Living Your Lie (boyxboy)

Chapter 30

"Harley, is that you?"

"Fuck," I whispered under my breath, standing in the front door to my house which I had only manage to open halfway before my mom suddenly got super-hearing.

I heard that familiar sound of my mom's Louboutins clacking against the tile. I sighed to myself, wishing that I could be ready for the inevitable conversation that I knew was coming. I also wished that she'd stayed up in Seattle where she'd been at a conference for the last few days.

I wiped the sweat off of my forehead with the back of my arm and entered the code into the alarm on the wall so it wouldn't start blaring at me. It wasn't even that hot out today and I was only in shorts as I'd just left practice and drove home with my shirt in my gym bag, but I was sweating buckets at the idea of having to talk to my parents--even if it was just one of them.

When I turned away from the alarm panel, I saw my mom come around the corner. She had her arms crossed, her face set in both disappointment and determination. It was a scary combination on her.

"I guess you heard," I muttered, walking passed her and heading for the laundry room to wash my practice clothes.

"Uhm, excuse me," my mom said, indignant, as she spun around to follow after me. The heels kept clacking and I focused on that sound, trying not to hear anything else; however, it eventually stopped when we entered the laundry room. "Harley, please don't ignore me."

I refused to meet her gaze and busied myself with loading the washing machine. "I'm not, I just have to get these done."

I could practically feel my mom's incredulous gaze burning into my skin behind me. "Harley, just talk to me, please."

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, putting clothes into the basin one by one.

She huffed and I watched her lean against the folding counter next to me. She ducked her head, trying to get me to look her in the eyes, but I was too stubborn for that. "For starters, how about the fact that I had to find out from someone on my committee that my son is supposedly gay?"

I accidentally dropped a pair of socks that were definitely way overdue for a cleaning. I grimaced at having to pick them up again and tried to steady my breathing and pounding heart. I seriously didn't want to be having this conversation.

When I didn't respond to her, my mom said, "Harley, honey. Please just look at me."

I let out a heavy breath, irritation blossoming inside of me. I looked at her, finally, and shrugged. "What?"

Her face softened and I hated it. Everything about this moment was wrong. My mom and I didn't talk like this; I couldn't think of a single time in my life where I had confided in her about anything and gotten solid, motherly comforting and advice back from her. We loved each other, yes, but our relationship was far removed from sentimental.

"Is it true?"

I stared at her, not able to give her an answer. I had accepted myself a long time ago, but I had never accepted that I would have to be open about it with my parents.

She tilted her head, eyebrows poised as if they were asking me to just spit it out.

I huffed and turned back to my laundry, pulling a container of detergent packs out and throwing one on top of the pile of clothes in the washer.

"I don't want to talk about this," I said, firmly.

"Why do you always do this?" she demanded.

I rolled my eyes. There's the mom I'm used to. "Do what?"