Page 25

Hey, you okay?

Mason’s fifth consecutive message taunted me as I sat in the far-right corner at The Cove.

I still hadn’t answered him. Or the text Cohen sent in the group chat asking the same question.

I almost told both of them that I was fine, that I had already planned another great speakeasy on my own. However, that would’ve been a lie.

Ever since I could remember, I’d always had to ask for permission, whether it was asking my father to join the QSA or Mom if I could go to a concert with Sawyer.

I didn’t know what I felt without someone telling me how to feel.

If Mason was acting like something had happened between us, then I’d have some clue how to react.

If Sawyer had made an effort to stop me from leaving last night, I would’ve known I was more than her shadow.

All I could do was stay under a car today, take apart an engine, and put it back together, until Mom flipped the closed sign for Roaring Mechanics.

She’d lingered in the doorway, giving me a parting smile before going upstairs to get ready—one full of admiration, like when she’d said she was proud of me.

And I felt proud too, despite what’d happened.

I’d stood up for myself and put myself out there.

I don’t need anyone’s permission, I decided, glancing back at The Cove’s host stand.

Sawyer hadn’t even bothered to speak to me when we arrived.

Not even a second glance as she motioned us toward the dining room, like she forgot it was my birthday.

I guess there weren’t any celebratory wishes or sneaky traditions this year.

Just me stuck at a table with the last person I wanted to see.

“You’re being rude, Anthony,” my father said, snapping my attention back to the conversation.

“Huh?” I asked. He cleared his throat and nodded toward my phone. Leaving Mason’s message on read, I shoved my phone in the pocket of my chinos.

“Your father was discussing the future, as always,” Mom replied, setting down her glass of sweet tea. The raised set of her shoulders told me she was holding back her anger. “Please go on, James.”

The JACass smiled his fake smile. “I sent the athletics director at UA some videos of your pitching. He thinks you have a good shot at getting admitted based on your skill,” he said with far too much gusto. “Your coach is more than willing to let you rejoin the team.”

He sat back and waited for me to reply. Judging by the width of his toothy grin, he thought I was finally going to succumb to his demands.

The collar of my shirt was threatening to strangle me.

I unbuttoned a few buttons and tried to block out the hundred different conversations buzzing in the restaurant.

“It’s a lot to think about,” he said before I could speak, reaching into his sports coat. A small white envelope appeared on the table in front of me. “How about you open your present first before you decide?”

“What’s this?” I asked, taking it from him. His eagerness only exacerbated my skepticism. I ripped open the seal. A slip of paper fell on the tablecloth, and I picked it up. Huh? He’d gifted me a check for $1,000 made out to the Beggs High School QSA. “I don’t understand.”

“Chapman Law is now sponsoring the QSA,” he explained.

“Why?” I asked, sharing a look with Mom, who seemed equally confused.

He forced a chuckle like I’d just told a bad joke. “Because you’re my son, and I want you to know I support you.”

Support me? I read the check again. A thousand dollars to make up for how he’d treated me ever since I came out. Something isn’t right.

“What are you doing, James?” Mom asked cautiously. “First you throw your support behind Family First, and now this?”

“Katherine,” he began, his shoulders rising to match hers, “that was just business, nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal,” I repeated. “Is that what this is, business?”

“Son, I’m trying to meet you halfway, here.” He deflated with a rough exhale through his nose. “I accept you, and it would be great if you could accept me.”

“What does that even mean?” Mom asked for me.

“That our son doesn’t appreciate what I’ve done for him.” He locked eyes with her, and his jaw flexed. “I let him live with you in that dump apartment and how does he thank me? By nearly ruining the life I helped him build, and I refuse to let him continue to do so.”

“James—”

Mom stopped herself and spared a smile as Cohen appeared in his waiter uniform. I could feel the rage boiling in my chest while he refilled her glass of sweet tea. He refused to let me? Like he can still control me? Fuck him. I’m eighteen years old now.

“How are we doing this evening?” Cohen asked. “Have you decided on your entrées yet?”

“We’ll still need a few minutes, thanks,” my father replied curtly.

“Are you sure?” Cohen pressed, cutting his gaze toward me.

The thoughtful tilt of his head let me know he’d heard the entire conversation. Heat seared my cheeks as I nodded once, hoping he hadn’t seen the check. Because I couldn’t accept it. Wouldn’t accept a bribe.

“Thanks, Cohen,” I said under my breath, and he patted my shoulder once before moving to his next table.

We sat there for a moment in silence. It was as though all the air had been sucked out of The Cove. The feeling that I was suffocating was back, the shoebox lid threatening to seal me inside. I couldn’t take it anymore and tossed the check on the table.

“Why would I thank you?” I asked, my words daggers.

He leaned forward with a lowered voice. “Anthony, do you know the town square has video surveillance?” he asked, and my eyes went wide.

The donkey statue. “Mayor Buchanan turned over the footage to the law firm for me to go through. The city was prepared to press charges against the culprit, but fortunately for you there was no footage to be found of that night.”

My heart dropped into my stomach as Mom swiveled toward me. “You vandalized that statue?” she asked in disbelief.

I dry swallowed and gave her a nod . Shit, shit, shit. I was in so much trouble. She would ground me, and then there went the speakeasies—

“Good,” Mom said, surprising both my father and me. “Because Mayor Buchanan is a jackass, and I’m glad there’s a chance he’ll get voted out of office.”

“Katherine,” Dad warned. “Keep your voice down. There is no way in hell he’ll lose. A vote for Bedolla won’t amount to anything, and it looks bad for Chapman Law if you’re—”

“I don’t give two shits about Chapman Law.

” She cut him off. “And I’ll be damned if I let you tell me what to do.

” He opened his mouth, and she pointed a finger at him tersely.

“Don’t you dare interrupt me while I’m talking.

You’ve been so focused on Family First that you forgot to put your family first. You can’t play both sides now to get what you want. ”

“I’m doing what’s best for our son,” he retorted.

“What’s best for Zeke,” she began with an eerie calm in her voice, “is making his own decisions about the future. You will respect that.”

They both locked eyes in a stare down, and the fake politeness slipped from his face. “And what do you want to do, Zeke ?” he sneered, glaring at me.

It was the first time he’d ever asked me that.

I’d been thinking about the answer to that question since that first day I worked in Roaring Mechanics.

How it felt to hold a tool in my hand while Zelda Fitzgerald watched over me.

To take charge and be proud, live my life and not give a shit about what other people thought was best for me.

My glare met his as I began ripping up his check. Because I knew what I didn’t want, and that was to meet him halfway. I wouldn’t accept his conditions.

My birthday officially sucked.

Mom and I stormed out of The Cove before my father could object.

She’d tried to make up for it by taking me out for burgers and ice cream in West Point.

The entire time I kept wishing I could tell Mason about the JACass’s audacity.

So, in a moment of weakness, I’d messaged him back.

No response had come by the time we arrived home.

I’d been so gutted that all I could do was crawl into bed and pull up my favorite Doctor Who episodes.

Not even the terrifying Weeping Angels storyline could distract me, though. I was too hollowed out from too much thinking, too much regret for messaging Mason despite myself. With a sigh, I exited the streaming app and closed my laptop.

I knew the speakeasy needed planning, but I wasn’t feeling it. Not with the doubt pulling at me or the anticipation that kept me checking my phone. Mason still hadn’t replied to the too-honest message. For real, though, who would blame him? I thought, unlocking my phone to reread what I’d sent.

8:43 PM

zekechapman

sorry a lot has been going on

zekechapman

no I’m not okay bc some stuff went down with my father and my friends and my birthday sucks majorly and yeah

9:02 PM

zekechapman

sorry I don’t mean to bother you but just needed someone to tell hope you have a good night

My thumb hovered over the last message to unsend it, but he’d already seen it. And he still hadn’t replied. Could this night get any worse? I groaned, sitting up. The only guy who I could be myself around, and I ruined— The screen lit up with a reply.

11:43 PM

bedmas_22

Zeke, I’m sorry. Fuck your dad for ruining it. He’s an asshole. That sucks, and I wish I could make it better. You never bother me, just so you know. My night gets better when you message me. Please don’t stop. I’m here for you if you want to talk.

bedmas_22

Also HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I wish I would’ve gotten you something. Maybe it would have made the day not suck so much.

A bad idea was beginning to take shape. It would be so easy to sneak over to his house, into his room, into a false reality where we could be together for a few hours. But I stopped myself from typing something thirsty and played it cool.

zekechapman

it’s okay or it will be I guess

zekechapman

thank you for saying that

zekechapman

I came home and have been watching my favorite episodes of Doctor Who to cheer myself up

bedmas_22

What episode is next? I’ll watch it with you.

I felt the beginning of a smile as I glanced around my room.

The green dirt bike helmet Mom had got me sat on the dresser with the bow still on it.

It would be smarter to blow him off and go riding.

Keep myself from getting closer to him after how he’d treated me last weekend.

Although, he was the only person I could talk to…

zekechapman

the 2023 Christmas special

zekechapman

and thank you for wanting to be my friend Mason

I leaned back against the pillows and reopened my laptop.

Despite the late hour, he was willing to stay up and watch Ncuti Gatwa’s first episode as the Fifteenth Doctor.

It filled me with bittersweetness, because he’d said he didn’t date, and I really wanted to date him.

Regret is a problem for tomorrow me, I decided, navigating to the episode.

Then I went to DM that I was ready and saw his back-to-back messages.

It felt like someone had sucker punched me in the nuts.

bedmas_22

I really want to be your friend, but I can’t if I’m lying to you.

bedmas_22

I’m not Mason.