The One With The Thanksgiving Chicken
For two weeks, Taylor and I managed to keep our new relationship status under wraps. Only Cade and Eduardo knew, and for the most part, nothing had changed. We still slept in our respective rooms, still bickered about stupid shit, and I still made fun of the way Taylor screamed like a sissy whenever he saw a spider. And we were fine with that.
Well, I was fine with that.
Taylor seemed to have a new, uncontrollable desire to be touching me. At all times. He also seemed to have lost the ability to pick out clothes to wear, always asking if he looked OK or should he change? I couldn’t wrap my brain around the instantaneous shift in his demeanor after the words “boyfriend” and “relationship” started coming out of our mouths, and of all the things to change, I had honestly hoped that Taylor turning into my girlfriend wasn’t going to be one of them.
I was in the middle of telling Taylor–for the twentieth time–that his new pair of jeans did not, in fact, make his ass look any different than his old pair of jeans when my mom called asking if we were coming to Thanksgiving. I hadn’t even realized the holiday had arrived, but when I looked at my calendar, there it was in just one week. I assured my mother that yes, both Taylor and I would be there, though the realization that I would eventually have to tell both my parents of our relationship caused my stomach to churn.
Setting my phone down, I called down the hall toward Taylor, who had scurried back to his room to finish getting ready. “So, that was my mom…” I called, swallowing around a lump that had formed in my throat. “Wanted to know if we were coming to Thanksgiving. I guess we should probably get our tickets? They’re going to be so expensive…”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Taylor called, poking his head out of his bedroom door. “I booked our flight about a month ago.” The smile on his face made me only slightly less annoyed that he hadn’t even thought to discuss it with me. But, we had gone home together every year for Thanksgiving since college, so I supposed it wasn’t out of line for him to think this year wouldn’t be any different. “Have you decided what you’re going to tell your parents?” he asked, pulling a wife beater over his head as he walked out of his room again.
“…about?”
Taylor stopped walking, cocking his head to one side with a raised eyebrow. “Us…?” he motioned between our bodies, an expectant look on his face.
“Oh. No,” I shrugged. “Do I have to tell them anything?”
“Zac, I know that you’re still getting used to this whole situation, but yes–you do have to tell your parents. I mean, unless you think this is just a phase or something that will pass…”
The uncertainty in his voice caused me to close the distance between us, my hand awkwardly coming to rest on his arm. “N…no, that’s not…I just…My parents are really religious, OK? I mean, they go to this really orthodox church and hearing that their only kid is g….ga…” I shook my head, my mouth refusing to form the word. “I’m just afraid of how they will react, OK? What if they disown me?” I finished.
Taylor’s thin arms wrapped around me, and despite how weird the action still seemed to me, it was also quite comforting. He rested his chin on my shoulder, squeezing me slightly. My arms found their way around his waist, and I decided after a moment that the hug was not weird at all.
He pulled away sooner than I would have liked, a smile on his face. “Zac, your parents adore you, and are actually pretty progressive, if a bit conservative. Trust me, they won’t disown you.”
“I hope you’re right,” I mumbled.
“I know I am.” He patted my shoulder, then walked toward the living room. “You almost ready to go? Cade and Eduardo are already at the restaurant.”
“Um, yeah,” I shook my head, remembering we had agreed to meet Cade and Eduardo–who had been joined at the hip lately–for dinner and drinks.
We stumbled back home a few hours later, after a multitude of lewd comments surrounding joining the Mile High Club on our trip home and a raucous karaoke competition, and found our way into Taylor’s bedroom. He kicked the door shut and we both fell onto his bed; he curled his body around mine, resting his head on my shoulder.
“Tonight was a good night,” he slurred.
“It certainly was,” I agreed. Taylor responded only by nuzzling his face closer into my neck before I heard his breathing even out, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself relax.
“Six-thirty is way too early to be awake,” Taylor mumbled into my shoulder. He had fallen asleep on our red-eye flight back to Tulsa, and was grumbling at now needing to be awake. “And if you think about it, it’s even earlier back in LA, so I really should still be asleep.”
“Quit your complaining,” I commanded, gently shrugging him off. “I will buy you a mocha-choco-chinny thing on our way out,” I bribed when he merely scowled in return.
He pretended to contemplate my offer before finally accepting. “But it’s got to be a Venti, or I might fall asleep standing up.”
Fifteen minutes later, we had deplaned, gotten Taylor’s girly coffee drink, and found our way to the pick-up parking lot. My mother was standing on the curb, a huge smile spreading across her face as she spotted us.
“Sorry to pull you away from your cooking,” I offered, giving her a hug.
“Very funny,” she mocked. “I haven’t actually started,”
“I’m surprised! You usually have half the meal made by now!”
My mother only nudged me with her elbow as she reached to give Taylor a hug. “Come on; Dad will be home from work soon. Taylor, honey, do you want me to drop you off at your parents?”
“No, thanks. My mom had a work thing and won’t be home until this afternoon, and Dad is probably going to go bonkers alone with my grandma. I think it’s safer if I camp out at your place until it’s safe.”
“OK, but you have to take some of my pumpkin pie to your mom; she loved it so much last year I made a whole pie for her.”
After the twenty minute ride to my parent’s house, I agreed with Taylor that a nap was in order. We marched up to my old bedroom, which looked exactly the same as it had the day I left for LA. With a smile, I took my pants off and crawled into bed in my boxers and t-shirt. Nothing said “home” like the familiar hills and valleys of my pillow-top bed.
Taylor found his way next to me, ripping the covers back and burrowing beneath them. I crawled inside with him, letting my head rest close enough to touch his. His arm snaked it’s way around my waist, the way it had every night the last week, and within minutes, we were both asleep.
What seemed like only minute later, I was awoken by a loud gasp, and the sound of my door closing harder than necessary. Groggily I looked for the clock to get an indication of the time, hearing my mother call apologies through the door before scurrying off down the hall. In my confusion, I tried to sit up, but found that I was pinned in place; Taylor had curled his whole body around mine as we slept, his head resting on my chest.
“Shit!” I sat up, pushing Taylor off me and scrambling off the bed. I collected my pants and stumbled into them, a string of curse words flowing from my lips as I bumped into the corner of my desk. Once I had finally zipped my fly, I opened my door and casually walked downstairs toward the kitchen.
I found my mom standing over the stove, stirring what I hoped was her famous stuffing. I cleared my throat to announce my presence, and took a step farther into the kitchen. “Um…Mom? Can I…talk to you about what you think you just saw?”
“Sure,” she nodded her head, but kept facing away from me.
“Um…well…I don’t…I don’t know how to say this, exactly. You know I love you, right? And I wouldn’t want to do anything to make you and Dad be disappointed in me…and…”
“Zachary,” Mom said, with a soft sigh. She turned around to face me, a smile on her lips. “Honey, it’s OK. I know what you’re trying to say, and it’s OK.”
“You…you do? It is?”
“Honey, of course! You’ve been with the boy ten years; it’s about time you figured it out!”
I could only stare at my mother, dumbfounded. “O–oh. Ok, then…”
“Go wake him up; his mother called and wants him home.” I nodded and turned to go back up the stairs when my mother called my name. “Zachary? I’m happy for you.”