More Than This by Margo Candela

Author:Margo Candela
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2008-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

thursday…

chapter fourteen

Compromising Positions

Evelyn

James leans into my doorjamb, smelling slightly of his usual late morning American Spirit cigarette. “Anyone give you anything you can actually use? Besides yours truly, of course.”

I look up from my screen, grateful for a reason to take a break. Even though I got to work early—the security guy had to key open the elevator for me—I’m still struggling to make a dent in my day’s to-do list per Ted, Jessica, and Allan, who now seem to be under the impression that I’m also here to function as their assistant.

“Let’s see, besides your most appreciated heart-embossed, seven-inch glass dildo,” I say in a lowered voice, “I got the usual assortment of hideous accessories, thoughtless tchotchkes, and discreet offers to set me up with a friend of a cousin, et cetera. You were there, remember?”

“I was drunk on fine wine and frivolous conversation, my dear. I can’t be expected to remember the details.”

Sometimes I think James and I were switched at birth. He seems more at home around my family than I do. I envy him for how easy it is for him to fit in, until I remember how he doesn’t fit in with his own family.

Up until he told his parents he was gay, James had the kind of life I’d always fantasized about—a regular house with two normal parents (his dad was a plumber, his mom worked at the library), an older brother (now a dentist), a younger sister (now a mom and PTA dynamo), and a succession of golden retrievers, all named Giggles. He played baseball, went to family reunions held at theme parks, and picked names out of a hat at Christmastime for Secret Santa.

James hasn’t spoken to his own parents for about a dozen years, since they literally left him high and dry. He’s always been sketchy about the specifics, but from what I’ve gathered, a category four tornado was bearing down on the only home he’d ever known, and thinking they were all going to die, James fessed up about his sexuality. He found himself on the street with a duffel bag, a bologna sandwich, his aunt’s address in San Francisco, and instructions never to darken their doorway again. He was fifteen.

Given all this, James is remarkably good-natured about his family. He sends his parents cards for any and every occasion—some of which he’s made up, like Accept Your Son Is Gay and Get Over It Day. I don’t think his parents have responded to any of his attempts to reach out to them, but it hasn’t stopped James. He still loves them and puts their narrow-mindedness down to being born and bred in Kansas.

“Are you coming with me to do the returns?” I ask him. He is, after all, the person who initiated this after-birthday ritual when he saw all the tasteful but useless stuff I was left with from my last ten birthdays, since my mother’s friends decided I was the right age for grown-up gifts.

Most are decorative but

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