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“Benji and Ace,” Mom said. “How about that? We didn’t need to worry, after all.” “You were worried?” “Oh, honey, we knew you loved that boy,” she said fondly. “He was always so sweet to you, I worried you’d get the wrong idea. Guess I was the one who was wrong.”
I looked down at my hands, my precious, artist’s hands that drew beautiful things — and sometimes naughty things — and sighed mournfully. With a mental apology to them, I stepped up to the counter and prepared to molest a turkey.
“I’m bisexual, and I love him, and he’s my future. Not you. You’re my parents, and I love you, and I hope — I really do hope — we can have a relationship, but I can’t promise to come back and take care of you.”
“Come on, let’s go get some turkey.” “My hands have fondled that turkey in some very inappropriate ways.”
“You seemed in pretty good spirits over dinner. I wouldn’t have believed it, but you and Benji … you’re a good match.”
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured between kisses. “Inside and out, you’re so beautiful. The best guy I know. The only guy I ever want to be with. You’re everything good in this world, Ace Collins.”
I would do a lot for love, but get up at the crack of dawn? Not one of them.
