Page 163 of Still Bruised
Foster chuckled. “I’m sure a lot of kids say things like that at four.”
“You also told me girls were icky, and boys were prettier.”
“I was four,” Foster said.
“Then there was the Backstreet Boys at eight or nine. You didn’t come out and say you had a crush, but it was pretty clear who your favorite was. Although, you had Britney Spears posters on your walls, too, so that made me wonder—but they all camedown a couple of years later when you started your obsession with Michael Phelps.”
“I wouldn’t call it an obsession.”
“Foster—your walls were covered in photos of him in a tiny Speedo.”
“I’d made the swim team. I wanted to be like him,” Foster said, his face red.
“Sweetheart,” his mother said. “I saw the way you gazed up at those posters when you didn’t think anyone was looking. You had a puppy crush on young Mr. Phelps.”
Jude coughed, covering his mouth with his hand—trying his damnedest not to laugh.
“Okay. Maybe a little.”
“Your brother had pinups of women in tiny bikinis. You had sweaty, muscular men.” She grinned.“We knew.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Foster asked.
“Well, we didn’t want to make assumptions or embarrass you, either. We felt it needed to be natural without us interfering. And then along came Ashley. During high school, we assumed she just might be your beard, but then you went and married her. We were both quite confused.”
“You didn’t question their marriage?” Jude asked Mrs. Price.
“We kinda eloped,” Foster said to Jude. “While we were out visiting her dad in California, we took a weekend trip to Vegas, got a little drunk, and got married.”
“He’d already told us Ashley’s father had been urging them to get married and he was considering it,” Mrs. Price said. “I assumed there would be time—and we’d gently question Foster and make sure it was really what he wanted before they walked down the aisle. Then they showed up with rings on their fingers and what was done was done.”
“And now undone,” Jude said.
“Thank heavens,” Adeline said, lifting her hands. “He’s free to be who he really is.” She smiled at Jude. “With someone like you.” She smiled. “I’m glad you accepted my invitation for dinner and finally got my boy out of his funk.”
Jude eyed her, confused.
“As if we hadn’t seen the two of you sneaking in and out of that apartment for weeks. And noticed his gloomy mood the second it stopped,” Mrs. Price said. “We might be old, but we’re not completely blind.” She sighed, yawning. “We can talk more tomorrow if you want. I’m going to bed.”
“Goodnight, Mom.”
She paused at the door. “We love you, Foster. Exactly as you are. Straight. A little curved. Or completely queer. Makes no matter to us.”
Foster took a few steps forward and hugged his mother tight. “I love you, too.”
After they pulled away, Mrs. Price urged Jude over, opening her arms for him.
Jude wasn’t really a hugger, but there was something about the moment—and the woman—who led him forward.
Adeline wrapped her arms around Jude like any mother would a child.
“I know you lost her before you knew who you were, but I’d wager she saw you, just like I did my Foster. And knowing Rosalie, I suspect she would’ve loved you no matter what,” Adeline whispered against his ear before kissing his cheek.
Jude leaned into Adeline, needing that hug more than he’d realized. And the acceptance that came with it.
When he pulled back, she patted his cheek. “You’re the best of them both.” She turned toward the door and shuffled through it. “Night, boys.”
Foster turned to face Jude. “I suppose I couldn’t have asked for better.”
