The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,55

I’m so tired of this. This is what they do every time. Every time, they pretend like I have a choice. Every time, they pretend like nothing’s wrong, like everything’s just perfect. Every time, they leave me an out because they want me to be the one who ruins things. They can’t stand the idea of not inviting me, because then they wouldn’t be perfect, but God help them if I actually show up. That’s even worse because then all the in-laws have to face the ugly reality that I’m a huge, raging fag.”

The echoes of his shouting faded slowly from the cab.

“That didn’t sound like an unvitation.”

“What the hell is an unvitation?”

“Oh doc. That’s a nickel in the swear jar. An unvitation is when you invite someone to something in a way that means they’re not really invited. Or in a way that will make them not want to come.”

“That is . . .” Tean struggled. “The stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It sounded like she really wants you to be there.”

“You don’t understand. You don’t know them. And you don’t know how this works.”

“Why would anybody care if you’re gay? You came out like twenty years ago, right?”

“Eighteen,” Tean yelled.

Jem put a hand over his mouth.

“And it wouldn’t matter if it had been a hundred years ago. They’re still embarrassed. They still hate having to admit they’ve got someone like me in the family. They still hate the fact that their husbands and wives and kids have to interact with a homo. They hate how upset I make my mom and dad.”

“Ok,” Jem said, and he put his hand on the back of Tean’s neck and began to massage lightly. “God, you’ve got so much tension up here. Stop squirming. I said stop! I know you don’t like being touched, but you’re going to steer us off the road if you keep that up.”

Tean managed to stop trying to get away from Jem’s fingers.

“And can you try to relax? You can keep shouting, but it feels like you’ve got steel cables in your neck and shoulders. I’m going to break my thumb doing this.”

One deep breath. Then another.

“That’s better,” Jem said. “Now do a little more yelling.”

“I just hate this so much. I hate how they don’t want me there, and I hate how they make it my fault if I don’t go. I’m tired of everything in that family being my fault.”

“Outsider’s perspective?”

Tean grunted.

“I know I don’t know the whole thing, but it genuinely sounded like she wanted you there. Maybe a lot of this is in your head. Is that a possibility?”

They drove another mile past fields of alfalfa, the tiny green sprouts just getting started. A fat chukar was picking around the edge of the field and, in fits of excitement, flapping its wings.

“Maybe,” Tean finally said. “Some of it.”

The alfalfa fields transitioned to a run-down apple orchard, the trees gnarled and scraggly, the rail fence toppled over for twenty or thirty yards before starting up again.

“You think I should go to the party.”

“I think you should do whatever’s going to make you happy,” Jem said, his fingers still working their magic on Tean’s neck and shoulders. It was surprising—always surprising—to Tean how good it felt to be touched. Just like this. Just by a friend. Once he got past the initial urge to shrink away, of course. “But if you want to go, I’ll go with you, and I’ll beat the shit out of anybody who gives you the side eye.”

“You can’t beat the crap out of my family.”

“Beat the shit. Say it, Doc.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“It’s only a dime in the swear jar. Just do it. Be wild.”

“I’m talking about the party.”

Jem just squeezed his neck and laughed.

The maps app on Tean’s phone took them toward John Sievers’s home, which was only half a mile past Zalie’s pig farm, marked only by a gravel turnoff. Ten minutes later, they reached a gate, and Tean stopped the truck.

Jem jumped down, jogged to the gate, and spent a few minutes fiddling with it. When he came back, his cheeks had little red circles, and his eyes were bright. Tean had to be very careful about his thoughts, very careful to think only friend thoughts.

“Locked,” Jem said. “I can pick it, though.”

“Let me try calling him.”

So Tean called the number he’d gotten from the DWR database, but he didn’t get an answer—not even a voicemail. He tried again and got nothing. Then he tried Miguel,