Figuring You Out

Chapter Thirty Four

I lean back on the balls of my feet against the front door, visibly shaking in a happy relief kind of way. I'd told them. I'd finally told them.

I compose myself and begin stepping towards Liam's which was only a few blocks away, I twizzle my phone in my clammy hands and type Red a text- Just told Mum and Dad, making my way over to Liam's now, thank you xx

I read it through a few times before deleting it- it just didn't seem right to tell him through text. I subconsciously find myself strolling down the path to Liam's flat block. I wait, fidgeting at the buzzer before pressing my finger to his flat number. It buzzes drearily for a few moments before Liam's mothers voice rings through.

"It's Oliver," I say.

"Oh, come straight through, dear," she says, cutting the line to the click of the door popping open, I fly up the flat stairs two at a time anxious to get to Liam and get this over and done with. Mrs Walkers is already at the door with an apron tied around her, "Liam's sick in bed, love, but stay for some soup?" she asks. I feel my chest weight with at least another day of secrecy but I can't leave the kind smile of the middle-aged woman in front of me.

"Sure," I say, "I'll go check on Liam,"

"Tell him his father called," she says, as I pass her to go towards Liam's small box room, I nod and knock softly at the door, "Liam, can I come in?"

"Yeah," his voice is scratched and stuffy but I edge the door open anyway to a warm scent and a bundle of blankets where my friend is cocooned within.

"You alright, mate?" I ask, approaching his desk with spinny chair.

"No," he grumbles, tugging the duvet tighter around him, "Why are you here anyway?"

The words get caught in my throat for a moment. Maybe it's a sign. A sign that coming out to your best friend when he is sick in bed probably isn't the greatest time. "Xbox," I say, causally, swivelling to his desk to fiddle with the lone pen which was abandoned.

"Yeah, not happening," he moans, squinting as the door creaks open and a shed of light spills in from the kitchen and his mothers figure appears at the door.

"Dinner's ready, dears," she smiles, Liam's body twists to face the blackened wall.

"I'm not hungry," he groans, his voice gruff from clear discomfort, his mum smiles sympathetically at him.

"Come and try and eat something, love," a loud groan was her only response. I rose from his chair and follow his mother out to the dining room, "Would you mind setting the table?"

"Sure," I say, taking the cutlery and plates out of her hands and setting them in a fashion at each end of her dining table. I finish and step forward to the hob next to Mrs Walkers who was struggling with a piping hot saucepan and two china bowls. I take the clothed saucepan from her and begin pouring it into the two bowls with ease, Mrs Walkers smiles quietly to the side of me and just ruffles my hair, "You're a good boy,"

"Now," she says, whipping the full bowls from under me, "Let's eat,"

We sit down and begin to spoon the chicken soup, but my stomach is anything but settled. I can sense her looking at me from the other end of the table but doesn't say anything to me to ease the air. I scratch the spoon on the edge of the bowl, while my leg begins tapping on the wooden flooring, disguised by the cheap table cloth.

"You seem different, Oliver," she comments, lightly, I glance up at her through the steam of the homemade soup. I smile cautiously and shrug. She squints her eyes at me and then drops her spoon in her half empty bowl, "I know it's unorthodox but if you-"

"I'm gay," I blurt. I instantly lower my reddening face, as she processes the information in the cold silence.

"That's ok," she says, gingerly, like she wasn't quite sure of her words, "Love is love,"

I nod and show a small smile, which she reciprocates brightly. I chuckle quietly to myself and pick up the cutlery piece again, which is when Liam's bedroom door opens.

My heart thrashes at my chest as he stumbles through half aware, still in his ghastly yellow state which highlights his sickness, my jaw clenches when he pulls out a chair and my breathing becomes even heavier. "Urghhh," he moans and proceeds to drop his head down on the table. I share a panicked but then relieved glance with his mother, her expression softens and she is the first to recover.

"There's soup on the hob, if you want some, love," she smiles, placing a gentle hand on her sons back, he makes a kind of gag sound which I cringe at.

"I think I'll leave you to it," I say, after standing on shaking legs and placing my half filled bowl in the sink.

"Alright, love, I'll see you out," Mrs Walkers says, just as Liam sends me a half willed thumbs up with his head still slapped on the table. I walk to the door and turn to talk to Mrs Walkers, who offers her usual warm smile, "You are welcome here whenever. I hope you know that,"

"Thank you," I say quietly, she nods and places her hand on my shoulder giving it a soft squeeze and I know she realises what those two words meant.