The stage lights glared down on me, making it feel like it was a hundred degrees in the civic center. Sweat ran down the back of my neck, underneath my collar, and the air was stifling. I would be so glad when the election was over. I was so sick of these rallies. I reached up to adjust my tie but caught myself just in time. No fidgeting, it makes you look nervous, I heard my mother’s voice in my head. But damn, I hated wearing ties. I hated all of this—the crowds, the noise, the grandstanding, all of it.
I glanced to my right where my sister stood in her appropriately modest dress. The one that made her look like an old maid instead of a vibrant twenty-year-old young woman; her crowd smile in place and hands clasped primly in front of her. I waited like I always did, hoping she would look my way and give me some sign that she despised this as much as I did, that we were on the same team, that we both thought every word out of our father’s mouth was bullshit. There had been a time when we were close, but while I was away at college, we’d grown apart. I’d tried to talk to her about it, but she shut me down. Now, Malcolm, you know Father just wants what’s best for the people of the Commonwealth of Virginia.
I looked out over the crowd with their Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, Bring back American Values, and Send Them Back signs, and all I could think was not all the people, sis, only the ones like him, and for sure, none of the ones like me. I could never say that, though. My father could maybe probably forgive me for being gay, but he would never forgive me for ruining his image. He ran on a strong family values platform, so he voted against LGBTQIA+ rights, for gun rights, and always in favor of big business. He was the face of the far-right, and he wouldn’t tolerate his family behaving in a way that might call into question our strict god-fearing upbringing.
I’d been doing this so long it shouldn’t even bother me anymore. My first memories were of standing beside my father at the pulpit looking out at his congregation, terrified to move, because the consequences of being anything but perfectly proper were too great. Boy, you will obey me. You’re old enough now to behave so you will stand up there, and you will not move a muscle. I couldn’t have been but two or three, and here I stood almost twenty years later, still obeying.
I felt sick. Literally. Like I needed to throw-up-sick. I always did while standing up here in front of these people, smiling and pretending I wasn’t the least bit bothered by thousands of people who hated me and didn’t even know it. I was a good Christian boy, my father’s son, and standing up here with my prim and proper mother and my sweet and innocent sister, we made the perfect all-American family. And it was all a lie.
The crowd burst into applause. My father gave a wave and a bow, then motioned for us to head off stage. I rushed to the men’s room, into a stall, and praying no one would come in; I dropped to my knees and threw up.
Roman
I swear if I wasn’t part owner of this company, I would quit. What the hell was I thinking going into business with these two idiots? I pushed open the back door so hard it crashed into the wall, the doorknob leaving a hole in the drywall. Great, something else I’d have to fix.
“Look, Roman, I’m sorry, okay,” my youngest brother Rand said, trailing behind me. “I didn’t know she was the client’s daughter. I thought she was just some rando.”
“It was a destination wedding, you jackwagon. Odds were everyone there was related to the client in some way or another, that’s who attends weddings. Family members. Besides, you were supposed to be working, not getting your rocks off.” I stripped off my shirt and removed my protective vest on my way to the locker room.
“I was off the clock before we hooked up,” he insisted.
I shoved my vest into my locker and slammed the door shut. “It was the client’s daughter, Rand. And you were outdoors. And you got caught.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know they would be doing fucking