Page 3 of A Straight Line

“Distrust!” Harry corrected him.

“—distrust of lesbians.” Vic shrugged. “Though we count many as friends, as you know. It’s probably old age and senility, honestly, and—”

“The year before I met your Uncle Victor,” Harry interjected, “I was spending a summer—”

“Lord, help us.” Vic sighed.

“—in New York. I was very shy then—”

“If you can believe that,” Vic added.

“—and totally hopeless when it came to approaching other guys at the bars. So—”

“Now he just drags them around the dumpster behind Taco Bell.” Vic winked at me.

“—I struck up a conversation with a seemingly harmless lesbian—cute as a button, no taller than my shoulder, honestly—”

“Which used to be higher.”

“—if you don’t shut the hell up, Victor!” Harry snapped. Uncle Vic smiled at me, then turned to busy himself at the sink. “Well, we got to talking, one thing led to another, and I found myself in upstate New York helping a legion of lesbians raise a barn for some commune they planned to start. Upstate New York, Russ! To think of it now—”

“I’m surprised you can remember it,” Vic mumbled.

Luckily, Uncle Harry didn’t quite catch what Uncle Vic had said.

“—makes me shudder. If it hadn’t been for their exceptional abilities in procuring weed and finding the best artisanal cheese shops, it would have been a total loss. Either way, I still returned home after summer with a bowl cut, two pairs of Dr. Martens from a thrift store, and still a virgin!”

“Imagine,” Vic mumbled again. “That was once pure.”

“I didn’t see a single cock the entire summer!” Harry stated with finality before raising his glass once more.

“Don’t say ‘cock,’ Harry.” I grimaced.

He gave a dismissive wave before slamming the rest of his bourbon.

“Look, I’ll change if it’s that big of a deal.” I shrugged.

“Don’t you dare, Russ,” Uncle Vic said, shooting a look at Uncle Harry. “Tonight is a celebration of being exactly who we are for the last forty years. You look very handsome.”

“You look like you want to raise a barn and ruin my summer. Which could be my last.” Harry corrected him. “But I suppose Victor is right. This party is about all of us and not just your dreadful shirt. Maybe a nice kerchief or—”

“I’m not wearing a kerchief.”

Harry started to open his mouth again.

“Or a pocket square, ascot or cravat.” I stopped him. “I’ll look like a rainbow if you had your way with my outfit.”

Okay, so that wasn’t totally fair. Both of my uncles looked completely party-ready without looking as though they were about to take the stage on a cruise ship. Uncle Harry, still wiry, but a bit shorter with age, had on black slacks, an emerald green button-down, and a nice light blazer over it. Uncle Vic, tall and broad, was adorned similarly, but red was his chosen shirt color. They looked like Christmas without the overdone parade. Without asking, I knew that they had coordinated with the other older gay men who were coming to the party so that they all wore a shirt with a color of the rainbow. I could imagine the Instagram pictures that would appear in the morning.

“Let me just go see what I have that will suit you.” Harry was off his stool and out of the kitchen before I could object.

Uncle Vic and I were left in the kitchen, smiling at each other from across the island.

“He moves quickly for men and fashion.” Uncle Vic winked. “But ask him to take out the trash, and…well, it’s been fifty years. Too late to smother him in his sleep.”

“Is it, though?” I snorted.

Uncle Vic leaned across the island to pat my hand.