Under the Lights

How am I? Seriously? Now they wanna know? Weeks after they kicked me out of their house, turned me away when I came out to them — came out to the world? I look helplessly at Bri, but she just gives me an encouraging smile, then slips out of the room to give me privacy I don’t even want.

“I’m fine,” I reply. “I have an audition tomorrow for a summer movie, and the apartment’s coming together, too. Bri’s been helping me decorate.” I say this last bit a little more deliberately, just in case they’ve managed to convince themselves it — or she — is a passing phase.

“That’s…I’m glad to hear it, Vanessa.” It’s hard to say whether I believe her or not by her voice alone, but she’s trying, and that’s more than she’s done in a long time. I grip the phone tighter.

“And how are things over there?”

“Also fine,” she says.

I’m just wondering the purpose for this call, since it doesn’t seem to be to have a real conversation with me, when my father says, “Uncle Robert and Aunt Jeanine are hosting Christmas dinner this year, and they would like to know if you will be joining us.”

“I…” Didn’t know I was invited, I almost say, but I know that won’t go over well and they’ll just play dumb. “I didn’t realize they were hosting it.”

“Yes, they are, and they asked about you,” says my mother. “I told them I assumed you would be, but that I would check.”

I assumed you would be. So, I’m still part of this family, then. Even though my parents know. And Uncle Robert and Aunt Jeanine — they must know, too. Not that they watch much TV, but considering pretty much everyone in America knew within ten minutes, even on Thanksgiving Day…

“You can tell them I’ll be there. Please,” I add quickly. “And what about…can I bring a guest?”

There’s a long silence, then a sigh on the other end, though I’m not sure which parent it comes from. Then my father says stiffly, “We would like to meet this guest first, for dinner at our home.”

Dinner. With Bri. And my parents. I can’t imagine anything more awkward, or anything I want to do more. “Just tell me when, and we’ll be there,” I say quickly, afraid the slightest hesitation in response will make them rescind the offer. I know I should ask Bri first, but given I came out on a national scale for her, I’m thinking she’ll probably give me this.

“Sunday night,” my mother says. “Six thirty. Do not be late.”

“We won’t,” I promise. “We’ll see you then.”

She makes some sort of grumbly noise of agreement, and then they hang up.

I jump off my bed and soar out into the living room, knocking Bri over onto the fluffy purple shag rug as I fling my arms around her and squeeze her tightly enough to cut off her breathing.

Surprised laughter bubbles up from her throat as she turns in my grasp to face me. “Please tell me this is joy.”

“It’s a start,” I say, but I can’t stop smiling. “Sorry about knocking you over. Oh, and about the fact that we have the world’s worst dinner plans on Sunday night.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “We’re having dinner with your parents? Holy crap. That is terrifying.”

Okay, yeah, I definitely should’ve asked her first. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was just so relieved for the invitation, I—”

She clasps my head in her hands and cuts me off with a long, slow kiss. “It’s a ‘worth it’ kind of terrifying,” she assures me when we part, then rolls us over so she’s on top. “Just, you know, tell me how to dress and act and behave and all that.”

I laugh, reaching up to toy with a strand of her fiery hair. “As long as you eat kimchi, they’ll love you just as you are,” I assure her. “Or at least tolerate you as much as they’ll tolerate anyone.”

“Best I can hope for, I guess.”

“Best any of us can hope for with the Parents Park. I should probably also warn you that this came up in the context of going to my aunt and uncle’s for Christmas dinner. Not that you have to come,” I add quickly. “I just wanted it to be an option, especially if Jade is as…Jade-like about Christmas as she is about everything else.”

Bri grins. “She’s actually been a little…different since we got together, but something tells me it won’t be quite as dramatic as suddenly learning how to cook. Maybe let’s see how this dinner goes first.”

“Deal.”

She lowers herself for another kiss, which quickly escalates until the rug is littered with discarded clothing and we’re both panting for air. “Have I mentioned how happy I am that you got your own place, by the way?”

“Only about a hundred thousand times.” I slide my hand through hers, admiring the way the different shades of our skin look intertwined. “May not be exactly how I planned for it to go down, but that seems to be the theme of the past six months, doesn’t it? Can’t really complain about how things have turned out…yet.”

“Good.” She brings our hands to her mouth and nips my index finger’s middle knuckle. “See? Going off script isn’t always a bad thing.”

“Was that seriously a Hollywood pun, Brianna Harris?”

She laughs. “Yes. God, sue me. I’m the worst.”