Tell Me It's Real (At First Sight 1)

Andrew laughed. “You? You’re nothing.”

I smiled. “Your son thinks I’m something. And that’s enough for me.”

And just as I pulled off that wicked awesome exit line, I spun on my heels and didn’t trip and face-punch a wall or anything, even though it was what I expected. I might or might not have walked away a little bit slower and with more care than I normally did to make sure that I didn’t embarrass myself before leaving the church. After all, how often does one get to tell off one’s boyfriend’s father in God’s house and pull off some badassness before walking away practically in slow motion? One does not get to do that often.

But apparently God has a funny sense of humor because I could see them all watching me, especially Vince, and I opened my mouth to say something to him, anything to continue my streak of being amazing, but instead, I accidentally sneezed and burped at the same time and it was pretty freaking gross. And, of course, it echoed throughout the church and several conversations near me stopped as people turned to stare at me, convinced, I’m sure, that I was possessed, and a demon was trying to crawl its way out of my mouth. I expected priests to come running at me, spraying me with holy water, screaming in Latin about how the power of Christ compelled me and the demon needed to be gone from my earthly body.

“We can’t take you anywhere,” Sandy muttered.

“That was very manly,” Dad said.

“I’m pretty sure I thought he was barking at me,” Nana mused.

“He used to do that as a child,” Mom reminisced. “It’s even grosser as an adult.”

“Is he the man in your relationship?” Darren asked Vince. “Does he tell you to go make you a sandwich in the kitchen while he sits in his recliner and scratches his balls?”

“You can’t say balls in church,” I scolded. “Jesus might hear you.”

“I think Jesus is running away from you,” Vince said.

And just because I wanted to, and just because I could, on the thirteenth day after I’d met him, I kissed him in the church.

The world, interestingly enough, did not explode.

Take that, homophobes!

WE WERE the last ones at the cemetery. Vince wanted a chance to sit with his mother after everyone else had left. I asked him quite clearly if he wanted me to go as well, but he shook his head, gripping my hand tightly as the rest of the mourners cleared out, heading to the mayoral mansion for continued services. Vince hadn’t wanted to go to that, as he was almost done with the day.

It was odd, really, sitting next to the hole in the ground that contained a mahogany box holding his mother. The employees at the memorial grounds understood that we needed a bit more time and could complete their interring once Vince was ready to go. It probably didn’t hurt that I reminded them who he was and who was being buried. They nodded and drifted away, starting to stack chairs and moving flowers.

I walked back over to Vince, who lay on his back in the grass next to his mother. His eyes were closed when I reached him. My shadow covered his face, and a line appeared on his forehead. “Paul,” he said without opening his eyes.

“Vince.”

He sighed. “Today is one of those days that I wish was already over.”

“I know.” And I did. Even if I didn’t know what he was going through, I could imagine. No matter what I said about my family belonging to him, no matter what my family did for him today, he’d still lost someone. He still had to say good-bye to his mom. I tried to think about how I’d be if it was my mom, and I hated the thought. And I hated the idea of what he was going through.

He would need me, I’d been told.

He was going to break, I’d been told.

So far, he’d been far stronger than I think I would have been in his position. And for some reason, this filled me with great pride, knowing that he was stronger than people gave him credit for, stronger than I gave him credit for.

I lay beside him on the grass, not caring about my suit coat. There were more important things to worry about. Our shoulders bumped, and as soon as I was down completely, he reached over and grabbed my hand, curling it into his own.

I waited.

“I’m trying,” he said finally, “to think of a good memory. Any single one that I can take with me when we leave here today.”

I hesitated. “Can you find one?” I hoped he could, because he needed it. He needed to be able to say good-bye.

“I was scared I couldn’t,” he confessed quietly. “I thought that I’d only be able to think about the past few years and that it’d piss me off and I’d just be angry about

it forever. I don’t want to be angry forever, Paul.”

“I won’t let you,” I said, ignoring how I’d essentially just acknowledged the word “forever.” It didn’t freak me out as much as I thought it would. “I’ll be sure to kick you in the nuts if you stay angry forever.”