Molly laughs. “You’re such a silly boy.”
Ashton beams like it’s a compliment.
“I can’t,” Drew says, though he has a wistful expression on his face. “I wish I could.”
“It’s a Halloween party,” Ashton says to Drew. “Wear a damn mask. No one will ever know.”
“I think it will be wonderful for you four to dress up and have fun,” Molly encourages.
“As long as you’re careful,” Tim adds, his attention on Drew.
“Halloween used to be your favorite holiday,” Molly says to Brayden. “Remember when you and Ben went through your phase of dressing up together?” She smiles. “Brayden wanted to be Papa Smurf and convinced Ben to be Smurfette. Poor thing had to walk around the neighborhood in a dress and blond wig, but he didn’t seem to mind.”
Everyone laughs, but when I look over at Brayden, he isn’t. He’s not even smiling.
“Oh!” Molly continues, completely oblivious to the change in Brayden’s demeanor. “And what about the time you three boys all dressed up as your favorite hockey players? I think I have a picture somewhere.”
At that, Brayden jumps out of the chair and mutters, “I’ll be right back.”
Molly stops talking, a frown marring her features. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No, dear,” Tim says. “It’s okay to talk about Ben. All we have left are the memories.”
My thoughts go back to the time Brayden and I spent together in my childhood room at my parents’ place when he surprised me by showing up for the weekend. The devastated look in his eyes when he told me about his brother’s death. The guilt dripping with each word as he confessed to me that he was to blame. Had he not agreed to take his brother outside in the cold that day while his parents were out, he believes his brother never would’ve caught pneumonia and died. I can’t even imagine living with a weight like that on my shoulders.
“I’m going to go talk to him,” I say, my eyes meeting Drew’s to make sure I’m not overstepping. He nods once and I take off into the house to find Brayden.
I search the kitchen and living room and then head down the small hallway that’s filled with family photos. The second door on the right is slightly ajar, so I poke my head in. “Hey, can I come in?”
Brayden nods.
I sit next to him on the twin-sized bed and glance around. There are hockey trophies and pictures filled with happy faces. Hockey posters are hanging on the walls and there’s a corkboard with a collage of more photos. I admire how homey the room is. You can tell a teenager lived here. I think back to my room at home and how it looks more like it’s staged than lived-in.
Brayden is clutching a small picture frame to his chest. “Can I see?”
He hands it over and I admire the photo. There are three boys in the picture. Two older and one younger. I can tell right away that the two older ones are Drew and Brayden. Drew’s signature dimple is on display as he smiles over at Brayden, who looks to be laughing at something someone said. The youngest of the three is glancing over at the other two boys with a look of awe.
“This is your brother,” I guess.
“Yeah. It’s the last photo I have with him.”
I notice then they’re all wearing hockey uniforms. It must’ve been Halloween.
“Bray, you have to tell your parents… You can’t keep living with this guilt.”
Brayden shakes his head. “I can’t. I promised Ben.”
“Though I didn’t get to know Ben, I think he would be okay with you telling them. The little boy in this picture loved you. He wouldn’t want you to suffer in silence.”
“What if they hate me?” he whispers, staring down at the picture. “What if I tell them and they blame me?”
“The way you’re already blaming yourself?” I set the picture down and turn to face him. “You announced over dinner you’re not only gay but dating your best friend and they barely batted an eyelash. I don’t see them blaming you or hating you. I think you need to trust them. I’ve only just met them, but I can see it in their eyes, they love you so much.”
I choke up as I say the words, wishing my parents loved me the way Brayden’s love him.
“I’m not ready yet,” Brayden chokes out. “I know that makes me a wuss, but…”
“No, it doesn’t,” I argue. “It makes you human.” I pull him into a hug. “But one day, when you’re ready, I believe that when you tell them, they’ll be there for you and a huge weight will be lifted off your shoulders.”
By the time we make it back outside, Ashton and Drew are standing, getting ready to leave.
“Well, we gotta bail,” Ashton says, snagging my hand. “Have to get started on making some grandbabies, Mom.”
Tim shakes his head, chuckling. “I don’t think he’s kidding.”
“He’s not,” Bray, Drew, and I all say at once, making Ashton grin evilly.
“Please come see us again soon,” Molly says, hugging each of us. “This was a wonderful evening.”
Once we’ve bid our goodbyes, we all walk out and I can’t help but think this is the best family dinner I’ve ever been to.
“I can’t believe I got talked into this,” Drew complains, fussing with his mask. “It’s just asking for trouble.”
Mia hooks her arm with his once we get out of Brayden’s SUV at the party. “No one will know it’s you,” Mia assures Drew. “Plus, you have enough blood on your shirt and mask, I don’t think anyone is going to mess with you. You look scary.”
Scary hot.
I try to unthink that thought, but it already happened. When we went to the Halloween shop yesterday, we were left with the most generic shit to choose from. Drew got a Jason Voorhees hockey mask and opted for regular clothes splattered with fake blood. I’d tried to encourage him to be Chippendale Jason and wear a bowtie with no shirt—even offered to oil him up—but he just rolled his eyes and ignored me.
“I look scary,” I throw in. “Right, Kurt?”
Brayden looks my way and busts out laughing. Again. My costume is wicked cool. Fuck him. Drew starts to laugh and then Mia cackles too.
“Fuck the three of you,” I grumble.
“It’s just… I can’t…” Brayden wheezes, trying to speak through his chuckles. “I can’t fucking take you serious with those eyebrows.”
I waggle them at him, making him howl even more. “I’m the devil. These are my evil eyebrows.” I’d taken a lot of time to white out my face with makeup and then draw on these cartoony evil brows with black eyeliner. They’re overexaggerated and pretty awesome if I do say so myself.
“I can’t look at you, man,” Brayden says, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“At least my costume is fucking cool,” I snap. “Unlike whatever that is.” I wave at that. Him. All his ’90s grunge glory. He’s such a poser, though. Who wears a Nirvana T-shirt to dress like Kurt Cobain? Kurt Cobain never wore his own band T-shirts. His blond wig was supposed to be for a female flapper, but it had been opened and was a little fucked up, so he thought it made him look like Kurt. No, it makes him look stupid.