Page 27 of Starts With a Bang

“Please do.”

“They go to community theater performances and try new restaurants. Sometimes the entertainment or meal is a miss, but the experience is always a hit because they’ve done it together. That comes through loud and clear in every post. Your mom often talks about what your father liked most about the meal instead of what she liked.”

“Though it’s pretty evident on his shirt, right?” I asked.

Sven laughed. “Not always, but sometimes. And your dad always comments on the sound of your mom’s laughter during a performance or the way she smiles or silently cries when especially moved. It’s like he prefers observing her reactions to the production rather than watching the performances himself.”

I tilted my head and recalled bits and pieces from my childhood. “We had our favorite weekly shows, and my father spent more time watching my mother’s reactions than the show. I’d forgotten that until you reminded me just now.”

“You’ve internalized it, not knowing it was special. I bet you do now that you’re an adult.”

I nodded. “Yeah, my parents are the ideal couple.”

“Your aunt and uncle couldn’t be more different,” Sven said. “A person wouldn’t even know John Carmichael is a husband or father by scrolling his social media accounts if not for your aunt’s incessant tags. His posts are about business and golf. Nothing about Janet or Christian.”

“Uncle John is the definition of an absentee father and a disinterested spouse,” I said.

“I think Janet’s forced cheerful posts are even sadder. I have a lot of clients like her, and I work hard to make them feel seen and appreciated when they’re in my chair.”

“Those are some impressive observations and insight.”

He gave a little bow and straightened in his seat. “But wait! There’s more.” Sven chuckled at his infomercial actor impersonation. “Your cousin and ex-husband work overtime to show the world that they’re ‘not that kind’ of gay.” Sven pointed at himself. “Flighty, flirty, and sexually free. They wouldn’t be caught dead at a drag brunch, and I pity them. Your ex-husband dresses like a youth pastor and is the wrong kind of tight ass.” Sven waggled his brows. “My ass is tight in all the right ways, but I’d bet money Christian and Emerson think gays like me are ruining things for gays like them. They probably watched as teens like me got bullied because my queerness had been on full display since birth. Their internalized homophobia may have even prompted them to take part in the harassment. Bet they’re all too happy to claim all the rights afforded to them without having joined the fight to make it happen.”

Sven’s cadence had increased as he spoke, and he gestured more than usual. He’d never come across as nervous before, so it was obviously a sensitive subject. I snagged his hand and brought it to my lips.

“You’re the best kind of gay,” I said. “Perfect in every way.”

Sven inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “I’m no Mary Poppins, but I’ll do in a pinch,” he teased.

I turned my head and studied our home for the next few weeks. The two-story chateau was a magnificent beast made of glistening glass and rustic timber, set against a majestic mountain backdrop. Every light in the rental house must’ve been on because it shone like a gaudy beacon in the dying daylight, as if to say, “Look at me!” By going inside, I was participating in the farce. Everything wasn’t okay with our family, and two weeks in Vail wouldn’t fix that. In fact, this holiday would likely make everything worse.

Sven’s hand covered mine and squeezed. “You’re thinking awfully hard.”

“This is a bad idea,” I said.

“Then we should leave.”

I turned my head to study Sven. He’d gone to a lot of trouble to rearrange his schedule and clear the time off for my benefit.

He chuckled and leaned forward to kiss me. “I’m not doing this solely for you.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Nope,” he said. “Your expression gave you away. I’m here for myself too. I’ve never wanted a man the way I want you, and I will prove that you and I are the real deal.”

“How can you possibly know that? We haven’t spent much time together in the past two years.”

“How long did it take for your parents to figure out they were made for one another?” Sven pressed.

“One date.” At Sven’s raised brow, I added, “They got married a week later.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case.”

“But we haven’t had sex yet,” I protested. “We barely rubbed each other off in the back of my minivan.”

Sven closed his eyes and hummed happily for a few moments. He reopened his eyes, and the dark blue irises shimmered with wicked mischief. “Intimacy isn’t just about penetration, and I’m excited to explore all the ways we can please each other.” Sven glanced at the chateau and said, “But we can experiment and play anywhere. We don’t have to stay here. Parents as wonderful as yours would understand.”

“I’m not doing this for my parents,” I said. “If this is Nana’s last holiday, I want it to be special.”

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