Page 22 of Coming to Grips
Chase has to really think about that… It’s not being gay. He’s got no beef with Kyle or Tyler or any of the other guys he knows who swing that way. He couldn’t care less where they dip their wicks.
He flounders around in his mind trying to pinpoint the source of his unease. Finally he says, “I don’t feel gay.”
“Hmm… And what do you expect that to feel like?” She waves again, this time to a pair of men walking across the Square with a little girl hopping and skipping between them, holding their hands. Their voices float across the expanse of grass, but they’re not loud enough for Chase to make out any words.
“Like Kyle did, I guess, back in high school, when he came out.”
“That was being harassed and hazed for being different and not what some deem acceptable or right.”
“Yeah.” Junior year was hell for them both, more for Kyle by a factor of ten than for Chase, although he got his fair share of shit for being Kyle’s best friend.
“Do you think there’s any one right way to feel happy or sad?” she asks.
“No, of course not.”
“Then I don’t think there’s any one right way to feel or be gay.”
And, okay, she’s got a point; he hums in agreement. “I guess… But I just…I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” Losing Kyle is the last thing he wants.
“Your friendship was forged in fire. Do you really think something likefeelingsare going to come between you two?”
Chase huffs and it’s almost a laugh, but Marva’s right about that too. “No.”
“Then my advice, for what it’s worth,” she sits up and pats his knee again, “is to ride it out. If you’re not sure what’s real and what’s injury-related, then wait until you’re better. Until things go back to normal. If you still feel more for him than what you did before the accident, then instigate a conversation.”
Chase stands when Marva does and gives her a one-armed hug. “Thanks, Marva.”
“You’re welcome, Roo. Don’t be a stranger, eh? Just ‘cause you’re all grown up.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“You coming to the reunion?”
The Hansard Family Reunion took place every Labor Day weekend out at Pawpaw Point Pavilion.
“Don’t know. Depends on my arm, if I’m back to work, Kyle’s schedule.”
Marva smiles, her blue eyes crinkling behind her wire-rimmed glasses.
He’s always loved how she looks like Santa’s wife, only slimmer. Uncle Howard hadn’t looked anything like Santa though. He was tall, equally slim, and his hair had been thinned out and steel gray up until he’d passed away.
“If you need a ride, call me. Or call your mother.”
Right. He’s really not completely dependent on Kyle for everything. “I will.”
Marva heads off across the Square and Chase is left to his own thoughts once more.
* * *
It’s with a churning in his stomach that Chase steps into the cabin six hours after he fled the ranch.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Kyle jumps from his chair, book tumbling from the coffee table, where he’d tossed it, to the floor. His eyes are big and his hair is sticking up all over the place.
It’s not that Kyle yells or even looks angry, but Chase has a sudden, horrible sense of déjà vu. He flinches and immediately turns around and walks out. Kyle’s response is too much like Chase’s dad’s and too much like Anna’s, although Kyle has never addressed him with this sort of intensity before. Not like this.
Chase walks to the back of Kyle’s truck and hops onto the lowered tailgate.
Kyle comes barreling out of the house and stops off to Chase’s left—hands hanging loosely on his hips, chin to chest. He knows all about Chase’s dad’s tirades. “Shit, Chase, I’m sorry.”
