I spend Sunday night in Kansas so I can reach my parents’ house on Monday while my dad is still at work. After Aunt Bonnie’s visit, I want to get this un-move over with, but first I need to talk to my mom alone. She probably won’t remember, but I want her to hear everything from me, and not what I fear might be my father’s distorted version after I’m gone.

“Parker, this is unexpected,” she says when she answers the door. “Isn’t it?”

She wrinkles her nose and I hate that she has to second-guess herself.

“Yes, Mom. I didn’t tell you I’d be here today.”

She relaxes and we walk into the kitchen together. I’ve always found it sort of strange that this is where Mom hangs out, even when she’s not cooking. She has a magazine out and a glass of orange juice, and though I’d imagine it would be more comfortable to read on the sofa, she’s sitting at the breakfast table like it’s her domain.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say.

“What is it, dear? Would you like some orange juice? I could make you a sandwich.” She wanders over to the fridge, but I wave her back to the table.

“I’m fine. Sit.” She complies, but not five seconds later, she’s back up, asking me again if I need anything. I go ahead and get some juice, because maybe if I have a glass in front of me, she won’t feel so compelled to mother me.

She sets the juice down and takes her place at the table. “This is a surprise, Parker. Did I know you were coming?”

I try to make my deep breath unnoticeable. It’s one of those repetitive days. I just need to keep on going or I’ll never make it through.

“Mom, do you remember Mal?”

Mom’s eyes drift for a bit while she thinks. “He – or is it a she? – doesn’t sound familiar. Is it someone you went to school with?”

“Well, first, they are nonbinary.”

At this, I have to pause to explain to her what this means, since she has forgotten about our previous discussion.

“And I’m in love with them.”

I hold my breath for the push-back, but instead I get, “You’re a little young to be in love, don’t you think?”

She drifts for a minute and I’m wondering if she’s already forgotten the conversation, but her attention pops back to me suddenly. “Do they make you happy?”

“They make me happier than I’ve ever been before. And they make me a better man. I can’t imagine my life without them.”

“That’s all that matters, then. I just want to see my boy happy,” she says, and starts to flip through her magazine.

My chest is already ten times lighter than it was on the drive here, but I still have the final bit to reveal to her.

“I met them in Colorado. I’m going to be moving back there to be with them.”

“Of course. Why would you come back here?” She looks up from a page on gardening and rests a hand on my forearm. “Not that I’m not thrilled to have you here. I love it when you come to visit, but you have to leave the nest at some point, Parker. You’re my sweet momma’s boy, but I promise you, you will be okay out there on your own.”

I had no idea how badly I needed to hear those words. I don’t even try to mask the tears when they fall down.

“Don’t cry, dear. I know you’re going to miss me, but you can always come visit. Now, how about I make you your favorite triple Cs. Will that cheer you up?”

I haven’t forgotten the last time she tried to make me cookies, but I still want to do something special with her.

“How about this time I treat you? Want to go for burgers and ice cream?”

Mom’s eyes grow big to match her smile. “Can I get a sundae? Caramel sundaes are my favorite.”

“I think that can be arranged.” I stand and wrap my arms around her in a more careful hug than I’m used to. She’s getting so thin. “I love you, Mom.”

* * *

I didn’t bring much with me when I moved back to Oklahoma, selling or storing most of my belongings for later, so it doesn’t take me long to have the car loaded. After our ice cream outing, I met with Dr. Mirza again, and got some names and information on in-home aides that he recommends. Over ice cream, I talked to Mom about having someone at the house with her. She liked the idea.

“Especially if it gets you back to work. No offense, Parker, but you hover,” she said and I almost cried with laughter.

I promised her I’d be back to visit soon and we could meet and interview her potential aides together. I don’t care if I have to pay for it and do it all behind my dad’s back. I’m getting my mom some real, professional help.

Now I just have to pack my clothes and I’m ready to hit the road. I blare one of Mal’s playlists. The songs are ones I probably wouldn’t have listened to before, but now they remind me of Mal and it makes me feel better, like I have a little piece of them here with me.

“What’s all this?” Dad grumbles from the doorway.

“I’m moving back to Colorado,” I say, not stopping mid-fold.

“Is this because of that boy?”

I throw the neatly folded shirt into my open suitcase, and take a second to fix it where it came untucked, because I can’t not. Then I turn to face him. Mal’s music gives me strength.

“No, it’s because of that person, whose name is Mal. I love Colorado, and I love my job in Fort Collins, but most of all, I love Mal.”

“It’s not right. You need to stay here and get straightened out. You aren’t yourself since the miscarriage. I talked to your Aunt Bonnie and she said that you were incredibly rude to her and her pastor.”

“What did you expect would happen when you sent people to ambush me, Dad?”

“I certainly didn’t raise you like that.”

I fling my hands into the air. He couldn’t be more clueless if he tried. “You didn’t raise me at all! Mom did. While you worked and golfed and whatever else it was you did that kept you away from the house.”

He steps toward me, the veins in his forehead beginning to bulge. “I worked so my spoiled brat of a son could have everything he wanted.”

“I never asked for anything.”

Dad laughs. “Oh, sure. So the Nintendo and the Xbox and all that you begged for, that wasn’t anything?”

“Oh my god, Dad. I was a kid. Every kid wants video games. You’re going to hold that over me? That was fifteen years ago.”

He stews in the doorway, but I can see the gears turning while I continue packing.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m just so disappointed in you. What will your mother say when she finds out you’re abandoning her? And for that.”

I have never hit another human being out of anger in my life, and I will not start now. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy. My entire body radiates my rage, and I feel like I’m about to explode with it.

“You will never talk about Mal that way again. You’re just upset that you’re losing your get-out-of-dealing-with-Alzheimer’s-free card. Now that I’m leaving, you’re going to have to actually pay attention to Mom, and get her the kind of help she needs and deserves, instead of trying to cheapskate your way out of it.”

My bag is packed and the rest is already in the car. I’m going to have to stay at a hotel again, but it’s better than staying here.

“And by the way, Mom is the one who encouraged me to move back and be with Mal. She’s happy for me and supports me, because that’s what a good parent does.”

“She doesn’t realize what’s happening, and you’re taking advantage,” he grumbles, but I ignore him.

I imagine myself with Mal’s confidence as I sling my bag over my shoulder, grab my phone, and brush past him. I kiss Mom goodbye, telling her how sorry I am that I won’t be staying for dinner, and race to the car.

I’m so upset right now I’m not sure I can even get any words out, but I need to hear their voice. My phone automatically links up to the car, and I’ve pressed dial before I even pull out of the driveway.

Mal answers the phone with, “How’d it go?”

“Not good,” I manage to say, but my voice cracks on each syllable.

“Oh, honey, are you on your way back now?”

“Uh-huh.”

Mal talks me through the next four hours of my drive. Mindless things, like how they made an appointment to look at an apartment later this week and how they think I might like it. Or that they’re trying to decide between fixing spaghetti for dinner or just going to the place down the street for take-out. They don’t expect me to respond, but just their voice is enough to calm me down and remind me that I made the right decision.

They take me with them when they decide on take-out, and then I get to listen to them eat their sandwich while they watch cooking shows in the background. I find a place to stop for the night and take them with me while I run inside to pay for a room. The front desk clerk hands me my key and wishes me a good night, when Mal finally says something that requires a response.

“I wish I was there with you. I could give you a massage. You sound like you need it.”

It’s a good thing I’m already walking away from the lobby or else things might get really awkward in front of the clerk.

“Is that an opening? Are you going to ask me next what I’m wearing?”

Mal’s laughter follows me outside and to my hotel room. I toss my bag onto the spare bed and turn the phone to speaker.

“I don’t have to ask that, silly. I already know you’re wearing track pants and a t-shirt. I know your driving regimen. But I will ask if your room has lotion.”

“Hang on.” I walk to the back to look at the three small bottles placed neatly on the counter. “Body lotion, check.”

“Grab it and take it back to the bed,” Mal says, their voice shifting from amused to aroused. “Oh, and put yourself on speaker.”

“Already done,” I say and pull the sheets aside before laying down. “Ready.”

“First, I want you to take off your shirt and rub some lotion into your chest. Close your eyes and focus on feeling each dip of your muscles, the curve of your pecs, the tightness of your nipples. Mmm. Pretend it’s me touching you,” they say, their voice traveling over my skin like silk.

I can hear my own breath loud in my ears, so I move the phone closer to my head.

“Let me hear you, hon. I want to know how good you feel.”

“Yeah, Mal. Feels good.”

“It sounds like it. Is it helping you relax?”

“Yeah.”

“Dip your fingers underneath your waistband, Parker.”

The way Mal says my name is a cross between a prayer and a curse. I never knew my name could sound so dirty, all on its own.

I trail just the tips of my fingers under, circling around my hip bones until I get to the vee that leads between my legs.

“You’d better not be touching your cock, Parker. I didn’t say you could do that yet, did I?”

A puff of air blasts from my chest. “I’m not. I’m just sensitive right now.”

Mal hums, and I can hear wet sounds that tell me they’re enjoying this as much as I am.

“Strip naked and roll over onto your knees. I want to play with your hole, Parker. That lovely hole that belongs just to me. Isn’t that right?”

I’m so turned on right now, and also trying to follow orders, that an affirmative-sounding whimper is about all I can manage.

“Get your finger all slick with lotion, and tap it against your tight little pucker. Make your other hand sloppy with lotion and reach under yourself and grab your cock. I want you stroking yourself so fast that I’ll be able to hear it through the phone. Can you do that for me, Parker?”

I’m reduced to pants and moans, the squelching of lotion on my cock almost as loud. I gasp as I near the edge, and on the other end of the line, Mal can tell.

“Push that fingertip into your sweet little hole for me, Parker. I want you to fuck your finger and remember what it feels like to have my cock inside you.”

I shout as I release, my forehead resting against the mattress and the cum splattering from my slit so hard that it almost reaches my face. I can hear Mal moaning on their end until there’s no sounds left on either side except heavy breathing. I’ve never been virtually fucked boneless before.

“Mmm, feel better?” Mal asks after they’ve recovered enough to speak.

“Yeah. I just wish you were here. It feels wrong to come down from that kind of high and not have you in my arms.”

“Well, you’ll have me tomorrow,” they say, “or you know, I could have you.”

“All that matters is that it’s you,” I say. “But now I need to go and get cleaned up. Hey Mal.”

“Yes?”

“I love you. Thank you. For everything.”

“Always, love.”