The Proposal

by Flagg1991

Lincoln and Lynn are ten years into a relationship and Lynn wants to get married...even if it's illegal, and even if it means she will lose everything. Oneshot. [Commission] Image by UnderratedHero

On the morning of May 26th, Lincoln woke to Hall and Oates playing Private Eyes (they're watching you). Were his mind clear, he may have seen a hint of irony in it. Twenty-six and living on his own in an apartment above a consignment shop on Royal Woods' main drag, Lincoln often had the creeping feeling of being watched. Walking down the street, he'd glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed and walk right into a lamppost (goddamn it!). When he was browsing the shelves at the grocery store, the back of his neck would tingle, and he'd shift his eyes as far to the side as he could in hopes of catching his pursuer in the act (aha! I knew it! What do you want, you son of a bitch?). Inside, with the blinds drawn and the doors locked, it wasn't so bad, but every time he left the concealment of his little burrow, he felt naked, vulnerable, exposed.

Lincoln's paranoia was born not of schizophrenia but of guilt, the kind a little boy feels when he knows he's doing something he shouldn't be...something that will land him in deep shit with his parents, his pastor, and everyone else. He carried it with him every minute of every day like a monkey on his back. He was careful. He was cautious. He sneaked around on the tips of his toes and spoke in code like a gangster afraid of government wiretaps (I put the thing in the place at the time, capice?). To be clear, he felt absolutely no shame whatsoever, but he knew people wouldn't understand, so he was forced to hide something he didn't particularly want to hide.

The problem wasn't him...the problem was other people. But isn't it always? People have a way of...hmmm...how to put this?...being judgemental assholes who can't mind their own goddamn business. That's why you have shit like TMZ and Keeping Up With the Kardashians. Americans just loooove putting their noses in other people's affairs and forming strong opinions when, really, they had no right to. Look at political correctness, for example. The internet was full of implacable rageaholics who just look for reasons to get mad and condemn other people. That guy on Twitter didn't capitalize 'black'? DOX THE RACIST BASTARD. Policing the thoughts, lives, speech, art, and opinions of other people was a business nowadays, and goddamn, business was booming. No matter what you did or what you said, there was always someone who'd take violent exception to it and twist it into something they could take their aggressions out on.

Don't believe me? Get into a political debate with a left-winger or a right-winger and see if they don't wind up putting words in your mouth and randomly accusing you of wrongthink. Oh, it's a sight to see. You can actually watch them construct a version of you in their heads that does not exist, and argue with that instead of the real you. Say "I don't like Biden's tax plan" and they will jump to conclusions, connect dots that aren't there, force square pegs into round holes, and come out the other side with a literal Nazi straw man bearing your face. Why do people do that? Who knew. Lincoln had a few theories, but the why didn't matter as much to him as the end result, and the end result was this: People like to attack and call each other names. Republicans, Democrats, Proud Boys, BLM - no one listened to the other side, they talked over them from their own self-made bully pulpit.

It had always been that way, as far as Lincoln knew. Once upon a time, society was dominated by Christian conservatives who forced their beliefs and morals onto other people and called them communists if they rejected said morals. Today, it was the secular liberals who dominated society and rammed their opinions down everyone's throats. The left used to stand against that sort of thing...they used to stand for individuality and free thought...but then, like a politician who takes an aggressively progressive stance while running for president and then walks it back after he wins (coughJoeBidencough), they started to change their tune once they got enough power. Everyone's for free thought when they're in the minority. But once they become the majority and free thought goes from you dissenting against someone to someone dissenting against you, well…

Looking at the social and political landscape of today, Lincoln saw disturbing similarities to the social and political landscape of yesterday. Nothing had truly changed. Laws had, yes, but the prevailing attitude and the approach had not. This led him to believe that human nature was set, and that people, groups, parties, and nations were locked in an endless cycle whereby they would repeat the same fundamental mistakes as people, groups, parties, and nations before them.

And the biggest mistake of all was not leaving others the hell alone. Lincoln was a peaceful guy. He went to work, drew in his free time, hung out with his girlfriend, and treated everyone the way he wanted to be treated himself. He didn't bother anyone and tended to his own affairs. All he wanted was to be left alone, but that's just not how people work. People want to control you and when you do something they, personally, considered "wrong" or "disgusting", they feel as though they have every right to make your life a living hell. After all, you're in The Wrong, and those in The Wrong as pieces of shit, not even human; we can do whatever we want to them and it's okay because it's socially acceptable to be bigoted, hateful, and sadistic to them.

It was this knowledge, rather than any organically-occuring shame, that caused Lincoln to slink around like a cat burglar in the night. You'd expect someone in his position to be wracked with disgust and self-loathing, but he was completely free of both. At night, he slept like a baby, and if he wound up in a confessional booth, that would be the last thing he'd even think of bringing up.

Of course, it wasn't always like this. Ten years ago, at sixteen, he struggled with it the way a closeted gay man might struggle with him sexuality. In the beginning, he did feel shame. Just not enough to stop what he was doing. Over the years, as he grew and changed as a person, he came to terms with it. Now his only worry was for how other people would take it, and even that didn't concern him the way it used to. The older he got, the more wisdom he found in all the old sayings he rolled his eyes at as a kid. One of them is You can't please everyone. That's true. No matter what you draw, who you love, what color you are, or where you come from, there will always be someone who doesn't like it. Always. You can be the nicest, squeakiest, most inoffensive person on planet earth, and you'll still get hate. Hating others is as human as expelling waste through the rectum (they're virtually the same, in fact).

He once believed that while you couldn't please everyone, you could be neutral. He, for instance, didn't like rap music. Lisa did. Her affinity for hip hop did not "please" him, but it didn't "displease" him either. It was just a matter of differing opinions, no harm, no foul. You can't like everything. He understood things a little better now and realized that a lot of people are not neutral. If they don't like rap, they are not content to shrug their shoulders and move on. Oh no, they have to be against it. They have to give rappers and rap fans grief. "I don't like your music, it's shit," they said of something totally subjective. And they say it with such authority. Well...maybe it's shit to you, but other people seem to like it. Why can't you just live and let live? Let them have their rap and you can have your rock or country or blues. But people aren't wired that way. Do something, anything, and you won't have non-fans who don't care, you'll have haters who do care.

One of his favorite examples of this was Chris Chan, an internet laughingstock who held the record for receiving probably the hardest and longest sustained trolling of any person in history. Chan was autstic and famous for creating a Sonic/Pikachu combination called Sonichu..among other things (such as acting like an idiot in countless videos). The trolling he got transcended normal pointing and laughing and crossed into psychopathic territory. People threw eggs at his house, put signs on his front lawn, followed him around in real life. These trolls did not like Chan...some even hated him. While valid reasons existed for not liking him, Lincoln couldn't understand why they didn't just walk away. If he didn't like someone, he washed his hands of them. He didn't get why people who didn't like Chris Chan didn't do that. Instead, they hid in bushes to catch five seconds of low quality footage of the back of his head; they dug through his trash; they catfished him online and recorded phone calls with him. Some women even pretended to be his girlfriend so they could get him on dates and record that as well.

What the fuck?

Seriously, that shit's creepy.

But such is hatedom. Hatedom is just like fandom, only while fandom loves to love a person or thing, hatedom loves to hate them.

People just can't let each other be.

Which is why he had to hide his relationship with his sister.

Don't even start with the cringing and moralizing. Lincoln had been through it a thousand times before. When he was younger, he was filled with shame and self-hatred. He was desperate for encouragement, validation, and support...he yearned for someone to assuage his guilt by telling him it was okay. Lots of brothers and sisters have sex, it's not THAT abnormal. You're fine, don't worry about it. He posted under different names on various forums. Me And My SIster Are In A Relationship. Is It Normal? Par for the course, he got outright hate - people calling him a pervert and telling him he would burn in hell - but he also got responses from people who seemed genuine and sympathetic. Even they told him it was wrong and that he should stop doing it.

How could he, though? How could he give her up when she was the light of his life and being with her made him inexpressibly happy? Her smile lit up his world, her eyes stirred his soul, the soft touch of her hand made his heart skip a crazy beat, and holding her in his arms was pure nirvana. Despite their differences, or perhaps because of them, they fit together like two Lego pieces. He loved her and he couldn't imagine his life without her. Yes, she was his sister. Yes, he knew it was fucked up, he knew they couldn't have children together if they didn't want to risk birth defects and shit. He knew all of that and he didn't care. He just didn't.

But other people did, so he had to sneak around like he was doing something wrong. Every time she came over, his stomach clutched and his heart raced. This is it, he would think, someone's going to see her and they're going to KNOW. When they were out in public together, he couldn't hold her hand or kiss her because everyone in town knew who they were. They had to be careful about how they interacted, which was a lot harder than it sounded. When the girl you love is standing right in front of you and the spirit takes you, you hold her. It's natural. Denying that was almost like denying yourself oxygen. You have to really concentrate on it or you'll slip up and take a deep breath. Maybe he was too emotional...maybe he let his heart lead him instead of his brain (he definitely let his heart lead him instead of his brain) but he couldn't hold his love for her in. When they were alone, he would randomly hug her from behind, kiss her cheek, and hold her body to his. She fit perfectly into his arms, and even now, all these years later, the womanly shape of her body excited him. He was a passionate man and pretending that she was only his sister hurt even if he only had to do it for a little while.

She was the same in her own unique way, and they had both slipped up plenty over the years. When they still lived at home, they would cuddle in his bed, gaze into each other's eyes, and kiss until they were both wet and shaky. In the end, someone always came along looking for one of them. Lincy, I want a tea party, or hey, bro, can you give my new track a listen? I need some feedback. Getting time alone with her was harder than finishing fifth grade was for Leni. Being divided from your other half is a sad and painful proposition, and Lincoln dealt with it a lot growing up.

That was the past, though. They were both adults and came and went as they pleased. She slept in his bed more than she did her own and though it was his apartment, he couldn't help thinking of it as theirs. He wanted her to move in, but they needed an excuse for it. They both made enough money to maintain their own households, so they couldn't plead poverty. They could still pull it off by saying they wanted to pool their resources and save money, but Lincoln had the (probably erroneous) suspicion that if they did that, red flags would go up. Of course, when you're doing something "wrong", you always feel like you're under a microscope. Realistically, who would insantly assume that he and Lynn were having sex? People's minds don't instantly go there. Mom and Dad surely wouldn't think that. They were clueless and always had been. And even if they did hear the occasional alarm bell going off (which they most likely hadn't), they would probably rationalize it away. They wouldn't automatically surmise that their son and daughter were moving in together because they were in love.

Lincoln had brought the idea up to Lynn on several occasions, but she always turned him down. I want to, she said once, I'm just...not ready.

By that, she didn't mean I'm not ready to live with you, she meant I'm not ready to be found out. If he was paranoid, Lynn was ultra mecha paranoid. She had always cared more about what people thought of her than he had. Oh, he cared, he just didn't sit in his room and bite his nails because someone somewhere thought he was weak. Lynn did. She had to be the fastest, the strongest, the all-around best. She wanted people to look at her with big, adoring eyes and fold their hands to their cheeks. She's so awesome, omg, fap, fap, fap. Lincoln found that endearing, but he was biased; he found everything about Lynn endearing. She worried that if it came out she was, uh, playing rough with her brother, her reputation would die and everyone would look at her like she was a freak. Lincoln didn't take offense to this and accuse her of not loving him or being committed because everyone would totally look at her like she was a freak.

There were no two ways about it. Society accepted a lot of things, like men calling themselves women and dominating their sports teams and women marrying other women, but even now, incest was a romantic no-go zone. You could put your dick into almost anything (some people even advocated for Minor Attracted People, AKA pedophiles), but God forbid you sink it lovingly into your sister. Lynn couldn't handle the cold stares and disgusted sneers that were sure to follow their relationship becoming public knowledge. He could.

Or at least he thought he could.

His biggest stumbling block was how Mom and Dad would take it. His parents were loving and kind so he doubted they'd disown him and Lynn, but they probably wouldn't be happy about it either. Lynn felt the same way. She said it would be hard to deal with everyone hating her, but that she could pull it off. But not Mom and Dad.

Lincoln tried to convince her that Mom and Dad wouldn't hate them, but she wasn't sure. Incest is a pretty big deal, Linc, she pointed out once as they cuddled in bed after making love. They're not going to throw us a victory party.

No, they wouldn't/

Even as a SAP (Sister Attracted Person), Lincoln could understand why incest was legally and culturally frowned upon. He understood the genetic ramifications of inbreeding and even the general (percieved) ickiness of siblings having sex. No one had to explain it to him and there was no logic that could persuade him that he didn't love Lynn. Anti-incest laws are one of those lines in the sand that society pretty much has to draw. It wasn't right that two consenting adults couldn't love one another, especially after so many people had used that same logic in the fight for gay marriage, but he did understand. If pressed, he would say that he was a political liberataian: He believed that the government should stay out of people's lives. If gays wanted to get married, let them. If a man wants to transition into a woman, let him. If a brother and sister wanted to be together, leave them alone.

One thing about incest is that it is too often coupled with rape, as though is a form of sexual assault in its own right. You always hear people say "Rape and incest" in the same breath, and because of that, the two had become conflated in the public's mind. Incestouous rape certainly happened, but the operatve word was "rape." If a woman was forced to have sex against her will, it's rape, no matter if the man who forced her is her father or some rando off the street. It was rape. Full stop. Incest entailed - in Lincoln's mind - consent. Without consent, it was rape and nothing more. He did not rape Lynn and she didn't rape him. They were close in age, they took baths together as children, and their sexualities budded around the same time.

Lincoln remembered playing doctor with the for the first time when he was four and she was six. Kids get curious, and something as relatively benign as exploring your sibling's body simply to satisfy your childish curiosity is, Lincoln had read, a lot more common than people let on. Granted, most siblings stop doing that sort of thing once they realize it's wrong. He and Lynn stopped, but years later, when they were both hormonal teens, they picked it back up like an alcoholic falling off the wagon. She didn't force him...he was all too willing

It started small. They would "practice" kissing one another. Lynn was worried that she'd be a terrible kisser when she finally got around to having her first kiss, and Lincoln had no idea what he was doing, so why not do a dry run? Practice kissing eventually turned into heavy petting, and heavy petting gave way to dry humping. Lynn would get on her hands and knees and Lincoln would kneel behind her, both dressed in only their underwear. He would thrust until he filled his boxers with cum. One day, her panties moved aside just enough that when his dick sprang out through the slot in his shorts, they were there, skin to skin, their fevered genitals touching. They only realized it when his head penetrated her. She moaned and Lincoln thrusted again, breaking her cherry and sliding deep into her folds. They didn't mean to go that far, but neither could stop until their passion was spent.

They had sex often, first under the famliar guise of practice, then simply because it felt good. Lincoln couldn't pinpoint the precise moment they fell in love, but he thought it was early on. At first, they only did it doggystyle, perhaps in a subciousnes attempt to keep from having to look at each other. That way, they wouldn't have to confront what they were doing. At some point, that changed. They started doing it in missionary. They'd kiss, hold hands, and gaze into each other's eyes. No, he couldn't say when he fell in love with his sister, but he did.

He loved her so much that being apart from her was like being separated from his own heart. He cherished the nights she slept over and dreaded the nights she stayed at her own apartment. During the day, he thought about her endlessly, and at night, he dreamed of her. Getting a text from her sent his heart bouncing into his throat and not hearing from her for too long made him restless. He would pace, drum his fingers, and check his phone every couple minutes just in case she texted and his phone didn't go off. That had happened a few times. They both had cheapo Straight Talk phones and sometimes texts didn't go through the way they were supposed to. Every time she didn't hit him back, he worried that her reply was lost in a techno void of glowing green 0s and 1s and had to restrain himself from texting her again.

A few times over the past couple years, they got away for the weekend and stayed at a little bed and breakfast on the Upper Peninsula where no one knew who they were and they could be open. Lincoln loved being able to sweep his sister into a hug whenever he wanted and kissing her without fear of their lives being ruined. Those weekends only made him want to move in with Lynn even more. We can run away, he told her more than once. We can go west where no one knows us. We won't have to hide anymore.

She liked that idea, but she couldn't leave their family any more than he could Anyway, Mom, Dad, and their sisters would have to find out sometime. Call Lincoln young and naive, but he planned to be with Lynn for the rest of his life. He didn't want another woman; only her. You can hide the fact that you and your sister occasionally have sex together, but you can't hide the fact that you've built a freaking life together. He and Lynn both knew, in the back of their minds, that their relationship would come to light one day. Lincoln looked forward to that day but he dreaded it too. Finally having it out would be obscenely liberating, but how would his family react?

That question continued to plague him now, years after he and Lynn first started their tryst. The paranoia, the fear of discovery, was really just fear that his loved ones would find out. If he was honest with himself, the opinion of the girl who bagged his groceries or the guy who fixed his car meant less than dog shit to him. They were nobodies. Even his friends - Clyde, Stella, Liam, Girl Jordan, and Ronnie Anne - could fuck off if they had a problem with him and Lynn. He couldn't disregard his family's feelings so easily because his family was important to him. Like the saying goes, blood is thicker than water, and family is forever.

What a mess.

Presently, Lincoln slapped the OFF button, cutting Hall and Oates mid-boogie, and threw the covers off. He sat up, rubbed the back of his neck, and drew a deep yawn that puffed out his scrawny chest.

Ashen gloom pooled in the room and fat beads of rain sluiced down the window pane. His bedroom was situated in such a way that it overlooked the paved lot between his building and the hardware store. Lincoln didn't know this until he started looking for his own place, but the shops along Main Street are honeycombed with one and two bedroom apartments. He was well aware that the barber shop, the feed store, the cafe, and the bank all had second stories, but he always assumed they were used for storage or something. Some of the shopkeepers - like old Bill Johnson, the resident hardware guru - lived above their stores. Many others only rented the space from whoever owned the building. Lincoln's realtor was Century 21 and, Jesus God, they were slumlords. If anything broke in the apartment, they would ignore all his calls and he'd have to take care of it himself. Last winter, the roof started leaking and a huge, soggy water stain spread across the ceiling (if he squinted his eyes, he could almost imagine the ceiling was turning into sponge, like that padded room Mrs. Puff wound up in after Patrick and Spongebob drove her off the deep end). Did Century 21 do anything? Oh, they had a guy come out and fix the roof the very next day, but he was on his own with the ceiling.

Knowing the types of people they were, he did not expect his 325 dollar security deposit back.

Getting up, he shuffled into the bathroom on bare feet, scratching his butt as he went. Without turning the light on, he kicked out of his briefs, took a piss, and jumped in the shower. He stuck his head under the spray and let the hot water gradually thaw his tired brain. It was Mom's birthday and after work, he needed to run to Wal-Mart and get her gift because he totally forgot. What kind of asshole forgets his own mother's birthday? The kind of asshole who forgets his own birthday, that's who. The only birthday he remembered was Lynn's. November 6. Well...maybe remember wasn't the best word here. He knew everyone's birthday, but caught in the rushing river that is life, he lost track of time and important dates sprang out at him like jack in the boxes (or is that jacks in the box?).

Being a grown up was strange.

Cutting the spray, he got out, dried off, and dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. He threw on a denim jacket, made sure he had everything he needed for the day, and left. His car, a battered 2018 Toyota, was parked in the trash-strewn alley running behind the buildings fronting Main. Rats darted between piles of garbage, and a homeless man dug through a dumpster for either something to sell or something to eat.

The drive to Mom's Diner took five minutes. He parked on the side of the building (naturally a converted rail car coated in chrome) and went inside. A lunch counter flanked one wall and a line of booths stood along the plate-glass window overlooking the parking lot. As always, the place was slammed with customers and the waitresses ran between the tables and the order window like marathon sprinters on speed. The boss, and older man named Marv with hairy forearms and a pug nose, filled mugs with coffee and sat them in front of hungry truckers. "Bout time you showed up," he grumbled in Lincoln's general direction. Lincoln darted his eyes to the clock on the wall.

He was early.

In the kitchen, Lincoln hung his jacket from the rack near the batwing doors, pulled on an apron, and went over to the sink, where a crazy jumble of dirty dishes awaited.

Alright, he thought, six hours until I see Lynn.

Let's do it.

---

Lynn Loud crossed her arms and watched the bloodshed, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. A girl cried out and dropped to the scuffed floor. A boy took a round to the guts and flew back against the wall. Another girl ducked one projectile but caught another with her face; Lynn could swear it knocked drops of slobber from her lips, but her eyesight wasn't the best. The optometrist said she needed glasses. Ha. That wasn't going to happen.

She took a deep whiff through her nose and let it slowly out through her mouth. She loved the smell of dodgeball in the afternoon. It smelled like...victory.

It was half past one and murky light streamed through the transom windows, making the gym floor shimmer. This was Lynn's last class of the day, and her thrill at seeing Lincoln was tempered with sadness because she loved her job. She loved whipping kids into shape, she loved spreading the Good News of physical exercise, she even loved drinking half-warm coffee in the teacher's lounge. Growing up, she never imagined her being a teacher of any kind. She was going to be a pro basketball player or the first woman to make an NFL team. For a while, she even considered UFC or professional wrestling.

All kids have big dreams, though. Most of them don't come true and most people come to terms with that fairly early on. She was not a famous wrestler or center guard, and she was okay with that. Some people might nurse their broken dreams like a drunk nursing a gin and tonic, but not her. Her life didn't turn out the way she expected it to when she was thirteen, but life rarely does. She had a great job she could see herself being happy with until she was old and gray, her car wasn't expensive, but it ran well and didn't have any major issues, she had enough money and decent benefits, and she was in love with her best friend. Really, the only problem she had in life was that her boyfriend was also her brother.

That wasn't really a problem as far as she was concerned - she was AOK with it - but it was a problem with virtually everyone else. It was such a problem, in fact, that they couldn't even get married.

Marriage was not something Lynn ever envisioned for herself, but here she was, twenty-eight and longing to marry her brother. Marriage is really a symbol and little more. Sure, you file joint taxes and get other special benefits, but it really wasn't that big a deal. At least that's what she used to think. Symbolic or not, she wanted to marry Lincoln. She wanted his ring on her finger and to be bound with him forever in a way that only a woman can be bound to her betrothed.

That couldn't happen.

Brothers and sisters are not allowed to wed. They aren't even allowed to be lovers.

Wasn't that some bullshit? She could go to jail just for being with Lincoln. Land of the free my ass. She pretended that she didn't care whether or not their relationship was legal, but secretly, she did. She cared a lot. She loved him with every fiber of her being and the thought that they could be torn apart and put in jail for just loving each other made her want to cry.

And Lynn hated crying.

Lincoln wanted them to come out of the closet, so to speak, but it was too risky.

Let's just tell Mom and Dad, he suggested.

She was against that idea too, but she'd been turning it over and over in her mind for months and...she didn't know, okay? Hers and Lincoln's relationship was a jangled mess of lies, secrecy, lawbreaking, and taboos...so many taboos. It was confusing, frustrating, and beautiful, and though hiding their love and constantly worrying about being arrested for what they were doing, she wouldn't trade it for the world. Their hardships weren't his fault (or hers, for that matter). The problem lie with everyone else and their stupid laws. What did it matter to them if a brother and sister fell in love. Oh, it's yucky. Fuck you, your face is yucky, you don't see me trying to outlaw it. What she and Lincoln did or didn't do was no one's business but their own. Why couldn't people mind their own business? Why couldn't people just fuck the hell off?

Because of them, she couldn't have a normal life. She would never get to have her dream wedding, she would never get to introduce Lincoln to people as my husband, she would always be on guard and afraid that she'd lose him.

Now she felt like crying again.

Getting hold of herself, she turned her attention back to the eight graders currently massacring each other on the battlefield. Bodies littered the ground, some dead and others dying, and a few of the weaker kids had abandoned the game to sit on the bleachers. Lynn frowned at them, considering blowing her whistle and making them rejoin, but ultimately decided against it. She loved sports and exercise and wanted to share it with the boys and girls of Royal Woods Middle, but she wasn't so overzealous that she would make a bunch of awkward and ashtmatic geeks hurt themselves over it. She believed that everyone could, and should, be active but everyone has their limits. That's something Lincoln taught her. She used to try and make him work out with her but he couldn't keep up. She grudgingly accepted that not everyone can run a marathon, take a flying tackle, and run around in circles without dying of a heart attack, and did her best to keep that in mind when she dealt with her students.

When the bell rang, everyone picked up the equipment and put it away, then hit the showers. The boys' locker room and the girl's locker room were across the gym from each other, making it impossible for any, ahem, funny business, and once the kids had all disappeared into one or the other, Lynn sat on the bleachers with a clipboard and graded their performance. So far, she had never flunked a student but a few came close. Thankfully, all of the kids in her current classes were decent enough that none were in danger of failing. There were a couple fatsos but even they weren't too bad. Don't tell anyone this, but gym teachers have more latitude than other instructors. Some were rigid, like her own middle school gym teacher, and others were more lax. She fell into the latter category even though anyone who knew her would assume she was part of the former. Physical fitness was more important now than ever, with America's rising obesity rates, but she wasn't so far up her own ass that she would give kids Fs for not being perfect.

Come to think of it, maybe she was too lax.

After all of the boys and girls were freshly showered and on their way, Lynn stashed her clipboard in her tiny office off the basketball court and made her way to the teacher's lounge. An expectant hush lay over the hall and outside, buses lined up at the curb. In the breakroom, Phil Jackson, the biology teacher, and Amanda Morgan, the French teacher, chatted as they each made themselves a cup of coffee. When Lynn came in, Phil grinned. "I heard you killed another one today."

"I tried," Lynn said and grabbed a styrofoam cup.

That morning, a girl named Cassie Daniels sprained her ankle while running laps. With her glasses, frizzy hair, and explosive acne, Cassie was one of those awkward and asmatic types. She had long arms and legs, so you'd expect her to be a good runner at the very least, but the big man upstairs cursed her with two left feet, and she fell so often that if she did it three more times, she'd get her next spill for free. Lynn wasn't paying close attention when Cassie pulled her latest blunder, but Cassie someone tangled her feet and hit the floor so hard that her glasses came off and skidded away. Lynn could understand being out of shape and not being able to keep up, but how do you trip over nothing at all?

"Try harder next time," Phil said, "the state pays more for dead students than maimed ones." He finished his coffee, tossed the cup into the trash, and left.

Lynn added cream and sugar.

"Sometimes I think that poor girl is cursed," Amanda said. "Last week, she randomly fell out of her chair." Her brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't think I've ever seen that happen."

"Duct tape will fix that right up," Lynn pointed out.

Amanda laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

The final bell of the day rang five minutes later, and Lynn made her way through the crowded hall. Her office was crammed with sports equipment, metal lockers and filing cabinets, and stacks of folding tables and chairs that only came out for prom, graduation, and basketball games. A narrow path led to her desk, and she had to turn sideways to navigate it. She dropped into her ancient swivel chair with a sigh, whipped out her phone, and swiped her thumb across the screen.

She had a text from Lincoln.

A simple red heart.

Lynn smiled broadly, parked her elbows on the edge of the desk, and texted back. Love you too Sinkcoln. When do you get off?

Less than a minute later: Tonight when you come over.

She snorted. You know what I meant.

Half hour.

K. See you at Mom's.

She jammed the phone back into the pocket of her gym shorts, finished off the last few grade sheets leftover from final period, then left, snapping the light off as she went. The only people she met on her way out were a few secretaries in the office and the janitor, a fat man with a mullet. She pushed through a side door and went out into the employee parking lot behind the building. The murky afternoon light was already beginning to fade, and the air held a wet chill that instantly soaked into her bones. Because being a gym teacher was a lifestyle more than it was a simple vocation, Lynn always wore short sleeve shirts and shorts, even in the dead of winter. She had never seen a gym teacher dress in anything else and she refused to break its proudest and most visible traditions. The moment she was off school grounds, though, she was putting on a jacket and a pair of pants. Bundling up was okay on one's off time, but never while on the clock. No exceptions.

Fishing out her keyfob, she pressed the OPEN button, slid in behind the wheel, and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine caught smoothly and purred like a big cat, and the radio popped on with Sharyl Crow's "Soak Up the Sun." Lynn craned her neck to look up at the leaden cloud cover. Fitting, she thought. Now if Lincoln was here, it'd be different, because he was her sun.

God, that sounded cheesy.

Lynn backed out of her spot, swung the car around, and guided it to the exit. In her day (which wasn't all that long ago but totally felt like it was), the middle school was on Schoolhouse Road in town. Five years ago, with the consolidation of the Royal Woods and Pine Mills School Districts, however, the old RCMS building suddenly became too small. The new one sat on the corner of Route 13 and Kings Highway south of town. To its left, the athletic field was bordered by a stand of pine forest, and on the right, a steep hill led down to the gravel shoulder trimming Kings Highway. Across Route 13, trees pressed close to the edge of the road, their boughs budding with the first strains of green life. Lynn turned right and stopped at the Citgo on the corner opposite the school. She used her debit card, filled the tank, and was on her way in five minutes flat.

Now to get Mom's present.

Like Lincoln, she hadn't gotten Mom anything yet. Unlike Lincoln, it wasn't because she forgot; it was because she had no idea what to buy. She asked several times, but Mom just waved her hand and gave noncommittal responses like Oh, anything's fine, I'm not picky. Mom wasn't a materialistic person and showed hardly any interest in things. She rarely expressed interest in clothing, housewares, or technology; she didn't read very much (though she did enjoy the occasion John Grisham paperback); she wasn't a cinephile; and she didn't have any unique passions. She watched television, read magazines, slept, and went to work. She did write fiction, but what can you buy for a writer? She typed on her laptop, so she didn't need paper or pens; she saved her work to the Cloud, so she didn't use USB cards or anything. She knew Mom like the back of her own hand, but was always flummoxed when the holidays rolled around. Most times, she just went to the store and walked around until she happened across something she thought Mom would like. This year, however, she already knew what she was getting.

It came to her last night in a not so rare stroke of inspiration as she lay awake with an upset stomach from too many spicy burritos. A foot bath. Or whatever you call them. You know, the little plastic gigs you fill with water and soak your dogs in after a long day. They shoot jets of water and vibrate and whatever else. When Lynn felt like crap, she either took a hot shower or sat in a hot bath. I wish I had one of those foot thingies, she thought, and boom, it hit her. Oh, that's what I'll get for Mom.

She pulled into the big parking lot fronting Wal-Mart fifteen minutes after leaving work and went inside. She didn't know where they kept their foot stuff and after wandering around like a little girl lost in the woods, she found an employee in a blue vest to point her in the right direction. She got two, one for Mom and one for herself, and carried them to the self checkout because none of the others were open, but of course they weren't, because this is Wal-Mart.

After another quick stop at Burpin' Burger (even gym teachers love the greasy goodness of a Burpin' Junior bacon cheeseburger), Lynn pulled into the driveway of 1216 Franklin Avenue. The moment she saw Lincoln's car parked next to Vanzilla, her heart leapt into her throat and she felt warm and tingly all over. She cut the engine, got out, and fetched Mom's present from the back seat. Damn, she forgot wrapping paper. Seriously? How could she just walk out of the store without wrapping paper?

Ugh, whatever. Any other time, she would have run back to Wally World and rectified her mistake, but right now, Lincoln was inside waiting on her, and he probably really wanted to see her. She couldn't let him down.

Also...she really wanted to see him too.

Shoving the box under one arm, she went up the walkway and climbed the stairs. She tried the handle, and it turned easily in her hand.

Dad sat in his recliner with a can of beer wedged between his legs and the remote resting in his lap. On TV, a TLC film crew followed a woman through a house piled with junk. "Every piece of what you call trash is a precious memory to me."

"Hey, hun," Dad said.

"Hey," Lynn replied. She walked over, plucked his beer away, and took a long drink.

"Long day?" he asked knowingly.

Lynn handed the can back to him. "I almost had a student die on me today."

Dad blinked. "Oh, my God, what happened?"

"She sprained her ankle. Now I'm sure everyone thinks I'm some kind of Nazi who pushes kids past the breaking point." She chuckled softly at the image of her in SS fetish gear and slapping kids with a saddle crop as they ran past on a circular death march. Faster for ze Fuhrer!

Dad visibly relaxed. "That's not so bad. I thought someone had a heart attack."

Thank God for small favors. Kids dropping dead of heart attacks did happen sometimes. Though to be fair, she had never heard of it happening to a random fat kid in gym class. It was usually athletes falling during practice.

Leaving Dad alone with Hoarders, Lynn went off in search of Mom, finding her in the kitchen frosting her own cake while Lily, Lisa, and Lana sat at the table eating ice cream. "Oh, hi, honey," Mom said. She wiped her hands on a dry dish towel and took a step back to admire her handiwork. "You're just in time for cake."

"They made you do this yourself?" Lynn asked and hooked an accusatory thumb at her sisters.

"We attempted to render our assistance," Lisa said, "but our mother insisted on doing it herself."

Yeah, that sounded like Mom alright. She was the kind of woman who enjoyed homemaking. She was a feminist (one of the good ones, not one of those blue-haired man-hating lesbians) and valued having her indepedence and her own money, but she also liked bustling around the kitchen, baking, and taking care of her family.

Her passion for housewifery was relatively new and had only come about, Lynn noticed, after her children started leaving home. Oh, she was a good and loving mother beforehand, don't get me wrong, but for years, she worked long hours at a dentist's office and often brought files home with her to work on in her office. She and Dad both busted their asses to provide and neither one was able to slow down until they didn't have eleven mouths to feed. Lynn thought that Mom's newfound love for domesticity was both a subconscious form of Empty Nest Syndrome and a genuine interest because it was new. She had been a working woman her whole life. She'd done that song and dance a million times over and was probably tired of it. Wearing an apron and pinching cheeks was a change of pace, so once she got the chance to step back from the 9-5 grind and do it, she embraced it.

"Where's Lincoln?" Lynn asked.

"Upstairs," Mom said, "he's going through boxes in the attic, I think."

On leaving home, each Loud kid left things behind. Mom packed them into cardboard boxes and stored them in the attic. Most of the stash consisted of toys and old clothing that could, and should, be thrown away, but Mom liked to hang onto stuff. She was a lot like that woman on Hoarders. "Each piece of trash is a special memory to me." Maybe Dad watched that show so that he could understand his wife a little better.

The other day, Lincoln mentioned wanting to look through his things, partly out of nostalgia and partly because some of his comic books might be worth money. Lincoln, you see, was something of a collector as a kid. He bought comic books the way Lynn bought balls and never, ever parted with one. To the best of Lynn's knowledge, none of his comics were especially rare or valuable; they come off the rack at the comic book store, so none of them were, like, first editions from the fifties or anything. But who knew? Maybe he could make a little money off of them. Even if he only got a few bucks, well, that's a few bucks he didn't have before.

Lynn took her present into the dining room and sat it next to a neatly wrapped box of similar dimensions. On it was a bow and a tag. TO: MOM. FROM: LINCOLN. Huh. Wonder what Stincoln got her.

Upstairs, the accordion ladder leading to the attic was down. She climbed it, wincing at the way it creaked and bent beneath her weight, and pulled herself up on an exposed beam. Lincoln knelt over a box beneath the window, a bare bulb overhead providing muted light. Her heartbeat sped up a little and her middle pinched. How long had it been since she and Lincoln did it? A few days? It felt more like a few months, and as soon as they got back to his place, she was going to jump his bones and break every single one. "Looking for your gay porn stash?" she asked.

"No, just Backdoor Boys 16," Lincoln said dryly.

She snorted.

His sense of humor had always been a metaphorical turn on.

Walking over, she got down on her knees beside him and leaned in to kiss his cheek. He turned at the last second, and their noses brushed. A warm tingle started in her toes and spread through her body and the taste of his warm breath filling her mouth made her core ripple. She tilted her head and they kissed deeply, Lincoln's hands going to her hips and her cupping his cheeks. Their tongues swirled in lazy relish and Lincoln slowly stroked his hands up and down Lynn's sides, his warm touch making her loins quiver. She broke from his lips and pressed her forehead to his. "We better stop," she panted, "I'm getting horny."

"That's the point," Lincoln said and pecked her lips.

She laughed and got up. "Not now it's not. You almost done with this?"

"Almost," Lincoln said. "I know I have Issue 978 in here and Issue 978 goes for a hundred bucks on eBay."

Lynn crossed her arms over her chest. "That much?" she asked.

"Depending on what kind of shape it's in, I could even charge 150."

For a comic book? Alright then. Lynn got being into stuff but who in their right mind is going to pay 150 bucks for a comic? If it was Issue 1 or 2, okay, but what was so special about Issue 978? Did someone die? Did one of the female characters have a nip slip?

While Lincoln searched for his lost comic, Lynn wandered aimlessly through the attic and poked through boxes and totes, looking for nothing in particular. In a shadowy corner, she came across a decaying box marked POP-POP.

Five years ago, Pop-Pop passed away at eighty-one: He flipped his Corvette at Bike Week after beating a bunch of kids in a drag race. Mom and Dad wound up with his most personal possessions while his will called for everything else to be donated to the Salvation Army. Lynn opened the flaps, and on top was a framed photo of him and Grandma on their wedding day. She wore a white dress and he wore a white tuxedo jacket with black trim, ruffles, and a black bowtie. Both of them smiled for the camera, and the happiness in their eyes touched Lynn deeply.

That's what she wanted with Lincoln.

Her chest pinched with loss and she drew a deep, dejected sigh.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped. "What'cha got there?" Lincoln asked. He took the photo and smiled at it. "Look at Pop-Pop's clothes. Jeez, the seventies sucked."

Lynn slipped her arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.. "They look really happy," she said glumly.

Noticing her tone, Lincoln circled his arm around her shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She pursed her lips because all at once, she felt like crying. What she had with Lincoln was so beautiful, so pure, so goddamn amazing...but they were siblings. There was always that fucking word getting in their way. Siblings. What was delicate and lovely to her, like a blossoming flower, was grotesque and hateful to everyone else. She had to tiptoe around because if they knew about her and Lincoln, people would hate them. They'd make jokes about them. They'd grind hers and Lincoln's flower beneath their bootheel. Lincoln was special to her, sacred to her, and she wanted to shou her joy from the rooftops like any woman in love. She couldn't, though. She had to hide it from the world like a dirty little secret. She had to go through her every day feeling like a liar and a fraud because she couldn't be open about something as basic as who she loved and why.

If she thought about it too much, she would either cry or get so angry she'd rage like Chris Chan trying to get everything about his house off the internet. A lump formed in her throat and a warm flush spread across her face. Tears tickled the backs of her eyes and she blinked them away. Lincoln ran his fingers through her hair and she swallowed hard. "What is it?" he pressed.

"It's nothing," she said, "I'm just...I'm sick of how we have to hide...us...from everyone and I'm.." her lips were quivering now and if she kept going, she'd lose control. "I wanna marry you and I can't."

A sad frown traced Lincoln's lips and he darted his eyes to the floor. "I do too," he said honestly, "but that can't happen. You know that."

She did, but hearing him say so plunged a dagger into her heart anyway. "Yeah," she managed.

"It's really not…" Lincoln trailed off, visibly trying and failing to come up with a way to phrase what he was going to say. "Marriage is more than rings and dresses," he went on. "It's about two people loving one another and dedicating their lives to each other. As far as I'm concerned, we're happily married and always will be."

Lynn sighed. "It's just not the same."

"Maybe," he allowed, "but we can't legally marry."

"We can still have a priest marry us."

"That's not the same either," Lincoln said, then clarified, "as a lawful marriage."

"I don't care," Lynn retorted, "it's something."

Lincoln considered her words.

Before he could respond, Lana's voice drifted through the hatchway. "Come on! You guys are missing cake!"

Lincoln hugged Lynn close and kissed her forehead. "I love you, Lynn. And I want to be with you forever. Marriage or not."

"I love you too," she said. She really did love him, but there was no conviction in her voice. The momentary anger had drained away, leaving her empty, now she was just tired. She pulled away from Lincoln and climbed down the latter. She did not see the pained expression on his face, nor did she see the resolve in his eyes.

Later on, after the cake was eaten and the presents open, Lynn followed Lincoln back to his apartment. Full night had fallen and the stars twinkled overhead like tiny jewels. Lincoln parked in the alley behind his building and Lynn parked in the lot next door. She could look out Lincoln's bedroom window and see it, not that she checked on it every five minutes; only every once in a while. Royal Woods was small and not plagued by the same exorbitant crime that battered Detroit to the south, but it wasn't as safe and sleepy as it had been when she was a kid. The economic downturn during the COVID-19 outbreak had shuttered many businesses and driven countless townspeople, some of whom had once contributed greatly to the local economy, from their homes. Property values plummeted and the influx of low-income tenants from surrounding cities had brought more drugs, more poverty, and more crime. Neighborhoods that were clean and middle class when Lynn was in middle school were now grimy, dimly lit, and stewing. That was the only word she could think of: Stewing. There was a certain tension in the air that she could not name or fully comprehend, and when she passed through, the natives looked at her with shifty-eyed suspicion.

So far, no one had ever tried to steal her car, but she wasn't about to let her guard down and leave it in a dark, dank alley out of sight, a big, metaphorical bow wrapped around it. Beep, beep, come and jack me, I have power steering and heated seats! Her apartment was on the other side of town, where all the streetlights worked and the worst crime in recent memory was the paperboy taking out old Mrs. Johnson's front window with a Sunday edition. Man, those things are thick. How many coupons can you fit in a single fucking newspaper, huh?

Leaning over the dash panel, Lynn disabled the starter so that the engine wouldn't turn over no matter how much a wouldbe carjacker fiddled with it, made sure anything even remotely valuable was out of sight so as not to entice a passing Grand Theft Auto: Real Life enthusiast, and got out, double checking to make sure the doors were locked. She opened the truck, grabbed a duffle bag filled with clothes, shampoo, soap, and everything else she needed to look and smell her best, and carried it upstairs. She kicked the door closed behind her and took her bag into the bedroom, where she dropped it on the bed. The bathroom door stood ajar, and the soft hiss of the shower drifted out. Lynn instinctively sniffed the air, and the bold scent of Lincoln's body wash filled her nose.

You know...she could use a shower herself.

Lynn kicked her shoes off, yanked her shirt over her head, and pulled her shorts down her legs, letting them drop to her ankles in a tangle. She stepped out of them, tugged her socks off, and walked into the bathroom, the cool air raking goosebumps over her naked body. Steam curled around her like the hand of a phantom lover and her middle twinged with excitement. Lincoln was a blurry, indistinct shape on the curtain, and Lynn bit her bottom lip in expectation. She pulled the curtain aside and stepped in, warm water splashing under her feet.

Lincoln's back was to her, water sluicing down his toned back and butt. She admired the view for a long time, then threw her arms around him from behind. "Gang way, Stinkoln," she said, "I want some water too."

Obedient like the cute little puppy he was, Lincoln switched her spots. Water pounded down on her face and chest, and she whipped her head away. This happened every time; he was so tall that the perfect height for him was a drowning for her. She reached up, adjusted the head, and wetted her hair. She realized she forgot her shampoo in her bag and cursed herself. Guess she'd just have to use his. She squirted some into her palm and massaged it into her hair. Lincoln lathered his hands with bodywash and ran them over her back, tracing the outline of her shoulder blades with his fingers and sending electric shivers down her spine. He squeezed her butt cheeks and she jumped. "Cut it out," she laughed. "I'm trying to get clean."

This time, he didn't obey, just as she had hoped. He put his hands on her hips and kissed the side of her throat. "Why?" he asked. "We're just going to get dirty in a few minutes anyway."

"You think?" she asked.

"I know," he retorted. "You can't resist this."

His erection prodded her butt crack.

"I can totally resist that," she said.

"Oh?"

She hummed. "I just don't want to."

They faced each other and kissed slowly, Lincoln kneading her breast and Lynn stroking his cock. It was hot and firm to the touch, throbbing with every beat of his heart. Lincoln dipped his hand between her legs and she parted her thighs to give him easier access. He brushed his middle finger over her clit and her heart slammed into overdrive like it did every time Lincoln touched her there.

Eventually, they shut off the water, dried each other off, and got out. Lincoln scooped her up like a groom carrying his bride across the threshold, and she let out a surprised squeal. "Don't drop me!"

"I won't," Lincoln promised.

"You sure, noodle arms?"

He looked down at her, and their gazes met. Lynn's heart raced and her body smoldered. Lincoln wasn't the strongest man alive, but she still felt safe in his arms, and the love in his eyes reassured her. He wouldn't drop her. He wouldn't do anything to hurt her. He loved her as much as she loved him and he meant it when he said he wanted to spend his life with her. He leaned in and kissed her lips, his tongue sensually massaging hers. "I'm sure," he said.

Lynn could only beam. No one and nothing made her as happy as Lincoln. He was the reason she didn't care about not becoming a pro ball player. He was the reason she was content to stay right here in Royal Woods and teach gym class. She liked her job but it was Lincoln she loved, and as long as she had him, she would be happy anywhere doing anything, even waiting tables like she did in college (and she hated waiting tables). If she could come home to him at the end of every day, she would wait tables until she was eighty.

In the bedroom, Lincoln laid her carefully on the bed and mounted her, his knees caging her hips and locking her in place. He ran his fingers through her hair and gazed his lips over hers, the taste of his warm breath sweet and intoxicating. He slid his hips slightly forward and her stickly lower lips curled around his tip. His heat broke over her in sickening waves, and her breath caught in her throat. She wiggled beneath him, and his rod flicked her clit, making her jump. She buried her heels deep into the mattress in anticipation of being penetrated and the movement drew him to her opening. He ran his thumb lovingly over the ridge of her cheekbone. "I love you, Lynn," he said in a revenant whisper. It came not as a simple declaration but as a sacred vow. He was not expressing his emotion and much as he was promising her his heart, his body, and his future.

Lynn tilted her head to the side and pressed her lips to his, breathing his air and reveling in the toe-curling sensation of his dick poised at her entrance, one thrust away from filling her entirely. "I love you too, Lincoln," she said.

He kissed her and sank himself into her with one smooth, gentle motion. Her rippling walls wrapped themselves greedily around his shaft, and her muscles clamped, knocking the air from both of their lungs. She pressed her knees to his hips and hugged him close, his skin hot and soft. He angled himself just so and when he thrusted again, his dick hit her G-Spot. Waves of pleasure rocked her body, and she dug her nails into his back to keep from blowing away on tides of nirvana. Lincoln pressed her forehead to hers and thrusted again, and again, volts of electricity shot through her. This time, her back arched off the bed and her body pulled him all the way to her limit. A ragged, "Fuck," burst from her lips, and Lincoln buried his face in her neck, his teeth nipping her flesh and his wet lips sucking her aching pulse.

No matter how much she made love with Lincoln, it always felt like the first time. She was fifteen, he was thirteen. It started with playful teasing that somehow turned to flirting, even though neither one of them realized it at the time. It was her idea to practice their kissing on each other. She said she was nervous that she wouldn't be any good when the time came, and that practice was the only way to get good at something. Maybe she really believed that, or maybe she wanted an excuse to kiss her brother...to see if it could quell the strange fluttery feelings he stoked in her stomach. They sat in the middle of her bed, burning with shame and adolescent excitement, and leaned hesitantly into one another.

She liked it.

And so did he.

Their playful teasing increased and so too did their exploration of one another's bodies. She let him feel her boob and she fondled him through his pants. Once, when Lucy was staying at a friend's house, she sneaked him into her room. She took her shirt off and let him rub lotion on her naked back and breasts. In return, she played with him through his underwear, marveling at the way his bulge grew in its cotton prison. She tugged them down and it sprang out like a fleshy, spring-loaded snake from a can of gag peanuts. She ran her hand over it, feeling its shape and girth, and Lincoln's face burned fire-truck red. To this day, she could see his narrowed eyes and parted lips in her mind. Turned on, she stroked faster, her breathing heavy and her small breast jiggling with the crashing of her heart. He grew hotter, fuller, bigger, and his breath caught with a panicked hitch, "Stop, I'm gonna cum."

Oh, but that was the point. She had never seen a boy cum before and had very little idea how it worked. She pulled faster and watched him swell.

Then he erupted.

Ribbons of hot, sticky jizz shot out and hit her stomach and the front of her shorts. Her jaw dropped in surprise and the corners of her mouth turned up in a sharp smile.

That was hot.

A week later, she put it in her mouth for the first time. Then, three weeks after that, she slipped into his room after midnight. They often made out before bed, but this time, he touched her just right and she couldn't take the pressure building in her loins any longer. She straddled him, pinned his wrists above his head, and sank herself onto him. She was a virgin and didn't know what to expect; she let nature lead her, and the moment he parted her body, the strongest mixture of pain and pleasure cracked over her like a peal of thunder.

It was still like that. Not as intense because her body was used to him, but when he rutted her, she suddenly became a fifteen year old virgin again. She blushed, she panted, she moaned at the feeling of his dick mating her sensitive womb.

They reached their peak together, and at the last moment, Lincoln pulled out and finished on her stomach, leaving her body cold and lonely like ashes after the fire. She moaned in frustration even as her orgasm hit her, and snapped her thighs closed because she couldn't get pregnant. God forbid she have a love child with the man she adored.

For a while, Lincoln cuddled her and she stared blankly at the wall, her eyes filling with inexplicable tears and her lips quaking. She hated this. She hated that they couldn't get married, hated that they couldn't have a baby. In her heart of hearts, she knew why they couldn't do either one, but she hated it anyway. She wanted to be pregnant with Lincoln's child, to give birth to a little boy or girl who would stand as an enduring testament to their love and devotion. She wanted a family with him, a life with him. Nothing special, nothing perfect...something totally fucking normal.

Something they could never have.

She sniffed and Lincoln held her tighter. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she croaked. She didn't want to saddle him with her emotions. What would he say? The same thing he had been saying for years. And why? Why would he say it? Because it was right. It was true. They couldn't marry and they sure couldn't have a baby. It would come out deformed or sickly. It would come out wrong because what she and Lincoln had was wrong.

Lincoln kissed the back of her neck. "What is it?" he pressed.

She didn't mean to tell him...she wanted to keep it all inside and deal with it on her own, just like she had every other problem she'd ever encountered, but it was different with Lincoln. She couldn't hold anything back from him, nor did she want to. "I hate that we can't get married and have children," she said. Her voice was hollow, broken. It cracked on married and thickened at children. She drew a deep, fortifying breath through her nose and squeezed her eyes shut against a fresh crop of tears.

Lincoln sighed and kissed her shoulder. "I know," he confessed. "I know it sucks, Lynn. I wish I could give you better -"

"It's not your fault."

"It kind of is," he insisted. "If I wasn't so incredibly sexy and all-around amazing, you never would have fallen for me and you wouldn't feel this way."

His voice was so calm and sober that it took her a moment to realize he was joking, and when she did, she laughed until she cried, and then cried until she laughed. Lincoln smiled against her shoulder and placed a loving kiss on each one of her many freckles. "I love you," she said through her smile. Her sadness was not gone, but he was lessened, broken into smaller, more manageable bits. They would eventually come together like blood clots accumulating in an artery, but for right now, they didn't bother her one bit.

"Seriously," Lincoln said, "sometimes it's like...you know, I do feel guilty because I'm preventing you from having a normal life."

Lynn sighed. "Lincoln, that's not -"

"I know," Lincoln said, "but I can't help it, okay? If it wasn't me, you wouldn't feel like this."

Turning in his arms, Lynn laid her hand on his cheek. "No, I wouldn't feel like this. I wouldn't be happy and in love. I'd be...I don't know...hitting a ball somewhere and dreaming of the day I met someone like you."

Lincoln darted his eyes away and inhaled through his nose. "You'd find someone...and you'd have a normal life with him."

"I don't want a normal," Lynn said earnestly. "I want you."

"You do want normal," Lincoln said. "You want things I can't give you. If I was something else -"

Lynn pressed her thumb to his lips and he stopped talking. "I don't just want those things. I want them with you. I want them because I love you. I could pop anyone's kid but I don't want that. I want our baby. I want our marriage."

A look of hurt crossed Lincoln's face. "And we can't have those things."

She started to argue, but what could she say? He was right. He'd been right all along and he would continue to be didn't say this out loud because, hey, you never admit your weaknesses, but he was a lot smarter than she was, and a lot stronger emotionally. She was a slave to her heart and her gut, a creature of primal feeling who sometimes acted without thinking. Lincoln, on the other hand, thought ahead, even when he was angry or upset. She couldn't do that; she was a terminal hot-head and it was all too easy to lose herself in the moment. She understood the risks involved in letting Lincoln get her pregnant and had never done anything to intentionally get pregnant, but a few times, when they were having sex, the thought crossed her mind to wrap her legs around him and hold him in the place, and not doing it took far more strength than it should have.

"As long as I have you, it doesn't really matter," she said finally.

Was that true? Did those things really not matter?

No, she finally decided, they didn't, not in the grand scheme of things. The most important thing was that she had Lincoln. No, things weren't exactly easy, but oh well. Sometimes you have to suffer for the things you love.

"I love you, Lincoln," she said and favored him with a smile that was genuine despite its gloomy cast, "and I wouldn't trade what we have for anything."

Lincoln returned her smile and kissed her. "I love you too, Lynn."

They held each other close and stared into one another's eyes until drowsiness overcame them. Lynn buried her face in Lincoln's chest and, safe in his arms, drifted off to sleep.

For his part, Lincoln lay awake, and troubled, for a long time afterward.

---

Friday, May 29, a week after her mother's birthday, Lynn Loud stood in the middle of the gym with her arms crossed and supervised an army of kids as they prepared for prom. Boys carried tables and chairs in from Lynn's office and sat them up against the wall; girls stood on chairs and hung streamers made of blue crepe; the janitor strung a banner with gold writing over one of the basketball hoops while a black boy held the ladder; and teachers brought in trays of food, bowls of punch, and other sundries. The side door leading to the parking lot was propped open for easy access and a big guy with tattoos on his arms carried an amp in and set it up on the stage. Lynn stared at him, brow furrowed, and tried to place him. Was that the guy who used to work for Luna? The British dude who just vanished one day? He had a nose ring, didn't he? Nah, that wasn't him.

What's the deal with nose rings anyway? They're not hot and they're not cool. They make the people who wear them look like jackasses. Lucy had a septum piercing and every time she put her ring in, Lynn made fun of her. Finally, Lucy stopped wearing it, and years later admitted that Lynn was right. It did look kind of dumb. Ha, see that? Bullying works.

Not really. Don't bully people. That only goes for friends and people you care about. You know when you have loved one and they're doing stupid but they won't listen to you when you try to talk sense into them? Instead of that, just mercilessly make fun of them. Chances are, they'll get so fed up with your shit that they'll either change out of spite...or punch you in the face. Either one. Is your brother dating a bitch on wheels? Crack jokes about him being a simp and having small dick energy. Is your sister a needle junkie? Ask her if that's a syringe in her pocket or if she's just happy to see you.

That might not always work, but handling people with kid gloves and trying to preserve their feelings almost never works.

Then again, that was probably just her. In case you hadn't noticed, she was kind of proud, and if someone made fun of her for having a weak arm or something, she'd work her ass off to improve and show them that nope, her arm was strong like ox. She was so full of pride that if Lincoln started making fun of her for wanting a baby, she'd have her ovaries surgically removed then spike them to the floor right in front of them like a football. Boo-yah, bitch. No, no, she'd have her innie turned into an outie and surprise him with a little Sunday morning anal...with him as the bottom.

For the record, she wouldn't do either one of those things. If the man she loved, the man she counted on and confided in, made fun of her about something that close to her heart, she'd probably break down and cry. Luckily for her, Lincoln knew what to tease her about and what not to.

You know...she considered herself strong and capable, but she supposed even she had her limits. She hated thin-skinned snowflakes who couldn't take a joke and whined about being offended by dumb shit. She wanted to be as unlike those people as humanly possible. Even if a joke or a social media post offended her, she sucked it up and pretended otherwise. She'd laugh, slap that person's back, and ask for more just so they and everyone else knew she wasn't a soft little crybaby. But everybody has one or two things that really strike a nerve with them, don't they? She knew black people who loved racist humor until their race was the butt of the joke; she knew conservatives who laughed at how "triggered" liberals got over certain things, then lost their everloving minds over certain things in turn. She knew women who could shittalk men all day long, but went to pieces when men shittalked women.

Human beings are inherently selfish and hypocritical. Religion and social morality had long sought to curb this by imposing various punishments from banishment and alienation to the promise of hellfire and ultimate judgement. Society once demanded adherence to the rules. No, those rules were not perfect and it's not right to force people to act a certain way.

However, today's anything goes attitude, where people are encouraged to act on emotion and to do whatever they want, led to self-centeredness and hypocrisy on a scale not seen since, perhaps, the debauchery of the Roman Empire. Society had become a collection of warring tribes, each concerned only with its own goals and aims and not giving one half a shit about anyone else. Democrats care about people's feelings until those people are Republicans, independents, or even apolitical, then fuck them, they're against us because they're not emphatically with us. Republicans do the same. Blacks, gays, women, Christians, incels, rednecks - all of these groups have it in their heads that their plight is all-important because unity is only a facade. At its core, every group wanted to be on top and every movement eventually devolved into a supremacy movement.

There's only so much room at the top and no one is concerned with true equality. Communists might want unity among the races, but they will refuse unity of philosophy. You have to be a commie to have power just like you have to be a straight white male in certain areas or from a rich family in others. There will always be an oppressor and there will always be an oppressed. It was the way of the world. Today blacks might be oppressed, but tomorrow it will be Christians, or whites, or people from the west coast, or people who vote a certain way (or who don't vote at all). It's like a game of hot potato. One day, it will be your turn. Or your children's turn. Or your great great great great great great great grandchildre's turn.

Where the hell was she again?

Oh, right.

She understood the innate hypocrisy in calling someone a snowflake when they're hurt/upset/offended by something, but justifying your own outrage. She did her goddamnest to not be offended by anything, but she was only human.

And that was her biggest problem. Human beings are emotional creatures whether you want to admit it or not, and sometimes they want things that they can't - or shouldn't - have.

The way Lynn wanted to marry her brother.

She knew it couldn't happen, okay? She knew it like she knew her own freaking name, but that didn't stop her from thinking about it, didn't stop the pangs of need from cutting through her stomach. She tried to tell herself that she wanted it simply because she couldn't have it, but she didn't think that was it. The forbidden is always attractive, even if subconsciously so. Tell a child that they can't have something and they'll yearn for it all the more because of it. She tried to convince herself that she wanted marriage with Lincoln for the same reason. If no one had told her she couldn't do it, she'd probably wouldn't have thought twice about it.

But try as she might, she couldn't lie to herself. She didn't want marriage just to have it. She wanted marriage because she loved Lincoln. Marriage on its own is...well, just a thing, like anything else. It gives you perks but not enough that she was over the moon about rushing into it for its own sake. Wow! If I marry Randy Rando, we can file joint taxes! I can't wait! Lincoln said that marriage was just a piece of paper and a symbol, and he was right, but the older she got, the more that symbol and that piece of paper meant to her. It was dumb, she realized that, bu emotions are dumb things and most of us - all of us - fall victim to them from time to time. The trick is to resist. If you don't, if you give into your stupid feelings, you'll wind up as one of those people who laugh at liberals seething over someone not capitalizing "black" but seethe because, say, someone drew a picture or wrote a story you didn't like. You'll look, and sound, like an even bigger retard because you're doing the exact same thing you stand so ardently against...and expecting to be respected and taken seriously.

Across the gym, the guy who reminded her of Luna's old roadie (but wasn't) busied himself running wires across the stage. Another guy set up a drum kit and a woman who looked like an aged groupie in her leopard print leggings and pounds of make-up chattered with a man sporting a gloriously eighties style perm. What kind of band did the prom committee hire? Didn't they know that Bon Jovi was out? Probably not. She didn't know who exactly was on the committee, but she did know that the bulk of it was made up by teachers and administrators who were older than her. In fact, a few had been here when Lynn was in school.

This was going to be the lamest prom ever.

Dance, she corrected herself. It wasn't prom. Prom was high school. She knew the difference but with all the to-do, she'd been thinking a lot of her senior prom.

She didn't go.

At the time, she rolled her eyes and waved it off as dumb. Getting all dressed up (in a freaking dress of all things) and dancing (which she couldn't do) sounded like the gayest thing ever. Only now, years later, did she realize that the main reason she felt that way was because she couldn't bring Lincoln. She really thought dressing up and dancing was stupid, but if she could have done it with Lincoln, it wouldn't have been so bad. In fact, it may even have been nice. There was a part of her that regretted not going, but there was another part of her that was glad she didn't, because what was the point of something like that when you couldn't be with the one you loved? Prom was supposed to be a night of fun and romance, but without Lincoln, it would be neither fun nor romantic.

Instead of going to her senior prom, Lynn stayed home with Lincoln and watched TV. She did not regret that decision one bit. She just wished she could have brought him.

Lynn drew a deep sigh. The tables were all set up and the decorations were in place. In a few short hours, the lights would go down and the music would begin. Shy, pimply, and awkward middle schoolers would stand along the walls with cups of cheap punch that someone probably spiked and stare uneasily at each other for ninety minutes before going home and feeling sorry for themselves for not being brave enough to ask the boy or girl they liked to dance. It would be maximum cringe and Lynn was glad she wouldn't be here to see it.

Her phone buzzed and she took it out of her pocket.

Lincoln. Are you coming over tonight?

I was thinking of it, Lynn said, even though she had already made up her mind.

You should. I have something special for you.

Oh? He did?

She responded with a question mark, and he hit her back with a smirking emoji.

Alright, she said, I'll be there.

She was going to be there anyway, but now she was excited.

Hopefully it was sex.

Lynn loved sex with Lincoln.

---

Friday was Lincoln's day off. Normally, he would have woken up late, eaten dry cereal like an overgrown toddler waiting for its parents to get out of bed, and play video games for a few hours before running whatever errands he had to run (and one thing about being an adult, there were always errands to run). Today, however, he rolled out of bed just before nine'o'clock and shambled into the bathroom half-alive. Lately, his ears rang when he was tired, and right now, it sounded like Notre freaking Dame. He looked it up online, thinking it was tinnitus, and WebMD told him he had eardrum cancer. Better pick what color lining you want in your coffin, Linc, cuz you're fucked. It didn't actually say that, but you know it is. You look up some minor symptom on the internet and next thing you know, some website is convincing you that you have Lou Gehrig's Disease.

Stripping out of his clothes, Lincoln pulled aside the curtain, turned the water on, and adjusted it to his liking. He climbed in, dunked his head under the spray, and reached for his body wash.

Outside, he looked like he always did - scrawny and white-haired - but inside, he was in turmoil. Was he making the right decision? Was he doing the right thing?

That question had been richochetting through his mind for days, and he was no closer to answering it.

Another question occurred to him: Where do we go from there?

Again, he did not know. This was uncharted territory, territory that he had visualized often but had never actually seen, and you know what? He was fucking terrified. He didn't know what lay ahead and realized that he had been putting this off not for Lynn, as he had been telling himself for years, but for himself. He was thinking of her, but he was thinking more of himself.

He didn't want to do this.

But it had to do it, and not just for Lynn. He, too, was tired of living a lie.

Done, he cut the water, dried off, and dressed in a pair of jeans and a maroon sweater. He pulled his socks and shoes on, shrugged into his jacket, and left. Outside, the air was warm and heavy with the stench of garbage rotting in the alley below. He wrinkled his nose and sighed heavily as he locked the door behind him. There was a Chinese place across the way, and everyday, the old man who owned it would lean out the back door and toss a bag of trash at the nearby dumpster. Sometimes they made it in, sometimes they didn't. Yesterday, he flung the bag and it slammed into the dumpster's rusted side, whereupon it exploded. Scraps of food, dirty napkins, and god only knew what else were strewn across the ground. It would most likely be there for days or even weeks to come. God, he dreaded summer, because in summer, the bags became a haven for flies and maggots.

Lincoln hated maggots.

His first stop of the day was the McDonald's on Route 29, where he sat at a table by the bathrooms and ate an Egg McMuffin and a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich on a bagel. McDonald's fucking ruled but he rarely came out this way, so he didn't get to have it very often. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure he hadn't had breakfast here in at least ten years. When that craving hits, though, it hits, and Lincoln had been jonesing for an Egg McMuffin for weeks.

Halfway through his meal, three black guys and a white dude waiting in line got into a fistfight and people gathered around to record video on their cellphones like a bunch of voyeurs, the delighted looks on their faces so close to sexual that Lincoln's stomach turned. Years ago, he read a book about this guy who could see the spirits of the dead. There were these black, shapeless demons things that popped up every so often, mainly at places where something bad was going to happen - like at a school right before the quiet kid who gets picked on says, "I've had enough of this shit" and reaches into his backpack. The protagonists, at first, believes that they are evil spirits who get off on suffering, but wonders aloud if maybe they weren't time travellers from an evil future coming back in some disembodied form to metaphorically jack off over major disasters as they happened.

Looking at the people giddily watching three human beings inflict physical pain on each other, Lincoln wondered too.

After breakfast, Lincoln drove to the bank and took out 1,500 dollars. Next, he went to Best Buy in the mall and picked up a new USB cable to replace his old one. He browsed the video game selection and the DVDs on his way out, but didn't see anything that interested him. Most video games were about killing Nazis and he was frankly sick of killing Nazis. He wanted to kill something else now.

From Best Buy, he went to Wal-Mart to get a new pair of tennis shoes; his old ones were falling apart and he'd been putting off shoe shopping for months. Why, you might ask? Because he hated spending what felt like hours trying on new shoes, walking around in them to see how they fit, looking for his size - everything that went into shoe buying, basically, Of course, he hated shopping period so that was a given. This time, he was able to get in and out in half an hour, but only because after three pairs he gave up and picked one at random. Did it fit? Yep? Okay then, you're coming with me.

He made a few more stops. His second to last (and the most important) was at a tiny store in a strip mall straddling the county line. The showroom was filled with glass display cases under lights and a well-dressed salesman assisted an old lady at the register. Lincoln took a deep and went to one of the cases. He was suddenly flushed and shaky, stomach spinning. This was the first step on a long, uncertain road and though he knew he must travel it, Lincoln was afraid.

It'll all work out in the end, a little voice said from the back of his mind.

Yes, it would, somehow. As long as he had Lynn, things would always work out and he would be happy no matter what, but what would he lose along the way? What would he suffer?

Did it matter? A babe suffers when it leaves the bosom of its mother, colonies suffer when they break from their motherland. Everyone suffers to one degree or another after taking that First Big Step. Does that mean they should cower in fear and never leave the nest? Standing on your own two feet isn't always easy. There will be challenges and setbacks. There will be times when it overwhelms out. You will love something in the process, be it sleep, peace of mind, or a little bit of money. The reward, however, is well worth the risk. You have to embrace it.

And that's what Lincoln was going to do henceforth.

Even if it killed him.

The salesman floated over. "Can I help you, sir?"

Lincoln took a deep breath. He could still back out of this. He could keep on as he had been for the past ten years and forget all about this.

Had he no one to think of but himself, he may have done just that, but he didn't. He had Lynn.

"Yes," he said.

Later, purchase in hand, Lincoln left the store and stopped at the supermarket. He picked up everything he would need for tonight's dinner, then returned home. He put everything away, plopped onto the couch, and tried to lose himself in a video game. All the usual suspects were there - Nazis, zombies, Nazi zombies, zombie Nazis - and his mind kept wandering back to Lynn. Finally, he gave up and sat before America's Newsroom with a peturbd scowl on his face. Was this really the right thing for him and Lynn? He thought it was, but he wasn't sure. Is this what she wanted? She thought she did, but how would she react when he told her he wanted to tell their family about them? Would she change her mind? Maybe being confronted with the very real possibility of it happening, she would realize she wasn't ready. Or maybe she would.

A small part of him hoped that she backed down, but another part of him hoped that she didn't. He wanted this off of his chest, he wanted the truth to come out. The truth shall set you free, they say, and the more he thought about it, the more he looked forward to having this weight lifted from his shoulders. He didn't want to think of how Mom, Dad, and his sisters would react, but he couldn't go on letting the specter of their disapproval govern his and Lynn's life. They would object, Mom and Dad would be upset, their relationship might be strained for a while...or maybe forever. Lincoln was willing to accept that.

At 2:30, he texted Lynn and asked her to come over at six. That gave him three and a half hours.

Getting up, he went into the kitchen and started dinner.

---

Lynn left the school at 4:45, roughly an hour earlier than usual. She went home to her little apartment on the other side of Royal Woods, took a quick shower, and dressed in a pair of black pants and a red sweater. Lincoln said he had something special planned, and while that definitely included good sex, it probably wasn't the point of the entire evening, so she wanted to look nice...but not too nice. In the bathroom, she flossed, brushed her teeth, and gargled with mouthwash. She put on deodorant, sprayed the front of her shirt with perfume, and studied her face in the mirror. Would a little make up be too much? She only wore it on special occasions, and never very much, just a little eyeshadow - never lipstick. She hated the way lipstick and lipgloss looked on her. It worked on someone like Lola, but 100 percent not on her.

Making up her mind, she put on a touch of black eyeshadow and then grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter. She texted Lincoln that she was on her way, doubled back to pee, and left the apartment. The smell of stale cooking lingered in the hall, and muffled music drifted from somewhere down the hall. She locked the door and went down the stairs because she wasn't a patient enough human being to wait for the old, creaky-ass elevator. A lobby opened up at the bottom, a bank of cubby mailboxes occupying one wall. She fished out her keys, unlocked hers, and took out a stack of bills, junk, and fliers for local restaurants she'd probably never eat at. She slammed the door and went outside.

The late afternoon sun sat low on the horizon, its crimson light spreading through the world like shafts of blood, and a warm breeze stirred her hair. Her car was parked by an anemic playground where all of the equipment was rusted, broken down, and sad looking. On the way to Lincoln's, she wrestled with the same thoughts that had been assailing her for weeks. Shame burned across the back of her neck and she let out a dejected sigh. What right did she have to complain? She was in love with the man of her dreams, she had a good job, and her life was as perfect as she had any right to expect. She couldn't marry Lincoln or have his baby. So what? That's just how it was. She had known these things all along and she had been content with hers and Lincoln's limitations.

But emotions...damn, dumb emotions…

She parked in the lot next to Lincoln's building, cut the engine, and got out. A homeless man lounged easily between heaps of trash bags in the alley, his legs crossed and his arms outstretched on either side like wings. He looked like a man relaxing in his own living room without a single care in the world. Lynn's grip on her purse tightened.

"Sup?" he nodded as she passed.

"Hi," she said.

She scurried up the stairs and cast a worried look over her shoulder. Instead of following her, the man was eating something from a can and listening to a transistor radio.

Okay then.

At Lincoln's door, she knocked.

"It's open!" Lincoln called out.

Lynn went in, locked the door, and sat her purse on an end table. The living room was on the right and the kitchen to the left. The former was sparsely furnished with a single leather sofa, a glass coffee table, and a plasma screen TV tacked to the wall. An island separated the latter from the hall, a half window peering in at the cherrywood cabinets and formica countertops. Cool air whooshed through baseboard grates, and faint strands of music issued from an unseen source. Lynn took a deep breath through her nose and let it out in a satisfied rush. He used that cinnamon air freshener she liked. She would literally snort this stuff if it didn't burn the inside of her nostrils and give her blinding headaches. She knew this first hand because she was a dumb kid once.

"That's dangerous leaving your door open like that," she said. "There's some homeless guy just chilling in the garbage."

"Yeah, that's Oscar," Lincoln called. "He's cool."

Lynn went into the kitchen. Lincoln, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, stood at the stove, where a big metal pot simmered on the stove, steam curling around the edges of its lid. "What's that?" she asked and hugged him from behind.

"A surprise," Lincoln said and kissed her hand.

"Do you need any help?" she asked.

He thought for a moment. "No, I'm good, make yourself at home."

Lynn laughed. "I'm not gonna walk around in my underwear. Yet."

"You know what I meant," Lincoln said. He turned and took her in his arms, his hands coming to rest firmly on her ass.

"Do I?" Lynn asked.

"Yeah you do."

"No I don't."

They kissed, their tongues caressing softly. Lincoln capped it off by smacking her buttcheek with a meaty thwack. "Now get out of here. This is man's work."

That made her laugh. "Okay, Dad."

"Hey, when you're right, you're right."

"You're starting to go bald like him."

"And your hips are getting as big as Mom's, porky."

Lynn slapped his arm and he laughed.

While he finished dinner, she sat in the living room and turned the TV on, settling for a show where a fat woman with stringy hair screamed into the camera about dang trolls. Lincoln bustled around the kitchen stirring things, chopping things, and whistling along to the music. At one point, he left the kitchen and went into the dining room. A few minutes later he said, "It's almost ready."

She kind of had an idea what he was going for, but when she sat the candles flickering on the table, she smiled anyway. She would never use the word "romantic" to describe herself, but she loved when Lincoln did stuff like this. For her birthday, he left a trail of rose petals from the front door to the bed, and when she got to the end, he ate her pussy for hours.

She sat and a moment later Lincoln came in with a bottle of wine. He poured some into her glass, then some into his. He returned to the kitchen and came back with two plates in his hand. He set one in front of Lynn and sat across from her. She examined the food and hummed appreciatively. "Lobster. And...uh…?"

"Caesar salad," Lincoln said.

Lynn knew she'd had a caesar salad in the past, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember when, where, or even if she liked it. She stabbed a leafy piece of lettuce soaked in white dressing and shoved it into her mouth. "This is good," she said.

"I figured you'd like it," Lincoln said.

They talked about nothing in particular as they ate. He told her about the errands he ran and she brought up the dance at school. "When does it start?" he asked.

Lynn forked a piece of lobster meat into her mouth and chewed. "I dunno, like, seven?"

"We should go."

She almost choked. "Yeah, sure, a middle school dance, how fun."

"We can show those kids how to get to second base."

Now she did choke. "You're sick," she said. "A real nutter."

Lincoln shrugged. "Someone's gotta teach them."

"I teach gym, Linc," Lynn pointed out.

"I know," he replied and finished off his wine, "and thar makes you the perfect one to teach them about sex. It's an exercise, after all."

Lynn shook her head. Lincoln could be a humongous dork sometimes, but she loved him anyway. In fact, she loved his dorkitue too, she just didn't say so out loud. That would only encourage him. She swiped the last little bit of lobster meat through a dollop of cesar dressing and ate it. "Okay, I'm stuffed," she said and sat back from the table.

"You didn't leave room for dessert?" Lincoln asked.

"None," Lynn confirmed.

"Oh, come on, I have something you're really going to like."

Lynn moaned. Her stomach felt like it was going to burst if she so much as took a deep breath. She couldn't fit anything else.

Unless it was something she really liked.

You can always force that last little bit with the right motivation. "Okay, but it better be small."

A strange smile ran across Lincoln's lips. "It's small," he said.

Lynn rolled her eyes. "Not that small. I'd actually like to be full for once."

He chuckled, but said nothing. He pushed away from the table and left the room. Lynn filled her glass half way with wine and took a drink. As she waited, she wondered what Lincoln had. She loved eclairs, and if he brought a tray of those in, she would be powerless to do anything but eat until she puked. Fudge was good too. Really, anything sweet. Like her sisters, and Lincoln too, she had an epic sweet tooth that would totally make her fat if she wasn't so active. Lisa, who spent most of her time parked in front of the computer, was already starting to swell at the waist and hips. Luan wasn't exactly fit either.

While Lynn fully expected her biology to one day run her down and slap a few extra pounds onto her midsection, she was good to go at the moment.

So bring on dessert.

As if heeding her call through some strange, white-haired clairvoyance, Lincoln came in from the hall. He came over and dropped something onto the table before her.

A single Little Debbie brownie with nuts, still in the wrapper and looking like something Mom used to stick in her lunch box when she was a kid. Look, Little Debbie brownies were great, but Lincoln made it sound like he had some grand, tasty, decadent, chocolatey dessert, so this...this was kind of a slap in the face. She looked up at him and lifted her brow. "Realy, Lincoln? This? You're a jerk."

Slowly, Lincoln shook his head. "This isn't it."

"Where is it then?" she asked and crossed her arms.

Lincoln took something out of his pocket…

...and dropped to one knee. Lynn was caught entirely off guard and crinkled her forehead in confusion. What was he -?

Then he held up a tiny box. The light cast by the candle glinted off of what was inside, and it hit her. The air rushed out of her lungs and her jaw clacked against her chest. Her hands fluttered to her mouth and Lincoln beamed proudly. "Lynn," he said, "I love you with all my heart and there's nothing I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you. Even if it means you forcing me to go on your morning jogs with you. Will you marry me?"

Hot tears filled Lynn's eyes and her lips began to tremble. She nodded eagerly and tried to speak. Her words came out in a broken whisper instead. "Yes," she said.

Lincoln got up, bent over her, and cupped her cheek in his hand. "I love you, Lynn."

She responded by pulling him into a kiss. Tears streamed down her face and her head spun with a happiness so great she burst with it. Lincoln slipped his fingers into her hair and kissed her back, his nails lightly grazing her scalp.

Shortly, they moved into the bedroom where they deliberately undressed each other, hands and lips roaming. They sat facing each other, their legs encircling the other and their bodies pressed tightly together. Lincoln trailed kisses down the slope of her throat and along her shoulder, his thumbs expertly massaging her stiff nipples. Lynn threw her head back and slid her hips forward, the feeling of Lincoln's dick poking between her spread lips sending goosebumps racing up her arms. He gently laid her back and kissed her chin, her neck, her breasts, working his way lower, each touch of his sizzling lips to her burning flesh making her breath catch. When he reached her core, she was panting for air and already shaking with need. He kissed the flat of her stomach, her inner thighs, savoring her and drawing out the anticipation until she could barely stand it. He hovered his lips over her middle, then curled his tongue around her clit. She clamped her thighs to his head and ran her fingers through his hair.

Lincoln licked her slowly, purposely, from her clit to her opening and back again. He thrust his hands under her butt, palms up, and lifted her closer, his tongue squirming and sending her into the stratosphere. Her heart slammed, her stomach clutched, her butt clenched and her back arched. She smoldered from head to toe and her eyes rolled back into her head. She arched her back off the bed to get closer to him, but they were already as close as they could be.

Almost.

Propping himself up on his hands, Lincoln slid into her, and a ragged exhalation burst from her throat. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Lynn rolled him onto his back and pressed her hands to his chest like a puma pouncing her prey. Lincoln stroked his hands up her flanks and she rocked her hips against him, taking every inch of his cock. She could feel it throbbing insistently inside of her, every dip, ridge, and curve raking her walls and creating hot, heady friction. She weaved her fingers through Lincoln's and went faster. He lifted his butt to meet her thrusts, and in minutes, he grew bigger and thicker with his approaching orgasm. She started to get off of him, but he grabbed her hips, gave one final thrust, and came. Molten hot sperm flooded her womb, and she was thrown into her own climax. Spent, she flopped limply against Lincoln and caught her breath. He closed his arms around her and kissed the side of her head.

Once they had both come down from their high, Lynn snuggled up in his arms. For a long time, she simply basked in the warm afterglow of the love they had made, so happy that he tingled. "We have to tell Mom and Dad," Lincoln said.

Lynn let out a deep breath. "I know."

"Are you ready for this?"

She didn't answer immediately. Was she? She thought she was, but now, with a ring and a proposal, it was real, and near, in a way that it had never been before. Her feet were suddenly blocks of ice and her stomach was a tangled mess of nerves. Once they revealed their relationship to their family, their lives would change and would never be the same again. She didn't know if Mom and Dad would disown them or not, but it was a possibility. She loved her parents and her sisters only slightly less than she loved Lincoln. Was she really prepared to lose them?

Yes, she decided, she was. As long as she had Lincoln, she was ready to face anything.

She said as much, and Lincoln's grip on her tightened. "I love you, Lynn."

"I love you too," she said.

And she did.

She loved him more than he could ever know.

And she couldn't wait to show him that every day of his life.

---

Sunday afternoon, Lynn and Lincoln drove to their childhood home to do the hardest thing either one had ever done. Lynn sat in the passenger seat with her arms crossed defensively over her chest and Lincoln gripped the wheel in a white knuckled death grip, eyes pointed straight ahead. Dark tension filled the car and it was so silent that were it not for the hum of the wheels on the pavement, Lynn would have been able to hear her own unsteady heartbeat.

When they pulled into the driveway, she took a deep breath and let it out evenly through her nose. Lincoln killed the engine and sighed deeply. "You ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be."

He reached out and took her hand, and she smiled despite herself. "It'll be okay," he promised her, and come what may, she believed him. "I'll be right there with you."

"I love you," she said. She squeezed his hand, for strength or to give strength, she didn't know.

"I love you too."

They got out and went inside.

Dad was sitting in his chair like always and Mom was perched on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees. Lincoln and Lynn had called ahead and told her they had something to announce. Lily was at a friend's house and wouldn't be back until that afternoon, but Lola, Lana, and Lisa were here. Lynn originally wanted to wait until everyone was here, but that only happened at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and neither she nor Lincoln wanted to ruin the holidays by coming out.

"Hey," Mom said and looked up from her computer, "you're early."

Lincoln paused. "No, we're right on time."

"You said you'd be here at three," Mom said, "and it's -" she squinted at the clock on the bottom right of her screen. "3:02." She blinked in disbelief. "Is it really that late?" She cast a stricken look at Dad as if for reassurance, but he was too engrossed in a rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond to notice. "I better get dinner started."

She went to stand up, but Lincoln stopped her. "Before you do that, we have something to say." He looked at Lynn, and her heartbeat sped up. Here it was. Make it or break it time. She had never backed down from a challenge, but if she had ever wanted to throw in the towel, it was right now. She drew a mighty lungful of air and braced herself for what was to come.

"What is it?" Mom asked.

Lincoln put his arm around Lynn's shoulders, and the icy dread in her chest melted away. "We're getting married," she said. She didn't know she was going to speak until she heard the sound of her own voice, and a cold, steely band closed around her chest, forcing the air from her lungs with a whoosh. Mom sat forward, her face creasing, and Dad looked at them with a bemused expression.

"You're...what?" Mom asked.

"We're in love and we're getting married," Lincoln said.

Mom shook her head as if to clear her mind, and Dad looked like nothing made sense. "You're joking, right?" Mom asked.

"No," Lincoln said.

"We're in love and we want to be together."

"But he's your brother," Mom said sharply. "That's -"

"I know what he is," Lynn said. "And I don't care. I love him."

"No, this is -"

"Going to happen," Lincoln said firmly. "We know all about it, okay? We've had ten years to stew -"

Mom's face dropped. "Ten years?"

"- and we've done a lot of thinking. I know Lynn is my sister and I know why incest is wrong, okay? I just don't care. I love her the way Dad loves you and there's nothing you can say that will make me stop. We can't get legally married, but we're going to stand in front of a priest and exchange vows whether you like it or not. This is a lot to take in -'

Mom cut him off. "You're damn right it's a lot to take in."

"But our minds are made up. We love you guys and we want your support, but...if we have to move away and never come back, we'll do it. That's how important this is to us."

Mom massaged her temples with her fingers and Dad chewed his bottom lip. His face was red and Lynn could sense he had something to say. "You're making a big mistake," he finally said. His voice was calm but strained like he was trying to keep his composure.

"If we are, we are," Lincoln said.

"You don't understand," Mom said, "this isn't right, it's -"

"We love each other, Mom," Lynn said, "and we're not going to stop."

Mom threw her hands up. "I don't want to hear this." She got to her feet and walked off.

"You need to give this some thought," Dad said when she was gone. His tone was softer now, creeping toward resignation.

"We have thought about it," Lincoln said. "We've been thinking about it for ten years, Dad. We know what we're doing and we know it's...strange. But it's not strange to us."

He sighed and slumped his shoulders.

When she and Lincoln left ten minutes later, Lynn didn't know what their future held, or who would be a part of it, but she did know one thing.

She didn't care.

She wanted her family to accept her and Lincoln, but if they didn't, she would get by with the knowledge that she had Lincoln. And one day, even if they had to adopt, they would make a new family.

That thought sustained her for a long time to come.

---

Lincoln Loud rolled his neck and resisted the urge to tug at his collar. Beads of sweat trickled down the back of his neck and his dress shirt clung to his damp flesh like wet hair. He shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other and took a deep breath. His eyes went to the gallery of faces packed into the pews. Most of them were people he and Lynn knew back in Royal Woods, the ones he and Lynn considered close enough to reveal their relationship to. Clyde, dressed in a black tux, stood at Lincoln's right, and Margo, Lynn's friend, stood off to his left, looking uncomfortable in a peach colored dress. Lincoln looked for Mom and Dad but didn't see them. They hadn't come around yet and Lincoln didn't know if they ever would. I love both of you, but I just can't, Mom said. Dad elaborated. I can't sit there and watch my son marry my daughter. They did not disown Lynn and Lincoln, but every time Lincoln and Lynn were at their house, there was a certain static in the air. Everyone was on edge and didn't know how to act with each other.

His sisters had been more accepting. Lori was there with Bobby, and Leni with Chaz. Luna, Luan, and Lucy too. Lana, Lola, Lisa, came together, bringing Lily with them. Lincoln's eyes went once more to the spot reserved for his parents. He wished they would come. He wished they would accept that he and Lynn loved one another and wouldn't stop.

An expectant hush lay over the church. It was so quiet that Lincoln could hear every cough and rustle of movement. The air was hot, humid. In July, he and Lynn moved to California. They bought a little cracker jack house on the edge of a subdivision and began their new lives, she as a P.E. teacher at a middle school and he working for a graphic design company from home. They didn't make much money but they had enough to get by, and they were happy.

Suddenly, organ music shattered the silence. The doors at the head of the aisle opened and Lynn came out in a white dress. Her face was hidden behind a veil and she carried a bouquet of white flowers. She made her way toward the altar, and Lincoln smiled stupidly to himself. He always said that marriage was just a piece of paper, but right now, watching the woman he loved come to him, he realized it was so much more than that. It was a declaration, a commitment, a sacred vow of eternal love and devotion.

The doors, which had fallen closed behind Lynn, opened again, and Lincoln turned, his heart skipping a beat when he saw who had entered.

Mom and Dad.

They hurried to a pew and sat beside Lori and Bobby. Lincoln smiled and turned back to Lynn, who stood before him. At the priest's instruction, they held hands. Lincoln brushed his thumb over Lynn's knuckles. He could barely make out her face behind the veil, but she was beautiful anyway, more beautiful than she ever had been.

The priest read from the Bible, and Lynn and Lincoln exchanged their own vows. When they were finished, the priest looked around the nave. "If anyone has any reason why this couple should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Lincoln stiffened. Did Mom and Dad come to object? Were they only here to ruin his and Lynn's special day?

No one spoke.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the priest said, "you may kiss the bride."

Lincoln lifted the vale and Lynn smiled at him. They kissed, and everyone clapped. "I love you, Lynn," he said.

"I love you too," Lynn said.

They both beamed.

And despite the challenges, hurdles, and bad days they, like everyone else, faced, that beam never, ever dimmed.