Page 3 of Pretend You're Mine

Guilt swamped me. When had I last made time for her? For anything except work? Yet I remembered the last time I'd gone back home and seen the entire family. At our family's annual 4th of July celebration. An event the well-heeled of Michigan marked on their calendars.

"Dad left big shoes to fill, and there are days when I feel overwhelmed. But I'm doing my best to keep things moving forward."

“That's not what I called you about, dear." I could hear her sucking in a deep breath on the other end of the line. "Haveyou been in contact with Noreen since your father's funeral?” My heart clenched at the mention of my childhood friend and the daughter of my father's old business associate. Memories flooded back as I struggled to understand why my mother would bring up Noreen now.

“Something happened to her?”

My mother hesitated before answering. "Noreen just got divorced from her husband..."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. I'm sure she'll be okay. Nori deserves to find happiness and fulfillment in her relationships.”

“That’s not the news I have for you, though. I’m inviting her over for Thanksgiving dinner. It has been some time since any of us have been in touch with her. We’re keeping our celebration small this year, just like old times."

Mother's words hit me like a splash of cold water on my face. She didn’t have to do any more explaining for me to understand where this was going.

I'd come out as gay to my deeply conservative, Christian parents when I turned eighteen, but I never dared bring a date home. That would have been too much chaos. I settled for brief, meaningless encounters instead. The drama and resentment because of my sexuality had beaten me down over the years. I became the good, dutiful son, and eventually my parents had relaxed their feelings about my "lifestyle.”

Mother had tried to get on board with ‘the gay thing’ for a while, but it seemed like the lack of evidence of my sexuality over the years had sent her into “you just haven’t met the right girl yet” mode, which had led to the most awkward series of arranged meetings at family functions that I'd ever sat through. The 4th was the worst yet, with a series of ‘eligible’ Michiganian daughters being sat next to me, one after the other, as if theywere prize farm animals waiting for me to bid on them. They hated it, I hated it, and I flatly refused to go through it again.

Every day I was reminded of the legacy my father left behind, and it weighed heavily on my shoulders. I strived to live up to his expectations, but there were moments when I felt like I'd never be enough. My mother's words stirred conflicting emotions within me—gratitude for her concern and guilt for not being able to fulfill her desire for her son to be 'normal.’ But enough was enough.

"Don't you ever get tired of this, Mother? You cross the boundaries over and over trying to match me with some woman, hoping I'll get over the phase of homosexuality. I don't think you understand the concept of human sexuality?—"

"I'm not trying to change you, Avery…"

"No. Don't do that. As long as I can remember, you've been acting like the reason for my choices is because I've yet to meet the right girl. The debacle during the 4th of July celebrations is a pointer. I won't let Thanksgiving dinner be a repeat. Do not expect me if you'll be inviting Noreen or any other potential wife to dinner."

It seemed the ground was spinning after my tirade and I touched my hands to my temples, massaging slowly.

"You don't understand… I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm only trying to help so you don't end up alone."

"I don't need your help in finding a partner! I've told you this before: no blind dates, no surprise dates, and no crop of dates waiting for me at the table."

"Avery... I... I..." Her voice shook and she paused, unable to complete what she’d been saying. I felt a twinge of remorse at how hard I was being on her.

"You were supposed to support me. That is all I've ever wanted from you. Both you and Dad. There is no way I'm going to let you or anyone else try to hook me up with anyone again."My voice rose. I cast furtive glances around me. I didn't even realize that I'd reached the coffee shop and was standing at the entrance.

"Avery. I'm only trying to look out for you. What will people say if they find out about this? Your reputation is not the only thing that will take a hit. Think of your career as well as the company. I understand your need to be real. But it's not worth it."

I could feel my annoyance ebb with the crack of her voice. Her perception might be a bit twisted, but it was clear she wanted what was best for me. Even if it meant shoving me back into the closet I'd struggled to come out from for most of my life. But that wasn't going to happen. Even if it meant lying to her. I couldn't believe the thought that popped into my head. My brain was clearly working overtime.

"I have a boyfriend and he's coming with me to Thanksgiving dinner."

"You're... you’re joking." My mom sputtered. "I understand how hurt you probably are, but this? This is taking it too far."

I felt the familiar bubbling of anger as she spoke. I pressed my palm to my forehead, trying to relieve some of the tension I felt. “All right, so, I'll talk to you later, Mom. Love you."

I hung up the phone. It was difficult to breathe. My throat tightened around itself. My fingers itched to redial the phone and explain to my mom why I'd hung up on her. To tell her about the panic attacks I'd had to deal with recently and how she'd always been my safety net, till she wasn't.

Mentally exhausted, I brought myself back to the present. Flicking my wrist, I glanced down at my watch to check the time.

I still had time to grab a cup of coffee, down the caffeine, and collect myself before stepping into my workspace. The call had destabilized me. Working at my father’s company meant I sat several feet away from Rebecca, my sister, and she had theuncanny ability to pick up on my moods. It would only take a few minutes before she guessed what had happened, no matter how hard I tried to hide it.

CHAPTER 3

CREED

I eased the car into a free spot on the street and shrugged off the sweatshirts I had layered during the night. I was left in a pair of black pants and a checkered button-down shirt. Slipping off my beanie, I ran a hand through my short, dark hair, combing it neatly to one side. I got out of the car and strolled toward the coffee shop.

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