up again. You know, the old, ‘it’s okay if he’s gay as long as he doesn’t act on it’ kind of thing, which only made me run faster toward him. I was smitten as my Memaw would say.”
I could so easily imagine a sweet and naïve Miller falling for a conman’s charm.
“I thought they couldn’t see what I did. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell them about the kink stuff we both liked. Mama, Papa, this is my…” He cut himself off and then rolled his eyes as he scoffed in disgust. “We argued, and they told me not to see him anymore. I did. They doubled down and said they’d disown me. Well, I doubled down too. We fought—again—and they told me never to come back.”
Miller resumed dicing tomatoes as I digested what he’d said.
“I tried calling once when I first moved in with, yeah, they hung up on me.” He was quiet, and I could tell his words hurt him deeply. “And when I finally realized the mistake I’d made, I felt like I couldn’t call them. I thought it was all my fault and that I deserved their silence.”
“And now?” I asked, taking the avocado from his side and slicing it neatly.
“Now?” He lifted a shoulder. “I wouldn’t know what to say. Maybe they’d hang up on me again.”
His voice was shaky, and I knew the fear of his parents rejecting him once more was what was keeping him away from them.
“You know,” I said, hoping I wasn’t overstepping my bounds more than I already had. “Parents often say things they don’t really mean when they’re scared for their children.”
Miller paused, his head tilting to one side. “You think?”
I shrugged as I scooped the lettuce into the bowl. “If I saw my child falling for a man I knew would hurt them, I don’t think there’d be anything I wouldn’t say or do to try to protect them. But I know I’d regret it if it backfired so horribly.”
Miller used his finger to poke at the scraps left on his board. “Mama and Papa are stubborn.”
“And sometimes a person’s pride won’t allow them to bend until someone does it first.” Letting him think on that and needing to bring the mood back down, I opened the oven and checked the lasagna. “I think it’s ready. Can you get some plates?” I asked, pointing him toward the correct cabinet.
Grabbing some potholders, I pulled the pan out of the oven and then reached for a spatula. Digging out two generous portions, I thanked Miller as he portioned out the salad. Some salad dressing and a few glasses of iced tea later, I led Miller to the coffee table, figuring a meal in front of the TV would feel less formal than if we ate at the dining room table.
Seeing Miller eye the rug in front of the coffee table, I mentally groaned and prepared for a backache as I grabbed two pillows and dropped them onto the floor. Sitting down on one, I stretched my legs out under the table and reached for my fork. Miller took the spot next to me, crossing his legs as he leaned over the table and took a bite of salad.
I grabbed the remote and began flipping through the channels. I watched Miller discreetly as I did, hoping something would catch his interest.
Nothing.
Settling on a rerun of an old sitcom I’d recorded, we sat in silence as we ate. Once I finished, I stood up, swallowing a moan as my back protested. I returned to the kitchen and placed my dishes in the sink to clean later.
“Would you like seconds?” I asked, eyeing the leftovers that were still on the counter.
“No thank you.” Miller stood and joined me in the kitchen, his plate scraped clean. Standing awkwardly as I put away our food, Miller watched me as he tugged at the hem of his shirt. “I was wondering if you wanted to watch another episode with me.”
“Sure,” I replied, gesturing toward the couch. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” Turning around, Miller returned to the couch, but instead of sitting on the floor, he took a seat at one end.
I joined him a little later, taking a seat on the other side. Reaching forward, I grabbed the remote from the coffee table and then propped my feet up onto the wooden surface. I looked to Miller to ask if the volume was okay but stopped.