Becoming Brett

33. He's Brave

Cars spill out of my Uncle's driveway, some I recognize, others not. I follow my parents to the front door, hiding behind my father with his broad shoulders and confident stance.

I don't know what this impromptu family dinner is all about and it's got my knees knocking and my stomach queasy. I feel like I'm walking to my intervention, like someone found out and they're about to exorcise me. It'd be totally plausible except for the fact that we are walking to my Uncle Chris's. And I know for a fact he doesn't believe in exorcisms. It was a heated topic at a family dinner one time.

My dad raps his knuckles against the door even though this is his brother's house and we all stand on the porch together, in silence. My mom smiles tenderly at me, the woman's never been known to raise her voice and even though I should take comfort in it, I can't.

The door swings open, Uncle Chris with a beer in his hand. He waves us in, patting me on the back as I pass before he pulls my dad aside. The conversation is hushed but even from where I stand, acting like I'm disinterested I can tell whatever my uncle said has my dad displeased. His shoulders tighten and his brow knits, nostrils flare just slightly from the tension that trickles through his body.

And while I note all the subtle changes in my dad I let my eyes wander. The space looks relatively untouched from the last time I was over, a staircase just to the left leading to where the bedrooms are, a narrow hallway directly in front that cuts through the center of the home. Ship lap runs its length and a little bench for taking off shoes sits along it, decorative pillows taking up most of the sitting area. My uncle's wife is all about Joanna Gaines. Something she will surely mention at some point tonight.

I slip my shoes off, leaving them in the pile from the other guests, not waiting for my parents. On the left of the hallway, large archways expose the kitchen which leads into the dining room which spills into the great room at the very end of the hallway. I head there, following the voices, hoping that at least some of my cousins are there so I can try and hideaway behind them.

The usual family is there, my grandparents, my Uncle Dillion and Aunt Martha on one couch where Martha sips wine. Their daughter Lydia and son Parker cuddled up to their latest significant others. Out of my cousins they're my least favorite however they come in handy because they love to talk about themselves so when my grandparents start inquiring I usually try to divert their attention to Parker or Lydia.

And then there's my Uncle Chris's wife, my aunt Josie. She's relatively new to the family, they've only been married for a year. Her stomach is swollen with another baby, their oldest a two year old boy named Wyatt. Wyatt's my favorite and as soon as he sees me his small body hurtles in my direction.

I stoop low, arms open to catch him when I see someone who knocks me off guard and steals my focus from Wyatt. My dad's cousin Lorraine sits on a couch, beside her some other distant relatives. But my eyes start searching for Gerry.

Wyatt falls in my arms and I lift him to my hip as I stand. My heart beats loud in my chest, fear for what's to come coursing through me. If tensions haven't flared yet they surely will now that my dad is here to back up the rest of the family. Whatever my Uncle Chris is trying to accomplish will definitely go down in flames.

It's best to just play the rules in this family, at least that's what I've come to find.

Lorraine is a warm woman with honey colored hair that I think comes from a bottle and brown eyes that crinkle at the corners. I know from social media she has a dog that she takes everywhere, she's divorced, works in insurance and has a trip to Europe planned for next April.

She smiles at me or maybe Wyatt but just as a smile tugs at my lips there's commotion in the dining room and everyone in the living room collectively turns to gawk.

I shouldn't be surprised that my grandma is at the center, loudly calling for Ginger when Gerry's standing right in front of her.

He looks good, sporting a short cut, a long sleeve shirt that hugs muscles he's been documenting on social media. He stands defiant and sure of himself in front of my grandma, my parents lingering to the side as Uncle Chris tries to step in.

I don't want to hear any of this go down. This is exactly why I'll never come out to my family. I don't want to be ridiculed and made to feel less than for something I can't help. For just trying to be true to myself.

And I don't want Wyatt to hear all the things that will probably get said. So with him clutched in my arms, I slip out of the room under the guise of Gerry.

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Things eventually settled down though the tension was visible. Subtle jabs being thrown out every so often but Lorraine and Gerry swallowed them down and Uncle Chris redirected the conversation to neutral ground. As the hours ticked by I found myself escaping to the front porch to escape the stuffiness that stifles the house, relaxing in the cool night air. And with my relaxation came thoughts of James.

I decided to update him.

James: that's messed up

I'm about to respond when the door opens behind me, sending my heart stampeding as I fumble my phone back into my pocket.

"Didn't mean to scare you." Gerry apologizes. "Mind if I sit?"

I nod to the spot beside me.

"Figured I'd give everyone some space." He tells me, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.

Muscles ripple beneath his skin, veins prominent. If I didn't know that Gerry once was Ginger, I'd never suspect otherwise.

"What're you doing out here?" He asks. His eyes are the same warm brown as his moms.

"Hot." I lie, I'm not hot.

I was actually drowning in fear, feeling suffocated by my secret and the consequences of ever coming out. My mind of course flashed me the moment from the other day when I kissed the hell out of James in the middle of the music room hallway where anyone could have seen. I've been waiting for someone to say something. It's made me edgy.

Doesn't help that Gerry is the perfect example of why I'll never come out. I don't want to go through that.

My answer causes us to lull into silence and we sit there on the steps of the porch together. I don't know what to say, the things I know about him I've learned in passing on social media. I don't actually know the person sitting next to me, he's a stranger.

He's brave.

I'm not. I'm everything he's not.

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Well guys I think I officially found the end to this story.