The Kippens | Tyrus

A House

TJ's POV

Nine years ago

The jingle of sleigh bells lines the quiet of this evening. They dangle from the roof of the treehouse, crisscrossing over with fairy lights that keep the space from being completely dark. I lie on a mountain of fluffy pillows, all assorted colours and patterns. Pinholes of light manage to sneak their way from the sunset sky onto the shaded drawings and photos stuck to the wooden walls with thumbtacks. 

My cousins told me they wanted me to see their treehouse, and I figure it's a pretty good excuse to get away from my relatives for a while. They're all so busy talking about the stuff conservative families talk about—all the stuff I'd rather not listen to. When I left, my dad was talking about seeing a First Nations person on the street, and, to sum it up, my dad is more racist than he thinks he is. The worst part of it all is that nobody else seems to realize that except for my sister and I. She's currently somewhere playing with our little cousins, but I came out into the yard after dessert instead. 

A rustle of leaves gets my attention, and I sit up from my bed of pillows to see Cyrus rising up from the hole in the floor. He smiles as he finishes climbing the last few rungs of the ladder to enter the treehouse. 

"Your cousin, Rosie, sure has a lot of energy," he says with a chuckle. "I wanted to join you sooner, but she wanted to play with me, and I, being the soft boy I am, was incapable of saying no."

I laugh and reach out to wave for Cyrus to come here. He gets the cue and crawls over to lie down with me, snuggling up to my chest while I close my arm around him. It's so calm here with him that I could forget about the family gathering happening right below us. The sound from inside the house is blocked out by the treehouse walls. 

"So what did you think of your first Easter dinner?" I ask. 

"It was great," Cyrus replies. "There were some uncomfortable points when your aunt decided to bring up politics, and I was struggling to keep from starting a heated debate, but, other than that, it was nice. However, I did miss the certain charm that my own parents bring to family dinners by constantly psychoanalyzing everyone."

"I'm glad I was able to convince my parents to let you come," I say. 

"Me too," Cyrus agrees. "However, it is a bit weird when people ask who I am, and I have to say your friend. I haven't had to lie about that for a while."

I let out a sigh and rub his arm. "I'm sorry. I just don't think my parents will be able to take it—the truth."

"I know," Cyrus responds, tilting his head to look at me. "It's okay."

His hand lifts the one I have on his arm and links them together before resting back down. I'm content with this right here. Just us. Nobody has to know. But I suppose it can't stay that way forever. 

"This treehouse really is nice," Cyrus says, moving on from our old topic. "I bet Andi would love having a place like this to do her art. It'd be like an Andi Shack but in the sky."

"Yeah. My uncle built it. My dad helped."

"I always wanted one when I was young, but my parents said no."

"Well, you can have one someday," I say, "when you're not living with your parents."

"That's true," he agrees. "But we won't really need a treehouse once we have our own house. The entire place will be our hideout. There won't be any need for one in a tree."

Ours. The word makes me smile. I can't imagine my future without Cyrus in it, and it's comforting to know the feeling is mutual. 

"Any place we have will be perfect," I whisper, "because it'll be ours."