Page 18

I ’ve raised you to follow in my footsteps.

I could hear the JACass’s words over the ratcheting of the wrench.

The engine’s sump plug came loose, and inky blackness spilled into the oil drain pan.

I lay there while it poured out and wished I could get rid of my father as easily.

Despite standing up to him yesterday, I wished I’d been able to tell him about Pride Month.

Explain to him exactly how many people in Beggs would be affected by Family First, how many were supporting the speakeasies.

Maybe then he’d understand it wasn’t just business—it was extremely personal.

My phone vibrated, jerking me from the draining sludge’s trance.

I scrounged in my pocket and pulled it free.

A grin tugged at my lips as the screen lit up with a new DM.

Mason and I had been messaging nonstop. The urge to avoid replying had been strong at first, but then I remembered he was grounded.

Which meant there was no pressure to make plans or go out.

We were just getting to know each other with random questions and nothing more.

Have you picked a theme for the next speakeasy yet?

zekechapman

not yet maybe I’ll keep it a surprise and you’ll have to see for yourself

Did I hope he miraculously wasn’t grounded anymore? Yes. Was I nervous he would in fact not be grounded and plan to show up? Also, yes. Dancing would lead to kissing would lead to sneaking back to his room would lead to…

Then that would mean something else now, at least to me. Sawyer had psyched me out over him being good for me. I wondered if I was good enough for him. If I could be.

bedmas_22

I can’t, sorry, but I’m proud of you for what you’re doing. Please be careful. Scary shit is happening.

zekechapman

me? Scared? Never!

zekechapman

and thanks I’m trying to be a good gay

bedmas_22

You’re a good person. That’s what matters.

Mason hasn’t stopped gassing me up. It reminded me of that first night, when he called me brave.

I hadn’t really known what it meant, the bravery that came along with Pride.

Not until these speakeasies. My fingers itched to tell him how he made me feel, how when we’d danced I could finally breathe.

But this thing between us was delicate. Instead, I snapped a quick selfie, grease stains and all, with a goofy face, as a reply.

“That has to be the longest oil change in history.” Mom’s voice echoed under the car.

“S-sorry,” I stammered. Shoving my phone away, I rolled the dolly out from under the car. She was leaned up against the tool chest while waiting for the next appointment. A crooked smile tilted her lips as she stared down at me. “What’s that look for?”

“What’s his name?” she asked.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” I muttered, sitting up.

However, the heat creeping up my neck and across my cheeks gave me away.

Judging by her arched brow, she knew I was lying.

We’d never talked about actual guy stuff before, just awkward discussions on the importance of condoms. I didn’t even know how to broach the subject of dating with her. “It’s no one.”

“Then who’s distracting you from work?” She winked, and I shrugged. “Fine, if you want to keep secrets—”

“I’m not keeping any secrets!” My voice shot up an octave as I worried she somehow knew about the Pride celebrations. Her expression then filled with confusion. “And, uh, I won’t let Mason distract me from work,” I added before she could interrogate me.

“Good, because you’re doing a hell of a job here.” The wrinkle between her brows smoothed. Then, slowly, she smirked, latching on to what I’d said. “So he has a name, huh?”

“Damn it,” I swore under my breath. “Yeah…Mason.”

“It’s sweet…” She trailed off, watching me nervously ball my hands into fists. “How did you meet?”

“During the spea—Uh, at the bookstore, I mean.”

“Estrella Books?” she asked.

“Carmen Bedolla is his grandmother.”

“She’s a good woman,” Mom said thoughtfully.

“I talked to her when I went to pick up the club’s book, and I love what she wants to do for Beggs.

And for your community. That’s why Roaring Mechanics is endorsing her campaign against the mayor.

” Silence fell as I digested that news. She really was trying for me.

When I looked back up, there were storms in her eyes.

“Speaking of, your father and I will be discussing how he blindsided you yesterday.”

“It’s fine, I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to,” she said as a truck pulled up outside. “I’ll take care of it, but maybe you and I can have dinner and actually talk about the future”—I wrinkled my nose at the thought, and she held her hands up in a truce—“with no pressure about making a decision, I promise.”

“Okay,” I agreed begrudgingly, and then thought to add: “Thanks for, you know, helping me deal with this.”

She only grinned and patted my shoulder on her way to the lobby.

I exhaled roughly, easing down onto the dolly.

The wheels creaked over the art deco tile as I scooted back under the car.

Everything she said was weighing on my mind.

But one thing in particular had me digging my phone out of my pocket.

She’s not wrong, I thought with a small smile, checking my messages. I do think I like him.

bedmas_22

You’ve talked about your mom a lot, but can I ask about your dad?

As I read and reread his message, my palms grew sweaty. I didn’t know how to reply to that and answer truthfully. I could feel his head on my chest, see his dark-brown eyes looking up at me. It made me want to tell him everything…but I was tired of rehashing the past.

zekechapman

there’s not a lot to tell other than I will never be like him

I stared at the screen until it dimmed and went to sleep without any new messages.

The idea of becoming James Anthony Chapman terrified me, but our confrontation yesterday had only reassured me.

I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps or grow up to be someone who’d force their kid to hide parts of themself.

You don’t know how to do anything else. When he’d first said that I thought it was true. He’d trained me into thinking my life had to look one specific way, that I had to be perfect, to be the kind of person the world expected me to be.

He was wrong.

Mom had said it herself: I was doing a hell of a job here at Roaring Mechanics. That was something. I sighed, my eyes tracing the engine parts above. Then I looked around at the tools I had spread out. Each one felt at home in my hand. Gave me control.

My gaze flickered to the back wall, where I could just barely see the Zelda painting. The smile on her lips was all-knowing. Proud to have lived the life she’d always wanted. She’d been free of her father, free to be wild, free to do whatever the hell she wanted. And now I was doing that too.

My fingers hesitated for a moment, then I tapped post. The Instagram photo was the one from last Saturday with me in the dress.

Every time I looked at it, I could hear my father’s voice.

If you’d stop acting so gay. His words had crawled under my skin, his disdain worming its way into my brain.

I nearly reverted to the shame he had a habit of making me feel.

However, I couldn’t stop staring at the crown on my head.

Being declared the King of Pride didn’t make me feel ashamed of who I was, and that was why I’d decided to post the picture.

It was a reminder not to let him come into my new home, new life, and tell me what to do.

Besides, the crown actually gave me an idea about where to have the next speakeasy, and that ranger guy had already offered the nature lodge.

I’d captioned the photo with “meet us where the wild things are” and tagged Beggs Nature Preserve as the location.

Notifications were starting to pop off as I stretched out on the living room sofa. From comments declaring they were ready for the rumpus to an excessive use of eyeball emojis, I watched them pour in. Then bedmas_22 liked it.

Flutters filled my stomach every time I saw his username in my DMs. I was having fun just getting to know him, not that other-stuff’ing wasn’t fun. His questions made it feel like I was a mystery he was trying to solve.

Before I could check his latest message, a new text notification from Sawyer flashed across the screen.

She’d sent a line of question marks that immediately killed my vibe.

I assumed it was in response to my post; she’d probably typed it while wearing her focused expression.

I almost second-guessed myself, but then I looked back at the photo of me with the golden crown on my head.

It was all the proof I needed. I knew what I was doing.

She was just ticked that I hadn’t discussed it with her first.

Leaving her on read, I set my phone on the coffee table.

I pushed the doubt out of my mind while I lay there and listened to the buzz of the oven timer.

Mom was making breakfast for dinner—my favorite.

She’d come upstairs after a very lengthy discussion with the JACass and started making biscuits from scratch.

And I knew the choice of comfort food had to be a bad omen.

“It’s ready,” she called.

“Coming,” I replied, rolling off the sofa.

I made my way to the tiny dinette. She’d cleared stacks of papers off to the side and set out two plates. Oh, we’re def having a real talk, I realized, plopping down on the chair across from her.

“So…” I searched for something to delay the inevitable, and then I saw the book she’d left sitting at the end of the table. “How’s the, uh, book club?”

“They picked a great read,” she answered. “About this woman who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail to reclaim her life.” Her face lit up with a smile, a spark like when she’d bought the shop. “The club is planning a weekend cabin retreat to discuss it, but I don’t know if I’ll go.”

“You should.” I gave her an encouraging nod. “And, uh, do something for yourself.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, and then took a deep breath. “As much as I appreciate you saying that, we’re not here to talk about me. Hun, your father—”

“I don’t like where this is heading,” I groaned.

She widened her eyes, almost as if she agreed. “He had a lot to say about what he wants for your future,” she said matter-of-factly.

I shoveled a forkful of biscuits and gravy into my mouth. If I hurried and ate, then we could cut this short. “Like what?” I asked, swallowing even though I’d lost my appetite.

The lines around her eyes softened, and she set her fork down. Its clink against the plate rattled through me as the silence stretched out. Finally, she said, “Zeke, he only wants the best for you.”

“It’s what he thinks is best,” I pointed out. “Not what I want.”

“He mentioned your reluctance to law school.”

“More like my refusal,” I said. Unable to eat another bite, I pushed my food around the plate as her words sank in. “I’m not following in his footsteps.”

I waited for her to tell me that this wasn’t a joke, that my future was on the line, that I wouldn’t know how to do anything else. However, she didn’t throw his words back at me. “You can do whatever you want,” she said instead. “Do something for yourself.”

“Wait, what?” I shook my head, unsure if I heard her correctly. We’d never really talked about college before. That was something my father had decided on without her. “I can?”

“I’ve spent seventeen years letting your father make all the decisions, and I’ll be damned if it’ll happen anymore.” She nodded reassuringly. “I told him you’re smart and capable of making your own choices.”

“Mom…” The sudden urge to cry burned my throat, and I gripped the chair seat.

“He threatened not to pay for school, and that’s okay. I’ll find a way to pay for whatever it is you want.” She leaned forward and locked eyes with me. “Maybe focus on improving your grades next year for scholarships, just to be safe.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I promised, nodding profusely. “I’ll be perfect—”

“You don’t have to be perfect.” She held my gaze with unwavering warmth. “You just have to be you.”

I wanted to jump up and hug her. Run around the apartment and scream. Call my father and tell him his dream was no longer my fate. But all I could do was slowly release my grip on the chair, the weight of a wrench still heavy in my palm.