Crossing Borders (22 page)

“It's not that simple. I'm not certain I could. Sure, I had sex,” he said, loudly enough that his mother cringed, and he lowered his voice. “But what I want is what you and Dad had. I want to love someone and build a life with that person, and I couldn't do that with
any
girl I've ever been with. I'm just made differently, I think. I never knew I could feel this way. I know I couldn't go back. It wouldn't be fair to the girls or to me.”

Tristan's mother pursed her lips. “Jeez, what will we tell the boys? I hope you know it's bad enough not having your dad around to talk sex to them, but now? I have no idea what to say to them about—”

“I know,” Tristan interrupted. “I thought about that tonight while we were jogging. I think they'll hate me for a while. Lily will probably think it's cool, as long as I bring home some poetry-spouting faerie prince. Not going to happen, by the way. I know I kind of jumped in with both feet. This guy, Michael, he's older…”

“How much older?”

“He'll be twenty-eight on Valentine's Day,” said Tristan, smiling. “He's so nice, it would make your teeth ache. He bought a duplex with twin houses, and his mom lives in one, and he lives in the other, and she comes out on the porch in the morning to smoke clove cigarettes. Of course, he's all like, 'I thought you were quitting' cranky with her, you know? I'm gushing like a little girl, aren't I?”

“I think,” she said carefully, “if you're certain this is who you are, you should invite both of them for Thanksgiving…maybe.”

“Maybe,” he concurred, finally attempting to drink his coffee.

“And, yes, you're gushing. What does he do for a living?” said his mother.

Tristan almost spit his coffee out. Almost. “He's…a police officer,” he sighed, putting his head in his hands so his mother couldn't see his face. “Kind of puts a whole new spin on sticking it to the Man.”

Julia's own hands flew to her face, the blush building there like a forest fire. Tristan peeked through his fingers, but couldn't tell whether she was laughing or crying. He thought, after a while, maybe a little of both.

They drank the rest of their coffee in silence. Tristan sprang for a decadent chocolate pastry, sharing it with her wordlessly. Just before they left, she said simply, “If you're sure, we'll have to have a family talk. I don't want your brothers and sister stuck with questions that you or I haven't answered in person to their satisfaction.”

“I can do that. I wish I…”

“Never mind, Tris, you did right to tell me,” she said. “If I'm half the mother I've been pretending to be all these years, I'll be ready to march in my first gay pride parade any minute now.”

“Holy crap, you'll be marching alone. I hate that kind of stuff,” said Tristan, leaving the Starbuck's and getting out his keys. “You know, Michael's the one that gave me that ticket for not wearing a helmet.”

“Oh, no, he did not!” said his mother, appalled. “Well…you should definitely ask him for your money back.” She grinned.

Tristan felt himself smile. He felt hopeful for the first time since they'd started to talk.

“I'm glad you trusted me with this, Tris. I hope—I mean,
I know
you're being safe, right?”

“With Officer Helmet?” he asked. “You can count on it.”

“Good to know, baby,” she sighed, getting into the car. “Good to know.”

* * *

Sitting between Randy and Lily in church the next day, Tristan listened to the minister's sermon on the true spirit of the upcoming holidays. He looked at his siblings, who were yawning after the late night they'd had. Each of them had taken the news that their brother was gay relatively well. They'd had lots of questions and made lots of yuck faces, but really, it had gone remarkably well. He knew how lucky he was to have a family that was loving and supportive, even if they felt a little shell-shocked. It put his mind at ease, and after church, he had a ton of homework he could get to with a fairly focused brain.

Tristan jumped a little when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw he had a text from Michael and blushed like a kid. His mother caught the look and raised her eyebrows. He grinned and looked to see what the text said.

Hey, Sparky. R U in church?
it read.

Tristan looked around. Thumbing,
Hey, Michael, yep
.

Michael's next text made him smile.
E-mail addy for Edward is [email protected]. I told Jeff he was wrong about you
.

Thank you
, Tristan texted back.

I forgot 2 tell you I love U
, came the next, and Tristan put a hand over his mouth. He dipped his head and cleared his throat, sinking lower when someone nearby gave him a hard stare.

Me 2, I love you 2
, he texted back, shamelessly ignoring his mother's glare.

Can I get an AMEN?
Michael sent, making him smile.

Amen
, sent Tristan, sighing. Oh, yeah, Thanksgiving would be fun.

In chemistry class, Tristan's professor was a tall, thin, angular woman who claimed that the Santa Ana winds gave her energy. Today she had an abundance of it, giving her lecture in an exuberant monotone, which she occasionally abandoned for staccato bursts of emphatic laughter. Three girls in the front row were clutching their hearts when Tristan's phone vibrated to let him know he had a text message.

Have time 2 meet 4 lunch?
asked Michael.

What time?
Tristan texted back carefully. Texting in class was strictly déclassé, but not entirely forbidden. Still he didn't want his professor to connect his face with any rude behavior; in case his grade hovered a little, it was always better to be on the teacher's nice, rather than naughty list.

About 1?
Michael sent.

Okay
, sent Tristan.

Pick U up?
sent Michael.

Meet me at Johnny Rocket's in The District at Tustin Legacy?
texted Tristan.

By the old airship hangars?
sent Michael.

Yes
, said Tristan.

K, TTYL
, texted Michael.

K, L
, texted Tristan.

* * *

At one o'clock, Michael was waiting for Tristan outside Johnny Rocket's. He looked at his watch again. It wasn't that he was nervous that Tristan wouldn't show, he thought, but he was actually anxious to see him. It seemed like weeks since he'd ridden with Tristan out to Oak Glen, even though it had only been three days. They'd kept up a pretty regular text conversation. Michael had sent him the “I love you” text on Sunday; the thought still made him blush like a kid. It was like he was passing notes in school. Michael just couldn't get his mind off Tristan going toe to toe with Ron, removing his hand, and letting him know there was a new guy on the scene. He kept thinking of the words,
No one is going to hurt you on my watch
. They had opened something inside his heart that had been closed a long, long time. It was a done deal. Tristan owned him.

Minutes later, Michael saw the small cream-colored BMW pull into a parking space, and Tristan climbed out. He wore drawstring pants that rode really low on his waist and a hooded T-shirt with a design that looked like a tattoo on it. Michael could see a tantalizing strip of ivory skin between the two and wondered if meeting Tristan in public was such a good idea. He was getting hard already, and the boy was still half a block away.

“Hey, Michael,” said Tristan, smiling when he reached the place where Michael waited.

“Hey, Sparky.” Michael buffeted Tristan with his shoulder, but he wished he were touching with his hands.

Tristan lowered his eyes, and a delicate blush stained his cheeks. “I'm glad you called.”

“They should have a table waiting; I gave them our name.”

“Good thinking,” said Tristan, following Michael into the restaurant. “I'm hungry.”

“Me too,” said Michael. They followed the hostess to a booth and sat down. “What's new in Sparky's world?”

“I had chemistry today. The professor acted like she was on speed. It was entertaining,” said Tristan.

“Oh?” asked Michael. “I would have liked to see that. My chemistry professor was a tiny little man with frizzy gray hair who spoke with a Polish accent. It was like listening to the Pope, the last one. John Paul.”

Tristan smiled. He took a deep breath. “I told my mother about us. Had a talk with the family.”

“What?” asked Michael, leaning forward. He was concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I decided I wanted to tell her before anything else happened. I told her on Saturday night. I…we had a family talk after I told her. Everyone took it better than I thought. I don't know what that means. They want you and your mom to come for Thanksgiving. That gives you a month to run screaming.” Tristan didn't look up.

“Yeah, it does. Sparky, do you think I'm going anywhere?”

“No.”

“Burgers, fries, and shakes? Or do you want something different?”

“I'll have half of whatever you're having.” Tristan smiled, picking up his foot and sitting on it. “And a chocolate shake.”

“Okay.” Michel flagged down their waiter. He ordered for both of them and turned back to Tristan. “How did your mom really respond when you told her you were gay?”

“I don't think she believed me at first. She asked if I was punking her.” He smiled. “I
have
given her reason to believe that I like girls fine in the last few years.”

“Sparky, maybe…” Michael searched for the right words. “Maybe that's something you should consider. I don't know a lot of gay men who have had as much experience as you on the other side of the street. My heart wouldn't be in it quite so…”