Free Christmas Kitsch (Hol) (MM) by Amy Lane Page A

that okay?
    Can’t text now. Crying like a girl.
    I’ve never seen Nicole cry.
    That’s because you didn’t see her freak out over you.
    I’m sorry.
    I’d actually texted Nicole a lot, and she seemed all happy and shit. I had no idea she’d been losing her mind. Well, maybe I wasn’t the only one who was repressed.
    You should be. You stupid white people.
    Man, my family, we’d never let that shit happen.
    I’d never thought of it before.
    Why? What would your family do instead?
    I told you. My dad was going to drive down there and get you. And I don’t mean talk you out of bed. He would have put you in the shower in your clothes and thrown you in the truck all naked and not stopped until he got you food.
    Well, yeah. But that’s your dad. He likes me.
    My Aunt Gloria would have been in the backseat. She’d be looking up directions to the health food store, and we would have fed you the good stuff. Your peanut butter would have been organic and your bread whole grained.
    Your aunt knows about me?
    My mom had an obnoxious older brother who had two obnoxious daughters and a trophy wife. They would probably love to hear that I was a big, fat failure. And my parents hadn’t known the names of the girls I was dating.
    Yeah. Whole family knows about you. Man, they got me through some rough moments this summer. There I was, eating my heart out, and they were telling me to give you time.
    Wait. How did they know I was gay?
    There was silence.
    Silence.
    Silence.
    Oliver?
    My dad told them.
    How did HE know?
    He said it was the way you looked at me. It was like how my mom used to look at him.
    I got asked out on a date when I was at the library. My dad said that was fine, just don’t do anything I couldn’t tell you.
    That was so close to the reason I’d never taken Rex up on his offer that I got the chills.
    Your dad is scary awesome, you know that?
    Stop fighting with him.
    Explain that.
    I can’t. I’ve got to write this paper so I can go have Thanksgiving break and not work the whole time.
    Look at you, being a good student.
    Yeah, well, we finally figured out what my major should be.
    It’s not pre-law.
    What is it?
    Liberal studies.
    I don’t know if your folks will like a degree that starts with liberal ANYTHING.
    Well, if they want to dictate my life, they actually have to be in it, ya think?
    O.M.G. You’re like a whole new Rusty. I hope you still look the same.
    I took a picture of myself there in the library. I’d meant it as a joke, and I was going to smile all cheesy and shit, but at the last moment my eyes veered off, and I remembered that the last time Oliver had seen me, I hadn’t been out of bed in three days, and my teeth had been gross and my hair had been falling in my eyes. It was longer now, like his, and my teeth were clean, and my complexion had cleared up (because it does that when you wash your face), but I was still thin, and I was still pale. I’d woken up three days earlier with Rex smashed up against my back, just holding me. When I asked him what the hell he was doing there, he’d mumbled something about me making noises.
    My head had been achy, and it hadn’t taken a genius to figure out I’d been crying in my sleep.
    But I didn’t tell Oliver that. I just took the picture, and my smile was shy and my eyes were far away, and I sent it anyway, because I figured he wouldn’t care.
    You need to come home.
    Well duh! That’s what break is for.
    That’s not what I meant.
    And you know what?
    What?
    You were right. My father is seven kinds of scary freaking awesome.
    It was funny, though. I was sad, and sometimes every step out of my dorm felt like a baby’s first step into the world, but I was still better than I had been when I’d crawled into my bed with the intention of never getting out.

    And with that “better” came being better with school in general. I guess I figured that if my paper had been good enough for Pritchard, then I was capable of doing the work. That