You had to love a guy who had the balls, literally, to go fully regimental in a kilt while walking on his hands.

Welcome to the Vancouver Pride Parade, the happiest place on earth this sunny Sunday.

My father squinted at the underwearless, upside-down, dangly man keeping pace alongside the float ahead of us for Numbers’ Cabaret, a longtime popular gay club here in town. “How does he keep his balance?”

Hips shaking to the infectious disco groove pumping out of the float’s speakers, I tossed more rainbow-packaged condoms from my beribboned basket at the deliriously pumped-up crowds that lined both sides of Robson Street.

“That’s the question you want to ask?”

“Really, Dov,” my mom, Shana, chided.

One of the barely-clad boys gyrating on the slow-moving Numbers platform, all buff in tight shorts and rainbow beads with dewy skin like silk, tossed my mom a whistle. She caught it one-handed like the star softball player she’d been in her youth, blowing it in time with the beat.

“Okay, my little raver,” I said, clamping a hand over it. “I know you’re pumped up for Pride, but let’s remember that hearing is also important. You taught me that.”

Mom laughed. “No. I taught you listening was important. Admit it, you’re just jealous you don’t have one of my magnificent homemade T-shirts.”

“I’m really not.”

My parents had donned matching bright pink shirts proclaiming “I love my gay son.” Mom was even wearing rainbow-colored leis around her neck. This was the only time of year my mom was less than impeccably groomed, so points to her for how much she loved Ari.

I, however, was wearing the fantabulous “I’m not gay, but my boyfriend is” shirt that a drag queen had bestowed upon me years ago. Technically, I identified as heteroflexible, but that didn’t make for a catchy T-shirt.

I’d already texted Ro a photo, in hopes that the phrasing on the shirt might get me some answers about our status. Also to show how busy I was having fun this weekend. No moping around for me.

My goal for Pride? Find mine because it had gotten sadly lost this past month. It was time for me to move forward with my life and today was the day I decided whether Rohan was going to be part of it.

“Ow!” The burly man who I’d just winged on the head with a condom glared at me.

I waved weakly. “Sorry, safety first!”

Mom nudged me. “Put whatever is worrying you aside and enjoy yourself.”

“You’re right. Today is a happy day.”

It really was. My family had started marching in the parade when Ari was fourteen with the PFLAG group at the University of British Columbia where both my parents taught. It had embarrassed him almost as much as he’d loved it.

I loved it, too. Paradegoers were packed ten deep: everyone from elaborately decked out drag queens to buff women from the Dykes on Bykes contingent in sleeveless tuxedo shirts, to burly men in tank tops and flip flops, and families with toddlers holding melting ice creams as they waved at the floats. Rainbows abounded and smiles were wide. Even the harsh heat couldn’t dampen spirits, and I was determined that no demon would change that on my watch. I tracked loud voices from my left, but it was just some people jostling for premium front-row space.

Behind us, the crowd broke out into hooting cries of appreciation. Mom and I turned around in unison.

“What are they doing now?” I asked, rising onto tiptoe for a glimpse of the LGBTQ fire fighters in full uniform behind our group.

“Ohhhh.” Mom’s eyes widened and she actually stopped walking to stare.

“Mom!” I tugged her forward, her head swiveling around like The Exorcist baby’s. “Multitask. Move and describe in accurate detail.”

“They got out the hose, drenching each other. Very well-built, these first responders of ours.”

Dad sucked in his small gut with a wry look, and then shrugged and let it out, hoisting his “We love all our kids!” sign higher.

“Bitch!” Blair Lisowski, a gorgeous diva who was the only millennial in the world who could speak to my mother that way, bounded up to us in a cloud of vanilla perfume, and gave us both loud smacking smooches. She wrinkled her nose at my still faintly nicked-up skin. At least I wasn’t limping anymore. “Did you go through a windshield?”

“Kind of?” I said.

“Happy Pride, darling,” my mom said. “You look fabulous as always.”

“Yeah, great look.” I nodded in approval at her crocheted bikini top and the flower swizzle sticks threaded through her hair. “Very Love Boat Lido Deck.”

“Finally. Someone who understands what I was going for.” Blair, who had been Blake when I’d met her years ago at a faculty party for our mothers’ history department, clapped her hands. “Brava, sister from another mister.”

It wasn’t really a stretch. I’d been forced to watch that show with her as teens more times than I could count when our families had our semi-regular dinner parties.

“What am I, chopped liver?” my dad huffed.

“Never. Happy Pride, Studly!” Blair threw her arms around my dad, who hugged her fondly. “What’s shaking in the fascinating world of law?” she said. “Unleash any new courses on an unsuspecting student populace?”

Dad rubbed his hands together, spinning the sign he was holding. “I’m doing a second-year course on the reality of reopening cold cases with their exhausted leads and lack of probable cause versus advancements in technology and how fresh eyes, contemporary methodology, and information sharing can be valuable tools.”

“Love it!” Blair declared. As a social activist, her and Dad bonded over the geekiest topics. “I’ll fill you in on my chat with City Council about the zoning permits for the co-op later.” She rolled her eyes. “Oy vey.”

I threw a handful of condoms to a particularly boisterous group of women coming up on my left, blessing our alternate girl-child for sparing me these yawn-inducing chats with my father.

Dad cracked his shoulder to stretch out a kink. “Where’s your mom?”

“Italy,” Blair said. “That workshop opened up at the last second. You’re my parents today.”

“You got it, kid.”

Blair tossed her gorgeous mane of pin-straight blonde hair. The motion caused her enviable boobs, that were more spot-lit than encased in her tiny bikini top, to jiggle. Female heads in a thirty-foot range swiveled in her direction.

“Where’s your Alphabet person to bestow my glad tidings upon?” she said. “You’re missing the second component of the LGBTQ equation, Katzes.”

“The component was making friends,” Ari said, catching up with us and hugging Blair. He’d lost his boring shirt but gained a plastic red fire hat, a rainbow flag cape, and a sunburn on his nose.

“Way to level up on the attire, bro,” I said, adding in a lower voice, “See anything?”

Ari shook his head. He and Kane had been doing sweeps of the parade ground as they marched.

“Yowza,” Blair squealed. “When did you get hot?” She ran a hand over the tattoo of a roaring lion he’d had inked on his shoulder as a late birthday present to himself. “Me like.”

“‘Like’ from a distance, girlfriend.” Kane locked into step with us, smacking Blair’s arm off Ari. He wore white short shorts that showcased his approximately 600 cut leg muscles, a too-small, pink T-shirt that read “Gay as fuck,” and a purple feather boa slung jauntily around his neck.

“Did you know that ‘Ari’ in Hebrew means lion?” Dad said.

We all stared at him in varying degrees of “all righty,” before my mom said, “Yes, it does, love.”

Blair threaded her arm through Ari’s. “Marking your territory, much?” She cast a scathing glance at Kane’s crotch. “You’ll need a bigger hose. Mosey on over to the firemen and ask if you can borrow theirs.”

“Five bucks on Blair,” Mom murmured into my ear.

I clamped my lips together to stifle a laugh. Joking around with my mom? This truly was the best Pride ever.

I fired off a quick text to Rohan. Mom and I are getting along. Too bad you’re not here to witness this modern miracle.

He answered right away. I’m happy for you.

No little dots indicating more was forthcoming. I glared at the screen.

Pride, girlfriend. Get on that. I was going to have to ask him about us straight out, but in the middle of the parade wasn’t the place for it, so I simply texted him back a “Happy Pride” and resolved to call him tonight.

“You good?”

I threw an arm over Ari’s shoulder and grinned at him. “Yes.” I jerked my chin at Kane and Blair still fighting over him. “Not as good as you, though.”

Ari shrugged. “It’s always good to see Blair.”

“Whatever is going on, he obviously cares.”

“I’m more than some possession to be marked and forgotten.” He shook his head and stepped away from me before I could force him to share that juicy anecdote.

Ari would talk when he was ready. Meantime, I was running low on condoms, so I danced up to the Go-Go boys, waving my basket. We’d lost dangly man somewhere along the line.

The lead Go-Go dancer tapped me on the shoulder with a wand before tossing scoops of condoms into my basket from a stainless steel barrel on the corner of the float.

The bass was so loud it reverberated through me. No, that was my phone with another text.

I blew a kiss to the helpful dancer, and fell back in line with my people. “Ro says ‘Happy Pride.’”

“Who dat?” Blair asked, snatching away my phone and holding it out of reach. “Hello. Why do you have a photo of Rohan Mitra and what is that divine shade of lipstick?”

I plucked the phone from her fingers. Sure enough, there was Rohan with scarlet lipstick smudged on his mouth and his arm slung around his friend and former Fugue State Five bandmate Zack Bailey.

I texted him back, my fingers flying over the letters. I was right! My T-shirt knows all. Okay. I can be supportive about this but only if I get to choose the guy and watch.

It’s from last year’s Pride and you know nothing, Jon Snow. I met a fan.

Hot jealous hooks dug under my flesh. Yeah? Do you remember her name?

His name, Sparky. Jonathon. It WAS Pride. Wow.

I snorted. Did you like it?

That’s for me to know and you to find out.

Typical Ro and me banter that hurt my heart because it was such a rarity these days. It would be easier if he’d just flat out act like a douchebag. At least I wouldn’t be second-guessing everything between us.

“Ahem.” Blair threw an arm around my shoulders, squeezing more in threat than friendship. “Answer my questions or I manslaughter you into that lamppost.”

“The lipstick? Scarlet with an orangey undertone.”

Blair squeezed harder.

“Ow. Fine.”

I wasn’t ready to let go of the reality where Rohan and I were still together, even if he had. Today was one of my favorite days of the year, and if I said I had a boyfriend and put off the pitying glances until tomorrow, what harm could it possibly do?

“Doesn’t everyone have photos of their boyfriend on their phone?” I said.

Kane rolled his eyes.

Blair gaped like a fish, her mouth working but no sound coming out. It was a thing of beauty. She punched me in the shoulder. “You. Are. Shitting. Me. Assorted Katzes, tell me she lies.”

I shot Ari a panicked look. He backed me up with no hesitation and since my parents had no idea that anything was wrong between Ro and I, they added their assurances as well.

Blair whipped out her phone, fingers flying as she typed, and a wicked smirk on her face. There was a whoosh noise and she held up the tweet she’d just posted.

Goodbye, little people. Partying in more interesting circles now since my darling friend is getting #RoMantic #rockstarlife #lovestory

I grabbed for the phone like I could somehow make the tweet come back. “Blair!”

“What?”

“We’re not… It’s… I didn’t really want this public.”

“Why? Are you his dirty little secret?” She wagged a finger at me. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.”

Sure, the tweet was tagged, and his fandom was going to see it, but they’d probably think it was fake or a rumor. And Rohan didn’t go on social media. He paid people to do that for him, all tightly curated and very polite. Again, what harm could it do?

I forced myself to unclench.

It took the rest of the parade route to satisfy all of Blair’s questions. Obviously, I left out the demon hunting part, saying we’d met through DSI.

Between the heat and the interrogation, by the time we got to the end of the parade route my shirt was wet with sweat stains, my gold lamé mini skirt was limp, and I’d have sold my twin for a cold drink.

After making me swear I’d introduce her to Ro at the first available opportunity, Blair took off to go find friends in the crowd. My parents were headed for their annual post-Pride lunch. They offered to treat us, but we wanted to grab some food from one of the food trucks on the beach where the party was in full swing and keep patrolling, so we bid them farewell.

Trying to get anywhere in the mad crush took forever. I’d have whined about it, but the people-watching was spectacular. Especially the sight of my brother and Kane directly in front of me, their pinky fingers occasionally brushing and their heads close together as they talked animatedly about something that I couldn’t hear over all the music blasting out from the beer garden.

An older man of Japanese heritage, kind of a sexier George Takei dressed in impeccable business casual, and this seventeen or eighteen-year-old stocky guy in a Crooks and Castles “Cocaine & Caviar” hoodie stepped out of one of the pricey condo towers overlooking the water.

Kane stopped dead.

The teen pushed his Beats headphones up. “You look like an asshole.”

Ari put his hand on Kane’s arm, but Kane shook him off, skewering the guy with his most disdainful look. I’m surprised the dude didn’t burst into flame. “It’s Pride and I look phenomenal. Not that I’d expect your Rohypnol-loving ass to understand either of those concepts.”

“Kaname.” The man didn’t raise his voice but Kane flinched. “Apologize to your brother.”

Whoa.

“Half,” Kane corrected, lifting his chin to meet his father’s eyes.

Double whoa.

His father refused to be cowed. “There is no half in our family.”

Kane laughed. “Right. You, me, step-monster, and the spawn. Cozy-cozy.”

I tugged on Ari’s arm because this had gotten beyond uncomfortable, but my brother had planted himself at Kane’s back. I tried to make myself the third in a defense triangle, because we were being jostled like mad by the crowd and our little island was in danger of being swept downstream.

Mr. Hashimoto raked Kane with a slow, disapproving gaze, but Kane didn’t wilt under it. He’d obviously learned his own intimidation from a master. Ari was next up for inspection.

“Is this your boyfriend?” His father spoke the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth.

I sucked in a breath.

Ari stepped forward. “Let’s go, man. He’s not worth it.”

Kane laughed at his dad. “Please. You know us gay men. Incapable of all those values like monogamy you prize so much. Naw, he’s just someone I like to fuck.”

He clasped Ari’s head in his hands and kissed him, hard.

Ari stilled, sank into Kane for a brief second, and then shoved him back.

My hand flew to my mouth, my heart breaking for the tangled mess of these two.

“Don’t ever use me to prove a point,” Ari said.

Hurt flashed in Kane’s eyes. Then he gave a cocky swagger. “You’re right. That’s your thing.”

I stepped closer to my twin, ready to tear a strip off Kane.

Kane’s father didn’t betray a single emotion. He jerked his head at his younger son. “Ren.”

The kid trotted after his dad like an obedient puppy, throwing one last sneer at the guys.

Ari looked up at the sky, jaw clenched, then exhaled. “Why can’t you admit your dad set you off?”

Kane threw me a humorless smile. “You getting all this?”

I threw my hands up. “Don’t take your anger out on me.”

“I don’t get mad.” Kane’s eyes glittered dangerously. “I’m Mr. Good Time.”

He snapped his fingers at some random pretty boy who sidled up and poked Kane’s “Gay as fuck” T-shirt.

“Care to give me a demonstration?” Pretty said.

“Kane,” I said. “Come on.”

Kane brushed past me to slide an arm around the man’s waist. “You’ll do. Happy Pride, kids,” he said and, taking his boy toy, was swallowed up by the crowd.