“What do tofu and a dildo have in common?” I shrugged. “They’re both meat substitutes!”
I sniggered. Will roared. He was still sniffling and giggling when we pulled up to my home. Wiping at his cheeks with the backs of his hands, he gave the rundown farm and doublewide a long study. I cut the engine and waited for him to say something about how poor we were or some other Anglo comment that would make me want to slap him.
“Dude, there’s a rooster on the roof.” That was what he said as he pointed at Joe strutting across the roof, flapping his wings as he cluck-clucked at the hens to join him. The girls were considerably smarter than Joe. They wanted nothing to do with a wide open roof in the middle of the day. Smart considering there were eagles and hawks in the area.
“That’s Joe,” I said. Will’s mouth twisted into an amused smile. “This is where I grew up.”
“Yeah, it’s cool. The chickens are fun.”
“Guess so.”
He glanced from Joe doing the roof strut to me. “We were poor too. I mean…there were times between marriages that my mother and I slept on the floor of the offices she cleaned. We’d eat the food employees left in the fridges. So like I’m not judging anyone, okay?”
“Yeah okay.” I stared at his pink cheeks and lush lips. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
“Go for it.” It was tempting but Kenruh was watching us instead of gathering up his fishing gear from the boat. “He’d probably be cool about it.”
Yeah, probably but I still couldn’t bring myself to be the source of more pain in this house. What if he wasn’t? What if he and my mother were ashamed? What if my being queer caused them more heartache?
Kenruh rapping on the hood of my truck startled me. “You want to learn how to fillet a fish, Will?” Kenruh held up the salmon and gave it a shake. Will gave me an odd look then bolted off to join my grandfather around back. I slowly made my way around the rear of the doublewide, hands in pockets, head full to overflowing. Will was a quick study. Joe flew down and called the girls over for a treat of fish innards. Then someone opened the sliding door in the dining room and rolled out to the wide, low back porch. We all turned to look at Mom smiling at us.
“Only one?” she called to the men gathered at the skinning table. It was an old handmade wooden table that sat beside the hose reel. “Hello there! You must be Will. I’m Perry’s mother.”
“Hey, Mrs. Yellow Horse! Only one and I caught it,” Will boasted.
“Good thing we have frybread tacos to fill up on. Wash up and come in. It’s ready.” She rolled herself back into the house. Stomachs rumbling, we hosed off the table and went inside, pink fish fillets proudly carried in by Will. The fillets were put into a container with cold water then we scrubbed up. Will was quite animated as we sat down at the table. Mom had made a meal and a half. My mouth watered at the sight of the platter of frybread rounds topped with taco meat, black olives, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. For sides, there was a bowl of cilantro lime rice, refried beans, and some of my mother’s famous succotash made with black beans, corn, green peppers, onions, tomato chunks, and seasoned with chili powder, thyme, and black pepper.
“They call this Cherokee style succotash,” Mom explained as she passed the dish to Will, who spooned a heaping helping to his plate.
“It looks great. Are there any Cherokee reservations around here?” Will enquired then took a huge bite of his taco. His eyes closed, and he sighed in pure joy as he made muffled yummy noises.
“Not around here,” Kenruh replied as he quickly removed his stinky fishing hat. It had several lucky lures—the platinum ones—that he had retired hanging off it. Mom did not allow hats at the table. Mine was hanging on the rack by the back door. He dropped the hat to the floor. “Oklahoma and North Carolina if memory serves.”
“Cool,” Will said around his food.
“Perry, I need you to try on your regalia before you go in case it needs to be altered again,” Mom said, dishing herself some refried beans. Will’s expressive eyebrows flew up his brow.
“What is a regalia?” Will asked after swallowing loudly.
“Traditional dress worn while dancing,” I hurried to explain, hoping he’d drop it. His eyes rounded. I should have known better.
“Dude, you’re a dancer? Like what kind? Ballet or tap dance or what?”
Mom giggled. “Traditional dances,” she clarified. Will actually lowered his fork to stare at me as if I’d turned into Cthulhu. “He’ll be participating at the fall gathering over Labor Day. You are coming, aren’t you, Will?”
“I wasn’t invited,” he stated as his sight drilled into me. I felt my ears growing hot.
“It’s open to the public,” I mumbled then took a bite of taco.
“Perry, for shit’s sake,” Mom huffed then leaned over her plate to look right at Will. “Consider yourself invited, Will.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Yellow Horse.” He stuck his tongue out at me. The urge to sling some succotash into his smug face was strong, but I resisted. Someone should give me a medal. The rest of the meal was spent talking about the upcoming powwow, the dancers, the drummers, the income that it would generate for the reservation, and the importance of preserving our heritage.
After the meal and the history lesson, Kenruh and Will took the scraps out to the chickens while I helped Mom clean up the table. I knew she was brewing on something. I could tell by the way she would keep looking up at me then scratching behind her ear. That was a sure giveaway.
“Perry, why didn’t you invite Will to the gathering?”
And there it was. “He didn’t need an invitation. It’s open to the public. All he has to do is buy a ticket and walk in like everybody else.” I stacked the final plate atop the other three in my hand then plunked a glass atop the pile. “He doesn’t need me to hold his hand.”