Page 254 of Wrath

His eyes do well up now, and my mom hugs him. Which means she's hugging me, since I'm still holding Ezra's hand tight. "That's all ancient history to us, darling. We're so thrilled to see you! Have you here for Christmas. I talked to Josh the other day and I could hear the old Josh in his voice." She gives Ezra an adoring smile. "Come in the kitchen. Let us feed you."

The kitchen is buzzing with energy, with everybody talking on top of each other. With polite laughs and big smiles, and everybody trying so hard. And a lot of damn good-smelling food.

My mom asks Ezra to help her get rolls out of the oven. Carl murmurs to me, "A well-timed cold one," and winks. Ezra's eyes seek mine out both times we're more than two feet apart. Then he seems to find his footing.

We both pile our plates high, like maybe this is our last meal, and I think of the last dinner we had before Ezra left in November of 2018. How I didn't know that it would be the last one. And how that's really the way everything is. Nobody likes to say it out loud, but you never really know. About anything. So it's smart to savor what you've got. Whether it's a battered chicken leg or someone's socked foot rubbing your calf under the table, or corny dad jokes, or a midnight rooftop jerk off session.

Ezra tells Carl the most edited possible version of his story the next morning, with me beside him on the couch. And for the next half a day, I feel like Ez was right: It really doesn't feel like Christmas. Knowing Carl and my mom so well, I can feel the weight of what Ez told them, even as they move about the house, both clearly trying to be festive.

But then my cousins come to ice cookies, and little Hank, the evil seven-year-old, ends up icing Ezra's face and hair. And somehow, a fight breaks out with the flour. Ez and I are smearing it all over each other, and my Uncle James' dog Petey eats two sugar cookies, and by the end of it, the whole kitchen is filled with screaming family. Ezra's on his back on the floor, letting children paint him, and Carl is snapping pictures.

My mom gives me a grin. "You're on clean-up duty," shesays. She quirks an eyebrow up at me and nods me over by the fridge.

"I got the Nintendo like you said, honey. But once I found out the boy is Ezra, I ordered all the games for it."

"Allof the games?" I gape at her.

Mom shrugs. She leans in and whispers, "Also, a gift card to that bookstore in Tuscaloosa for four hundred dollars. I got you one, too, to your Auburn bookstore."

I take my mom by her hand and tug her into the dining room on a whim. "I'm going to have to have a heck of a shopping spree right after Christmas. Because, Mom..."

"Yes, honey?" Her eyes are peeling wide.

"I'm transferring to Tuscaloosa. Starting January."

Her jaw drops and her eyes pop out, and she looks like she might blow a gasket.

Finally she manages, "Does Ezra know this? I suppose he—"

"No, he doesn't. I'm giving us both Crimson Tide sweatshirts on Christmas morning. Dad knows, though, and we're working out the details."

"So it's serious?" she asks me softly.

"The most serious," I manage, my voice rasping as I say it.

"All that bit about the writing your name on his arm." My mom fans her reddening cheeks. "That's the stuff of real love stories, Joshua. That boy really loves you."

"I love him, too."

I'm wiping a tear when Ez runs into the dining room, covered in icing and beset by small children. "Get out of here!" My mother shoos them all back into the kitchen. Carl shoos them out the back door. Ezra collapses in the grass and my cousins jump on him. Wendy, the littlest, scoops some icing off his face and eats it.

"A good daddy, too," my mother whispers as we watch from the sidelines. "Just like Carl."

It's the last cringe moment until Carl gives Ez and me matching rainbow underwear on Christmas morning.

"Is that still cool?” he asks. “Rainbow stuff?"

Ezra and I look at each other.

"We don't know," I tell Carl. "We're baby gays. And we live in Alabama."

"I was thinking...you know...taste the rainbow."

And I die.We both die.

At least we’re together.

Four

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