T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 2 - Who We Are (12 page)

I don’t know Margie, and good for her, but what can
I
say? Are you there, God? It’s me, your favorite punching bag. I might be intoxicated. Already.

Anna says, “I’m thankful for this past summer.”
Uh, what?
“For allowing the people in my life to be what they needed to be.”

 

I glare at her. Everyone’s eyes are still closed, so no one notices.

Creed says, “I’m thankful that Bear finally opened his eyes to what was right in front of him.” There’s a pause that’s so pregnant, I swear it’ll give birth to a litter of adamant follow-up questions if it’s not aborted. He finally finishes, “And decided to get custody of the Kid.”

Jerry goes next and says, “I’m thankful that we have the resources to be able to help Bear and the Kid through what is undoubtedly a trying time.” Me too, Jerry. Me too.

Mrs. Paquinn says, “I’m thankful for Medicare and for God letting me get old enough that that hot nurse gets sent out to me once a week to assist me around the house. I’m also thankful for the tight scrubs he wears. And if my husband is listening in on this, tell him that I love him but that it’s rude to eavesdrop.”

Quiet chuckling.

The Kid says, “I think it’s odd that we are praying to something that has never been proven to actually exist, but to avoid any…
issues
, I’m thankful for Papa Bear and for Otter and Anna, and Mrs. Paquinn and Jerry and Alice and Creed and Mr. Grant and Mrs. Grant and Dominic and….”

And he goes on in this vein for a while, but I’m stuck on the name “Dominic.” Who the hell is Dominic? Ty has never mentioned that name before. Does the Kid have an imaginary friend? Oh, Jesus, the therapist is going to have a
field
day with him.

Crap. It’s my turn. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. Thankful… uh,
thankful
. I grip Otter’s hand tightly and hope he understands that I need another moment. Just another second to think of
something
to say, to stop what I know is welling up inside me.

Otter says quietly, “God knows why I am thankful. He knows it every day.”

Ah, of
course
he goes straight for the heart, the bastard. I’m not going to be able to speak past the lump in my throat, and he knows it. That doesn’t stop him from squeezing my hand. I want to break his fingers, but I resist the urge.

My turn.

 

Goddammit, what am I going to say? Um… I’m thankful for… it’s not that fucking hard! There’s a shitload of things I’m thankful for! Like… crap!

Like Otter?
it chuckles.
The love that seems to shine down from his eyes every time he sees you? The way you can suddenly see what was right in front of you this whole time? The house he bought for you? God only knows you did nothing to deserve it. Oh, Bear, just open your mouth and see what happens! Isn’t that part of your charm? What fun!

I don’t think that “charm” is the right word for what I do. By now, the silence has dragged on, but heads are still bowed, giving me an opportunity to collect my thoughts. Still it goes on. Finally, Anna looks up and stares at me curiously, followed by Creed, who cocks his head. The Kid leans forward and is quizzical, and Mrs. Paquinn is smiling at me because, oh my
God,
she knows exactly what I’m thinking, knows exactly what I’m going to say, and then Otter opens his eyes and he sees it too, and even though he knows it won’t be eloquent (how can it be, especially since I’ve realized I’m drunk?) I’m going to say it regardless. He looks like he is about to stop me, but I won’t let him.

Here we go
! it cackles gleefully.

“Jerry and Alice,” I say quickly, a slight slur to my words that come out fast. “Otter and I live together, and the Kid lives with us too, and we have a house that Otter bought for me because he realized he was in love with me a long time ago, but it was too much for him to take because he thought I was straight. I pushed him away and that’s why he ran off to San Diego, but then he came back for me, even though he said he didn’t, and then Anna and I broke up—sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Grant—because she knew how I felt about Otter even before I did, but somehow I figured it out. Then Otter and me did it, oh
shit
, that’s not what I mean to say, sorry, sorry, but I love him and he loves me, and my mom came back and threatened to take the Kid away from me if I didn’t break up with Otter. I still don’t get why she did that or how she knew about me and him, and it broke my heart, but I did it anyways, and then I got an attorney, and for some reason Otter took me back. Now we all live together in the Green Monstrosity, but we’re trying to fix it up, and it’s starting to be a home for us, and I don’t think the best name for the tofu meatloaf is tofeatloaf because it reminds me of feet and I think that’s gross, but I’ll still eat it because you made it. You are like a mom to me and that’s really cool, and I think I’ll love your son forever because I always have and I always will, so please don’t freak out, in Jesus’s name, can I get an amen!” I gasp in air. I let go of Otter’s hand and suck down the wine, emptying my glass for the third time.

Now
everyone is staring at me.

 

“That… that was so
awesome
,” the Kid breathes. “My Lord, it’s like we could hear what he
thinks
like.”

I wonder if it would be polite to ask Alice if I can just forgo the glass and chug the wine directly from the bottle. See? This is why I don’t drink. I either end up making out with my best friend’s older brother or I effectively out myself to his parents, my ex-girlfriend’s parents, and for some reason feel the need to tell them we have sex. I would have preferred they thought of me as an asexual being because from the looks on their faces, I think they might be trying to understand how the mechanics behind that would work. That is freaking me out.

Mrs. Paquinn is smiling so widely I think her dentures might fall out onto the table. The Kid is still in awe. Creed looks like Santa barfed Christmas presents in his lap (excited and disturbed all at the same time, natch). Anna is shaking her head, a small smile on her face.
Oh, same old Papa Bear,
I’m sure she’s thinking. Her parents are looking between the two of us like they are watching a game of tennis that just got a whole lot more interesting. And a whole lot gayer. Jerry drops his fork, and it clangs down onto the table, bouncing off his plate and onto the floor. Alice is squinting at me as if narrowing her vision will cause me to disappear.

But while everyone around us reacts in the way that they will, it’s him I turn to, him I need to see the most, to make sure I haven’t just made the most egregious mistake of my life, that once again my mouth hasn’t caused a shitstorm that will cause him to run screaming to another state just so he won’t have to look at me because I’m a stupid moron who doesn’t fucking
think
before he speaks, who gets drunk and says/does things that can’t be taken back.

I should know better.

He’s watching me, yes, and the gold-green is shining, oh yes, but it’s not as if I’d fucked up again, or that I’d spoken out of turn. No, it’s with that thing he does every now and then, that regard that leaves me breathless, that shows me that for some damn reason, he thinks the sun rises and sets with me. He’s a fool, to be sure (how could he not be, with all that he’s put up with to get here?), but goddammit, he’s
my
fool, and he’s looking at me like I’ve just done something extraordinarily right, that I’ve made him the happiest son of a bitch in the world, and that I am so getting laid when we get home.

So naturally, to make the night more entertaining (what fun we’re having!), I burst into tears.

 

Goddammit.
This
is why I don’t fucking drink.

“I’m sorry!” I babble at him as he grabs my hand and pulls me into a rough hug, my forehead on his chest, his chin on the top of my head. One arm wraps around my neck protectively and the other hand rubs my back in wide circles, attempting to soothe whatever outburst seems to be pouring out of me. And for the life of me, I can’t shut up. “I didn’t mean to do that,” I cry at him, clawing at his shoulders, trying to disappear into him, because apparently I have the emotional maturity of a thirteen-year-old girl, and I know I have the ugliest cry face in the history of mankind. I probably look like a snotty Wookiee right now. “It’s just that Anna’s dad took my God thanks, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and so I decided to say what I was
really
thinking about even though I tried to keep my mouth shut, and
you
know what happens when I drink and you
still
let me have wine? What the hell were you
thinking
, you big asshole! I just told your parents we do it,
and this is all your fault
!” By the time I finish, I’m shouting at him.

Everyone is still staring at me.

“Bear,” he says quietly, and for some reason, this causes my harpy-like screeching to silence almost immediately. He pushes me back away from him, and I almost whimper at the distance between us, but then he cups my face in his hands, and all the others in the room disappear, fading out until there’s nothing but him, and since he’s all I can see, he looks so
big
, like he’s
everything
in the world, and how the
hell
did I manage to get this? Why in the
hell
did he choose me? I’ve been nothing but trouble since this whole thing began, caused nothing but heartache and anger, and any countless other negative emotions that I can think of, yet he
still
stands by me? He
still
can look at me like he’s doing right now?

Seriously
, it whispers.
What in God’s name did you do to deserve such blind devotion? Do you feel his hands on your face? That look in his eyes? It isn’t that he’s “like” everything in your world, Bear. He
is
everything in your world. What have you ever done to deserve that?

It’s right, of course. It always is. Oh, Christ, Otter’s so mistaken, he’s so wro—

“Bear,” he says again, his voice a little stronger, a little louder, knowing he’s got to cut right through the crazy in my mind. “Stop it. Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, you stop it.” His thumb brushes over my lips as my chin trembles in his grasp. “I can see it there, behind your eyes. Just stop.” He leans forward, and in front of his parents, in front of my exgirlfriend’s parents, in front of my friends and family, in front of God and his forty of Mickey’s, he kisses me softly, chastely, even though the intent behind it is obvious, and it causes me to shudder in his hands.

And wonder of all wonders, I
do
stop. I
do
listen. I can’t say no to him. I’ve never been able to, not really. Even when I thought my actions were right, that I was doing the only thing I could, it still came back to him. It always comes back to Otter.

He leans back and practically pulls me into his lap, his arm again around my shoulders. But if feels different than just the moment before. His touch is almost defiant, his posture protective (possessive?). He rests me against his chest and squeezes tighter, and as I look up at him, he looks down at me and grins crookedly. He kisses me on the forehead and looks back up at his parents, at Anna’s parents, and his eyes grow hard, almost a glare, really. And I know now what he’s doing. He’s expecting someone in this room, either set of parents to say something against us, to explode with anger, accusations, and wrath. He thinks he’s protecting me from this, like he’s prepared to fight for me because—

the fight for you is all i’ve ever known

—
he thinks it’s his job, his misguided duty. I can’t let him do this alone. I just can’t, but it’s so fucking hard to move from my place against him, because it’s familiar, the feel of him under my hands, the smell that I’ve always associated with him (sandalwood on a quiet beach in the fall with a light drizzle coming down—yes, I’ve overthought that by a mile), and the room is taking on such a bright and spinning hue, and my mouth is just itching to open and spill out more drunken idiocy. It’s because as much as he thinks he needs to protect me, I know I have to do the same for him. If his parents are going to start shit, I need to make sure he knows I’ve got his back and will lash out against any person who attempts to say
anything
against him. Nobody fucks with Otter, not on my watch.

“So,” the Kid says. “This is way awkward.” He makes an airplane noise as he flies his hand to the table where he mimics an explosion. “I told you I should have recorded this,” Creed says to Anna. “GayTube’s totally going to be lacking now.”

“Isn’t that a gay-porn site?” Mrs. Paquinn asks. “I should think they wouldn’t take familial coming-out dramas on the site unless it was done in the nude followed by coitus, but I haven’t seen pornography in weeks, so I don’t know what all the rage is these days.”

I almost want to ask how she knows about GayTube, but I can’t seem to bring myself to open my mouth for fear of what kind of answer I’d get. Knowing Mrs. Paquinn, she’d tell us she was studying gay sex so she could provide tips to Otter and me to “bring out the fullness” of our “passion.”

Blech.

“Well, the night is still young,” Anna muses. “Who’s to say there won’t be coitus later on?” I almost want to point out that she’s talking about Otter boning me while sitting next to her mom, but I don’t think that would be in good taste.

“I’m not filming that,” Creed says quickly. “There are things in this world not meant for my eyes. Like ever. Ah,
sick,
I can’t stop thinking about it!” He rubs his hands over his eyes like he’s trying to scratch his brain.

“What’s coitus?” the Kid demands. “You can’t use words that I don’t know and then not explain them to me. I explain all of the big words
I
use.”

“What’s the point of using big words if you have to explain them all the time?” Creed asks him. “You would think you would just get tired of having to re-explain everything.”

The Kid rolls his eyes. “It’s not
my