Heteroflexible

Billy and Tanner laugh at my expense while I give Bobby a playful swat on his blue-gowned ass, then yank him up against me for a hug and a peck on his cute lips, clasping my hands tightly around his back.

That’s when my mama notices it.

“What is that?” Her voice slices straight through the noise of everyone making a fuss. She completely just cut off something Grandma was saying and makes a beeline straight for us. She grabs hold of my wrist and lifts it up in the air. My ring glimmers in the sunlight. “What is this shimmery thing??”

My brother and Billy drop their jaws.

Our papas, who were chatting together, are both staring at our hands now, unsure what they’re looking at.

Patricia, however, gives my mama a coy little shrug and a knowing smirk.

Of course, she already knew.

And my mama is quick to notice that very thing. “You knew about this??” She turns on Patricia at once. “You already—?” She lets out a huff of exasperation. “WHY does everyone always know everythin’ before I do?? Goodness gracious, I’m so happy and mad at the same time! Augh, my mascara’s runnin’, ain’t it? I’m cryin’. My mascara’s cryin’. Oh, heavens, have y’all set a date? We need to set a date! Oh, gosh darn it, now I’m full-on cryin’! There’s so many plans to be made!”

My mama’s gonna need a few moments to recover.

Or a few hours.

Or a few days.

But regardless, Bobby and I find ourselves caught in a whole new wave of excited, wordy congratulations by my brother and his husband, as well as our papas. Laughter is shared, smiles are made bigger and brighter by the second, and even my completely blindsided mama is uncharacteristically quick to recover, hugging us both repeatedly as her eyes spill with boundless tears of joy.

Bobby and I are whisked away with the family to enjoy a nice post-graduation dinner at a big restaurant, which is kind of like the Biggie’s Bites of Arizona, a favorite spot that Bobby and I always frequent. With our parents and my brother and his man and my feisty grandma, we all share a spread of the greasiest, sloppiest, best damned food we’ve ever had.

And with every burst of laughter at the table …

And every knowing look from one of my parents down the table at me …

And every nudge of my brother’s big, obnoxious arm into my unsuspecting side …

I’m certain my future will be full of more surprises, love, and happiness than I could have ever dreamed, because I have Bobby Parker at my side.

Now, and forever.

Then an all-too familiar song comes on the restaurant radio, a song I’ve heard many times over the past two years ever since we first danced to it at the Second Annual Spruce Ball—as well as our reprise for the Third Annual Spruce Ball, and probably this coming summer for the Fourth.

Bobby eyes me importantly, then extends a hand my way. “Will you have this dance with me, Mr. Strong?”

I take his hand with pride. “You bet your Lightnin’ Leg tushie I will.”

Then, with a sweep of feet and a graceful maneuver of Bobby into my arms, we do our dance right there in the middle of the whole restaurant to the tune of happy strangers clapping, fellow graduates cheering, and our families beaming proudly at us.

It’s a dance I will be doing the rest of my life—a dance with Bobby Parker, the best gosh-dang partner a lovesick, puppy-eyed dancer-boy like me can possibly wish for.

The End.