Page 18 of Pretend You're Mine

And he fell into the physical affection part of our fake boyfriend play-acting just as easily as everything else. But I was probably blowing things out of proportion in my imagination because it felt like Creed was unconsciously leaning into me at every turn. He shivered whenever I whispered to him. Was it because my breath hit his neck? Did his pupils dilate when our eyes met? That was the part that must be in my head. I grewup gay in a very conservative, religious community; I was well-acquainted with the kind of secret love affair your brain could invent when it was desperate enough. The imagined lingering glances or the friendly touch that you read too much into. I learned early on how dangerous it was. Something I thought I'd left well behind.

My mother stood up, still surprisingly strong for a woman in her seventies. “As much as Thanksgiving is and will never be the same without my husband and love who has gone to be with the Lord," Mother said, "there are still a multitude of reasons to be thankful. I'm thankful for my kids, Rebecca and Avery. I might complain about your individual flaws, but I want you to know how much gratitude and love I feel for you. I’m honored to have borne the responsibility of loving and raising each of you. And to you, Nathaniel and Joseph. I might not have given birth to you, but you're more than my nephews, you're my sons." Then with an elegant sweep of her hand she said, "All four of you are my greatest gifts.”

My mother's words of love touched me, but they also felt repetitive. It was the same sentiment she had expressed last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. Except for the part about my dad having gone to be with the Lord. It almost sounded like a rehearsed script, robotic in nature. But I tried to focus on the positive—at least she was openly expressing her love for us.

Each of us rose to our feet individually to mention the things we were grateful for. Soon enough, it was my turn. I sighed, not relishing the idea of making a touching speech in front of my family. Or was it Creed’s presence that made me hesitant? An excuse would have been a good thing to come up with, but I couldn’t think of anything.

When he sensed me hesitating, Creed leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Aren’t you grateful for anything? You're not grateful for me?”

I rolled my eyes playfully and rose to my full height. "There are so many things that we take for granted and I hope nobody in this room feels taken for granted. I’m grateful for the people that you are and I feel lucky to be a part of this family. So from my heart, thank you very much.”

As the sentiment hung in the air, Becca broke the moment’s reverence. After taking a sip of her drink, she asked, “So what do you do in your spare time, Creed? We could all do something fun this weekend.”

Creed's expression shifted slightly. “I’m not much of a social person,” he replied. “The military does that to people. I’m fine with whatever you come up with.”

Becca nodded, clearly unfazed. “I’ll let you know when something comes to mind. Hopefully, you’ll be able to get away from Avery long enough to join us,” she teased.

Creed nudged me playfully. "I think Avery would be in a better position to respond to that."

It took everything in me not to let my mouth hang open.

Becca erupted into laughter, but Joseph quickly diverted her attention, and they began to argue playfully as cousins often do about something only they knew.

Creed's sly grin widened. "Don't let your jaw hit the ground, man."

My cheeks suffused with heat, I quickly shut my mouth.

Creed leaned toward me, lowering his voice. "Your sister seems nicer than the rest of them. Is she always this way?"

“Becca's great. I’ve never had any problems getting along with her. The only thing is that she says what she feels without filters. If there’s an award for being honest to a fault, I’m sure it would go to her.”

“I think I can deal with that.”

As the meal came to an end, my body was heavy with exhaustion and a hint of melancholy. My family was actually nicer to Creed than I’d expected, but being around him stirred up a lot of memories from my high school days of my foolish crushes on straight boys—memories I'd thought were long buried.

And then there was the looming presence of my father's ghost, lingering in every tense moment and filling the room with an uncomfortable fear that he used to instill in our household. The air felt thick with it.

I forced a polite smile before pushing away from the table. My feet seemed unwilling to cooperate with me as they stumbled up the stairs. I was exhausted, tipsy and hardly in control of my motor functions and thoughts.

As soon as we reached my bedroom, I realized Creed and I hadn't discussed our sleeping arrangements before now. The last thing I wanted was for him to think he’d been set up.

Still mulling over my next move, I pushed the door open. Right there in the middle of the room lay a king-sized bed that would easily fit us. My mother had swapped out my old bed for a bigger one, seemingly expecting us to share a room. My heart raced—was this her way of showing that she accepted my choices? Did she really believe that this arrangement would make us feel more comfortable together?

It felt like a small step toward mending our somewhat fractured relationship. Maybe she was finally starting to realize that I was old enough to make my own decisions, and that being gay meant I could choose who I wanted to share my space with. Iappreciated her effort, but the sudden shift in our dynamic made me anxious.

I glanced back at Creed, unsure how he’d take it. It wasn’t just about the bed; it felt like a lot of pressure. I appreciated my mother’s thoughtfulness, though I had a hunch that Becca had played a part in this arrangement. With sweaty fingers, I forced the door shut, hyper-aware of Creed’s presence behind me.

"I'll, uh, change in the bathroom," I muttered, grabbing my pajamas and heading for the door. Creed looked like he might say something, but his shoulders slumped with fatigue and he just nodded.

The cool air in the bathroom steadied me as I changed quickly, trying to calm my nerves. But when I returned, I caught a glimpse of Creed pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the taut muscles of his back.

I froze for a second, heat pooling in my stomach before I forced my gaze away. Clearing my throat, I focused on wiping my feet on the mat and climbed into bed, making sure to face the opposite direction. I lay on the edge of the mattress, shifting my body gingerly in an effort to settle in properly.

Seconds later, the bed dipped with Creed's weight. I shifted a bit further.

Being the openly gay one of the two of us had given me an idea of what to expect. One of the most serious fears was being accused of being a pervert. The confused, fourteen-year-old version of myself was stirred by my fear of upsetting my fake boyfriend.

It reminded me of the friends who acted like they were cool with my sexuality till they thought they caught me looking at them a second longer than necessary, and then they were jokingly slapping my back and reminding me of all the reasons why they were straight. The locker room dramas and the inconvenience that came with figuring out ways to showeralone after PE classes to avoid anyone thinking or saying I was checking them out. I'd declined invitations to sleepovers for the same reason…

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