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The key turns in the lock and Reese tries not to panic. He closes the men's underwear catalogue as quickly and silently as he can, inserts it between the pages of an old Playboy, then holds it between his armpit and torso as he lifts the corner of his mattress and gently places the magazine on the boards. Footsteps approach, and he has just enough time to lower the mattress back, then slide onto the bed and pick up a comic before the door opens and Malcolm saunters in, throwing his backpack on the floor.
“’Sup,” Reese says, totally cool, then notices his comic is upside down. Crap.
Malcolm heaves a sigh and plops down on a chair. “Nothing,” he says. “Everything sucks, as usual.”
Reese hums and pretends he’s reading. His heart is still racing – that was close. He feels Malcolm looking at him, and of course he says, “You know that’s upside down, right?”
“Yeah?” Reese intones like it’s obvious. “I’m getting a different perspective.”
“Right,” Malcolm frowns. A pause. “You ditched class to read comics upside down?”
There’s that typical Malcolm-like derision in his tone that ticks Reese off every single time. “No, I ditched because I didn’t want to be there,” he says, slowly and warningly. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” Malcolm rolls his eyes. “You know Mom’s gonna freak if she gets another call about you skipping?”
“Well, she’s not gonna know,” he closes the comic and sits up. “‘cause Miller hasn’t been taking attendance since her husband ditched her,” he gives Malcolm an intense look and balls his hands into fists, “and you’re not gonna tell. Right?”
“I’m not, Jesus,” Malcolm puts his hands up. “What’s with you?”
“I’m just making sure,” Reese shrugs, all good natured, but he’s still simmering. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Everything he does is stupid.
“Whatever,” Malcolm says and starts taking his books out of his bag. Some crazy assignment, Reese bets, and knows not to ask.
***
Reese has been weird. Well, not weird, but worse. Or not even that exactly, but it’s like in the last couple of years they kind of reached a point where Reese clues Malcolm in on whatever idiotic stunt he pulls like it’s a cool thing to show him instead of a cool thing to try on him. Maybe because Dewey’s older now or because their one year age gap feels like less of a gap than it did when they were little or – whatever, that’s beside the point. The point is that lately he’s been cagey and moody and quicker to just throw a punch whenever Malcolm says anything, and he’s pretty sure at least like half of it doesn’t merit that kind of response, even by Reese’s standards.
It's weird. As if Malcolm’s life doesn’t suck enough as it is. As if he should miss being kind of friends with his brother.
And, okay, he does miss it. He can admit that. He couldn’t wait to be out of middle school and out of that stupid, humiliating Krelboyne class, and now that he’s effectively cut ties with them but failed to really make any new friends, Reese and Stevie are pretty much it. And they’re not exactly interchangeable.
That’s so embarrassing, isn’t it? That he thought he could rise through the social circles of high school with a clean slate only to wind right back down on the bottom trying to figure out what the hell Reese’s problem is because he misses having someone to have normal, non-schoolwork adjacent fun with.
Okay, whatever, sure. He cares. He’s an asshole and a pain and a complete idiot but Malcolm’s not that much better, all things considered, and he knows whatever wires crossed in Reese’s head, he has no one to talk to about it. And Malcolm is sick of being his punching bag because of it.
He’s going to figure it out. How hard can it be?
***
Lois has the house to herself for exactly twenty more minutes before she has to leave for work. She marches through it like a bulldozer, indiscriminately picking up any socks she finds littering the floor and throwing them into the laundry basket under her arm. She’s wasting precious minutes picking up smelly, dirty clothes that should’ve already been in the hamper because no one listens to a goddamn word she says unless she’s screaming it directly into somebody’s face, and Lord knows how much more the washing machine will waste before it finally kicks into motion. She has to remember to leave a note for Hal to hang the clothes up when the cycle’s done. And she can’t forget to pack her lunch – she’s not eating another Lucky Aide chocolate bar this week.
With the living room, bedroom, and bathroom all clothes-free, she’s onto the worst of it – the boys room. How much do you want to bet there’s weeks-old stained pants and sweaty shirts in there? She opens the door.
A complete mess. It’s not a kids’ room, it’s a den. She starts off giving each piece of clothing a lookover and a sniff, but before long she’s just throwing whatever’s on the floor and chairs into her hamper. Not enough time. If they wanted to wear it, they would’ve folded it. Or put it back in the closet.
She’s done in record time, and she gives the room a once-over to make sure she isn’t missing anything. It looks only marginally better, and she can’t help herself. She tries not to, really, but there’s so many books and comics and magazines all over the floor and the fitted sheet on Reese’s bed is pulled out in one of the corners and – Oh, God help her.
She puts the basket down and curses herself, the boys, the house and its lack of storage space. Books on the desk, comic books in a neat pile on Malcolm and Dewey’s bed, and that fitted sheet is making her eye twitch. She told him to make his bed how many times now?
She grabs the sheet with one hand and lifts the mattress with the other. There’s the distinct sound of a magazine hitting the floor and she thinks – jackpot. Grounding him for not making his bed is maybe a little overboard, but hiding a dirty magazine? She could have him tidy and clean the room until it looks like it came from a furniture catalogue.
She bends down and sure enough, Playboy. She smiles to herself. She picks it up, but something feels off. It’s thick under her fingers, and in mint condition. She checks the date – a year ago. There’s something sticking out from inside it, and against her better judgement, she opens it up.
Between pictures of scantily dressed women, there’s a men’s underwear catalogue. Worn, folded, hidden. Her mind screeches to a halt. She stares. It’s like she knows this is a dot that needs connecting, but her brain has lost the function to do so. It lasts maybe five seconds.
Then she closes the Playboy like it burns and hurries to put it back exactly where she found it. Between the mattress and the boards. Instinctively, she adjusts the fitted sheet. Then pulls it back out. He can’t know that she knows, he can’t know – Oh, that poor boy. She stands in the middle of the room, not sure what she’s supposed to do now. She scatters the books and comics, makes sure they end up back on the floor.
Is this how everything was before she came in? It’ll have to be enough. Who is she kidding, as if they know the exact configuration of the mess in this pigsty. He won’t know.
She leaves the room and closes the door behind her. If ever she needed a cigarette…
She puts her hands on her face. She can’t imagine what he must be feeling; the confusion, the anger, and those kids at school, that can’t be – Stop, stop, stop. Get it together. He needs her. She needs to pull herself together and figure out how to help him and let him know that she loves him and that it’s okay no matter what any ignorant, idiot kid with bigoted, pigheaded parents says. She takes in a breath. What was she doing?
The laundry. She goes back into the room, gets her basket, and goes for the washing machine.
***
“Ta-da!” Lois presents them with a Hellraiser VHS and a delirious grin. “I thought we could have a movie night!”
Dewey looks at the pale guy with needles sticking out of his face and bald head on the cover but manages to shut down the urge to instinctively say, “Awesome!” He can’t imagine Reese and Malcolm meeting anything Mom suggests with even the slightest enthusiasm, even when she tries to do something actually nice and cool. Still, he can’t suppress a smile. Please, please, please –
“I don’t know, honey,” Hal starts, skeptical. “Isn’t Dewey a little young stil?”
“Oh, this isn’t that bad,” Lois waves a hand.
“It’s R rated,” says Hal, now surveying the tape in his hands.
His disapproval is thankfully enough to push his brothers on board, and Dewey has to admire Mom’s foresight when Reese says, “Come on, Dad, everyone knows those are like ten years off!”
“Yeah, it’s just a marketing strategy,” Malcolm chimes in.
Hal doesn’t look pleased, but Dewey knows he’s already lost. It’s nice to see Mom use her powers for good instead of evil for once.
“I mean,” Hal starts, resorting to sarcasm in an attempt to go down with dignity, “if you think it’s appropriate, sure, you know best.” He waves his hands around. “Just don’t come crying to me when these boys can’t sleep at night.”
Lois smiles, clearly pleased with herself, and Malcolm rolls his eyes. Dewey keeps his mouth shut just in case. He doesn’t want his excitement to tip the scales back. If he thinks it’s cool, then it must be too lame for Reese and Malcolm. He could maybe try feigning apprehension, but that could backfire so that everyone but him gets to watch the movie. And he really wants to see the movie.
***
There’s definitely an ulterior motive for this, Dewey thinks at one point, but he’s decided not to care. He probably should’ve clocked it earlier because really, why would Mom come home with a movie about a slimy corpse hornily killing with his girlfriend to reform his body layer by layer and also there are a bunch of weird leather-clad freaks there? For them all to watch together, no less.
Dewey really doesn’t mind the explicit stuff, but it becomes apparent why Dad was trying to shut it down when he hears him whimper at the gnarly sight of Frank’s undead slimy body after the second murder. Dewey thinks it looks pretty cool. He likes the wet quality of it.
“You know they did that with lubricant?” Mom says, unprompted, and it’s weird to hear her even say the word.
“What?” Reese asks, grossed out.
“The special effects,” Mom clarifies. “Don’t get all up in arms, as if I don’t know what lubricant is,” she rolls her eyes. It does nothing to ease the discomfort.
“Can we stop talking now?” Malcolm begs. “Seriously.”
“I’m just saying, they had to get really creative back then!” Mom presses on, and Dewey considers whether a horror movie was worth being subjected to this. “You couldn’t just click a button on the computer.”
No one says anything and for a blissful moment Dewey thinks that’s it. Just one uncomfortable comment and they can all stop thinking about their mother knowing what sex is. But after a stretch of silence that’s just a bit too long to seamlessly continue the conversation, Lois says, “It’s just an interesting detail. The video store clerk saw me pick it up, told me it was his boyfriend’s favorite, and we got to talking. Really nice young man – he knows his stuff. Or, well, he says it’s his boyfriend that’s the horror buff, but they watch them together. Isn’t that nice?”
It's weird and kind of a non-sequitor and there’s a strange tone to her voice Dewey can’t quite place. He frowns.
“Gay guys watch horror movies?” Reese grimaces.
“Of course,” Mom says firmly, almost like she’s been waiting to do it, and suddenly it all clicks for Dewey. “Gay people can do anything anyone else can, and don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. I didn’t raise you to buy into bigoted stereotypes.”
“We know, we know,” says Malcolm, bored.
“I’m serious,” Mom doesn’t let it go, and now that he knows what it’s about, Dewey tries not to laugh. “Take Clive Barker,” she motions to the TV. “He’s gay.”
“I thought he was into the lady?” Reese frowns.
“Not him, the director, idiot,” Malcolm says.
“Oh.”
“If you like horror movies, Reese, you should check out some of his stories. Reading something other than a comic book will do you good. And I think you’d really like his style!”
“God, can we just watch the movie?” Malcolm snaps. “I totally missed half of what just happened.”
At that, Mom finally shuts up, and Dewey is almost sorry to see her not push it further. He sneaks a glance at Dad and sees him looking between Lois, his brothers, and the TV. There’s a slight frown on his face, like he’s trying to add things up but isn’t quite managing.
So Mom finally figured out Reese is gay. Dewey overestimated her – he thought she caught on ages ago.
***
Okay, so maybe figuring out what the hell has gotten into Reese isn’t going to be as easy as Malcolm thought.
His first approach was to talk to him. You know, like a normal person. He got some stink bombs and asked Reese to come up with something to do with them, and that made him gleeful in a way Malcolm hasn’t seen in a while. Not as gleeful as he thought he’d be, but still. Enough to make him think he was on the right track and could catch Reese off guard. Heart-to-hearts aren’t really their style, but the roof opposite the mall’s parking lot felt like a good spot for something like that. And throwing stink bombs in front of people’s cars as they approached with armfuls of shopping bags would give them something to look at other than each other.
Anyway, it was all good fun for a while, but the “talk like normal people” part of the plan was obviously a bad idea. This is what happened, in short:
After they’ve been up there awhile, Malcolm said, aiming for casual, “So, what’s up with you? You’ve been… weird.”
“What do you mean, weird?” Reese made a face and, okay, that clearly hit a nerve. “I’m normal. You’re the family freak.”
And that stung, probably more than Malcolm initially thought, but he managed to rise above it. At first, anyway. So he said, maybe a little impatiently, “No, that’s not what I – I just mean you’ve been kind of down. I was just asking if you were okay. If you wanted to… talk, or whatever.”
Retrospectively, he should have known Reese wouldn’t respond well to that because he’s totally incapable of acting like a normal, well-adjusted person even when Malcolm makes a concentrated effort to do so himself.
“Why do you have to go all gay on me?” is what Reese asked, and that was the point at which Malcolm failed to rise above.
To be fair to Reese, he probably didn’t do it on purpose. But it was kind of the tipping point for Malcolm because he’s pretty sure Mom somehow became convinced he’s gay in the last couple of weeks and has been trying to get him to come out, which is ridiculous because Malcolm isn’t gay. Probably. But it’s like now everyone’s convinced that he is and he doesn’t know what it is about him that makes everyone think that but he can’t ask because it’s not like anyone explicitly said it and it’ll just make him look homophobic which, for the record, he also isn’t, but it’s just – it’s –
Anyway, the fact just thinking about it frustrates him into incoherence is probably why when Reese said that on the roof he yelled, “I’m trying to be nice, you asshole!”
“Well, you suck at it!”
“Bite me!”
It was then that someone threw the first punch – Malcolm’s not sure who anymore – and they scuffled on the roof for a while before Reese gained the upper hand and used the split second Malcolm wasn’t on him to step on a stink bomb and bolt, only he tripped over Malcolm’s leg and they both ended up going home in silence, reeking like they’ve been dumpster diving with dead racoons.
They haven’t really spoken since. Malcolm’s spent about four days not caring at all. It was the best four days he’s had in ages, despite being grounded and made to clean out the gutters all weekend. But of course, that couldn’t last because the universe has already proven, time and time again, that nice things just aren’t something it has in store for Malcolm, ever.
He wakes up the night after the fourth day to a full bladder and stumbles to the bathroom door. He’s just about to turn the knob when he hears a muffled sob and stops in his tracks. He frowns. Squints back at their beds. Dewey is fast asleep, already stretching over Malcolm’s half, but Reese’s is empty.
Whatever. Whatever, he doesn’t care. He’s spent four days not caring and his life has been so much easier, and he tried to help but if Reese doesn’t want him to, that’s his problem and he can deal with it alone, Malcolm is done, it’s –
Oh, man. It’s not going to work if he has to convince himself, is it?
Well, he can’t go in now. He’ll get socked in the mouth. He tiptoes to the backyard and hopes he’ll go back to not caring in the morning. Somehow it doesn’t seem likely.
***
Lois is at her wits end. She’s going crazy. She can barely sleep. There’s just no getting through to that boy.
She’s been stewing in this knowledge for weeks, exhausting every ounce of creativity in her body to no avail. Maybe Reese doesn’t know he’s gay. Maybe he just thinks… Oh, who is she kidding? She has no idea what could possibly be going on in that head of his.
It’s ridiculous. She’s this close to barging into his room to scream, “You can like boys and I’ll love you just the same! It’s not a big deal to me!” And if it were anyone else, she’d probably do it, but she just knows he’d freak out and do something stupid and reckless and, Christ, probably try and prove her wrong. So she bites her tongue and makes the billionth reference to her lesbian coworker and wants to strangle him when he doesn’t run into her arms and just gets it off his chest already.
She needs a new gameplan, is what she’s saying. She stands in the kitchen and absentmindedly chews on her nail as their dinner simmers on the stove. Maybe she should tell Hal – he’s been getting suspicious anyway.
To tell the truth, she’s been going back and forth on it since she found out. The longer this goes on, the harder it is to keep it from him, and she’s been dying to talk to someone. Well, she did confide in the video store clerk, and he’s been very kind, but it’s just not the same.
But no, no, she can’t. Hal would ruin everything. He’d freak out for about ten seconds before it crossed his mind how Reese probably feels and then he’d fall apart. And she’d tell him, “Just don’t let him know that you know, we have to be smart about this,” and Hal would agree, of course, he knows how Reese is. And he’d keep the act up fine until the first time he sees Reese again, and then Lois knows in her heart of hearts that Hal could not take it; he’d take one look at his face and crumble. He’d get all teary eyed and say something painfully honest and from the heart that would make Reese jump out of his skin and push the self-destruct button.
She sighs. Telling Hal is out of the question.
And then she has an idea. Of course. How the hell didn’t she think of this sooner?
She checks the time – she has maybe ten minutes until Hal gets home from work. She picks up the phone.
After four rings, “Hello?”
“Oh, Francis, thank God.”
“Mom? Is everything okay?”
“It’s about Reese.”
“Seriously?” He sounds disbelieving. “Whatever he did, I can’t help you. I haven’t had anything to do with any of their stunts in years, which you should really know by now, and just the fact you’re assuming I –”
“No, no, Francis, listen. I don’t have much time. Hal gets home soon, and he can’t know about this.”
“Oh.”
“I need some advice, and I need your word that this stays strictly between us. Not me, you, and your wife, or anyone else.”
“Um.”
“I’m serious, Francis, I need to know I can trust you!”
“Okay, okay! Jesus.” Now he sounds freaked out. Lois pinches the bridge of her nose. Why did she think this was a good idea? “I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Francis says. “What is it?”
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. If he betrays her trust, she’s going to kill him. “Reese is gay.” Silence. “I’m pretty sure, at least.” Pause. “I found this – Oh, nevermind how I know. He’s gay.”
After a long beat, Francis says, “Okay?” and then, “So?”
“So, I don’t know what to do! He doesn’t know that I know and I don’t know how to tell him that, you know. That it’s fine! That I love him!”
“Are you asking me to help you be a good mother?” he asks disbelievingly.
“No, I’m asking you to – I don’t know how to talk to him! You're closer to his age and his…” she makes a vague gesture with her free hand, “him.”
“I can’t believe this,” Francis says. “Now is when you suddenly decide to try and be a loving, caring mother? And you want my help? After everything you’ve done to make sure I don’t get even the tiniest bit of –”
“Oh, for the love of Pete, Francis, why do you always have to make it about you? This is about Reese!”
“Don’t deflect!”
“I’m not deflecting! I’m asking you to be a good brother and for once in your life put someone else first!” she yells into the receiver. “God, how can you be so selfish?!”
“Oh, there we are! I’m being selfish?! I’m somehow expected to do your job for you despite never getting anything even remotely –”
“For the last time Francis, this isn’t about you!”
“Maybe it is! How would you know?! You never bothered to extend me the same courtesy even though I went through the exact same thing!”
There’s a charged paused as Lois’s infuriated brain works to process. “What are you saying?!” She just can’t seem to stop screaming.
“Nothing!” Francis shouts, but there’s a creeping insecurity in his voice that Lois clocks in an instant. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about!”
“Well, I love you!” Lois yells back. “I accept you for who you are!”
“Thank you!”
“And I’m sorry! Do you want to tell your father or should I?!”
“I don’t know! I wasn’t planning this!”
“Well, I’m glad you told me anyway!”
“Yeah, me too! I think!”
The key turns in the lock which must mean Hal is about to walk in, so Lois says, “I have to go now, but this conversation isn’t over! I love you!”
She hangs up with force and takes a deep breath to steady herself.
“Hey, honey,” Hal says absently as he walks into the kitchen. He does a double take and his expression softens. “Francis?”
Lois manages a nod, the adrenaline still coursing through her.
“What’d he do this time?” he asks sympathetically, but Lois shakes her head.
“We had a… productive conversation,” she says, coming to. Hal looks confused. “It’s fine. It was good. There’s just no way to talk to him like a normal human being.”
Hal nods in understanding. “Come on, let me give you a shoulder rub.”
***
Francis stands holding the phone in his room dumbfounded. “I think I just accidentally told my mother I was gay.”
“Is that what all the yelling was about?” Piama asks as she comes out of the bathroom. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. I don’t really know how it happened.” Then he cringes. “God, now she probably thinks our marriage is fake and I have to go in again and explain what bisexuality is.”
“Well that sounds… easier. Halfway there, right?” she puts a hand on his shoulder.
When Francis keeps standing there looking at the receiver and not explaining, she asks, a little impatient, “So, what happened?”
“Oh!” he snaps out of it. “Reese is gay.”
“Oh,” Piama says, surprised. Then, having given it some thought, she adds a worried, “Oh.” A pause. “He’s probably not handling that well, huh?”
“No, probably not.”
***
There must be something Hal is forgetting. Some kind of anniversary or birthday or special occasion that slipped his mind, because any way he adds the numbers up, it’s not computing.
Francis and Piama are coming to stay next weekend and Reese is already putting together a menu of things Hal can’t repeat the names of but is sure will taste like heaven regardless. And that’s all good, obviously Hal is glad, except that in the last two weeks there have been two calls from school about Reese fighting, and five separate neighbors came to complain about their mailboxes being tripped with stink bombs. And he thought he and Lois had agreed that the best punishment for Reese an all-inclusive cooking ban. Instead, he was only grounded for… Hal doesn’t even know how long. Not a lot, in any case.
This is all very unlike Lois. Hal has been tiptoeing around it, just in case it is some kind of important date he’s forgetting, but she’s not revealing anything. It must be getting the best of him, too, because lately he’s been having these dreams where she comes home with a woman and proclaim she’s a lesbian.
***
Malcolm has completely abandoned the idea of talking to Reese. It was stupid to begin with. Even if Malcolm had the patience of a saint, it’d still end in a fistfight.
But he’s not given up on getting to the bottom of this. He hides behind the dumpster outside the school cafeteria, and it occurs to him briefly that maybe he’d be better off focusing on his own problems. Like the fact Mom is still harping on about the imagined gay thing. Maybe it’s because Stevie is the only person he hangs out with, and she’s graciously assumed it’s because Malcolm is in love with him instead of being the most socially inept person who’s ever graced planet Earth and a complete outcast even by the standards of other outcasts. Would it be too sad if he started inventing friends to mention to her? Or would she see right through it and only become more convinced he’s dating Stevie? Yeah, that’s both too sad and too risky. Or maybe he could –
His train of thought is cut off when he sees Reese approaching. He checks his watch. Lunch ends in two minutes.
Reese throws his backpack over the fence and squeezes through a hole in it. He rips his shirt a little and surveys it with an agonized look. Mom’s going to kill him, Malcolm thinks, and puts it in his ammunition box. Just in case.
Reese picks his backpack up and starts walking away. Malcolm waits out behind the dumpster for a while, now having second thoughts. He’s been kind of hoping Reese wouldn’t actually skip again, ‘cause he has Herkabe next period and knows he’ll take any opportunity to make Malcolm’s life miserable, which of course includes calling home to ask why he’s not in class. Reese grows smaller as the distance between them widens. The bell is going to ring any second. He looks back at the school building.
Oh, goddammit. He jumps out of his hiding place and squeezes through the hole, then almost falls on his ass when his backpack gets stuck. This is the worst idea he’s had yet. Stupid asshole idiot, why does Malcolm even bother? He makes it through the hole tear-free and starts in the direction Reese took off in.
He follows from a safe distance for a while until Reese heads into a minimart, then emerges a minute later with a chocolate bar. He eats half of it on the way to the park, then taunts a dog behind the enclosed doggy area with the remaining half. Then he eats it. He doesn’t litter, which Malcolm is surprised by. Next, he goes into some fancy bakery which must be new and, as far as Malcolm can tell from the other side of the street squinting to see through the window, talks to the baker for about a billion years before he leaves empty-handed.
By the time they get close to Lucky Aide, Malcolm is not only nervous Mom is going to see them (given Malcolm’s luck, she’s going to be getting some fresh air during her break or something equally unlikely right as he passes by), but also convinced this really was the worst idea he’s ever had. He’s done nothing but waste his own time and give Herkabe something to torment him with. What was he even hoping to achieve?
He distantly remembers that at one point, this was somehow about being a friend to Reese. It’s possible, maybe, if he’s really being honest with himself, that somewhere along the line that took a backseat to him proving that Reese is hiding something.
But okay, whatever. That doesn’t necessarily mean what he’s doing isn’t still noble. He’s being a good brother. The ends justify the means, in this case, for sure. If he actually finds anything out and then also comes up with a way to solve whatever problem Reese is clearly having.
Malcolm almost keeps walking when Reese suddenly ducks into a video store. Why would he go in? This is like, five minutes away from Lucky Aide and Mom’s been bringing home a lot of movies lately, probably from right here, and her shift ends in like half an hour. Not to mention they passed like three different video stores on the way here, all of which have an approximately zero chance of Mom walking in or passing by. Is he a complete idiot?
Malcolm hangs back. He keeps checking his watch, gauging when’s his last chance to get the hell away from here.
***
Reese’s eyes trail over VHS spines without actually reading the titles. He doesn’t even know what section he’s in. He has an alright view of the counter from here, though, and that’s really the whole point. His heart is beating in his chest like it is when he’s trying to get away with something and Mom’s trying to read it off his face. Stupid. He resists the urge to leave – he has to get to the bottom of this.
He sneaks a glance at the cashier. He’s older than Reese, out of high school for sure, but not that much older. He’s reading an issue of Fangoria. Okay, so he likes horror – Mom said as much. It doesn’t prove anything on its own.
He looks… normal. He’s wearing a uniform, so that kind of makes it harder to compare clothes. But he’s not wearing a gay little scarf over it like Reese thought. No nail polish either. Crap.
It would be easier to do this with Malcolm. He does experiments all the time, he would know what to look for and what to conclude, but the thought of telling him makes Reese want to puke and maybe punch him.
That gives him an idea. He sneaks another look, trying to guess if this guy could fight. He has an average physique, kind of like Reese’s, so he doesn’t really know. He guesses he looks like he could hold his own. Inconclusive. Maybe he should provoke him and see?
No, bad idea. This place has cameras, Mom’s bound to find out. Oh, crap, when does she get off work again? Reese has to wrap this up.
Next point, hair. He’s got a nice haircut. Shorter on the sides, middle parted. Definitely some gel in it. His heart beats faster. Okay, so what if Reese spends a lot of time on his hair? A middle part is gayer than his style, so there. He’s not gay. He’s not.
He must be acting weird, because the next time he glances at the clerk, he’s looking right at him. Does he know? Can he tell?
“Need some help there?” the clerk asks, kind of a bored monotone and not the nasally gay voice Reese heard in movies and was expecting. It feels like another nail in the coffin.
“Uh,” he flounders. Think fast, think fast. His heart is racing which is stupid, stupid, stupid. The guy raises an eyebrow, and Reese looks at his face properly for the first time. His cheeks burn. There’s a horrible sensation in his stomach not unlike the one he gets from that stupid catalogue that he should’ve thrown out ages ago and he feels guilty, so guilty, so stupid –
“Are you okay?” the clerk looks concerned, and Reese’s stomach lurches.
He bolts right out of the store without looking back.
***
Three minutes before Malcolm’s self-imposed deadline to disappear as far away as possible from the wider Lucky Aide area, Reese runs out of the video store as if being chased. Malcolm watches, bewildered, as he gets smaller and smaller, then looks back at the video store to inevitably see his victim/pursuer. But no one comes out. Reese doesn’t stop or look back, and when he turns into the first alley, Malcolm decides to throw caution to the wind.
He barges into the video store. It’s completely empty save for the clerk who snaps to look at him wide-eyed. They stare at each other.
“Was my brother just here?”
“…I guess?” the clerk says.
“Whatever he did, I’ll fix it, just please don’t call the cops or tell our mom,” Malcolm begs.
“Is this some kind of prank?” the clerk asks. “Who the hell are you kids?”
“No one,” Malcolm says. “Nevermind. What’d he do?”
“Nothing!” the clerk is exasperated. “He came in, I asked if he needed help, and he ran out.”
“Oh,” Malcolm frowns.
“Listen kid, I’m not paid nearly enough for whatever the hell stunts you think you’re pulling. I got an hour left on my shift; you either rent something or get out.”
***
It’s Friday, and Hal has no plans. He leaves the house and gets into his car with absolutely no idea where he’s going to go and what he’s going to do for the first time in years. Not even an inkling. That’s how rattled he is from this whole thing.
Francis and Piama should be here tomorrow morning. The fridge is overflowing with Reese’s marinades and sauce bases and half-prepped ingredients. He’s baking his own bread because not even the ones from the fancy bakery in the city are good enough, apparently. Lois is letting him go absolutely ham. He failed another test this week, but somehow it doesn’t matter. Did they even punish him for it? Hal can’t be sure. It’s like the world has turned upside down.
And still nothing from Lois. Usually, when she sees he’s lost, she at the very least gives him a little hint so he can buy a present for whoever it is that is celebrating whatever it is they’re all celebrating. But this time? Nothing.
He went through every single birthday and anniversary, interrogated the boys on how they were doing in school, if they won any contest or even got a really good grade in something. He drove around the neighborhood to see if anyone Lois hates moved out. He called Francis to ask if he got a promotion, or a new job, or successfully delivered a baby horse. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
He's driving around in circles. In his car, that is, because it’s Friday and he’s been so preoccupied with figuring out what the hell is going on in this family to come up with a single idea on how to spend his day. At this point, he might as well go to work.
He won’t, of course; the idea makes him sick. But he’ll have to stop driving around at some point if he doesn’t want to waste all his gas.
He heads for the city. Always something to do in the city. It has to be a reasonably big deal if Francis and Piama are making the trip, but unless Hal is forgetting something really obvious, there’s noth–
Oh, God.
The possibility his him so suddenly he gasps audibly and almost slams the brakes.
Is Piama pregnant? Is it a secret? And Lois managed to squeeze it out of Francis but is pretending not to know so she doesn’t ruin the surprise?
Of course. Of course, it has to be it. Him and Lois becoming grandparents – now, that’s an occasion that’s worthy of cutting Reese some slack and having a big ol’ feast, cost of ingredients be damned.
Him, a grandfather. A peepaw, maybe even. He’s a bit young to be a grandparent, sure, but Francis got married so young, and he’s become so mature and dependable – why the hell not?
This must be what him and Lois were talking about on the phone a while back. Lois didn’t say what it was about, and Hal didn’t ask, but she was upset, and Hal remembers her telling Francis that she loves him before hanging up and oh, oh, it’s all coming together. The way she’s been stressed lately, frazzled – of course. He can’t imagine what she’s been going through, having no one to talk to about such big news…
He should tell her that he knows. He’ll act all surprised and overwhelmed when Francis and Piama tell them, sure, but he has to tell Lois he knows in advance so she can get her worries off her chest before everyone is sitting at the dinner table. She needs him to tell her it’s going to be okay. Francis will make a great father. Hal knows Lois isn’t exactly keen on Piama, and okay, he doesn’t know her very well, but she seems very good for Francis. Strong, kind, principled. She’s a bit like Lois, really. She’ll make an excellent mother, he’s sure.
A billboard advertising a newly opened pancake place pulls him out of his thoughts. Today is the last day to order a combo-meal, and if you can eat everything in it, you get it for free. Just like that, it looks like he found his Friday activity! This day just keeps getting better, he thinks as he follows the signs.
***
Piama focuses on mentally preparing herself for Lois. They’re sitting in a somewhat comfortable silence, the car radio playing quietly as Francis drives along the highway, and she plays out scenarios in her head of Lois saying something awful, and her responding politely and managing her anger. It seems to only be pissing her off in advance. She gives up.
Her saving grace is that the focus probably won’t be on them. It’s strange to see Francis work with his mother on something, even if it took a lot of convincing and goading on Piama’s part. She’s not thrilled about visiting either, but like she told Francis time and time again, it’s not for Lois, it’s for Reese.
“So, have you come up with a plan yet?” she asks after a while. The last time she asked, Francis said he’d figured it out on the way. They’ve been driving for three hours now.
A long stretch of silence. “No,” he says eventually, moody like a kid with an assignment due tomorrow that he hasn’t even started. Piama sighs. “Look, it’s complicated,” Francis starts. “I haven’t seen him in ages, I have no idea what’s going on inside his head. This whole thing was Mom’s idea anyway, like she expects me to magically fix everything because she couldn’t.”
Here we go again, Piama thinks. “I know, and it’s not fair of her to shift so much responsibility on you,” she says patiently, “but we’re halfway there anyway, and it’s about your brother, not her.”
“God, okay, you want me to turn the car around?” he says. “It’s still quicker to go back home, if that’s what you want!”
It’s so transparent, Piama can’t help but roll her eyes. “Stop it, Francis.”
To his credit, he does. A silence.
“Look, just,” she starts again, “try talking to him. What’s something you wanted to hear when you were his age?”
“I don’t know,” Francis looks uncomfortable.
“Okay, well, I think it would have meant something to me if someone said, hey, there’s a lot more to the world than this here little corner, and you’re gonna meet people who understand you.”
“That’s… good,” Francis says.
“Or maybe, you’re not the only person in the world going through this,” she goes on. “And, I know it hurts to be different now and you wish you didn’t have to be, but it can also be a source of such joy and such opportunity you’ll feel stupid for ever wanting to be ‘normal’. And, and,” she gains momentum, seeing herself as a silly fifteen year old girl crying over her best friend suddenly having a boyfriend when it was supposed to be just the two of them forever, “you’ll see the world differently, and that’s a good thing, and you’ll have wonderful, rich experiences and you won’t feel like this forever and you won’t be alone and –”
“Are you okay?” Francis looks at her with concern. He puts his free hand on her knee and squeezes. She takes in a deep breath. Whew.
“Yeah,” she says. “Just got a bit carried away.”
“Yeah…” he says gently.
“So, um. You could say something like that,” she says after a beat.
“Yeah, maybe,” Francis looks unsure. Then quickly adds, “I mean, no, that was great. Really beautiful.” A pause. “I’m just worried he might, you know. Punch me in the face?”
Piama considers this. “Yeah, teenage me probably would’ve, too.”
***
Lois paces the bedroom, chewing on her thumb. She’s not hiding from the boys, she just doesn’t want to be around them right now. She checks her watch. Hal should be home any second now.
She knows they all think she’s lost her mind. Reese seems to have stopped believing he’s getting away with something and is instead acting like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, Malcolm’s been giving her dirty looks and won’t be holding his tongue for much longer, and Dewey… Dewey’s been awfully cheerful. Strange little boy.
Hal’s the worst of them, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can keep avoiding his eyes. He’s suspicious, and clearly beyond confused, and it’d be a lot easier to keep things from him if he didn’t look so damn sad. Francis can’t come soon enough.
Tomorrow morning. And then… Lois hopes he can fix this, instead of making it worse. She has to trust him. It goes against her every instinct, but she has no choice.
“I’m home!” Hal’s voice calls from the other side of the house.
Okay. She takes in a breath, steels herself. Just one more night.
“There you are,” Hal says softly as he opens the door.
She forces a smile. “Hi, honey. How was work?”
“Oh, you know,” Hal waves a dismissive hand. “The usual.”
“We’re uh,” she starts, “ordering pizza for dinner. Since the kitchen’s a no-go zone.”
“Ah, of course,” Hal nods. Reese doesn’t want anybody as much as cracking the fridge open.
Lois waits for him to move so she can go phone the pizza place, but he doesn’t. He keeps looking at her, soft kind eyes, and she can’t stand it. She looks away.
“Honey,” he says. “Hey, look at me.”
Crap. Keep it together. She puts on a smile that feels like a grimace and meets his eyes.
“It’s okay,” Hal says. “I know.”
“Know what?” she asks, neutral and blunt.
“You know what I mean.” Hal’s got that soft, gentle tone like he’s trying to defuse a rabid predator. It’s sweet. Lois can’t let herself crack, not when she’s not sure. “You’ve been handling this all alone, but you don’t have to anymore. You can talk to me.”
He’s bluffing. She’s almost sure of it. She shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, voice wobblier than she would’ve liked.
He levels her with a knowing look. “Lois. I know you’re tough, and you know I love that about you. And I know it’s not your news to share, and I promise I’m not going to let it slip and ruin everything. You have my word. I know you love him, but you can’t shoulder it all on your own.”
She can’t hold it in. Her lip wobbles and she knows if she speaks now, she’ll cry. Hal hugs her. She lets out a sob.
“There, let it out,” Hal rubs soothing circles into her back. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I just worry about him,” Lois sobs.
“I know you do. I do, too. It’s going to be okay, you’ll see. He’s a lot more mature than we give him credit for, you know.”
Lois lets out something akin to a laugh. Then keeps crying.
“I just hate to see him go through that alone,” she says.
“He won’t be alone,” Hal assures her. “He has Piama, and he has us.”
Lois stiffens. “What?”
“She’s a good person, Lois, and she’s good for Francis,” Hal says, and now Lois is lost. She pulls away. “I know you don’t like her, but give her a bit of credit,” he says.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she frowns.
Hal freezes, uncertain. “F-Francis? The baby?”
“What baby?”
“Aren’t they…? Piama…?” When Lois keeps glaring, he asks, “Is she not pregnant?”
“Not as far as I know!” Lois can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Is she?”
“N– I guess not?” Hal frowns. “What did you think I was talking about?”
“Reese!” Lois says like it’s obvious.
“Oh,” says Hal. Huh. “What about him?”
“Hal,” she warns. “Is Piama pregnant? Did Francis say something to you?”
“No, I thought he said it to you!” A moment. “I don’t know, I just thought – It was the only thing I could think of that would explain… I mean, they’re coming over and Reese is cooking and he’s not being punished and, and –”
“Because he’s gay!” Lois whisper-yells.
“What?”
“Reese!” Lois says. “For God’s sake, Hal!”
Hal stands there, flabbergasted, and this is exactly what Lois was hoping to avoid. She sees him thinking in real time; first comes the disbelief and vague discomfort with the idea. Then the wheels start to turn and he’s connecting the dots. Now it makes sense, actually. And then he gets hit with the emotions.
“Oh,” he manages weakly. This is when she needs to step in.
“Hal, listen to me,” she says firmly. “You cannot let him know that you know. I know it hurts, I know you want to help him, I know you want to go out there and hug him and tell him you love him, but you can’t.”
He gives her an agonized look. “But…”
“No ‘but’s, Hal,” she says. “Think about it. This is Reese. You’ll freak him out. We want him to feel safe and in control. He needs to come to us.”
Hal nods weakly. Lois isn’t sold.
“That’s why Francis and Piama are coming,” she continues. “They’re going to help. We’ll all work it out together, and he’ll tell us on his own, when he’s ready. You just keep quiet and pretend you don’t know anything. Do you understand?”
“But he’s so…” Hal is getting teary-eyed. “He’s going through all that all alone…”
“I know,” Lois assures him, softer. “It’s awful.”
Hal whimpers. She pulls him into a hug. “It’s going to be okay. We’re here for him, but we can’t push him.”
***
Dewey expected to get woken up by Mom and Francis screaming; that's just what happens more or less as soon as they lay eyes on each other. So he gets a little confused when he’s instead woken up by a kick and Malcolm’s groggy voice saying, “C’mon, Dewey, Francis is here.”
He sits up on the bed and yawns. He’s surprised to see Reese’s bed already empty. Malcolm drags himself out of the room and leaves the door open, leaving Dewey alone. He sits in silence for a bit, his brain still foggy, then realizes it really is silence he’s sitting in. Huh.
He doesn’t remember if there ever was a morning when someone wasn’t yelling about something. Especially not with Francis and Piama in the mix. It just goes to show how dedicated both Mom and Francis are to the cause, Dewey thinks, and remembers how much he’s been looking forward to seeing this play out. There’s no way the help-Reese-say-he’s-gay family reunion passes smoothly.
He hurries out the room, not wanting to miss a second, but stops in his tracks when he sees everyone sitting around the table, breakfast served in the nice china, with options ranging from sweet to savory; sausages, fried eggs, French toast, homemade cookies, pastries... There’s even fresh fruit and vegetables. Dewey must still be dreaming. Everyone looks happy. He pinches himself.
“Come on, sit down so we can eat,” Mom calls, and he doesn’t wake up, so he does.
“I figured you guys’d be hungry from driving all night,” Reese says as he sets down a jug of… freshly squeezed orange juice? From actual oranges?
“Wow, Reese, this is really something,” says Francis, wide-eyed. “You really went all-out.”
“This is nothing,” Reese waves a hand. “Wait till you see what’s for dinner.”
Not even Malcolm looks pissed off, and Dewey knows he’s been on the verge of imploding over how Mom’s been totally letting everything Reese does slide. He watches as Mom passes the pastry trey to Piama with a warm smile and no snide comment in awe. This all might actually turn out well. He’s almost disappointed.
“Oh, this is delicious,” Hal manages around a mouthful of sausage and French toast.
Reese beams and digs into a fried egg. It’s seasoned with… something. A lot of things. Dewey wouldn’t know. He snaps out of his daze and starts filling his plate.
“So, how was your trip?” Mom asks.
“It was fine,” says Piama. “Hardly any traffic.”
“Yeah, it was exhausting but it’s really worth it to avoid the heat during the day,” Francis adds.
“So are you, ah, heading right back on Sunday or?” Hal asks, and Dewey notices something conspicuous in his tone. He takes a break from scarfing down a croissant and looks up.
“Oh, no,” Francis says. “Otto gave me a couple of extra days off, so we’re heading up to visit Eric.”
“That’s nice!” Lois says, and Dewey looks between her and Dad. They’re working together. He didn’t expect her to crack. “Is there a special occasion, or?”
“Yeah, actually,” Francis says, slowing down on the food. “His Dads are having a vow renewal.” He glances at Reese. “It’s their thirtieth anniversary.”
Dewey wishes he had eyes all over his head, because it’s really hard to keep turning it around to look at everyone. In the few seconds it took Francis to say this, Reese kept intently looking at his plate and eating, but his cheeks started catching heat. Mom, Dad, Francis, and Piama were all trying to sneak glances at him secretly. It was really very obvious, but it seems Dewey was the only one to notice, because Malcolm was also staring down at his plate and looking more ticked off by the second. His nostrils flare, and Dewey thinks he’s going to blow soon. What with, he has no idea. But this is starting to get exciting.
“Their thirtieth, wow!” Mom says.
“That’s what marriage is all about,” Hal adds, pointing a fork at nothing in particular. “Piece of paper or not, that’s love and dedication right there.”
“Can someone pass the sausage?” Malcolm asks tightly. “I’d really like a sausage, please.”
“Of course, honey,” Lois says and hands him the plate.
Malcolm takes one chews it like he’s trying to prove something. Dewey feels like he’s missing some crucial information. He stares. He’s the only one that does, because now Piama’s saying how excited she is to meet Eric and his Dads and all their friends, and everyone is back to glancing at Reese and his red cheeks, but he doesn’t look up until the topic has been exhausted and most of the food eaten. Plenty of hours in the day, still, Dewey thinks, and helps clear the table.
***
“I told you,” Lois whispers, frustrated, “I’ve been doing that for weeks. It just doesn’t get through to him.”
“I don’t know, I think it did,” Hal counters cautiously. “His face was like the ketchup bottle.”
“I don’t know if it’s good if we’re all hounding him,” Piama offers, and Lois gestures a ‘thank you, exactly’ with her hand.
It’s kind of freaky to see his mother agree with Piama on something, but Francis decides not to mention it until he and Piama are alone. They’re all huddled up in the garage under the excuse of finding the old couch cushions to bring back to the ranch, and Francis doesn’t know how much time they have until it starts looking suspicious.
“I think you should talk to him alone,” Lois looks at him intently, and this is what Francis has been dreading.
“And say what?” he asks.
“How should I know?” Mom flaps her arms, exasperated. “If I did, believe me, I would have done it already.”
“She’s right, Francis,” Dad nods, the traitor. “He trusts you, he relates to you,” he explains.
“Don’t overthink it,” Piama offers. “Just talk to him like you normally would.”
Francis grimaces. There’s not much him and Reese have ever talked about, even less so now that Francis has an honest to God adult job he actually likes and in turn kind of moved past savage recklessness and pure mayhem. And that was the one thing they had in common. Well, apart from the obvious, but Francis can’t barge into his room with that.
“I don’t know…” he says in the end. “I guess I can try…”
And that seems to settle it, no further advice or encouragement necessary, much to Francis’s disappointment. Not that any of it was particularly good or rousing, but still. Lois hands him and Piama two dusty, odd-smelling, probably moldy cushions each and urges them out.
After they’ve loaded them in the trunk – something Francis is sure he’ll regret – they all but push him into the still cordoned off kitchen. The sheets give some semblance of privacy, at least, but Francis really hopes they haven’t stuck around to eavesdrop.
“Hey,” he says dumbly when Reese is too busy stirring and sauteing to notice him.
“Oh, perfect,” Reese says when he sees him. He hands him a wooden spoon. “Here, keep stirring. I gotta check on the bread.”
So Francis does as he’s told and watches Reese peek underneath a kitchen rag and then, clearly satisfied, removes it and grabs a knife. He etches something on top of the dough, all little flicking motions and the kind of precision Francis didn’t know Reese was even capable of. When he’s done, he realizes it’s flowers.
Okay, so there’s no way Reese doesn’t know he’s gay. It’s occurred to Francis, considering it’s Reese, but come on. That makes it a little easier.
Reese opens the oven and puts the bread inside, fiddling a little with the temperature. He sets a timer, then takes Francis’s spoon back.
“You’re supposed to go forwards-backwards,” he showcases, “not in a circle.”
“Oh,” Francis says. “Uh, sorry.”
He stands there a bit longer, not knowing what to say and feeling sort of stupid. As bad as it sounds, it was a whole lot easier talking to the guys when they still worshipped the ground he walked on. He was never worried about sounding dumb back then, is what he means, and this is a new feeling he guesses he’ll have to get used to.
“So, uh, you’re really into this cooking stuff, huh?” he asks.
“I guess,” Reese says, immediately kind of defensive, and crap. Not what Francis was aiming for. “Why?”
“Just… making conversation,” Francis shrugs. “You’re really good at it.”
“Thanks.”
“You know, most professional cooks are men,” Francis says. “I mean, that’s ‘cause that entire industry is super misogynistic and full of macho-posturing, but still. No shame in knowing how to cook.”
“I know,” Reese says, and this is definitely headed in the wrong direction.
“Look, man,” Francis gives up the act. “I know with me going out on my own and getting married and everything, we kind of drifted apart. But I still love you guys, I’m still your brother.” Reese is now doing some acrobatics with the pan, vegetables floating in the air and landing back down perfectly. Francis hopes that’s a good sign. “What I’m saying is, I want you guys to feel like you can talk to me.”
“What would we have to talk about?” Reese asks, harshly, and Francis tries not to let the frustration show. It hurts a bit, too.
“I don’t know, anything,” he shrugs instead. “Like, what’s going on? How’s life? It wasn’t that long ago that I was your age, I know all about that stuff.”
“You sound like Dad,” Reese says. “Look, I don’t know what the hell you want me to say, and I’m kind of busy. Can you pass me the mushrooms?”
Francis does. It feels like the conversation has been shut down.
“Reese, come on,” he tries again.
“Would you just shut up?” Reese snaps. “I’m trying to cook. Why can’t everybody just leave me alone?”
“Right,” Francis says, defeated. “Sorry.”
He makes his unceremonious exit between two overlapping sheets and then drags his hand over his face. Real smooth.
***
Dewey wishes he was just a little older. Or maybe a lot, because it’s not like Malcolm’s getting clued in either. Then again, that might be because Malcolm isn’t exactly the poster boy for emotional intelligence and tact, but Dewey digresses. What he desperately wants is to be a fly on the wall when Mom, Dad, Francis, and Piama all go off to talk in secret after improvising some transparent skit for an excuse.
But Dewey isn’t old enough to be taken seriously, and he can’t turn himself into a bug to eavesdrop. So he waits patiently for dinner, trying to avoid Malcolm’s souring mood at all costs. He even volunteers to help Reese in the kitchen, so he passes the time peeling potatoes and wondering how he’d deal with the situation, if he were Mom.
Their problem, he thinks, is that they seem sure Reese knows he’s gay and hates himself for it, but Dewey kind of thinks Reese doesn’t really have a clear picture on that at all. He calls things he doesn’t like gay an awful lot, sure, and there’s that societal connotation with femininity or emasculation or whatever, but it seems to Dewey that Reese has all those vague societal pictures around the concept, but not the actual thing itself. So if he were Mom, he probably wouldn’t be harping on about vow renewals and lesbians with dogs – that’s just not the kind of life he ever imagines Reese living – he’d stick to Clive Baker. That was a pretty good idea. Are there any famous chefs who are gay and cool? Like a gay Anthony Bourdain? Dewey doesn’t have all the answers, but that’s where he’d start. Maybe if all this pomp fizzles out with no satisfying conclusion, he’ll look into it.
Dewey has moved onto to chopping spring onions for soup garnish when Dad walks into the kitchen. He looks like he wants to say something, then glances at Dewey considering if he should, then back to Reese. He fidgets with his hands.
“Son, I…,” he starts, but Reese whizzes past him to grab Dewey’s peeled and cut potatoes and transfers them into a baking trey. He pours olive oil over them and seasons maniacally, and Dad gets a bit jittery from all the movement. “Do you need some help?”
“Yeah, how’s the bread looking?”
Hal peeks into the oven and lets out a charmed, “Ohh, that’s beautiful…”
“Is the crust golden?!”
“Is – ah? …Yes?”
“Great,” says Reese and wipes his hands clean, then marches to the oven, gets the bread out, throws in the potatoes and adjusts the heat. He looks around frantically. “Do we have any clean rags?!”
“I, um… Lois!” Dad calls in a panic.
“This is urgent!” Reese stresses.
“Honey!”
“What?” Lois peeks through the sheets.
“Where are the clean rags?!” Reese yells.
“Drawer by the sink.”
“Thank you,” Reese says, and that’s maybe the gayest Dewey’s ever heard him sound. Mom and Dad exchange a look while Reese wraps the bread up.
“Son, do you, uh, have a minute?” Dad asks, and Reese turns around with an eyeroll.
“What?”
“I just wanted to say, well, your mother and I,” Hal starts again, fidgety and nervous as Reese grows more apprehensive.
Lois steps into the kitchen, so quickly Dewey knows Dad’s going off script and she’s trying to salvage the situation.
“That we can’t wait for dinner!” she finishes his sentence. “And if there’s anything we can do, you just call.”
“I think we’re good,” Reese says. “Dewey, how are those spring onions coming? I’m gonna need you on the paprikas next.”
“Almost done,” says Dewey.
“Is that all?” Reese asks and, okay, that’s the gayest he’s ever sounded to Dewey.
“Yep,” Mom says and tries to drag Dad out with her, but he stays put.
Uh-oh, Dewey thinks, he’s getting emotional. He’s doing that thing where he opens his mouth and then closes it again, bouncing a little on his feet. There’s a number of ways this can play out.
“Hal, we should let Reese cook in peace,” Mom says warningly.
“Just…” Hal tries, and is that a hint of tears? “I just want to say…”
“Wait,” Reese puts his wooden spoon up. He goes back to the stove and stirs the soup, then tastes it. He fills a glass with water and adds a bit into it, then stirs again. He lowers the heat and turns back around. “What?”
“I’m here,” Francis appears out of nowhere, Piama following close behind.
Reese frowns. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, we were just leaving to give you some space,” Lois says through gritted teeth.
“What are you doing?” says Malcolm, a hint of paranoia, and Dewey didn’t even hear come through. He holds the knife on the last piece of his last spring onion, unmoving and transfixed.
“Nothing! Leaving!” Lois almost yells.
“I knew it!” Malcolm yells outright. “You’re going behind my back again!”
“What?” Francis asks.
“Shut up, I know you’re in on it too!” Malcolm points an accusing finger. “This is totally ridiculous and completely unnecessary, not to mention insane! I don’t know what I need to do to convince you people, I’m not gay!”
Everyone turns to look at him in surprise. Dewey is at a loss for words – this, he wasn’t expecting.
“I’m not!” Malcolm yells again after a beat. “I’m glad you’d all be supportive if I was, and I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m just not!”
There’s a tense silence for about five seconds before Francis says, “Well… I am!”
“What?” Hal asks, somehow growing more confused.
“Me too!” Piama adds, grabbing Francis’s arm. Hal looks between them, Lois, and Reese, and both he and Malcolm look like their brains are working overtime to make sense of this.
“Really?” Reese grimaces.
“Yes!” Francis yells. “I mean, we’re bisexual. We’re still in love and all that,” he gestures between himself and Piama. “But yes, Reese, I’m also into dudes! And she’s into chicks! And that’s fine and normal!”
“And we love you!” Mom shouts so loudly Dewey jumps a little and cuts his last spring onion piece. “Don’t we, Hal?!”
“Are you?” Hal asks Francis, uncertainly but gently. “Or are you just saying that because of…?” he gestures towards Reese.
“Because of what?” Reese asks.
“Reese is gay?” Malcolm asks.
“Both, I guess,” says Francis, looking a bit uncomfortable now.
“Oh,” Hal whimpers and pulls him into a hug. “And you never said – Oh,” he sobs. “I love you, you know that, don’t you?” He opens his eyes, sees Piama, then squashes her into the embrace. “And you found each other!”
“Because of what?” Reese repeats. “I’m not gay!”
“Oh, would you give it a rest already? We all know!” Mom yells, completely tactless, but it kind of seems to work. “We don’t care! We love you! Get over here!”
She pulls him into a tight hug, and Dewey is surprised to see he reciprocates after the initial shock wears off.
“It’s not a big deal, Reese,” she assures him. “Tell him, Malcolm.”
“Yeah, that’s like, cool,” Malcolm says, looking wide-eyed and a bit uncomfortable. Dewey would bet all his pocket money that he’s going to be beating himself up for days for being kind of an asshole earlier.
“See?” Mom says. “Any thoughts, Dewey? Want to show your brother some support?”
“I think it’ll make you a better person, honestly,” he shrugs. “You could be like the gay Anthony Bourdain.”
It’s an all-around touching scene, Dewey thinks, until it’s interrupted by the sound of something boiling over. Reese rips himself away from Mom and yells, “The rice!”
He races to the stove, turns the heat down and starts stirring like crazy. Some of it got into the vegetables, but at this point, they’re pretty burnt, so it might be an improvement.
“Okay, everybody out!” Reese yells. “All that gay stuff is nice, but I’m not going to let it ruin dinner!”