Him (Him #1)(86)

I wait on the bed by myself saying an unlikely prayer for Jamie. He is quite possibly the most laidback person I’ve ever met. I love that about him. But it makes him vulnerable. People can be *s about smaller stuff than their brother having a gay relationship. If anyone has said something ugly to Jamie on that Facebook page, I’ll probably punch something.

He doesn’t come back, though. And then I hear a groan from the living room.

That gets me on my feet and running through the apartment. I find Jamie perched on the edge of the condom couch, his face in his hands.

My stomach lurches. I don’t want this for Jamie. It’s taken me four years to get over my parents’ reaction to my coming out. Hell, I’m probably still not over it.

He holds out his phone to me, and I take it with a shaking hand.

His Facebook post is pure Jamie:

Hi all. I feel like a heel doing this over Facebook, but I can’t reach everyone by tomorrow. You’re all going to discuss me on Sunday, anyway. And in case you think my account was hacked, it wasn’t. As proof I’ll confess that I’m the one who broke Mom’s Christmas tree angel when I was seven. It was death by baseball, but I swear she didn’t suffer.

Anyway, I have to catch you up on a few developments. I’ve taken the coaching job in Toronto, and I’ve declined my spot in Detroit. This feels like the right career move, but there’s something else. I’m living with my boyfriend (that was not a typo.) His name is Wes, and we met at Lake Placid about nine years ago.

In case you were lacking something to talk about over dinner, I’ve fixed that problem. Love you all.

Jamie



Beneath the post there’s a selfie that we took yesterday. We’re in our new kitchen, and the groceries I’d just bought are strewn around. Jamie was teasing me about my shopping habits, and I was giving him shit about something. I don’t even remember what. But we’d leaned our heads together, and I’m making the sign of the devil. And we just look so f*cking happy, I practically don’t even recognize myself.

I scroll down to the comments, and my stomach rolls over in dread.

Joe: OMG. Jamester, really? You did not just confess to dating a Patriots fan. That is a sin, little brother. I fear for your everlasting soul.

I squint at the picture and sure enough I’m wearing my Super Bowl 2015 Victory shirt. Whoops.

Tammy: Joe, you *! Don’t listen to him, Jamie. Your boyfriend is hot. And Jess owes me twenty bucks.

Brady: I’m going to have to side with Joe on this one. What if football comes up at Thanksgiving? If your boyfriend wants to talk about balls, it’s going to be awkward!

Joe: High fives Brady

Jess: I do not owe you twenty bucks! You said he was moping about a GIRL.

Tammy: I said “a relationship.”

Jess: cough bullshit

Mrs. Canning: Jess, language! Jamie honey, when are you bringing your boyfriend home for Sunday dinner? And are those Doritos in the background? Is there Whole Foods in Canada? I’m going to look on their website and send you the address.

Mrs. Canning: And thank you for telling me about the angel. I knew it was you, though, sweetie. You’ve never been good at deception.

Scotty: Jamie, Dad can’t remember his Facebook password. But he says to tell you he loves you no matter what and blah blah blah.

That’s when I snort, and Jamie looks up. “They’re pretty ridiculous, right?”

“I think they’re…” I have to swallow hard, because I’m so happy for him. “I think they’re great.”

He shrugs. “I spent my whole life trying to stand out from the crowd. I swear to God, I could announce I wanted to live my life as a transsexual vampire yeti, and they’d still say ‘Oh, Jamie. You’re so cute.’”

It’s a challenge for me to swallow again, but this time because of the massive lump obstructing my throat.

As always, Jamie senses my distress. This man knows me, inside and out. He always has. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just…” I speak past the lump. “You’re really lucky, Canning. Your family loves you. I mean, they really, truly love you, and not just because you’re related by blood and they have to love you.”

His brown eyes soften. I know he’s thinking about my family, but I don’t give him the chance to make excuses for my folks.

“My mother is a trophy wife,” I say roughly. “And I’m a trophy son. Neither one of my parents ever saw me as anything more than that, and they never will. It…sucks.”

Jamie tugs me toward him. “Yeah, it sucks,” he agrees. “But here’s the thing about family, Ryan…blood doesn’t mean shit. You just need to surround yourself with people who do love you, and they become your family.”

I sink down on the couch beside him, the plastic crinkling beneath my boxers. He slings one muscular arm around me, then brushes his lips over my temple. “I’m your family, babe.” He takes the phone from my hand and taps the screen. “And these crazy maniacs? They’ll be your family too if you let them. I mean, they’ll f*cking drive you bananas sometimes, but trust me when I say it’s totally worth it.”

I believe him. “I can’t wait to meet them,” I say softly.