Chapter 5

Tate

 

 

Rap, rap, rap. Tate jolted in his seat, grabbing onto the steering wheel in fright, his head jerking to the left. Reece stood outside, his fist raised to knock on the window again, his face etched in concern.

Instead of rolling the glass down, Tate opened the door, shifted sideways, moving his feet from the floor of the car to rest on the ground outside as Reece came around and boxed him in. Tate had to crane his neck to look up at the guy. His muscles flexing against his shirt as the sun shone brightly behind him.

The sight of Reece eased the throbbing tension around Tate’s head. He shielded his eyes from the sun with a hand. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Reece parroted, resting one elbow on top of the opened door and the other on top of the car. Reece’s scanned the parking lot, his T-shirt lifting to reveal a sliver of his belly above his boxer shorts, momentarily distracting Tate. “So, uh, you been sitting in your car for a while...” Reece trailed off, waiting for an answer.

Tate put his everything is fine face on and teased. “Stalker.”

Reece shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Not stalking, just observant. Wassup?”

Tate’s considered denying anything was wrong or making something up about his car not turning over. Then he remembered what Reece had said the night before as they’d kissed and touched on his couch. Do the unexpected. Besides, if he was being honest, his actual initial instinct had been to knock on Reece’s door and ask the man to come with him, but Tate had convinced himself they were too new for that. Yet, here the man was, anyway, like he’d known how bad Tate needed him.

Tate bit his lip then spoke. “So, you know I have Sunday dinner at my parents’ house tonight.” They’d discussed it before Tate had left last night, and he knew that Reece had Sunday dinners at his mother’s house too.

Reece nodded, and when Tate didn’t add anything, he squatted between the door and the driver’s seat so that they were face-to-face, putting a hand on top of Tate’s wringing hands.

“You okay?” Reece asked.

The tension around Tate’s head increased a bit until he blurted, “No, I’m not. I don’t want to go to the dinner, Reece. Every time I go, I regret it. My stomach is in knots days before, and I hate myself after. Not because I’m ashamed of who I am, but because they are. I hate that I give a fuck, but I do. You know what I mean?”

Reece didn’t say anything but nodded, his eyes sad. The man got it. Got him. Because Reece knew what it felt like for people to look at him and not see what was really there or look at him and find what they did see lacking.

Reece squeezed his hands. “Is there anything I can do? How can I help?”

“Kiss me?” The request tumbled out of Tate’s mouth before his brain had caught up to what he was saying.

Reece didn’t give Tate any time to think about it or be self-conscious about how needy he’d sounded. He just pressed between Tate’s legs, wrapped a rough palm around the back of Tate’s neck, and took Tate’s mouth. 

Yes. This was what Tate needed—the self-possession that came from having this man kiss him, out in the world, with pride, pleasure, and no hesitation. Something about that moment with Reece in the parking area grounded Tate, and all the flurries of doubt and fear settled to a simmer instead of a boil.

As soon as Reece pulled away, Tate wished the man’s lips were on his again, and he reached for Reece who caught his hand and held on to it. Tate whined then caught himself and growled in his throat, making Reece laugh out loud. Once Reece had gotten ahold of himself, he said “I was up early this morning, and I baked a peach cobbler.”

Tate lifted a brow. “Who the hell bakes pies for the fuck of it?”

Reece smacked his shoulder. “It ain’t a pie, it’s a cobbler. There’s a difference. And I do. My love of cooking includes baking. Anyway, maybe you can cut dinner short and meet me and LJ back here for dessert? Gives us an excuse to bail on my mama early anyway.”

Tate didn’t hesitate with his answer. “Yes. Oh my god, hell yes. To bailing on my parents early and to cobbler.”

Reece laughed again, his light-brown eyes bright with amusement, then stood, giving Tate’s legs a light tap, motioning for him to get back in the car. Once he was in, Reece shut the door as Tate started the engine and rolled down the window.

“All right then, see you tonight,” Reece said, leaning down into the window.

Tate reached out to grip Reece’s chin, guiding the man toward him for one last kiss before rolling up the window and pulling off. Once he’d exited his apartment complex parking lot, Tate realized that his brewing headache had vanished and the heaviness in the pit of his stomach seemed to have disappeared. He smiled. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad at his parents’ today.

***

When Tate pulled up to the curb of his parents’ blue two story home, he took a deep breath, holding on to the calm Reece had infused him with. He had someone waiting for him after this no matter what happened, and that bolstered Tate. He would assume an unbothered attitude, channeling the likes of Auntie Maxine Waters, Ms. Marsha Pay-it-no-mind Johnson, and Beyoncé, of course.

The vibe was frosty when he’d arrived, but this time Tate didn’t really give a damn. His new niece Bailey Rae was adorable with the best baby rolls and the most adorable baby farts. He didn’t even mind when she spat up on him. Tate was in a groove by the time his mother served dinner at the formal mahogany dining table that extended and seated up to twelve. Taking the same seat he always did—the third from his father’s left now that his brother was married—Tate mentally patted himself on the back for doing an admirable job of keeping his insecurities at bay.

His father’s side eye? Rolled off him.

Single status? He had something in the works, and if it didn’t pan out, he liked his own space anyway.

Still childless? Psshh. More money to spend on himself.

Once his mother and sisters-in-law got the kids settled at their own table a few feet away and brought the food out, the conversation flowed with his two oldest brothers and his younger one—Tate was the third in line. Surprisingly, he actually found himself not hating the company of his brothers. In particular, he enjoyed chatting up his youngest brother Derek’s new girlfriend, Keilani, who was super friendly if a little oblivious. What Tate liked most about her, though, was that she wasn’t like his mother and sisters-in-law, fetching and scraping to accommodate his father and brothers. No, Derek served Keilani, and Tate almost choked on his sweet tea when she patted Derek’s hand and thanked him.

Tate’s father, Tate Sr., had looked like he’d ingested something incredibly sour, so it wasn’t surprising when Keilani’s effort to include Tate in the dinner table conversation pushed Tate Sr. over the edge.

“So, Tate, when Derek told me that his big brother would finally be gracing us with his presence at a Sunday dinner, I looked up your shop,” Keilani said before taking a bite of her smothered chicken.

Tate’s stomach dropped at the mention of his shop, and his gaze shifted to his father whose mouth looked pinched and all side conversation at the table quieted. But then he remembered Reece’s fortifying kiss from earlier, took a deep breath, and sat a little taller in his seat. Damn his father. 

“Hmm, this is delicious, Mrs. Robinson,” Keilani said, licking a dab of gravy from the corner of her mouth.

Nell Robinson peered at her husband from beneath her lashes, the skin between her brows creased, before she focused back on Keilani. “Thanks, dear.”

Keilani kept talking, either unaware or not caring that the mood around the table had changed. She smacked Derek’s shoulder.

“Ow, Kei. Dang, girl!” Derek rubbed his shoulder.

“Your brother didn’t even tell me that some of your work has been featured in magazines and that you’ve won some hair competitions. Oh my god, you’re like, one of the best hairdressers in Sac, and he’s been holding out on me.”

Tate shrugged and swallowed to hold down the bile rising in his throat as his stomach churned but didn’t drop his shoulders, battling between bravery and fear. “Oh, just some local lifestyle magazines and a few trade publications.” He focused on the ornate fork he’d been eating with and traced the design on the handle, wanting to shrink in on himself but then set the fork down and made eye contact with Keilani. No, he shouldn’t be embarrassed. “Some small competitions in the area. No big deal.” Tate downplayed his accomplishment despite warring with himself to be proud.

To him, it was a big deal—a huge fucking deal. But to his dad and the rest of his family, it was an embarrassment. Their sissy son and brother liked to wear heels and makeup and do women’s hair while the rest of them worked respectable jobs. The smothered chicken and mashed potatoes he’d been eating greedily a moment ago suddenly sat like a stone in his belly.

“Really, bro? When did you do all this?”

His brother Kent stared at him, a goofy grin on his face. Tate ventured a look around the table. Only his father seemed uncomfortable. Everyone else was studying him expectantly, waiting for a response, even his mother, who usually followed his father’s lead. His stomach settled, the bile receding from his throat, and he lifted his chin a little.

“Um, well, I started doing hair at photo shoots for some regional magazines a few years ago and started doing the trade pubs last year after I won my first local competition.”

“Well, why the hell didn’t you say anything, man? That’s dope,” said Derek.

Tate shrugged, not really sure how to respond, cheeks warming at all the attention.

“Aaron, son,” Tate’s dad boomed. “Did you ever hear back about that promotion you were going for?”

Aaron held up his hand. “Hang on, Dad. So, Tate, I didn’t even know there were hair competitions, man. How many have you done?” he asked, leaning forward to focus on Tate who sat on the other side of his wife.

Kent chimed in. “What do you get when you win?”

Tate told them about the hair shows, how he prepared, and some of the prizes he’d won, ranging from cash to free advertising. He hadn’t won anything for his first two competitions, but with each successive one, he’d gotten better.

Tate tried to ignore his father’s sneers from the head of the table and despite feeling increasingly conspicuous he didn’t avert his eyes. He wasn’t used to all this positive attention from his family. When he was the focus, it was usually because his father was subtly putting him down. Tate didn’t feel comfortable with all eyes on him. 

“Now, these photo shoots,” asked Aaron. “Do you make decent money off them? I imagine the shop is doing well.”

Tate grazed the intricate design on the handle of the fork, pushing down the urge to focus on his plate of chicken rather than his brother. “Pay for the shoots is so-so, but it’s a good opportunity to get my name out there. Basically, free advertising for the shop.”

Aaron nodded. “That makes sense.”

“We should go the next time you compete, Tate,” Keilani said, bumping Kent’s wife, Yolanda, with her elbow before her fork clattered against her plate, making everyone at the table jump. “Oh my god, we can make shirts that say Team Tate!” squealed Keilani.

Even Aaron’s wife, Jaqueline grinned at that.

“It’s just cutting and curling hair, for goodness sake,” groused Tate Sr. “Can’t be too damn hard. A few months in cosmetology school and anyone can get a license.”

The room went silent and all remaining bravado that Tate had been coasting on seeped out of him. His father’s cutting words had sucked all the positive energy out of the room to the point that even the kids seemed to quiet down, sensing the awkwardness. The man’s jaw was clenched tight and his eyes were narrowed, fists balled and resting on the table.

“You are right, Dad,” Tate said, hating those four words as they left his mouth, ’cause they weren’t true. But what he hated more was his humiliation at the disgusted gaze his father leveled on him. He hated that everyone else could read the contempt on his father’s face too, so, he tried to ease the tension and retreat from the unwanted spotlight.

“It’s no big deal,” Tate muttered and shrugged, looking around Yolanda at his brother. “Aaron, did you get that promotion or what?” Tate stuffed his face with mashed potatoes that now tasted like paste as Aaron awkwardly talked about his promotion, his gaze darting around the table.

When Aaron trailed off, sweet Keilani tossed a bomb into the middle of the table.

“Tate, I don’t see a ring on your finger so I assume you aren’t married but, do you have a boyfriend? Derek told me you were gay.” She shoved another forkful of chicken and mashed potatoes in her mouth, chewing as she stared down Tate Sr. It was at that point Tate realized Derek’s girlfriend Keilani wasn’t oblivious, she just gave zero fucks.

Tate’s throat closed up and his stomach bottomed out as he stared at his plate as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. Seconds later, the table rattled as his father’s meaty fist smashed into the wood.

“Tate Sr.!” his mother admonished, placing a hand on his father’s forearm, prompting the visibly shaking older man to close his mouth and swallow whatever he’d been about to say.

Tate was so embarrassed he wanted to slink away unnoticed and not come back for another two to three months.

“Tate Sr., would you mind following me to the kitchen to help me carry in the banana pudding? It’s real heavy in that glass dish.” Her voice was low and shaky.

Without a word, Tate’s father rose from the table, and after inhaling deeply, his wife followed him. The tension in the room eased as the kitchen door swung behind Tate’s parents.

Everyone at the table, except perhaps Keilani, knew that Nell Robinson asking her husband to help her carry food into the dining room was her way of saving her gay son further embarrassment; she only ever asked her daughters-in-law to help with stuff like that. That was woman’s work as far as Nell and Tate Sr. were concerned.

Tate briefly wondered what she’d make of him and Reece. Tate combing LJ’s hair and Reece cooking dinner, but then he pushed the thoughts down because they didn’t matter. Tate’s parents, his father especially, would never see him with Reece or any other man for that matter. He stood from his seat, tossing his napkin on the table.

“I, uh, have another commitment, so I won’t stay for dessert.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Let them know for me,” Tate mumbled to no one in particular. He got the vague sense that a few folks around the table had assented but he avoided direct eye contact.

“It was nice meeting you, Tate,” said a not-in-the-least contrite Keilani. The girl had ovaries of steel, and he had instant respect for her. She’d made an effort to stick up for him, even if she had needled Tate’s father at Tate’s expense. She’d tried to make Tate feel included for once. His own brothers hadn’t even had his back or tried to do that for him and that felt worse than his father’s disrespect and disdain. No, he wouldn’t subject himself to this again anytime soon. 

He lifted his head, his eyes focusing on the table and then Keilani. He could see concern in her gaze despite her mischievous smirk, so he gave her a wink. “Stop by the shop if you ever want your hair done. But no friends and family discounts. I run a business, not a charity.”

Keilani gave him a small smile and winked back before he turned from the table and walked away. Tate sighed in relief when the front door closed behind him. He quickly strode down the walkway of his parents’ home, pulling the keys from his pocket and smoothly getting into his car. He rested his head against the headrest, eyes closed and shoulders sagging. It was over and now he could go home to Reece and LJ. He glanced at his parents’ front door for a beat before starting his car and pulling away from the curb.

The further he got away from his parents’ neighborhood the deeper he sunk into his driver’s seat. Everything would be okay now. Sure, his father’s rejection had embarrassed and humiliated him, the high he’d walked into his parents’ home on evaporating. But this time, he had someone waiting for him back at the apartment complex, ready to listen to his frustrations and lament with him, and that was enough to get Tate across town without crying in the car.