Bombora (31 page)

“Mr. Garrett,” I say dumbly, then smooth my hair back from my face. I can feel my damn forehead sweating now too. “You’ve known since Mr. Garret, back in high school.”

Nate huffs. “There’s a name I ain’t heard in a while.” A brief silence descends as we both ponder that. “How the hell did you know about Mr. Garrett? I never—”

“I saw you.” He obviously needs more from me than that, and I add, “One day when you were late picking me up after school, I went to his classroom to find you since I knew you sometimes stayed late for homework help, or for—” Here, my voice breaks. “I saw you. I think you were kissing, but ever since then I just… I just told myself I never saw what I saw. That it couldn’t possibly have been right.” Nate is still staring at me with his eyes focused and hard with this revelation. “You knew since then,” I say again.

“I probably knew since a while before then,” Nate corrects. “Not much happened before he—you know. But he was the first person who really made it stop being easy to pretend I didn’t want what I did. He was—he was a good man. Didn’t push me into anything. Actually, I’m kinda the one who pushed him. No way he deserved to go to jail for some fucking blowjob in the park.”

“You got scared after that,” I supply. The pieces are starting to come together so quickly now, it’s like I’d already put half the puzzle together years ago but chose instead to bury it in the attic and forgot about it when the jigsaw got too difficult or confusing. When I realized the picture was a lot more frightening than the one I’d anticipated. “That’s why you dropped out, isn’t it? Why you started up with that stupid Casanova shit?”

“Pretty much.” Although I didn’t realize my vision had gone out of focus with the force of my memories—which now feel like discoveries all over again—the image of Nate crying at the other end of the table makes the present come back to me with a clarity that’s pretty dizzying. “I didn’t want to end up like him, Hugh. I thought about what you or Dad would do if I ever got caught like Jay did, went to jail because of something I couldn’t fix about myself. It seemed easier to try and change it, or at least make it so that no one would ever question otherwise.”

“You’ve been lying to me for twelve fucking years,” I whisper. “Longer, even. I’m your goddamned brother, and this whole time—” Nate cuts me off with something that sounds like
don’t start that,
but I ignore him and force the rest out like a bitter pill coming up instead of going down, and each word emerges progressively louder until I’m all but shouting. I know I’m being unfair, I know it. But for a second I’m seven years old again, a kid whose only brother is all the family he’s got, and is terrified of losing that too. “This whole damn time I haven’t had the first clue who you even
are
. Like I don’t fucking know you at all.”

Whatever Nate could possibly say in response is cut off by Callie rushing up from under the table—somehow I managed not to notice her under there this whole time—and running to the front door with her tail going a mile a minute. Sitting with his back to the door, Nate turns to look in that direction, too, since apparently neither one of us heard it close. A second later, Phel is standing in the kitchen doorway with sleepless rings dark as bruises beneath his eyes. Aside from that, he looks nice today, like he took extra care in dressing himself in a neat waistcoat buttoned over a crisp striped shirt and dark jeans. Planning went into that outfit, and I think about how Nate was already fully dressed when I came down this morning too, none of it accidental.

Phel looks at Nate for a long second before his gaze flicks over to me. Whatever tension is floating around in this room must be strong enough that he feels it, since he doesn’t even say hello.

“Phel,” I say instead, voice like gravel. “This isn’t a good time, man, sorry. Nate and I are kind of in the—”

“I already told him,” Nate interrupts, the startling iciness in his voice directed not at me, but at Phel. He has to tilt his head back a little to look up at Phelan’s face, but it doesn’t diminish the authority in his posture. I realize, with a jolt, that Phel is getting
told
. “If that’s why you showed up here, then Hugh’s right—you might as well just go back home, because it’s already done. Nothing you can say to change that now.” That Phel registers the words with hardly more than a blink makes my eyebrows climb my forehead all over again; I may have a hard time coaxing them back down to their normal place if there are any more surprises this morning.

Nodding, Phelan lets that—whatever
that
is—sink in before he casts a ponderous look down at his feet, which are scuffing at the kitchen tile like he’s an embarrassed teenager. “That’s not why I came,” he says eventually, to Nate.

Nate’s jaw clenches. “Then what?”

“I thought you could use a little moral support.” Phel hesitates, which is a lot reminiscent of how he was when I first met him, but startling all the same because I feel like it’s been weeks since I’ve seen that guy. He seems to be winding up to something really big, though after the bombshells that have been dropped so far in this kitchen, I haven’t a clue what the hell that could be. “I realized something important last night,” he begins, “that, a year ago, I never would have condoned the idea of forcing someone to hide who they are because of what another person might think. Considering I’ve had to hide my sexuality for most of my life, I know firsthand how awful that feeling is.” As I look between him and Nate, I can see their gazes are locked and holding steady. “I should have never tried to stop you from speaking up, Nate, on account of how Hugh might react. That was wrong of me, and I apologize. You’re not the coward I thought you were.” Awkwardly, he reaches out to pat Nate on the shoulder. “I suppose that dubious honor belongs to me.”

In a weird turn of events, at least for me, Nate’s hand comes up to cover the one Phelan has resting on his shoulder. Though Nate doesn’t say anything, the expression that flits over his features is one of relief, then gratitude. They both withdraw their hands after a moment, still silent, but I don’t miss the way Nate catches Phel’s wrist when it falls to his side, fingers encircling that slender joint and resting there, a little more manly than holding hands, I suppose, but with a similar effect. Phel glances down at it, too, as a slow blush spreads across his cheeks. There are probably a million different explanations for this little display, and I can’t figure out a single one of them.

“Thanks,” Nate says eventually, voice leagues softer than when Phel first wandered into the kitchen, but also rough, like he’s about to start crying again. Nate is an emotional man, a fact I know in theory but right now still manages to catch me off guard, but the one person it doesn’t seem to affect is Phel, who looks at Nate like he knew exactly what his presence here would do to my brother. I file that away under “More Shit I Don’t Understand.” Offering a faint smile, Nate murmurs, “Coming from you, that means pretty much the most ever.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, well.” Nate gives an offhand shrug. “I ain’t too bright. But I do know the fact you’re here proves you aren’t a coward either.”

I can tell Nate and Phel could go on staring at each other for a while longer, playing out one of those interminable, silent conversations of theirs that is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense right now. So before that can happen, I catch myself spluttering something along the lines of “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” spreading my hands out like the presses need to come to a stop right the fuck now. Not unlike before Phel walked in, stuff is beginning to click into place so quickly that it agitates me. If this were a movie, I’d have missed the pivotal scene because the subtitles were moving too fast for me to read. “You seriously mean to tell me
everyone
knew about this before me? I’m the last schmuck on your list of people to call?”

Looking away from Phel, Nate gives me a complicated look and swallows, which is pretty much a yes. “I came out to California to tell you,” he says. “You were supposed to be the
first
, after Emilia. But some overwhelming stuff was going on. I… lost my nerve.” Even though it’s partially hidden by the table, I know Nate’s grip just tightened on Phel’s wrist. “I’m telling you now, Hugh.”

“I’m your fucking
brother
,” I remind him needlessly. My voice is too loud, but I can’t get it under control even when I see Callie’s little face take on that wide-eyed look common to dogs and children who aren’t sure whether they’ve done something wrong. Her tail goes between her legs and she glances nervously at Nate and Phel from over her shoulder, then starts dancing on her front paws like I either need to put her outside or shut the fuck up. I don’t do either one. “Phel is—you’ve been telling me this whole time how you guys can’t stand each other, but somehow you managed to spill your guts to him instead of me?”

Naturally, Nate’s mouth opens to refute this statement, but to both our surprise it’s Phel who speaks. “Hugh,” he says quietly, but with unbreakable calm, “I know about Nate’s sexuality crisis because it’s something we have in common, if nothing else. I advocated
against
telling you because I thought you would take it badly, and that was a huge mistake on my part. Personal feelings aside, I should have put myself in his shoes and considered how difficult this step would be without added drama. But this isn’t the issue here, and nor is who Nate did or did not tell before you. That he trusts you enough to tell you at all should be enough, so don’t make this out to be about you.”

A strange kind of choking noise comes from Nate, as though Phel’s words have startled him and he’s only just remembered it’s his brother Phel is talking about. “Phel—” he starts, but Phelan just shakes his head.

“No. He either supports you or he doesn’t.” Phel meets my gaze, gesturing apologetically, and the look in his eyes is both conflicted and vehement. I know his stubborn streak well enough by now not to expect that to sway him away from his beliefs. “I’m sorry, Hugh, but this isn’t some deal your brother’s failed to follow through on, and it’s not a collaborative effort. Since it’s something that doesn’t affect or involve your life, not really, it shouldn’t even be up for discussion.”

“Phel,” Nate says again, gently chastising. “This isn’t like your parents, okay?” He tugs on Phel’s wrist, pulls him closer so his shoulder nudges up against Phelan’s side.

My stomach drops when I see that, and I can’t quite begin to understand why it would, or why it clenches when Nate’s hand slides up Phelan’s arm to the elbow and then back down, lower, so they’re now actually grasping hands, albeit loosely. Nate is a tactile person: he touches and clutches at people he trusts during emotional periods, I guess to remind himself there’s someone else there, and maybe now that he’s gay it’s perfectly normal for him to grab a dude’s hand, to let his fingers catch against another’s in a way that looks stark and intimate. But it’s Phelan letting him that throws me off most of all.

My eyes rest on their touching hands as Nate speaks. “No one’s threatening to kick me out of the house or send me off to Bible camp, okay? I don’t question that Hugh will accept who I am, warts and all—it just needs time to sink in before I start marchin’ in any parades in a sparkly thong. Right, Hugh?”

Still staring at their hands, my mind turns over and over and over like an engine about to catch. Nate reaches out across the table to grab my attention, nudging my shoulder once. “Hey,” he says. I drag my focus back up to his face. “You accept this, don’t you? My bein’ gay isn’t actually the issue here, right? You went to Berkeley, for crissakes.”

“Nate….” One more turn, and I can feel the spark is going to catch. Sorting through months of information and vagaries ever since Phel showed up in California with a bad case of a broken heart and a duplicitous ex-boyfriend. Then Nate turned up not much later with all his secret skeletons in tow. Turning and turning, almost there.

From his end, all Nate can see is my silence and none of my thoughts. He doesn’t know where I’ve drifted off to. “Listen, Hugh,” he begins, “the order in which I told people has absolutely nothing to do with anything, except maybe it got more difficult as I went.” He shakes his head, trying to meet my eyes as I stare off into space. “In one way or another, I’ve been wanting to tell you since I was eighteen years old, and it’s because of my personal hang-ups that I didn’t, not a reflection of how much I love you, or how you’ve been as a brother. Because you’re the best there ever was, and I mean that.”

I look up at Phel. When he sees me watching their hands, he frowns and withdraws.

Just like that. Ignition. It’s always in the act of pulling away that we see what’s really there, isn’t it? “You’re sleeping together,” I blurt. It all makes perfect sense. The overlap in their stories is so thick it almost makes me sick to realize how much I’ve failed to pick up on until now. “You and Phel—”

Nate looks confused, but Phel is on the ball, his frown deepening at me as he takes a step forward. “No, Hugh,” he says, grave as ever.

I think his tone clues Nate in to the sudden shift in conversation, because all of a sudden my brother is up and moving away from the table too, putting space between himself and my best friend. “Dude, what? Are you kidding me?” He sounds a lot less composed than Phel, which, right now, seems pretty damning to me.

“Where in the Midwest did you say you’re from again, Phel?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. Getting it now, Nate curses, trying to move in before Phel catches his arm and stops him. “You said it was the Midwest, right? Like Ohio, maybe?”

“Chicago,” he corrects stiffly. I catch an edge of impatience from him, but he holds himself together, even seems to keep Nate from blowing a gasket at me with that hand on his arm. “Hugh, you’ve had a big shock today. But just because Nate and I are both gay doesn’t automatically mean—”

Unable to help myself, I snort. “No, what means something is the fact that Nate cheated on his wife with a man for a year, while you were recently duped by a married guy. Same timeline, same part of the country—what are the odds? And how come you never told me his name, Phel?”