Role Playing(82)

“Deb is never going to date you if she finds out!” She sounded reedy, a bit desperate. “Don’t you understand? No one will! She’ll tell everyone. The church group, her book club . . . oh, God, she knows everyone . . .”

“I don’t fucking want to date Deb!” he roared. “I want to be with Maggie!”

The car was quiet for a second, except for the low hum of the radio, playing some old country songs . . . Patsy Cline, maybe. It sounded hollow and twangy and sad.

“You’re supposedly gay,” his mother finally said. “You said Maggie was a friend of yours, doing you a favor. She knows that you were with a man, and somehow . . . she’s fine with this? And now I’m supposed to believe that you’re ‘dating’ this woman?”

“We didn’t start officially until last night,” he admitted. At least, I hope that’s where we’re going. “She was going to just help me, true. But we both realized we can have something more.”

“I don’t understand this.” His mother crossed her arms. “I don’t like her.”

“You,” he said, through gritted teeth, “don’t need to. I like her.”

Another long silence.

“This isn’t up for discussion,” he added. “My relationship with Maggie isn’t something I need to justify or debate.”

“Relationship,” she scoffed.

He huffed out a long sigh. “The wedding’s over, Ma. And I’m sorry that it didn’t go the way you wanted, but let’s face it: it was never going to go the way you wanted. If I’m in the same room with Sheryl, it’s going to be a nuclear train wreck. She hates me, and she’s always going to hate me.”

“Whose fault is that?” his mother yelled.

“Hers!” Aiden snapped back. “Because being bi is not a fucking crime!”

“Watch your mouth!” He wasn’t sure what she was more pissed at—the f-bomb or the term “bi.” “You broke Sheryl’s heart. I was so grateful that she finally found happiness with Davy after what you did.”

“I didn’t do . . . !”

Aiden gritted his teeth. This was futile. And maddening. And heartbreaking. He could keep going, but what was the point?

The worst part was, Maggie was right. He’d bought into Sheryl and his mother’s argument for years, like it had been his fault for “disappointing” Sheryl . . . by being who he was. By finally telling her the truth.

“It’s over,” he reiterated.

Her anger was a tangible thing, emanating from her like microwaves. He sighed.

“Are you going to Davy’s for Christmas?” He, himself, wasn’t welcome, but he knew his mother would like to see her grandchildren.

She made a little noise that he took as assent.

“I’ll have him pick you up,” he said slowly, his brain working out logistics. “When he brings you back . . . the three of us will discuss the legal stuff: power of attorney, advanced directives. And we’ll talk about your driving.”

“I’m not going to discuss a goddamned thing with you.”

He shot a shocked glance at her . . . although really, how surprised should he have been? “We had a deal,” he reminded her. “I bring a date to the wedding, and you agree to talk about this stuff. I held up my end of the bargain.”

“You didn’t bring a date. You dragged a woman you barely know and caused a scandal. I don’t owe you anything!” She let out a long, frustrated exhalation. “If you had just kept your mouth shut and settled down with Deb, this would be different. I’d give up driving, even! Do whatever goddamned paperwork you wanted. But you just couldn’t do that!”

“Settled down?” He looked over at her, appalled. “You have got to be kidding. You can’t . . . you think this is something I’d bargain with? That I’d just keep lying about who I am, and, what, marry someone I don’t love, so you’ll do the right thing? Are you insane?”

“You just have to keep acting so . . .” She trailed off, as if she was too angry to find the word. “I am finished. Discussion is over.”

“Mom . . . ,” Aiden growled in warning. “You gave me your word!”

“I don’t care!”

He should have known. He should have known.

She’d never had any intention of addressing his concerns—the driving, the legal paperwork. None of it. This was just one more way to manipulate him, one more way to get what she wanted. Now that it had blown up in her face, she was going to punish him for it.

“I know you’re pissed at me,” he said, gritting his teeth, “and I’m . . . sorry. But this is important.”

“I don’t care,” she repeated. “In fact, I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. You want to be this . . . whatever the hell you are? Want to boss me around? Then you don’t have to be in this family!”

The words hit him like an axe. “What?”

“You heard me.”

In previous years, this would have crushed him. He’d be emotionally devastated. He’d twist himself in knots, try to find some way to patch the breach.

Not today.

“Even Dad was okay with my past,” he said. “By the end. He told me he was.” It might’ve been the closest they’d ever been.