was hoping he would be here when we got here, but we’ll just wait for him to get home I guess.”
She sat down on the sofa and looked to my dad. He took a seat next to her, leaned forward, and folded his hands. My dad schooled his features and exuded a calm exterior, but he couldn’t quite hide the pensive set to his body.
“You’re gonna wait for him?”
My mom ignored my comment and said to my dad, “I can’t believe he didn’t trust us enough to share this with us. That’s what hurts. He is who he is. I just wish he knew how much we love him.”
My dad smiled, but it was only the corners of his lips that lifted with it. Then he put an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
“I just can’t help but feel like this is somehow my fault.”
I could see the tears in my mom’s eyes as she spoke. Tears for fucking Brody, who was on the other side of the ocean doing God knew what and posting a picture of it while I covered for his stupid ass. Fuck this.
“I can’t believe you’re not mad.”
They looked offended. Speaking first, my father said. “Mad? Why would we be mad?”
“Why wouldn’t you be? He’s in another country, and you’re acting like you caught him taking a drag of a cigarette in middle school.”
“I thought you said he was at work,” my dad said, sitting up a little straighter and removing his arm from my mother.
“That was a lie,” I said. “Obviously.”
What is wrong with them today?
Placing her palms together and bringing her hands up to her lips, my mom seemed to be considering her next comment before she shared it. I waited.
“Is he at his boyfriend’s?”
It took me a moment for her question to register. “What? No. Knowing Brody, he’s probably got like six French women in his hotel right now.”
“It’s okay,” my dad said. “You don’t need to cover for him anymore. Your mom saw the picture.”
“What picture?”
Digging through her purse, my mom pulled out a folded paper and opened it. When she held it out to me, I took it quickly, wanting to see what the hell Brody had posted. But when I looked at the picture, I was surprised to see it wasn’t of Brody at all. It was the picture we’d taken after the auction of all the bachelors and the people who’d won them.
Drew was standing next to me, but his head was turned enough that even I couldn’t make out his face. It was also partially blocked by the guy in front of him. I wasn’t even sure our own parents would’ve been able to tell it wasn’t Brody. When I’d chosen which one to post on the sorority Instagram, I’d purposely chosen this one for that reason.
“I’m confused.” At least that part wasn’t a lie.
“So are we,” my mom said. “Imagine having to find out from social media that your son is gay.”
“Brody isn’t gay,” I said. “Why would this picture make you think that?”
“It wasn’t the picture. It was the comments. Some boy named HoeyJoey tagged Brody and said something about how you bid on his ‘boo.’”
“Just because a guy likes him doesn’t make Brody gay.” It almost scared me how quickly I came up with a response that made sense. I was really getting good at this lying thing.
“No, it doesn’t,” my mom said. “But then I called around and did some investigating. I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions that weren’t true, but the overwhelming verdict seemed to be that people on campus know Brody’s gay.” Sighing loudly, she looked to my dad. “We just wish he could’ve been as open with us as he was with a bunch of strangers.”
“Jesus Christ,” I said quietly. “Brody isn’t gay. He’s just…an idiot.”
Straightening, my mom cleared her throat. “Can you please explain to me what’s going on, Sophia Leigh?”
Neither of my parents were in the habit of using my middle name, and it only meant one thing when they did: I was in a heck of a lot of trouble. They were looking at me like I’d thrown a kegger while they were away for the weekend and charged underage kids fifteen bucks each to get in. Brody had actually done that a couple of summers ago, so I was familiar with that look.
“Actually, I think it’d be better if we spoke to the both of you together,” my dad said.