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Q uinn and I find ourselves back at the duck pond on Saturday afternoon, me laying with my head on his chest. His hand is running through my hair, and I want to purr whilst simultaneously burrowing myself into him so he won’t ever leave.

Quinn and I had sex last night. I finally had sex! Well, I mean the kind of sex that I associate with the word, but which Quinn has gently schooled me is a hetero way of viewing things. I love it when he teaches me about queer life. It’s so foreign to me so I never mind when he gently reshapes my slightly skewed worldviews formed by my very black and white upbringing. I like living in the rainbow. It's so much more colourful.

But forgive me if I hang on to a few of those old notions for a moment because sex with Quinn was a-mazing . I already knew it was going to be, but he was just so damn sweet and caring and that just added to the already burning lust and desire I have for him which only made it a hundred times better.

I was glad I’d spent a bit of time—okay, a lot of time— researching how to prepare for anal sex before we actually did the deed. Although I’d had to revert to some old school textbooks to do so which probably weren’t all that up to date. Definitely no wi-fi that could be tracked back to my parents who have installed one of those family monitoring apps on my laptop and phone—the kind that bark like a dog and send notifications pinging through the universe if I look up anything remotely non-PG rated. So definitely no porn for me and definitely– definitely no looking up how to have gay sex with your boyfriend.

I’d wanted to roll over and do it again and again, but Quinn was on to something when he suggested we wait. Because yeah, things are a little sore back there still and there is a definite twinge when I move a certain way. But I love feeling that twinge because it is just a reminder that Quinn was inside me last night.

I’m feeling warm and sleepy and so safe in his arms, so safe that it makes my mouth want to say certain words to him, words I can no longer hold back. They’ve been there for a while now, desperate to get out, like a word tsunami.

“Quinn?” I say, his soft fingers tugging on the curls in my hair.

“Mmm?”

“I love you,” I tell him, getting it out before my bravery dies. Those words have been on the tip of my tongue for weeks and I know if I don’t say them soon, they’re going to explode inside me. I feel Quinn shift underneath me, his fingers stilling in my hair.

“I love you too, JT,” he says. I’m not surprised by his words. I’ve felt them just as strongly as the way I feel for him, but it sure is nice to hear them. I look up at him, seeing the love in his deep blue eyes as he smiles softly down at me.

“Can we just stay here forever? In our own little bubble?”

“With just the ducks you love for company?” Quinn returns, that crooked smile on his face.

“They are very cute. Plus they make that adorable quacking sound.”

“Yeah, we can stay here forever,” Quinn tells me, resuming the threading of his fingers in my hair.

And we do. We lie there together on a cool Saturday afternoon, just me, quietly loving a boy.

We stay out at the duck pond until the wind starts whipping up and we suddenly remember the value of four walls and a roof overhead and we head back home.

I have so many punishments owing my parents that I don’t even care that I am disobeying a direct edict by staying out again on Saturday night. But I need to be with Quinn, and I think I need to start standing up for myself better at home. I mean, I’m pretty proud of what I’ve already stood up for but this control they have over every minute of my life needs to ease up.

Even if I have to force the matter.

***

Quinn drops me off back home on Sunday evening. I think he knows how much I don’t want to leave as I reluctantly pull my Nikes on in his bedroom. He drapes my basketball medals around my neck and then wraps me in a hug and just holds me like he knows how much I need it.

I wave goodbye to Amy after eating the amazing spaghetti Bolognese she’d made us for dinner and then far too soon I am walking up my driveway, steeling my nerves for the onslaught I expect whenever I step through these doors.

Sure enough, my parents are sitting in the front lounge, eyes on me as I walk through the door. Benji and Abbie are nowhere to be seen which is disappointing as my parents are generally more reasonable when the two angels are around.

“Where have you been, Jethro Thomas?” are the first words out of my dad’s mouth.

“At Quinn’s,” I reply with a casual shrug.

“At Quinn’s again?” Mum sighs. “We don’t even know this boy or his parents or what their values are. I don’t want you spending all this time with him.”

“Well, that’s where I was,” I reply. I’m done playing their games and I think they must sense the shift in me as they share a quick but obvious glance. Dad’s eyes drop to the medals around my neck.

“Was it your grand final?” he asks.

“It was,” I tell them. “We won in case you’re wondering. And I was named MVP of the league.”

They say nothing, exchanging another quick glance with each other, some silent communication passing between them.

“You should have told us it was on. We would have come to the game,” Mum says in a hurt voice that has my hackles rising.

“Would you though?”

“Now that is unfair, Jethro Thomas,” Dad cuts in.

“And where is this attitude coming from?” Mum demands, her tone sharp. “I hope this is not the influence of your new friend . Because you know we’ve made certain choices as a family. You know we decided long ago to prioritise our family and our ministry, which will always come first.”

“Yeah, I always hear you say those words. The ones about prioritising family,” I say, all the years of indignation and missed games and guilt and manipulation coming to the fore. “Well, I’m family too, aren’t I? When do I get to be prioritised?”

“Those are the choices we’ve made as a family,” Mum replies defensively. “And the ministry is always going to be far more important than a silly basketball game.”

I scoff out a bitter laugh. “To you, yes. You’ve made that abundantly clear over the years. But to me, basketball is the most important thing in my life. And yet you never let me think it mattered to you. That I matter to you.” I pause and take a deep breath. “I didn’t tell you about the game on purpose. And I suppose that’s because I’ve gotten used to not having your support that I no longer need it.”

“Now Jethro Thomas — ” Dad starts, but I am not done yet.

“And you know what? It doesn’t even matter anymore because I have plenty of support at my games. Uncle Alec and Aunty Billie are there, Bethany and Archie, Grandma and Grandpa. They’re there every week, supporting us.”

I’m on a roll, all those thoughts and feelings I’ve been shutting down are coming out, and there’s no stopping what comes out next — even though the rational part of my brain is telling me to shut it down.

“And Quinn was there too,” I add. “And not just Quinn but his mum and grandma even came out to support me. Can you believe that? His Gran, who I only met on Friday night, was there holding a navy and silver pompom in the stands. For me. So don’t worry about support. I have plenty.”

I’ve obviously said too much because my parents are definitely sharing concerned glances with each other now but I’m too pent up to notice or care.

“Why do you keep talking about Quinn like that?” Mum finally asks, a quiver to her voice. “Why are his family at your games?”

It’s only then I realise how much I’ve divulged, that they’ve seen more than I meant to let them see. But I’ve come this far already, and adrenaline is still urging me on. This weekend has only confirmed for me that Quinn is the most important person in my life. I need to claim him.

So I let out the breath I’ve been holding and say, “Because he’s not just my friend. He’s my boyfriend.”

It’s like I’ve just lit the fuse to a bomb with a ticking countdown clock as my parents stare at me, undisguised shock on their faces. The loud whooshing noise in my ears is the only sound in the otherwise silent room, my parents’ faces mirror images of shock and dismay.

“Before you say anything,” I add, my voice suddenly wobbly as the wind falls out of my sails. “This is not some teenage confusion. I’ve been dating Quinn for a few months now. Quinn’s even met all the family, and they love him too. Well, all the family except this one because I know full well he will never be welcome in my own house among my own family.”

The shock seems to clear at this point as a flicker of anger passes across my dad’s face. “Well at least we agree about something,” he finally seethes. “You know how we feel about that lifestyle. You can’t expect us to change our values just because you’re having an identity crisis.”

“Teenage years can be very confusing,” Mum adds. “I’m sure it’s not too late to turn back from whatever path you’re walking.”

“Quinn is the one thing I am not confused about,” I reply firmly. “And it is too late. Much too late.”

I stand there while the two of them look at me as though I’ve committed some heinous crime instead of daring to fall in love with a boy, but their words don’t hit me like they used to. It’s like I’ve grown a layer of Teflon, and it just bounces right off me.

“We should never have moved back here to Evergreen,” Mum starts wailing, head in her hands.

“I can’t believe Alec would allow this under his roof,” Dad fumes. “My own brother.”

I just laugh again, the sound bitter and twisted. “And this is exactly why I haven’t told you and it’s why I’ll never bring Quinn home to this house. And you know what? I’m not even asking you to change your values. I know how pointless that would be. I’m not asking you to accept us loving each other or to go out and celebrate pride month with us. I’m not even asking you to acknowledge our relationship. All I’m asking for is your tolerance. That’s a pretty low bar to ask of my own parents but if it’s something you can’t give me then let me know. Because Uncle Alec has offered me a room to stay if having a gay son is something the two of you can’t deal with.”

This little piece of information seems to stem the tide of anger as shock returns as the defining emotion. And satisfied with that, I turn and leave the room.