Page 20 of Pride High 3: Yellow

“Oh.” Cameron finally turned the key and removed it from the ignition.

“We can go somewhere else,” Anthony said, perhaps noticing that he hadn’t unbuckled his seatbelt yet. “Although it has to be somewhere private enough to give you that massage.”

Cameron looked at his boyfriend. The pink hair matched lips that were smirking slightly, his green eyes sparkling in invitation. Anthony’s features were even and fine, like a doll. Cameron reached over to touch his cheek, Anthony nuzzling his face against his hand.

“No,” he said at last. “Let’s stay here.”

Anthony nodded, capturing his hand to kiss it before letting go.

Cameron eyed the house as they approached the front door. The living room window flickered with blue light. He took a deep breath and held it when sliding his key into the lock, trying to do so quietly in case his mother had fallen asleep in front of the TV again. For once, he hoped that she had.

Cameron placed a finger to his lips before leading them through the entryway. He could hear commercials playing in the other room. They had reached the bottom of the stairs when his mother’s voice brought them to a halt.

“You’re home!” Brenda said, tottering toward them with a wine bottle at the end of one arm. “And you brought your little boyfriend with you.” Her brown hair was sticking up on the side, a smear of lipstick near the corner of her mouth. “Although he’s too tall to be called little.” She tilted her head and smiled. “How are you, hon?”

Anthony didn’t seem disturbed by her behavior. Instead he smiled. “I’m good. Mrs. Huxley,” he said warmly. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“And he’s so darn polite!” Brenda said, pinching Anthony’s cheek and jiggling it. “Don’t let this one get away,” she said, turning to her son. “He’s perfect. I can’t wait to be at the wedding.”

“Mom,” Cameron said with a hint of warning that she, thank goodness, picked up on. Although not for the right reason.

“I know, I know,” she said. “Nothing is a bigger mood killer than having your parents around. God, I remember being your age like it was yesterday. Sometimes I wake up in this body and think ‘What the hell happened? How did I get so damn old?’”

“You don’t look old to me,” Anthony said. “You could enroll in our school and everyone would assume that you’re a sophomore like us.”

Brenda spun around to face him while laughing. “He’s a charmer, all right!” she said before stumbling to the side.

Cameron caught her arm to stabilize her.

“I’m fine,” his mother said, shaking him off. “Go have fun! Pretend I’m not here. That’s what your father does.” She covered her mouth with a snort.

Cameron cautiously released her. His mother kissed them each on the cheek before heading for the kitchen. He wanted to follow her to make sure she didn’t grab another bottle of wine, but his boyfriend was still standing by the stairs.

“She’s so cool,” Anthony said with a smile.

“Yeah,” Cameron replied from around a tight throat. He didn’t trust himself to say more than that, so he jerked his head toward the stairs.

Anthony’s smile got bigger before he went up them. As soon as they were in his room, Cameron shut the door and pressed his back against it.

“I think your mom is drunk,” Anthony said after hanging his coat over the back of a Shaker chair. He looked amused rather than upset.

“Yeah,” Cameron said, going to his closet to hang up his aviator jacket… and so his expression couldn’t be seen. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Anthony said. “My parents get drunk too. They’re probably sloshed right now.”

“Really?” Cameron asked when returning from the closet.

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Do they drink a lot?” he asked casually.

Anthony shrugged. “My dad likes to have a couple beers at night. Sometimes my mom joins him. They only get drunk on special occasions, like Christmas. My relatives probably drive them to it, like a coping mechanism. My mom really overdid it a few years back. Even the mention of eggnog is enough to make her nauseous now.”

Cameron forced himself to laugh when Anthony did, but it wasn’t the same. He knew what a coping mechanism really looked like. He witnessed it almost every single night, along with the consequences the next morning. Getting tipsy on the holidays was a far cry from blowing through a couple bottles of wine each night.

Anthony must have noticed his unhappiness, because his own expression became somber. “Sorry,” he said. “It must be hard for her that your dad is out of town so much. Especially on a day like this.”

Cameron opened his mouth, on the verge of telling him everything. Like how he often had to help his mother to bed and rouse her from sleep the next morning, just so she could make it to work. How he sometimes cleaned up puke that missed the toilet. How he had once come home to find her passed out in her car with the engine still running. She hadn’t been parked in the garage, thank goodness, but the thought of her being on the road while drunk continued to haunt him. They’d had a big talk about that after she’d sobered up. His boyfriend had surely never done the same with his parents, even during the holidays.