Christian stared listlessly at the countdown on TV. His mom was excitedly telling his aunt about his latest game right next to him, holding his arm. “Best player on the team,” Deborah was saying. Everything was starting to blend together.
His dad stepped up and took a picture of them; his mother pressed a kiss to his cheek.
He’d lose all of this in an instant of he told the truth. If he stopped living a lie, if he could just come out. But the words were stuck, begging to be let out.
Logan wasn’t even here. He’d run off with his ex (or maybe they were together again, Christian didn’t know) and he was happy. Logan didn’t have to lie to himself. Their parents had already given up on him. They didn’t even call them twins, just brothers, like it was somehow a terrible sin for him to share a womb with Logan. Christian was their last chance at having a normal, well-behaved son. A son that would graduate college and marry a pretty girl and settle down with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence.
You were somewhere in his living room, probably cornered by one of his uncles to discuss the game the two of you had played. Because that was all you were to the rest of the world. You were his best friend, his teammate. You guys liked football and drinking and women. He wasn’t supposed to be kissing you behind locked doors, or begging you to hold him when he wasn’t dating Florence.
Not that Florence was ever gonna date him again. On Christmas he’d had a nervous breakdown, nearly crashed into a tree to get to her house and confess everything. Christian had never come out to anyone before, aside from you, but you were like him.
“You big idiot,” Florence had said through her own tears. “You should’ve told me sooner.”
Because Christian did love her. He thought he loved her like he loved Logan, like family were supposed to, but he loved you like something else.
His dad slapped his back. “You okay, bud?” Thomas asked. He used to call Logan that too when they were little. Before their mom had put away all their childhood pictures with Logan. She’d left one on up, but whenever relatives came over she flipped it down like she was hiding her shame.
“I’m good,” Christian managed to reply. “Tired.” His dad said something else, about football or his grades, bragging about him.
He had everything to lose.
From across the room Christian caught your eye and, for the first time in over an hour, he smiled.
No, he thought, not everything.
Because if he kept living like this, if he stayed quiet and complacent like a good son should, then he’d have lost you.
Christian was walking toward you before he realized what he was doing. His hand found yours.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really sorry you’ve been stuck with me for so long, and I’m sorry for this too.”
His family was starting to stare. He could see the obvious confusion on his mom’s face. The countdown continued somewhere behind him.
“Five.”
“I’m in love with you. So fuckin’ in love with you, baby,” he continued in a hushed whisper because only you were ever meant to hear this part. “If you don’t want shit to do with me after this, I get it.”
“Four.”
His heart was in his stomach, mouth dry. Once he said those words there would be no going back. He couldn’t take them back, but Christian didn’t want to anymore. He couldn’t take back being gay. He just was.
“Three.”
Christian squeezed your hand tighter. Did you realize what he was about to do? He couldn’t tell. Maybe the tears in his eyes and the shake in his fingers had dulled every single one of his senses.
“Two.”
Christian turned back to his parents. Deborah was holding Thomas’ arm. Both of them were frowning, but his mom knew. His mama had always known him best.
“Ma, I’m gay,” he said. “I can’t be what you need me to be. I’m sorry, Dad. I’ll die if I keep living like this. But I tried, okay? I tried so hard.”
“One.”
Let him be selfish one more time, just this once. Christian kissed you then, slow and soft and sweet. The people on TV cheered.
Happy fucking New Year.