Page 8 of Betting Brett

I want to counter his point and say that noteveryonehas the same yearnings and fantasies. I understood there were totally straight people and totally gay people, and that was alltotallyfine. But before we can continue our conversation, my mother enters the room, her face a mask of concern. It makes me snap my mouth shut. "What's going on here? What are you two talking about so quietly? It’s like a wake in here."

I exchange a glance with my father, not quite ready to broach the subject, even though I know I need to.

But before either of us can respond, she continues, her voice rising in pitch, like it does when she’s daring someone to argue with her. "You know,” she says as she disapprovingly surveys the uncleared table, “I had a visit with Martha today. She said that Andy is back in town. I could hardly believe it. That boy is back, stirring up trouble and sin wherever he goes. I knew that boy would be nothing but a bad influence on you, Brett. I certainly hope he knows his place and keeps his lifestyle choices to himself."

Her words ignite a fire within me, a surge of anger and defiance that refuses to be silenced. I’m done brushing aside her ignorant and mean-spirited comments. No more.

"Mom, you have no right to talk about Andy like that. He's my best friend, and he's not causing trouble or spreading sin. He's just being himself, just like everyone has the right to do."

Her face turns a deep shade of red, her anger at being defied mingling with the satisfaction of getting to argue. "Brett, you know the choices Andy likes to rub in all our faces are going to send him straight to Hell. I will not allow you to be tainted by his sinful behavior. You are to stay away from him.”

I stand up, the chair legs scratching loudly against the hardwood floor, my resolve hardening with each passing second. Rather than raising my voice, my anger makes me speak slowly and carefully. I don’t want there to be any chance of misunderstanding. "Andy is my best friend and one of the people that I love most in the world. He is going to be a big part of my life, no matter how you feel about it. I will not stand silently and listen to your bigotry anymore. I came out here to tell you that I don’t want you spreading your hatred around Isabelle, but I can see that you’re not willing to listen to me.”

My mother’s color goes even deeper red, and I worry fleetingly about upsetting her, almost out of habit. “It is my Christian duty to teach Isabelle to hate sin. I will not shirk that duty just because you are weak enough to be tempted by Satan!” Her volume rises with each sentence. “I won’t stand for that kind of perverted influence in my granddaughter’s life. It’s bad enough that they have you partnered with a sinner at work. If you associate with Andy,” she spits his name like it’s a slur, ”it’s only a matter of time before you follow him right down to hell!”

Suddenly, calm settles over me. The news is broken, the rage has come, and it doesn’t change anything. I answer her in the same measured voice I’ve been using. “If being true to myself and treating all people with respect means following in Andy's footsteps, then yes, that's exactly what I am doing. And I won't apologize for it."

The room falls silent. As I lock eyes with my mother, I realize that the path I am choosing is not an easy one, but it’s inarguably right.

The tension in the room escalates, a tangible force that seems to suck the air out of the space. My mother's face morphs from rage into a mask of offended disdain, her lips pressed into a thin line. My father's grip on my shoulder tightens, a silent plea for calm, for understanding.

But my mother is far from understanding. Her voice comes again, more quietly but still sharp and accusing. "You can't be serious, Brett. You can't just throw away everything we've taught you, everything you've known, for... for this sinful path."

I’m more impatient than angry, feeling like this conversation is a waste of my time, but I force myself to remain calm, to approach this with reason and patience. "Mom, it's not a 'sinful path.’ Love is love. It makes no difference who it is.”

She scoffs, her eyes filled with a cold fire that I've never seen before. "This is just a phase, Brett. You're confused, led astray by that... that man who's come back into town, spreading his filth and corrupting the minds of the young people here." She looks like a hawk, ready to swoop down with her talons and end it all.

My heart pounds in my chest, anger returning at her words, at the blatant disrespect towards Andy, who has been nothing but a good friend to me. She knows that. She knows Andy has been my best friend forever. Why wouldn’t she want that for me? That kind of happiness?

"Andy is not corrupting anyone, Mother. He's my best friend, and he's a good person. Better than most people in this town, I'd wager."

Her face contorts with rage, and her voice rises to a near shriek. "Don't you dare defend him in this house! He's nothing but trouble, a stain on this community!"

I can feel my father's hand trembling on my shoulder, a silent witness to the escalating argument. I shake off his hand, standing tall, my voice firm before I say, "If loving Andy, if being true to who I am is a stain, then I don't want to be clean according to your standards."

"If you choose this path, Brett, you're not only turning your back on your family but on everything you've ever known. And I won't stand by and watch you drag Isabelle into this life of sin." She takes a step back, her face pale, her eyes filled with tears of anger. I could hear the threat in her words like she held a knife up to my throat, blade against skin.

How fucking dare she.

A chill runs down my spine at her words, a dark premonition of the lengths she might go to in order to "protect" Isabelle. "You stay away from Izzy, Mother,” I say, each word calculated and cold to deliver maximum effect. “She's my daughter, and I will not let you poison her with your hate."

My mother's face hardens, her voice dripping with venom. "We'll see about that, Brett. We'll see." With that, she turns on her heel, storming out of the room, leaving a chilling silence in her wake.

My father finally speaks, his voice heavy with sadness. "Brett, I..."

I shake my head, cutting him off. "Not now, Dad. Just... not now."

I decide it’s time for me to go. I snatch my keys off the mantle and walk out of the house with measured strides. As I drive back home, I can't shrug off the feeling of impending doom, a sense that a battle line has been drawn. The rending of the fabric of my family has shaken me, and my mother's threats hang in the air, a dark cloud that threatens to engulf everything I hold dear.

She can’t actually do anything, though… can she?

I pick Isabelle up on the way home and can’t help but be grateful that she’s tired from hanging out with her friend. After I get her settled in her room for the night, I immediately go to shower, wanting to wash off tonight’s fight as if it were an oil spill clinging to my skin. When I finish, I dry off and go to bed, where I reach for my phone. Without even thinking about it, I tap Andy’s name, and the phone lights up with his smiling face. A picture I took of him on the day he moved back. He had a shit-eating grin and soft eyes, and the sun was making his slightly messy brown hair shine like gold.

The line rings once, twice, before his voice comes through, a beacon of warmth in the cold night.

"Hey, Brett. Everything okay?"

I swallow hard, fighting back tears. "No, everything's not okay," I manage to get out.

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