Everything had been going really well.
It was a stunning transition, actually. Though they were never cruel about it, never cold, never hard-hearted. Huston and I left for Texas yesterday, arrived in Austin maybe around nine or ten. I met his parents and found that they are awesome people. I got to see his old bedroom, which was cute and interesting. Got to eat cookies for, like, two hours. Let his mom get me into the Christmas spirit. Sang songs. I heard them talking about God like He was an old friend, coming to Christmas dinner, which was...well. It made me feel really good, really warm inside.
His mom sat me down a little before dinnertime and let me help her string together some popcorn for the Christmas tree that had been on its way home. We talked about baseball a bit before she mentioned to me that Huston had said I was just learning about God. The conversation was simple, easy, and I felt very at peace afterwards. Mrs. Street touched me on my shoulder as she stood up and said, "Thank you for helping me, and being with us on Christmas. My son told me that your mama doesn't celebrate it, so I knew you just had to stay with us." I couldn't quit smiling.
Then, last night, as I'm heading into my room to sleep for the night, Huston stops me on the stairs with an anxious look. I don't think I'd seen him almost all day--family tradition, he'd gone with his dad and brothers to get the tree early in the afternoon, and since I was helping bake in the kitchen, I'd only seen him in passing.
"I should probably talk to you about something," he murmured, and I glanced around me a bit before settling my hand on his hip, fingers curling close. I hadn't touched him since the plane ride that morning, I don't think.
"What's wrong? Don't look so upset, dude, it's Christmas."
He gave me a smile (he always smiles) and said, "I know, I'm happy that it's Christmas. And I'm happy that you're here with me for it." He took a deep breath, then sighed. "I don't want to lie to my parents anymore."
His fingertips brushed my arm as it dawned on me. "You're...you're gonna tell them?"
He slid his hands up my arms to hold onto my shoulders. "I want you there with me. I think I need you there. I can't do this alone."
"You...well, you won't have to do it alone, but...gosh, look. They're going to hate me." I was extremely adament about this. One bad experience was all it took.
Huston touched my neck, curled his hands into my hair. "They could never hate you, Richie. I think they might be upset. Maybe mad. But they wouldn't hate you, and they wouldn't hate me."
Huston never lies, so I believed him. He kissed my cheek and I went to bed, and I barely slept.
Then today came around. I think I was up about seven or eight, so I went downstairs to see if anything needed to be done. No one was even up, so I curled up on the couch and the family dog, Big Tex Yeehaw (I cannot make this up, they just call him Tex), a large, lazy yellow lab, sat on my feet and kept them warm. I fell asleep and woke up to someone saying my name.
It was Huston's mom and she smiled, asking me if I'd like cocoa. Of course I'd like cocoa, so I took a mug and she sat in the chair across from me and we watched the Christmas tree lights twinkling until the rest of the house started to stir.
Then she said, "What do you know?"
"Um," I responded, and she explained a little better.
"About the stories of Christmas. Why do we celebrate Christmas?"
"Uh...wasn't it Christ's birth?"
"Yes. But do you know why we exchange presents? Or what the Twelve Days of Christmas are?"
"No, ma'am, I don't."
She shifted in her chair and gave me a big smile. "Good, I get to tell you before the whole house is up and complains because I tell this every single year."
I laughed and let her explain to me the Twelve Days of Christmas before the rest of the house started to stir.
When I saw Huston, dressed in a soft blue sweater and jeans, I kind of smiled a little but didn't want to let myself get distracted. Then I saw the look on his face--sickly determined, scared, pale--and I knew I couldn't pretend like it wasn't happening within a few hours.
"Mom? Dad?"
His parents looked at him, smiling, and he said, "Let's go to lunch this afternoon. Y'all and me and Richie."
So we did. And during dessert, Huston says, "I really need to tell you something. Because I love you, and I respect you, and you're my parents. I have faith in you, and I have faith in God, and I need to tell you something."
His dad looked worried, his mother seemed to be bracing herself. Huston had thought this all out very carefully. Beneath the table, I touched his knee. He took a breath. Then he talked.
"For many months I have been thinking about this. I have had hours of talk with God, and I have had hours of talk with pastors. I called Reverend White at least six or seven times, discussed this. He e-mailed me helpful things, helped me get through it. He helped me understand things, and he never judged. And God has not yet passed judgment on me.
"I read the Bible from cover to cover, again and again and again, looking for my damnation. I found nothing to interpret it. I have never been worried for my soul, nor will I be. I have given this much thought, much consideration, much faith. And having made my happy peace with it, I am telling you now."
I had to brace myself. I was sweating and my heart was thundering I was so nervous. His mother already knew, I could tell, there was a certain light in her eyes as she looked at us. His dad was still clueless.
"Mom, dad, I love you both." He touched my hand. "I'm gay."
It probably would have been funny if it wasn't so serious. In twenty years, we'll all have a good rousing laugh about it.
His dad looked as if someone had punched him. Then he said, "No you aren't."
Huston, calm, just nodded. "Yes, sir. I am."
"No you aren't. I've seen you date girls."
"Before, yes." As soon as he said that, his mom looked at me, really looked at me. I just lowered my eyes. I hadn't said a word and I hadn't planned on it.
"Before what?" his dad asked quietly.
"Before Richie." They both stared at me. "Before Rich and I realized we had feelings for one another."
"He did this, then?" Mr. Street demanded. I looked away.
"No one did anything. It was always there, dad. God put it there."
"God did not put that inside you," his dad said, voice very low. Huston just nodded again. He actually smiled.
"Yes, sir, he did. I'm very proud to be one of His children."
"It's an abomination--"
"I can't go into all of it right now, but sir, it isn't. I'll show you when we get home." I still couldn't figure out why he was smiling, except maybe wondering if it was simply a reflex. His mom started to cry, quietly, one hand pressed to her mouth. Huston sighed. He looked pained. Now that it was out in the open, I squeezed his hand before letting it go.
"Mama, you've got Jordon, Juston, and Hanson for that. Ryan has one on the way. You've got four straight sons out of five--I'd say that's not a bad ratio."
She smiled a little, soft, eased I suppose, but his dad was still in shock, staring darkly at the table. "This is nothing to joke about, Huston Lowell."
"No, sir, I suppose it isn't. But it's not the end of the world. I said I'm gay and look--nothing dire happened."
"Except that my son is impure," he snapped, and Huston slammed his drink down. I don't think I'd ever seen him looking so annoyed.
"For your information, your son here is quite pure. He's the only son in a family of five that is."
Mrs. Street sighed a little, said to her husband, "Hon, calm down."
"I will not," he said, then he looked at me. I think they'd forgotten I was there. "Did you do this?" he asked again.
"You will not attack him," Huston said instantly. He was looking straight at his dad. He was calm. "He did nothing, and it does you no good to blame or to point fingers. Ask God why I'm gay. You'll get your answer."
It took maybe another fifteen minutes, but Mr. Street calmed down for good, apparently vowing to not speak to Huston, and Mrs. Street ventured a conversation with me a bit about knitting sweaters. Then lunch was over and they left, and Huston and I drove around Austin for maybe an hour before stopping in a park. He broke down just a little bit, hands covering his eyes tightly so I couldn't see the tears falling out. When he looked at me again, he was dry-eyed.
"That went okay," I said softly.
"Did it?"
"Yes. With Mark's parents, it was much worse than that. Everything will be okay."
He laced fingers with mine, sniffling a little bit. "You think so?"
"I know so. I love you, remember? It's gonna be okay."
He looked up at me and he smiled, a few tears still clinging resiliently to his thick lashes. "Okay. I believe you."
The day passed quickly, and here I am, on the computer in his room. The door's open, because his parents are seriously paranoid now. I think they expect that we simply can't keep our hands off one another, which couldn't be further from the truth. I know how to behave myself.
Virtually nothing has changed with our behavior since before we told them to now, and I think that confuses his mom. I think she expected us to be lovey dovey or something, which we never have been, not in public, and neither of us intend to start. Of course...now I can sit a little closer to him.
Other than this groundbreaking news...Christmastime is easy and calm, and it's weird as hell for me not to see white snow everywhere. I'm getting up early tomorrow to help bake more cookies.
And now I have to go, because Huston is demanding that he get on the computer so he can email his college buddies. Night, everyone. It has been an incredibly long day.