The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,109

stumbled out into the living room.

“I understand that it’s Mother’s Day, Amos. What I don’t understand is why I have to have this conversation again. I already went through the whole thing with Miriam. I’ve got some personal stuff that came up. I’m not coming to brunch. Mom will be fine; she’ll understand.” Tean listened, and then his whole body stiffened, and he shoved his hair back with his free hand. “Just because I don’t have children doesn’t mean I don’t have personal stuff—”

“We’re going,” Jem said. It was more of a cough, so he cleared his throat again and said, “We’re going.”

Tean glanced over and shook his head. He waved for Jem to go back in the bedroom.

Instead, Jem stripped out of his grandma t-shirt and knelt in front of the duffel. “Tell them we’re going,” he said as he dug out fresh clothes.

“No,” Tean whispered. Then, into the phone, “I’m hanging up now, Amos. I’ve already explained myself twice. Don’t you dare tell Dad—”

“Teanthony Maharajah Leon,” Jem said. Holding his DuckTales tee in one hand, a fresh pair of boxer briefs in the other, he said, “Tell them we’re going, or I’ll rip that phone out of your hand and tell them I’m hanging up so I can give you a blow job.”

“You’re not well,” Tean whispered.

“Well enough to give a blow job.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Then, into the phone, “I don’t have to explain why a single man is so busy he can’t honor his mother the one day of the—”

Jem reached for the phone. Tean planted a hand on his chest and forced him away. Jem reached again. He had longer arms.

“Fine,” Tean shouted, and it wasn’t clear if it was meant for Jem or for Amos. “Fine. We’re coming. I’m bringing a friend. Goodbye.”

He disconnected the call and dropped the phone on the rug. His other hand was still warm against Jem’s bare chest.

“There,” Jem said, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You are a pain in my butt,” Tean said, forcing Jem out of his path. “And your beard is gross and still has fry salt in it.”

When Jem checked in the bathroom mirror, he realized Tean was right.

By the time they’d both showered and gotten ready, it was time to leave for brunch—with Scipio along for the ride. Jem was swimming under a couple more Xanax again, and Tean kept throwing him looks as they drove south on I-15. It was Sunday, which meant traffic was light. The sky was a vibrant blue, empty of clouds, and the valley’s bowl was full of spring sunlight. Tean’s parents lived in South Jordan; Jem thought he remembered that the Mormon temple was visible from the freeway, but now glass-sided office buildings and a redbrick hotel stood in the way. Progress. The sacred valley getting plowed under and built over with Gentile money. At least they had Starbucks now.

Like so many areas in suburban Utah, South Jordan was a mix of incomes and styles. One street might have half-million-dollar homes with immaculately groomed lawns; the next might have matchbox constructions from the 1950s, with asbestos siding and a patchy mix of dirt and weeds for the yard. Tean’s parents lived in one of those houses. Wire fencing enclosed a lawn that was mostly weeds. The tiny house had vinyl siding that sagged in places and, in others, was chipped and broken. The windows were probably original; they looked thin enough to shatter if Jem sneezed on them. Six cars were parked in front of the house: four were squeezed into the driveway, bumper to bumper, and two more were on the street. Tean parked, and then he said, “This is a bad idea.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Are they going to burn me for being a fag?”

“No.”

“Are they going to ask me if I’m the one who turned you queer?”

“No.”

“Are they going to ignore me?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“So what are they going to do?”

Tean sighed. “They’re going to be nice.”

As soon as they were inside the fenced yard, Tean undid Scipio’s harness, and the Lab shot around to the back of the house. Tean headed for the front door. He didn’t knock; he just walked into the house, beckoning Jem after him, and it was like walking into a hurricane. Children were everywhere. Twin boys were jumping on the back of an expensive-looking leather sectional, while a third boy tried to join them, but they kept pushing him back down. A girl ran through the room screaming, while a slightly older girl