Page 83 of King of the Crease

“I love coming home to you,” I say.

“And coming in me.” He smiles as he kisses me, hair falling in his eyes.

“That, too.”

Soon, we won’t have this anymore. These moments will only exist in memory. No more easy days of sex and hanging out. We’ll have to plan trips to see each other. But we’ll make it work.

We’ll make it work.

We get showered and redressed right as the timer goes off. Nick puts foil over the shepherd’s pie to keep it warm for dinner. We cuddle on the couch to watch a random Hallmark movie that’s on; as the sun begins to set, I go to pick up Brody. I kiss him goodbye, which turns into a mini make-out session.

Now I get that whole thing in Brokeback Mountain about wishing I knew how to quit someone. I don’t think I can with Nick. He is the world’s most nicotine-packed cigarette. In a good way, of course.

When I was a kid, I hated when my parents tried to have serious conversations with me while we were driving. What was it about driving that made parents unleash awkward questions or confess uncomfortable pieces of family history to their kids? Car rides were how my parents asked me if I was practicing safe sex or using drugs. It was where they told me about Uncle Dale having a drug problem.

But now, as a parent, I get it. In a car, you have to face forward, so you avoid eye contact. It’s one of the few times when you’re alone with your kid. They can’t escape to their room.

And so it’s in the car that I let Brody know what’s going on with me and Nick.

“Brody, if I were to use the word bisexual right now, would you know what I’m talking about?”

“Uh…yes?” Teens never get tired of showing their parents how embarrassed they are by everything we say.

“Good. That’s good.” One less thing I have to explain to him. “Well, I haven’t talked about my sexual preferences with you, but I’ve discovered that I am sort of bisexual.”

“Um…okay?” He squirms under his seat belt.

“And you know my new friend Nick? Well, he isn’t just a friend. He’s…more than a friend.”

“I know.”

Fortunately, we’re at a stoplight, so I can whip my head to look at him. “You do?”

“You and Nick are hooking up.”

“How do you know that? How do you know what hooking up is?”

“Dad, I’m seventeen.”

“I know, but still. You’re my little boy.” I take a breath and remember all the awkward conversations I’ve had with Brody. I had to explain to him the horrors of puberty. I had to break the divorce to him. I had to clear up (or lie about) rumors he heard about his mom’s infidelities. We’ve been through a lot.

We don’t have a Gilmore Girls relationship, but we’re not that far off. So why am I so nervous?

“You two seemed very flirty when we were looking at Christmas lights. Plus, you went out to dinner with him, and that’s usually what people do for dates.”

“Sometimes, I forget how smart you are.”

“I don’t think this has to do with intelligence. It’s pretty obvious.” Brody shakes a hand through his hair. His teenage annoyance is a relief. It makes this conversation feel normal.

“So like, how do you feel about this? Your dad is bisexual.”

“I’m fine with it. Half of my teachers are queer.”

“They are? Which ones?”

“My drama teacher, my history teacher, my French teacher, my chemistry teacher, my gym teacher, the principal.”

“Holy cow. A lot’s changed since I went to South Rock.” I knew there’d been progress, but it sounds like there’s been capital-P Progress.