CHAPTER 2

And then there was this.

David walked up the back steps of the house and waited. It had taken him a full three days to muster up the courage to tell his parents that he had called off his engagement with Jennifer and after doing so (last night after dinner) he was met with indifference (Claire), hysteria (his mother) and simmering, repressed rage (his father). For a minute, he had considered sparing the family, but had known he only would have been postponing the inevitable. He took a deep breath before entering the kitchen.

When he did, a hush fell over the kitchen. Six eyes silently followed as he tensely made his way to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Ruth asked.

"No… thank you," David replied tersely.

"Aren't you hungry?" she continued.

David knew that his mother, never content to leave well enough alone, would not stop until she had imposed her cloying brand of caretaking on him. David suppressed his desire to tell her to "fuck off" and instead, proceeded with the interrogation.

"No, I'm not hungry," he answered. When he turned around, she was looking perplexed.

"David you have to eat, dear. You must have your nourishment. I know this thing with Jennifer—"

"This doesn't have anything to do with Jennifer," David shot back, louder than he meant to. Wordlessly, his father rose from the table and left the room. There was a tense vacuum where he once was, followed by several moments of silence.

"He's going to need more time," she said gently. "You know your father is stubborn."

A sentiment David could agree with. He took a sip from his coffee, leaning against the counter. "I've noticed," he murmured.

"And so are you," she added.

David softened some. "I already ate something, Mother," he answered. Ruth found this hard to believe.

"But the carriage house doesn't have a stove."

"I didn't say I cooked anything. I just said I ate."

"But what?" she asked.

David sighed. "Pop Tarts."

Release the hounds.

"Uh… oh, David," she stammered, scandalized.

"Mom, really, it's fine," he insisted.

"You know that is not a decent breakfast. You work all day long, sometimes not even having time for lunch." She rose, walking towards the refrigerator and taking out a carton of eggs and milk. "Pop Tarts! Honestly. It will only take a minute for me to scramble a couple eggs and fry some bacon. Would you like toast?" she asked.

Tacitly admitting defeat, David sat at the table and watched as his mother warmed a skillet. "Sure, Mom. I'll take some toast."

After a couple of minutes, Claire suddenly rose from the dead.

"Um, I'm gonna need a ride to school," she announced laconically.

"Why?" Ruth asked.

"Because my left, rear brake light is out, and I haven't had a chance to get it fixed and I've already gotten one ticket."

"Well, why don't you take the school bus?" Ruth suggested.

"Um, because there are a ton of sluts up there that I really can't deal with this morning."

"Claire," Ruth gasped. "Watch you language."

Claire squinted with irritation. "What did I say? Morning?"

"No," Ruth whispered by way of clarification, "… sluts."

Claire scoffed. "Can you just take me to school?"

"Can you just take me to school… please," Ruth corrected.

"Fine. Can you just take me to school… please?"

"No," Ruth answered, cracking an egg. "I have an intake at 8:00."

Claire sharply rolled her eyes, annoyed. "Then why did you make me repeat it all proper if you were just going to say no?"

"Claire," Ruth began. "You should use good manners regardless of the answer."

"I'll take her," David offered. Both women looked at him. "It's fine. I'll take her."

"Thanks," Claire muttered, scooped up her things and stormed out of the kitchen.

"Then what about breakfast?" Ruth said, looking at her incomplete meal with some discontent.

"I'll eat it when I get back," David said. He pecked his mother on the check and left.

On the way to the school, David was treated to Claire's rants about the "poseurs" who had turned her school—which, according to her, was already "a conformist institute of indoctrination"—into a "rogue society of backwards-thinking automatons that promote the devaluation of self". David listened half-heartedly, more preoccupied with surviving the day ahead of him and working with a man that could barely tolerate his presence. About five minutes into the ride, he spotted someone. He pulled over.

"Wait here, Claire," he said.

"It's not like I'm going to walk off," she replied.

"Sean," he called, and jogged across the street. Sean—a postman—was closing a mailbox when he turned around.

"David! Hey," he said. "Long time no see. What's up?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing. I've been calling you for days, but you never answered."

"Out of minutes," Sean explained. "Why?"

"Well," David said with some dramatic flair, "I did it."

"Did what?" Sean said, trying to match his excitement. "Came out?"

David shook his head, chastened a bit. "No… no, I… didn't come out. Well I did… in a way. I came out to Jennifer. I told her that I was gay and that I was sorry but that we had to break up."

"What?" Sean blurted. "How'd she take it?"

"Well… better than I expected," David replied. "She kind of just sat there, stunned. And then she asked me to have sex with her."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. I mean, it was the least I could do."

Sean shuddered.

David reflected back on the evening. "Afterwards she cried a little. I tried to comfort her, but then she told me to get out."

Sean regarded David with a mix of relief and lingering shock. "It could have been a lot worse."

"I know," David agreed.

"You told your folks yet?"

"Yeah, last night. Mom went nuts, of course. Claire didn't really care. Dad was… silently enraged." Something crossed David's mind. "He always loved Jennifer, probably more than I did. It was almost like she was the daughter that he'd always wanted that Claire refuses to be and that I couldn't be—no matter how hard I tried."

Seth chuckled at that. So did David.

There was the loud sound of honking. David turned around.

"I have to go to school!" Claire yelled through the car window.

"Who is that?" Sean asked.

"Claire."

"Wow. She's really grown up. I haven't seen her in years."

"Yeah. She's… she's our Claire."

"Well, good to see you. We should catch up."

"We should," David agreed.

"You still going to St. Bart's?" Sean asked.

"Yeah."

"Well why don't you check out my church this Sunday? Dip your toes in the world of the out and proud."

David hesitated. "I would but… my mom doesn't like going to services alone, poor thing."

"David," Sean said. "She can manage one Sunday."

He thought on that a minute. "You know, you're right. I'll go with you."

Sean smiled. "Great."

Just then there was a long, obnoxious honk followed by Claire yelling, "Let's go!"

"I'll see you Sunday," David said, and jogged back to the car.

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