“Yup, I can bring a couple of pies. I’ll get whatever looks good,” I say.
“Great. That makes me happy.” My mom has this habit of always putting a name to whatever emotion she’s feeling. It’s a holdover from when I was a kid and I struggled to distinguish my emotions and to name them. She still does it to this day, and it’s kind of nice. I certainly never have to guess how she feels.
“So, Dylan,” she continues. “A little birdie may have told me you’ve been seeing someone,” she says in a singsong voice. Shit. Well, I wasn’t planning on telling her about Reed yet since I don’t even really know what’s going on myself, but damn, I guess Mason couldn’t wait to spill to her.
“Umm, yeah, I guess I’ve been sort of seeing someone,” I say. “But it’s not a big deal. We’re just sort of seeing where things go,” I deliberately don’t use pronouns, and I notice she doesn’t either. I wonder how much Mason told her.
“Well, if you would like to invite her—uh—them, for Thanksgiving dinner, they’re more than welcome,” she says, and I smile. She’s trying to get it right, and that’s way more than so many other LGBTQ kids ever get.
In the end though, my directness wins out, as always. “You can say ‘him,’ Mom. The person I’m seeing is a man.”
“Oh! Okay then,” she says. And without missing a beat, she follows up with, “Well, we would love to meet him if he’s in town.”
“Okay, I’ll ask him,” I say. “But you’ve actually already met him. His name is Reed Morrow. He’s the ER doctor who delivered Gracie’s baby and helped Mason after his accident.”
Apparently, Mason hasn’t gossiped too much because I can tell she’s surprised. “Really? That’s wonderful, dear. He seemed like a lovely person. And you like him?”
“Yeah, I think I do,” I say, and I can actually hear the smile in my own voice.
“Well, I think that’s excellent, hon. Check and see if he has plans for Thursday night, and I’ll make sure there’s a place set for him.”
“Okay, sure.”
“Goodness, if you bring a date, it will be the first time all three of you have brought a significant other to Thanksgiving!” Her obvious excitement makes me smile.
“Just so you know, we’ve decided to keep things small this year,” she continues. “Grace requested that, even though I’m already getting all kinds of phone calls wondering when people can meet the baby. She seems to feel like she isn’t up for a lot of people, but I think she might be acting just a little overprotective. More people will just mean more grannies around to help her!” she says brightly. Grace and my mom have a much more complex relationship than Mom has with either of us boys. It’s a stereotype, but she does tend to dote on her boys while being much harder on her only daughter. It’s always been that way. It’s not fair to Grace, but she accepted long ago that Mom is who she is and won’t be changing. “Anyway,” she continues, “it will just be us, Greg, Alanna, and Sam.”
Hearing the gathering will be much smaller than normal sends relief surging through my body. Sam and his parents are well within my “circle of trust,” having been through the good, the bad, and the ugly with us through the years.
“Okay, that’s good,” I say. “It’s probably better for Reed. He doesn’t have a big family, so he’s not really used to big family dinners.”
“It’s kind of you to think about his feelings that way, Dylan,” she says. Praising me for taking an interest in other people is another habit held over from my childhood. Mom spent many years working incredibly hard to help me learn to adapt to a society she knew would never fit me quite right. I have no doubt that she’s the main reason my life is as good as it is today.
“Thanks, Mom. How’s Grace doing with the baby?” I ask.
“Oh, your sister,” Mom says, huffing out a breath. “She says she’s doing fine, but I think she needs more help. But she won’t let me do anything.” I know she means well, but I understand why Grace is keeping her at bay right now while she’s got a lot going on with a new baby. My mother can be a little overbearing.
“Well, she’s getting used to a new lifestyle, I guess. It will probably take some time.”
She sighs. “I suppose you’re right. I’d just like to help more.”
“I know, Mom. She will probably tell you when she needs your help. Oh, my breakfast is nearly ready, so I should go.” I change the subject abruptly, but my mom’s used to it, and I don’t want to continue this discussion since it feels disrespectful to Grace.
“Okay, honey, that sounds good. We’ll see you, and hopefully Reed, on Thursday,” she says, hanging up before I can even say goodbye.
Just as our conversation finishes, Reed shuffles into the kitchen, yawning widely and looking gorgeous with his sleep-tousled hair and flushed skin. Walking straight over to me, he wraps me in his arms, kissing me squarely on the mouth.
“Good morning again—or is it afternoon by now? I have no idea what time it is.” He grins.
“Still morning, but barely.” I don’t even want to notice how amazing it feels when he comes up and kisses me like he owns me. “I made egg burritos with bacon and cheese if you want some.”
“You made breakfast?” Reed’s eyes go wide, and his face lights up with a broad smile. “You’re amazing, you know that? God, I haven’t had a decent burrito since the last time I was in Southern California.” After planting another kiss on me that makes me consider forgetting breakfast and heading right back to the bedroom, I regretfully turn back to the stove.
He grabs plates and brings them to the counter, where I’m setting out the warm tortillas so we can assemble our burritos.
After putting our burritos together, we sit at the table, and when Reed takes a bite, he lets out that same groan he did with the risotto last night, making my dick twitch in my briefs. Fuck, if he doesn’t stop doing that, I’m going to injure myself.
“Holy shit, these are amazing, Dylan,” he says, a little sour cream dotting the corner of his mouth. “You are an amazing cook. These are delicious.”