This has been the most awkward ten minutes of my entire life. The previous record had been held by a small stint in the back of a cop car. Cody and I were both naked, hands doin’ their best to keep our junk tucked out of sight while we endured a lecture turned threat by the deputy about what would happen if we were ever caught with his daughters again. I was only seventeen but swore on my life I would never be in such an uncomfortable situation again. Unfortunately, I was very fuckin’ wrong.

“If you insist on him staying,” Helen, Carly’s mother, sighs from the wicker chair on the other side of the coffee table.

“Could you please stop acting as if he’s not sitting right here in the room?”

Since I walked through the door no one other than my girlfriend has spoken to me. Both of her parents have spoken about me, around me, and ignored all attempts I’ve made to acknowledge them.

Should’ve predicted this wasn’t gonna be all sunshine and picnics when Carly kept changin’ the subject about her folks last night. Too bad, for me gettin’ her naked and makin’ her birthday wishes come true was my primary focus.

Helen purses her lips together and narrows her eyes at me. “Dustin, is it?”

“Yes ma’am.”

She hums her disgust. “Are you aware of the origins of your name?”

The strange question stuns me into confusion.

Helen releases another annoyed huff. “As in why your parents, assuming you have parents and weren’t raised in the back of the barn by horses-”

“Mother!”

“-named you Dustin. Is there a story there? Does it have relevance or character?”

I fold my hands onto my jean-covered lap and politely reply, “I’ve never asked.”

“Of course you haven’t,” she sneers, snatching her wine glass. “Because, to people like you, a name is just a name, but to people like us,” the racial inflection emphasized with a wave towards her daughter, “it has to be so much more. We have to represent what we’ve lost and hope to gain. We use our names to honor those who have come before us and fought like hell for to us have what it is we do. For instance, Carly is named after Elijah’s grandfather, Carl. Which means free man.”

Her explanation and accusations expand the knot in my throat.

“As in we expect her to be free in spirit. Free in life to fulfill all of her dreams, not someone else’s.”

With the exception of theirs of course. Pickin’ up that their dream was to have her with someone a bit more similar than I am.

Unsure if there’s anything I can say that will provide reassurance I’m not trying to destroy her daughter, I decide to at least give it a shot. “I support whatever your daughter chooses to do with her life as long as it makes her happy, ma’am.”

“Including leave you?”

“Mother!” Carly cries out again.

My hand lands warmly on her thigh. “Yes ma’am. If Carly finds someone else she feels can make her happier than I can,” the words taste like vinegar even though they’re true, “then I would want her to be with the other person. If Carly manages to find someone else who is willing to work harder every day of their life to make her smile brighter, carry her burdens, and generally bust their rear to make her life better, I won’t stand in the way. But with all due respect, Helen, no such man exists.”

Carly’s hand lands supportively on mine.

Elijah strolls back into the room with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

To my surprise, it’s evident that these are Art’s parents looks-wise. Her brother’s slimmer body type, obviously, comes from their mother, but the rest resembles their father. Carly, though? Aside from her skin tone, which is much lighter than both of theirs, she doesn’t share in their features. And from the backhanded comment Helen made in regards to the piercin’ by Carly’s lip, it’s obvious she does not approve of the mark her daughter sports like an extra middle finger to conformin’ to the somewhat conservative style they appear to be endurin’. Both Helen and Elijah are dressed in black, like they’re making a statement to the world and proudly showcasing neat to the scalp haircuts. Unlike her daughter, who is wearing a short, sleeveless floral print dress with a pair of boots, she bought specifically to drive me wild, no extra skin is bared. No makeup added to emphasize the colors on her attire. Honestly, if Carly hadn’t introduced this woman as her mother, my guess would’ve been distant aunt.

Elijah states to his wife. “The chicken needs a few more minutes.”

“Sometimes the pecans require it a little longer to cook.”

Pecans on chicken? Why the hell would you put pecans on chicken? I mean, if they allow me to eat, of course I will and swear it’s delicious whether it tastes amazin’ or like an old boot, but what’s wrong with just bakin’ chicken or usin’ good ol’ fashioned bread crumbs?

Elijah offers his daughter the empty glass. “Would you like some wine, Carly?”

She tilts her head in question. “Is the other glass for you or our guest?”

“You mean intruder,” Elijah corrects.

“He is not an intruder,” my girlfriend growls.

“He by definition is.” The man scoffs, sitting down on the floor cushion close to his wife’s feet. “He did not have permission nor was he welcomed into our home.”

“I welcomed him here,” Carly bites.

“Technically, this isn’t your home. It is not your name on the deed.” Elijah pours red wine into each of the glasses. “And if you repeat this ludicrous behavior you will not be welcomed here either.”

“You mean like Art?” She snips with vengeance. “Your openly gay son you disowned?”

Her father delivers a cruel stare to her. “Never speak his name in this house.”

The tension spreads like wildfire and the only thing my mind wants to do is put it out.

I clear my throat. “Elijah-”

“Mr. Chambers.”

His correction causes me to momentarily stumble over my words, “Uh…pardon me. Mr. Chambers, sir, your daughter says you’re a lawyer?”

“Knowing my daughter, you’re most likely paraphrasing and poorly at that.”

My teeth grind together in silence.

It’s a strange thing to me to sit here with a man who looks identical to one I sat with last night and have two completely opposite reactions. Despite the fact Art is almost a physical carbon copy of his father, he is emotionally better. Open minded. Polite. Kind, not condescendin’. Makes me wonder if that’s also a reason the two no longer get along.

“But for the sake of continuing this ridiculous encounter, yes, I am an attorney.” Elijah announces smugly. “I have my own law firm and our clientele consists mainly of victims. Men and women who were falsely accused of a crime due to the color of their skin.” The disdain increases. “Men and women who are being failed by an unfair justice system. Men and women who the law would rather prosecute and bury than admit the judicial structure is flawed.”

The noose of discomfort continues to tighten around my throat.

“What about you?” Helen shifts the question with a smack of her lips. “What is it you do for a living, Dustin?”

I reluctantly reply, “I’m an elevator mechanic, ma’am.”

Matching looks of horror appear on Carly’s parents’ faces.

God, I wish I could jus’ steal a glass of wine. Wash away a little of the distress.

“Oh, it’s a joke!” Helen insists loudly, beginning to snicker. “It’s a joke, Elijah!” Her husband turns his face towards her. “It must be! They’ve probably developed their own little quips we don’t understand.” She snaps her attention back to me. “That’s clearly a joke, but could you explain to us why it’s humorous.”

“It’s not a joke, mother,” Carly quietly states. “It’s his profession.”

“That’s not a profession!” Elijah’s voice booms. “That’s what you do when you can’t be bothered to invest yourself into an actual career! That’s what you do when your education levels are so disgustingly low people won’t even accept your resume.” His pause is too brief for me to get a word in. “Your mother has a profession. She’s an art broker! I have a profession. I’m an attorney. You, Carly, have a profession. You facilitate relationships.”

Fancy words for matchmaker.

“He merely uses the skills he probably learned when he was still helping ‘pa get the ol’ pickup truck goin’ again’.”

His double-sided attack is my girlfriend’s breaking point. “I’m done.”

“Excuse me?” Her mother squeaks.

The ire radiating off of Carly is startling. “I’m fucking done.”

“Language,” Helen scolds.

“Be respectful,” Elijah commands.

“Oh no.” Their daughter shakes her head in an annoyed nature. “You both gave up the right to be treated with respect the minute you decided you didn’t need to treat my boyfriend with some.” She stands to her feet. “Come on, Dusty. We’re leaving.”

My mouth moves to object, to insist we continue this crucifixion, not because I want anything to do with these heartless humans, but because I want her to know I will be by her side and continue to stand by her side through anything. I also don’t want their loss of connection to another child to be on my conscience.

“You walk out that door with that hillbilly, Carly Claudette Chambers, and you will never step foot inside this house again,” her father coldly threatens.

Quietly, I plead, “Carly-”

“Then enjoy life without either of your children in it,” she retorts in the same tone. Her gaze drops down to me and she snaps, “Let’s. Go.”

Uncertain there’s anything I can do that would make this situation better not worse, I simply stand, reach for my Stetson hat, and offer my forced thanks to her family. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Chambers.”

“Get. Out,” Elijah growls fiercely.

The two of us begin our exit in excruciating silence.

We’re both startled by the sounds of footsteps racing across the floor behind us.

“Wait!” Helen cries out. “Carly wait!”

My girlfriend’s hand reaches for the handle, yet I place my open palm firmly on the door to prevent it from moving. She glares but the expression on my face remains unmoving.

Carly huffs, turns to face her mother, and snips, “What?”

The hurt in Helen’s eyes deepens. “Carly, we don’t want to lose both of you. Not having Art is hard enough-”

“You two threw him out on Christmas! Don’t act like that’s his fault.”

“It is his fault because he chooses to be gay,” Helen huffs. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

“It’s not a choice, mother!”

“Look,” she pushes on, “your father and I can…learn to make our peace with…,” her eyes give me another disgusted glare, “that. We just need a bit of time.”

Carly shakes her head slowly. “The fact you just called Dusty that tells me exactly how you really feel. You think this is some sort of phase-”

“Because it clearly is. Just like the ridiculous jewelry on your face and your overly processed hair. You weren’t raised to modify yourself to society’s racially stifling standards. You also weren’t raised to…be with people like him.”

“People like him?” Her voice trembles. “People like him!? I wasn’t raised to date men with huge hearts? Men who would rather work themselves to the bone than ever ask for a handout? Men who would sit in a room as people callously judge him for being white, something he, for the record, had no choice about? Men who would endure hatred simply for the sake of the woman they wanna spend the rest of their life with?”

“And I am,” my voice quietly adds. “I am going to spend the rest of my life with your daughter, Helen. Whether that’s here or Texas or some island in the middle of the Caribbean, we will be together.”

She narrows her eyes at me once more. “You say that now, but wait. Just wait until something richer or skinnier or blonder comes along. You’ll realize soon enough you want something easier to deal with than that of dating a black woman.”

My head lifts a little higher at the same time I state, “Not a chance in hell, ma’am.”

I remove my hand and allow us to return to our determined departure.

Once we’re in Carly’s car, I catch sight of the tears lingering in the corners of her eyes.

An immediate tightness expands in my chest as I toss my hat in the back and reach across to wipe them away. “Baby, I don’t wanna divide your family. We can go back in there together and try again. Or I can go back to your apartment and-”

“No.” She sniffles, defiance swirling in her tone. “They made this choice. You didn’t do anything wrong other than make the mistake of falling in love with me.”

“That’s no mistake, baby.” I give her chin a gentle push so our eyes can meet. “I will never apologize to anyone for lovin’ you. I jus’ don’t want you to regret walkin’ out on them. They’re your parents, Carly. It’s not an easy decision.”

“What is easy is not always right and what is right is rarely easy,” she sweetly explains. “Remember that.”

The words are spoken like an eerie warning, like she knows when the time comes to do this in reverse, we may be up against a bigger battle. I jus’ hope she remembers, I stood in face of adversity with her once. There’s nothin’ that can stop me from doin’ it again.