out. You trusted me enough to share something big with me, and I let you down, and I'm so, so sorry. I want you to know that I do love you. I love you so much. I love you no matter who you choose to love. You're my son, and I...to think for a second that I let you think I didn't love you anymore, oh...I'm so sorry."
And she really did start crying. Ryan stared at her in total, unadulterated shock, then he let his instinct take over, and he threw the book onto his pillow and threw himself into her arms. She hugged him tight, and he breathed in her familiar mom scent, of baking and lemon shampoo.
"I love you too, Mom," he said quietly.
They pulled apart from the hug, smiling, wiping their eyes.
"Is Dad sorry?" Ryan asked.
His mom looked at him thoughtfully. "I'll make him sorry."
Ryan giggled, and his mom smiled at him. She reached out, touching his cheek with her hand. "I'm so glad you got my eyes. They were my favorite part of me."
"Were?" Ryan asked. "What is it now?"
"You."
