Page 109 of Him
He goes very quiet behind me, but his hand traces lazy circles on my back. “Are you worried?” he finally asks.
That’s a fair question. “Not really. They won’t freak about the fact that you’re a dude. But they might be like, ‘Why didn’t you tell us? Is this why you quit the NHL? And why did you leave the country?’ I don’t like to be grilled.”
“When did you post it?”
“This morning before we went out for breakfast. So, like, five hours ago. It’s one o’clock in Cali right now. They’ve probably seen it.”
“Go get your phone,” he whispers.
41
Wes
I wait on the bed by myself saying an unlikely prayer for Jamie. He is quite possibly the most laidback person I’ve ever met. I love that about him. But it makes him vulnerable. People can be assholes about smaller stuff than their brother having a gay relationship. If anyone has said something ugly to Jamie on that Facebook page, I’ll probably punch something.
He doesn’t come back, though. And then I hear a groan from the living room.
That gets me on my feet and running through the apartment. I find Jamie perched on the edge of the condom couch, his face in his hands.
My stomach lurches. I don’t want this for Jamie. It’s taken me four years to get over my parents’ reaction to my coming out. Hell, I’m probably still not over it.
He holds out his phone to me, and I take it with a shaking hand.
His Facebook post is pure Jamie:
Hi all. I feel like a heel doing this over Facebook, but I can’t reach everyone by tomorrow. You’re all going to discuss me on Sunday, anyway. And in case you think my account was hacked, it wasn’t. As proof I’ll confess that I’m the one who broke Mom’s Christmas tree angel when I was seven. It was death by baseball, but I swear she didn’t suffer.
Anyway, I have to catch you up on a few developments. I’ve taken the coaching job in Toronto, and I’ve declined my spot in Detroit. This feels like the right career move, but there’s something else. I’m living with my boyfriend (that was not a typo.) His name is Wes, and we met at Lake Placid about nine years ago.
In case you were lacking something to talk about over dinner, I’ve fixed that problem. Love you all.
Jamie
Beneath the post there’s a selfie that we took yesterday. We’re in our new kitchen, and the groceries I’d just bought are strewn around. Jamie was teasing me about my shopping habits, and I was giving him shit about something. I don’t even remember what. But we’d leaned our heads together, and I’m making the sign of the devil. And we just look so fucking happy, I practically don’t even recognize myself.
I scroll down to the comments, and my stomach rolls over in dread.
Joe: OMG. Jamester, really? You did not just confess to dating a Patriots fan. That is a sin, little brother. I fear for your everlasting soul.
I squint at the picture and sure enough I’m wearing my Super Bowl 2015 Victory shirt. Whoops.
Tammy: Joe, you asshole! Don’t listen to him, Jamie. Your boyfriend is hot. And Jess owes me twenty bucks.
Brady: I’m going to have to side with Joe on this one. What if football comes up at Thanksgiving? If your boyfriend wants to talk about balls, it’s going to be awkward!
Joe: *High fives Brady*
Jess: I do not owe you twenty bucks! You said he was moping about a GIRL.
Tammy: I said “a relationship.”
Jess: *cough* *bullshit*
Mrs. Canning: Jess, language! Jamie honey, when are you bringing your boyfriend home for Sunday dinner? And are those Doritos in the background? Is there Whole Foods in Canada? I’m going to look on their website and send you the address.
Mrs. Canning: And thank you for telling me about the angel. I knew it was you, though, sweetie. You’ve never been good at deception.
Scotty: Jamie, Dad can’t remember his Facebook password. But he says to tell you he loves you no matter what and blah blah blah.
