* * *
~Present~
The ride to Daniel’s house was the longest of my fuckinglife.
He lived in a tiny log cabin in the woods across the Camden Road from the Herriman-Sizemore State Park, maybe twenty minutes from town, and usually, I savored the trip. The driveway to Daniel’s cabin was the wardrobe that led to Narnia; what existed there didn’t exist in my day-to-day, and vice versa. I could feel the demands of my family, my job, myrealitysort of fall away as I got closer, because those were some of the few topics Daniel and I never discussed, so I was free to not think about them again until I was on my wayhome.
But now the two worlds had collided, thanks to me. Now, every mile was one I had toforcemyself to travel, and I’d rather have been anywhereelse.
I’d taken my time examining Macarena—so much time that even Lina had finally suggested that maybe his molting was, indeed, just a normal condition and we could keep an eye on it—but it was still only mid-afternoon by the time I got in the car and headed east. Early. Early enough that I could reach Boston if I kept driving. Or was the Foreign Legion still a thing? Did they have need of a nearly-thirty-year-old veterinarian with poor social skills and a questionable relationship with the truth? The desire to simply disappear wasstrong.
My phone rang with my mother’s distinctive ringtone, almost like she’d read my mind from a distance, and although talking to her was the last thing I wanted to do, I hit acceptanyway.
“Julian Ross!” The accusation in her voice made me almost regret my decision, but after my dad’s death I’d always worried that any call I dismissed from someone would be the last call I’d ever get fromthem.
“Mama,” I said, trying to stay calm. I gripped the steering wheel tightly. “I heard you were out at the diner this morning. How wasit?”
“Don’t you try to distract me. Explainyourself.”
“I’m doing fine,” I said brightly. “It’s chilly today, but I had some yummy pancakes. Saw a patient a little while ago. Thought I might make chili fordinner.”
“Iheardfrom Karen and Myrna,” she interrupted, “that you made a spectacle of yourself in the dinertoday!”
I wanted to reject the description, but I was uncomfortably sure it wasaccurate.
“Iheard,”she continued, “that you’re in love with that wackadoodle criminal who lives in the woods! Iheardthat you are moving in withhim!”
Jesus Christ.Trust the O’Leary gossip line to take an already ridiculous situation and make it exponentiallyworse.
“You heard wrong,” I toldher.
She inhaled sharply. “ThankGod.”
“I never said we were moving in together. And I never said I was in love withDaniel.”
I wasn’t. I cared about him. A lot. Like,verya lot. And I wanted him so badly I’d need to jerk offandtake a cold shower after going home tonight. But I wasn’tin love. In lust. In friendship. In over my head. But thank sweet baby Jesus for small mercies, not inlove.
Yet, my mind whisperedhelpfully.
“Are you dating him?” shedemanded.
Isighed.
For a second, I debated telling her the truth—just blurting out the whole sorry mess. She’d take great joy in calling Karen and Myrna and all the other town gossips with some excuse. “You know Julian,” she’d say, “Always trying to protect someone he thinks is innocent.”And everyone would chuckle knowingly and agree that of course kind,naïveDoc Ross would do a thing like that. My problem would be solved in the blink of an eye. My reputation would besafe.
But that no longer seemed soimportant.
“Mama, I’m sorry that this has upset you. But I decide who I date. I alwayshave.”
Which was true. Although, admittedly, it wasn’t so much that I’d ever taken a stand, and more that I simply never told her. My Grindr hookups had never progressed to the point where parental introductions were necessary. I’d certainly never dated someone she’d taken a massive and altogether irrational disliketo.
“I wish you’d keep an open mind about people,” I said when I could no longer stand her silence. “Try to remember what you went through when you camehere.”
Interesting fact: my mother, Angela Ross, née Betinelli, wasnotoriginally from O’Leary, herself. She and my father had met in college, spending a semester abroad in Palermo. Legend had it that my Grandma Ross had given birth to a litter of kittens when my dad had brought my mom home for the first time. Funny how history repeateditself.
“It’s not remotely the same situation. He has never attempted to be friendly or fit in, like I did. He wants nothing to do withus.”
“He wants something to do withme,” I reminded her. “And I like him. Alot.”
