We arrive at my parents’ house a little before eight at night. There aren’t many street lights out here, so Mal can’t see the neighborhood very well, not that they’d want to. They already complained all the way through Kansas, where they took a turn driving for a few hours, at the flat land and the lack of green. They’ve been spoiled by Colorado.

I remember my first trip to visit Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Ned in Colorado. I was sixteen and wanting to explore college options, especially since going to school in Colorado would still mean I had family close by. I was amazed by the height of the trees and the sheer volume of greenery. I’m not sure I could go without it now.

Mal and I decided to stay at a hotel. With the party tomorrow, Mom doesn’t need additional house guests. But she emailed me, insisting on making us dinner tonight, so the house is our first stop. By us, I’m assuming she meant Shelby and me. The dread that I’ve successfully kept at bay until now starts to drum at my gut.

A hand wraps around mine and squeezes, luring me from my thoughts. I still can’t believe what I admitted in the car, and I really shouldn’t have been surprised by how they handled it. I’ve never had someone get me the way Mal does. No one else has ever even tried, just assuming they could mold me into whatever they wanted. I close my eyes and wish I could stay here in the car with Mal. But I buried my head in the sand for too long when it came to Shelby. It’s time I faced shit.

“Did I say thank you yet?”

Mal smiles and raises my hand to their lips. “Hmmmm, I can’t remember. You’ll have to remind me later at the hotel whether you did or not.”

“And on that note, we’re going in. I cannot get a boner before I see my parents.”

Mal smiles triumphantly.

At the front door, I have a second of hesitation over whether I should knock or just go in, so I do a weird combination of both, opening the door while I knock on it and shout out hello.

Aunt Sharon is the first to greet me.

“BoomBoom!” she shouts as she wraps me into her arms, her heavy bracelets thumping against me. Aunt Sharon is an interior designer in Tucson and has always been the “creative” one of the family. Apparently, long flowing skirts and lots of chunky jewelry are the universal indicators of “creative,” according to my buttoned-up family. “I’m so glad you made it.”

Damn it, I forgot about her pet name for me. I can already tell by the way Mal twists their lips that I won’t be forgetting about it again any time soon.

“Hi, Aunt Sharon,” I manage to say despite the air being squeezed out of me. “When did you get in?”

“A few hours ago. I still had some work to finish this morning, so I flew in to OKC,” she says after finally releasing me. It means she has a chance to notice Mal behind me. “Hello there. And who might you be?”

“Sharon, this is my friend Mal. They were nice enough to volunteer to keep me company on the trip, especially since it was so last minute.”

“Last minute?” she asks me before turning to shake Mal’s hand. Her silver and turquoise bracelets jangle, and it’s funny how a sound can be inexorably linked to a memory. The sound of Sharon’s jewelry reminds me of the Thanksgiving where she insisted on carving the turkey because she’d studied some how-to video. Her bracelets chimed with every slice. But she couldn’t carve for shit, so the video didn’t work. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mal.”

She seems sincere, but I can also see the wheels turning. Whether it’s because of Mal or because they’re not Shelby, I’m not sure. For the first time, I realize Mom’s refusal to acknowledge our divorce might mean that no one else knows about our separation. This might be a much longer weekend than I originally thought.

“Yeah. Mom didn’t tell me about the party until about a week and a half ago.”

Sharon pulls back from both of us with her face wrinkled in confusion. “Betty and I have been planning this party since October. She told me at Thanksgiving that you and Shelby were on board with it. That it was why you didn’t come down for Thanksgiving. So you could use your work leave to come to the party instead.”

I’m completely flabbergasted. Why the fuck is Mom making up all these crazy stories?

“Shelby and I are getting a divorce. We separated back in August. Why would she say that?”

My hand twitches to reach for Mal’s, to have some sort of comfort in this sea of strange. But I’m not given the chance, even if I had the courage to take what I wanted here in the foyer of my parents’ house.

“Is that Parker I hear?”

My mom’s voice rings out from the back of the house, and Sharon gives me a sympathetic pat that I don’t quite understand before moving aside so Mal and I can head farther inside.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, following her voice into the kitchen. My dad is setting the breakfast table for us. I notice he only put out four place settings. “Hi, Dad. This is my friend Mal. They’ll be joining us this weekend.”

Dad gives Mal a curt nod and even more curt handshake, his eyes roaming across Mal’s bare shoulder with barely hidden disdain, then goes back to the cabinets to pull out another place setting.

Mom doesn’t even bat an eye. “Wonderful. It’s so nice when Parker brings friends home. Do you go to school together?”

“Betty, Parker graduated several years ago.” Dad’s voice, while clearly strained, drips with forced cheerfulness.

“Of course. I meant, did you go to school together?”

“No, ma’am, I went to the University of Denver,” Mal says, the most formal I’ve ever seen them.

Their answer seems to appease my dad a little, at least. Or maybe it’s the sound of their voice. I could tell by both my parents’ faces they were trying to figure out Mal’s gender, narrowed eyes looking too hard in certain places for clues. But their voice, while soft and light, is a little too deep to be mistaken. Mom seems happy that she doesn’t have to guess any longer. Dad will surely squint his eyes now for different reasons. Little do they know they’re both still wrong.

“Do you need any help?” Mal asks Mom.

“Oh, aren’t you sweet, but no. Everyone go sit. I’m just about to pull dinner out of the oven. It’s your favorite, Parker. Spaghetti tuna casserole.”

Spaghetti tuna casserole hasn’t been my favorite since I was ten, but she’s being nice and hasn’t brought up Shelby, so I don’t want to be the first to rock the boat.

“How’s the job going, Parker?” Dad says. It’s an automatic question, since I’m sure he doesn’t remember any better than Mom did that I have a new job.

For the first time ever, I don’t have Shelby here to sing my praises. It always felt weird, how she would act like I had the most important job in the world when it couldn’t have been further from the truth, but I let her go on because it seemed to make her happy. It made my family happy. It made everyone happy but me. Another reminder how shallow and meaningless my life had become. God, when did I lose my fucking spine? Did I ever even have one?

“It’s fine. So much more fulfilling than my old job.”

It’s a test, and maybe that’s childish of me, but I want to see if he paid any attention last summer or only heard the word “divorce” and tuned out on the rest of my life. His eyes narrow, just a bit, but he recovers so quickly I wouldn’t know he’d faltered if I hadn’t been looking for it.

“In my day, a man didn’t worry about any of this finding-yourself horse shit,” Dad says, and Mom interrupts with, “Language, dear.”

“He worried about providing for his family. Putting food on the table. Being a pillar of strength and support for his family at all times.”

“I don’t see why you can’t do both,” I say with a too-harsh stab at my dinner, causing my fork to scrape across my plate. “They aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Apparently for you, they are.”

Mal senses that I’m about to lose it and rushes to save me, like the superhero they are this weekend. “This casserole is wonderful, Mrs. McWilliams.”

“I like to make Parker his favorites when he comes home to visit.” She beams at the praise, which seems to have magically erased the last two minutes of dinnertime argument from her mind. But Dad practically chokes on his discontent when she mentions me coming to visit. “Except for tomorrow. It’s my husband Ralph’s birthday, and I always make his favorite rhubarb pie, even though Parker hates it. Have you met Ralph?”

Mal’s eyes dart to me from across the table, but I’m even more confused than they are. She just witnessed them meeting Ralph. I start to laugh, but Dad interrupts.

“Yes, dear, I just met Mal. He–” Dad acts like he was going to say more, but can’t think of anything socially appropriate, and so he cuts himself off. It’s a good thing, too, because Dad can insult me all he wants this weekend, but there’s going to be hell to pay if there’s even a whiff of it around Mal.

“Actually, Mal is nonbinary. They use they/them/their pronouns.” I’ve done my research, but still I can detect the slight widening of Mal’s eyes that means I’ve surprised them, even though they try to hide it.

Dad wrinkles his forehead and I’m inwardly preparing for the worst, but Mom gets there first.

“Well, that’s special, isn’t it? It takes all kinds. It’s nice that you have an understanding friend like Parker. He’s such a kind young man.”

My mouth opens but my brain reels, trying to figure out exactly how to correct everything wrong with her statement. Mal’s voice stops me, and it radiates sincerity when they answer her.

“Yes, he’s the kindest man I’ve ever met.”

My insides want to melt into warm goo and float away on a cloud of Mal’s conviction, but out of the corner of my eye I see my dad twitch. Fuck. I can’t look at him right now or he’ll be able to read every single thing I’m feeling for Mal all over my face.

“Well, I’m so glad you’ll be able to attend the party tomorrow. What time does it begin again?” Mom asks, like it’s a pop quiz for Mal, but it’s Sharon who answers.

“It starts at two, Betty.”

“That’s right.”

The rest of dinner passes quickly, mostly because I’m stuffing my face so we can get back to the hotel as soon as possible. Mal tries to help clean up after dinner but my mom and Sharon won’t allow it. Mom’s hands are dunked in soapy dish water while I sneak a kiss on her cheek and tell her goodbye.

“Have a nice evening,” she says, then seems to notice Mal beside me. “And what was your name again?”

Mom’s never had trouble remembering names, so I’m a little thrown, but Mal responds like it doesn’t even faze them.

“It’s Mal, Mrs. McWilliams. And thank you again for a wonderful dinner.”

“That’s right. Did you meet my husband Ralph? It’s his birthday party tomorrow, and we would love for you to come. The party starts at …” she trails off and looks around the kitchen as if it holds the answer. Sharon freezes from her spot drying dishes and we exchange worried looks.

“It starts at two, Mom.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Mal says with a gentle pat to her arm. Mal must have some secret Mom magic, because mine certainly looks completely besotted with them.

Before we make it out the door, Dad comes out of nowhere, like he’s been waiting in the shadows for his opportunity to pounce.

“Parker, we need to talk.”

Ugh, it’s going to be about Shelby or Mal, and I just don’t have the energy.

“Can we do it after the party? I’m exhausted from all the driving, and I just want to crash.”

His face is hard. If I thought he was bad at dinner, I obviously haven’t even scratched the surface of his displeasure. “Maybe if you called or came to visit once in a while, I wouldn’t have to catch you at inconvenient times.”

Mal yawns, covering their mouth, and patting their chest afterward. “Sorry about that. It’s been a long day.”

Dad looks from me to Mal and back before relenting. “Fine. But it’s important. I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some rest, Mal.”

If I were Mal I’d want to wipe the fucking sneer off his face, but Mal smiles sweetly. “You’re so sweet to be concerned. I know we all need to get our beauty rest for the party tomorrow. Some of us are turning the big six-oh.” Then winks. They fucking wink at my dad, who is so uncomfortable he spins away on his heel without another word.

I follow my superhero to the car and groan as I sink into the leather seat.

“Do superheroes get hazard pay?”

“If by hazard pay you mean sexual favors, then yes,” they say with a sympathetic look. “We totally do.”

When we get to the hotel, I belly-flop down onto the king-sized bed. We agreed before making the reservations that we would share a room and a bed. Well, I asked because I hoped, and thank sweet baby Jesus, Mal agreed.

Mal disappears into the bathroom for a second and returns with a small hotel bottle of lotion.

“Take off your shirt,” they say, and I don’t hesitate to comply.

Mal straddles my ass and starts to rub at my shoulders. Their hands dig into the knots that formed while I held myself so tensely during the drive. Or maybe it was the stress of dinner. Either way, I’m not about to turn down a massage. The press and release of their strong hands feels divine, and a growl comes out with my slow exhale. Mal shifts their weight lower onto my thighs to better reach my lower back. Their slick, warm hands fill up all the holes that dinner with my family punched into my psyche, and for the first time all day, I’m completely relaxed. Relaxed and floating and happy.