I’d been seeing Sam for a little over six months and things were good with us. Really good. He was handsome, smart, he knew what he was doing in bed and he treated Nix like the kid brother he’d never had—interested in what he was doing and protective, but not all up in his business like a parent. He was such a good guy. Over the past month, he’d dealt with my mood swings, breaking plans, and depression, and he’d never once faltered in his devotion.
My dating life had been pretty much non-existent the past few years. I’d dated a man for almost a year when Nix was five, but that had eventually fizzled out. I’d made him wait so long before I’d been ready to have sex with him, that when I’d eventually given in we’d realized that we weren’t very compatible. He’d been a sweetheart, a man I’d met at my yoga class, and I couldn’t have picked a better person for my first time after the attack… but it hadn’t been good. Not in any capacity. He’d been gentle, and tender and everything I could have wanted, but he’d also had no backbone or skill. After the first time when I’d cried, and the next few times that I’d laid there in boredom, we’d both known that it wasn’t going to work out.
I hadn’t had sex again until Patrick had shown up a few years later, and after that, I hadn’t even been open to the possibility of becoming serious with anyone else. Not until Sam.
On paper, Sam was everything I could have wanted. He was gentle, but he also knew exactly how to touch me. He didn’t put up with my shit, but he didn’t push, either. He was successful, driven and extremely attractive. I really liked him and I’d thought that maybe we were working toward something good.
But now, all I could see was Patrick, and I fucking hated that. I hated the pull he had on my emotions and the way he wouldn’t let go.
He wouldn’t let go, and I couldn’t go back.
“Mum, I’m heading over to Simon’s okay? His mom’s leaving right now.” Nix came to a stop next to me, and I leaned against his lanky frame.
He’d grown taller than me by the time he was thirteen, and now my head barely reached his shoulder. It both amazed me and drove me insane because I knew where he’d inherited that height.
“Are you sure—” my words cut off as his body grew tight against mine. I was being selfish. “Sure, baby. But you need to be home by nine, okay?”
“Mum—”
“Nine, Phoenix. No later. You’ve got school tomorrow and you’re not staying the night over there.”
“I always stayed there before—”
“Nix,” I warned, and his mouth snapped shut.
“Fine,” he grumbled, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “Love you.”
“Love you too, kiddo.”
He ran down the steps and met Simon’s mom Renee at her car, where she stood waiting for him. She raised her hand and waved back at me with a nod before climbing inside and pulling away. We had a deal, her and I. No matter where the boys were, my house or hers, we kept an eagle-eye on the two of them.
“Ye couldn’t have let de kid stay wit’ a friend tonight?” Patrick’s voice startled me. I’d forgotten for a moment that he was there. “We’ve got shite to talk about, Amy. I let ye have de past couple of days, but it’s time.”
I shook my head and locked the front door, absently looking over the messy house. There’d been too many people inside my small home, but I’d wanted to have the reception after the funeral in my own space. I’d never felt completely comfortable at the church, and I’d wanted to get out of there as soon as I could.
“Yer makin’ him a mama’s boy,” Patrick continued, and I felt unreasonable anger rise in my chest. I’d heard that comment before from an old boyfriend right before I’d kicked his ass out of my house.
“Simon’s not Nix’s friend, Patrick,” I replied, walking into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. It felt like the house had dropped ten degrees without all of those bodies heating it. “He knows he’s not allowed to stay the night there, he was just trying to work the sympathy card.”
“Shite, de boy just lost his nan—”
“That doesn’t mean that I’m going to encourage him at sixteen to go have sex!” I snapped back, turning to face him.
“What?” The look of confusion on his face was almost comical.
“Simon is Nix’s boyfriend.”
I watched as understanding hit him and braced myself. I was used to people saying shit—I lived in a small Texas town, for Chrissake, so it wasn’t like I hadn’t heard the murmurs. I was also pretty sure that Simon and Nix were together purely because it was slim pickins around here for gay teenagers.
But that didn’t mean that I was prepared for any type of scorn from Patrick. It would completely sever any ties I believed were still holding us together.
“Well, shite. I wouldn’t let him spend de night dere, eit’er.” He growled, dropping into a chair at the table. “What’s dis Simon kid like?”
I felt a small smile curve my lips as I turned back toward the counter. “He’s a nice kid. Not very handsome,” I looked over my shoulder with a smirk. “His ears stick out and he’s fighting a losing battle with acne. But he’s sweet to Nix, and that’s all I can ask for.”
“Little fucker better be nice to Nix,” I heard him grumble as I passed him a hot mug.
“It’s fine, you know? He’s a good kid, and he’s respectful. I can’t really complain.”
He was silent for a few moments and I could envision the gears grinding and the wheels turning as he processed this new information. I’d had years to process it, starting when Nix was around…eleven, I think? He’d started asking questions then, and even though it had scared me, I’d answered as calmly and reasonably as I could.
Did I care that my kid was gay? Not at all.
Did I worry about him every single second he was out of my sight? Yes, but I’d been doing that since the day he was born and I didn’t see it changing—ever.
I knew that there were people out there who would hurt him just because they could. Bigots. But for now, we were tucked away here in our quiet town, and we hadn’t had any problems yet. My boy was all boy, strong and masculine, and there were only a few kids larger than him in his high school. As long as he was there, I knew he was relatively safe. I didn’t let myself think of when he’d leave for college. That was a whole new set of worries.
“He havin’ sex wit’ dat kid?” Patrick’s accent was deeper, along with his tone.
“Uh, no. I don’t think so,” I replied, wiping off the coffee that had come out of my mouth in an arc of surprise. “He’s only sixteen, Patrick.”
“I was havin’ sex by de time I was twelve.”
“Twelve?”
“Aye.”
“That’s disgusting!” I looked at him in horror, but I couldn’t change my expression. Ew.
“Mum worked quite a bit,” he said with a chuckle, his accent once again fading.
“New subject,” I ordered, my nose still scrunched up.
“Ye have de birds and de bees talk wit’ him yet?”
“He’s not going to be getting anyone pregnant.”
“Don’t be a bitch, ye know what I meant,” he chastised. “He knows about condoms and whatnot?”
“Where the hell is this all coming from?”
“Because I could talk to him. Talked to some of de younger boys at de club, ye know—”
“Patrick!” I yelled, cutting off his rambling.
When his eyes met mine, they were concerned. “He can’t go havin’ unprotected sex, Amy. It’s not safe.”
“Relax, baby,” I said, the endearment slipping out before I could stop it. “I’ve had that talk with him. More than once. He’s got condoms if he needs them, but I don’t think he’s using them.”
“Dere’s AIDS and shite, Amy.”
“Nix isn’t going to get AIDS, Patrick. Shit.”
“Or herpes.”
“Could you knock it the fuck off?”
“How well do ye really know dis Simon kid?”
He was really
irritating the shit out of me.
“Patrick, what the fuck is wrong with you? Simon’s gay, not a serial killer!”
Patrick’s chair fell over as he shot up from the table, his face a mask of angry disbelief.
“Dat boy thought I was his da,” he hissed, bracing his hands on the table to lean closer. “He carries me name.”
I watched him in silence as my face grew red. I knew I’d offended him, but I was fucking offended, too.
“He carries me name, Amy. De love of me life carried him inside her fuckin’ body! It’s not like he’s some kid off de bloody street.” He shook his head, seeming to grow angrier by the second. “I have a daughter at home and she doesn’t even bring boys back to de club because dere so fuckin’ terrified!” he growled, taking a step back away from the table. “Ye are out of yer bloody mind if ye believe me concern comes from anyt’in’ but de worry dat someone is takin’ advantage of our children.”
He stomped away and out the front door before I had a chance to reply.
I felt like shit, like a complete and total asshole. I’d been so defensive for so long that I’d automatically assumed that he was being a dick, spouting off all of that STD crap. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that he was being ridiculously protective. I spent so much time worrying that someone would treat Nix badly, that I hadn’t even realized when someone was doing the exact opposite.
I was such a bitch.
“Patrick!” I yelled, pushing back from the table and following him outside.
I found him sitting on the front steps, smoking a cigarette.
“I’m sorry,” I said, plopping down next to him. “I think I’m overly sensitive.”
“No shite?”
“I’m so worried that someone is going to be an asshole— hold that thought.”
I jumped up and ran upstairs to grab a small Altoids tin out of my sock drawer. When I made it back down, Patrick was watching me in amusement.
“You have a light?” I asked, setting the tin down on the wood step next to me and pulling out a small joint.
“Why, Amy Gallagher, ye rebel.”
“Without a cause—I know.” I shook my head as I took the lighter out of his hand and lit up, taking a small drag and coughing slightly. “It helps with my anxiety.”
“Ye have a problem wit’ dat? Anxiety?”
“Not really, yoga and meditation help. I haven’t even gotten hives in years. You know, this is the first time in a long ass time that we’ve just sat shooting the shit.”
“American phrases are ridiculous—and don’t change de subject.”
“I thought you were giving me a minute to apologize.”
“Consider yerself forgiven—I’ve dealt wit’ me own share of shite wit’ Brenna.”
“Really? That surprises me.”
“Not so surprisin’,” he commented, taking the joint from my fingers and inhaling deeply. “Her pop is part of a motorcycle club, some parents ain’t too excited about dat.”
“Ain’t.” I snorted, as he passed the joint my way again.
“Shut it.”
“Sorry you’ve had to deal with that. We haven’t had any major things happen yet—but I feel like I’m always braced for it. I just don’t want him to get hurt, you know? I mean, he’s big and he’s going to be bigger, so I think he’ll do alright physically. I just hate the thought of someone making him feel bad about something that he’s got no control over.”
“Ye can’t shield him from everyt’in’—boy’s almost grown, he can’t be cowering behind his mum.”
“He doesn’t. If anything, he’s more protective of me.”
“Good. Sounds like ye raised him right.”
“More like your mum did. Shit, I don’t know what I would have done without her. I was so messed up for so long, I think I had a panic attack when she finally moved out.”
“Ye ready to tell me what I want to know?” he asked, taking the joint from me again and finishing it off.
“Want to go inside for this?” I asked calmly, leaning back against the railing.
“Probably not. At least out here dere ain’t anyt’in’ to break.” He shook his head at me, his eyes moving leisurely from the top of my head to the neck of my black blouse.
“It’s not something I talk about—ever.” I said, looking away from him. “I mean, I haven’t even discussed it with Sam yet.”
“Dat de jammie bastard wit’ his hands all over ye today?”
“He’s a good guy, Patrick.”
“He know he’s fuckin’ a married woman?”
“Don’t be a cunt, he knows that we were married.”
“Cunt, huh? Yer language has gone to hell. And we’re still married.”
“It’s a piece of fucking paper,” I argued, knowing that I should be really irritated, but not really feeling it. The marijuana was doing its job.
“It was vows we spoke in front of a priest.”
“A dirty priest.”
“Dat doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“We made promises,” he insisted stupidly, and I had to curl my hands around each other to keep them from smacking him in the head.
“You didn’t keep even one of those promises—” my words trailed off as I saw movement at the end of our long driveway, and within seconds I was on my feet and running.
“Phoenix?” I called, “Are you okay? What happened?”
He was sweaty and breathing hard, his face beet red from running in the heat, and there were dust covered tear tracks on his cheeks.
“It’s nothing, Mum,” he lied, passing me without meeting my eyes.
“It isn’t nothing. What the hell, Nix?”
“I said it was nothing!” he turned and leaned down to yell at me, and I flinched backward.
“Mum?” he asked, his voice cracking as he tried to understand my movement.
“Don’t speak to yer mum dat way,” Patrick said angrily, walking toward us.
“I can handle this, Patrick,” I warned, my eyes never leaving Nix’s.
“Ye don’t look like yer handlin’ anyt’in’,” he retorted.
“Why the fuck are you still here?” Nix hissed, turning to face Patrick. “Your mom no longer lives here, you need to leave.”
“Phoenix Robert!” I yelled, completely caught off guard by his scathing words. Who the hell was this kid?
“Ye okay, boy?” Patrick asked quietly, watching Nix closely.
“Fuck you! I said I’m fine!”
“Ye don’t look it.”
“I’m fine!” Nix yelled, his hands closing into fists and his arms tightening down his sides. Tears began running down his cheeks again, and humiliation mixed with absolute grief on his face.
“Baby,” I murmured, reaching out to touch his back gently through the sweaty white undershirt he was wearing. “What’s going on?”
My tone, or maybe my touch, must have been the catalyst, because he began sobbing as he covered his face with his hands. He turned his body toward mine, and I took most of his weight as he wrapped himself around me.
“Mum,” he moaned into my neck.
“You’re okay, son,” I whispered into his ear. “We’ll figure whatever it is out. I promise, baby. But you’ve got to tell me what it is.”
Patrick watched us with concerned eyes as I held Nix in my arms. He wasn’t sure what to do—and I was glad for that. He may have been Peg’s son, and a part of my life years ago, but he had absolutely nothing to do with Nix.
Nix was mine. Only mine.
“He broke up with me,” Nix finally whispered.
On the day of his grandmother’s funeral? I shook with fury, wishing that Simon was eighteen so I could go over and beat the shit out of him. What a little dick head.
“He said he wasn’t really gay, that he just—” Nix began sobbing once again, and I almost didn’t hear his whisper. “He said he just knew that I’d give him a blowjob.”
My stomach turned at the whispered words and
I saw red.
“What a prick,” I said tightly, squeezing Nix tighter. “And if that kid isn’t gay, then neither is Elton John.”
Nix laughed once, then pulled back to meet my eyes.
“I’m so embarrassed,” he said shamefully.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Phoenix Gallagher. Not one thing. He’s the douchebag, not you.”
“But why would he say that?”
“Because people are assholes sometimes.” I reached up to grab a fist full of his hair, holding it tight as I made him meet my eyes. “You’re better than him. So much better. And someday you’re going to meet a guy that’s as handsome as you are, and he’s gonna think you hung the fucking moon.”
“This hurts really bad, Mumma.”
“I know it does, baby. I know.”
I turned him, and walked him slowly to the house as he did anything he could to keep from meeting Patrick’s eyes. My kid was mortified, and I resented the fact that Patrick had witnessed something that Nix didn’t want him to see.
“I think Renee is gonna call you,” Nix said as we reached the front porch.
“Good, I can tell her what a little fucker her son is.”
“I think she’ll probably say the same thing.”
I came to an abrupt stop and my gaze shot to his.
“I’m pretty sure I broke his nose… maybe his jaw, too,” Nix said nervously.
I looked closely at my tall, strong son. He was so many things. Smart and kind and handsome and funny. He had a way with people—they just seemed to gravitate toward him—and he’d never met a stranger. When he was really little he’d been kind of shy, but I sometimes wondered if it had been my nervousness rubbing off on him, because as I’d healed, he’d become more outgoing. He was the best man I knew.
“That’s my boy,” I said with a solid nod, reaching up to cup his cheek in my palm.
“I thought you’d be mad at me,” he said in relief, his shoulders slumping as he continued to hiccup with leftover sobs.
“You never let anyone treat you like less than you are, you hear me? You stand up for yourself. Always. Now go upstairs and shower. You smell like BO and manure.” I looked down to see blades of grass sticking to the bottom of his dress shoes. “Oh, gross! Take your shoes off, I’m pretty sure you stepped in some.”