“Good plan,” Kieran mumbles. “We have to take off.”
“Already?” Kyle yelps. “It’s your day off. You could stick around. We could watch a movie.”
“I can’t,” Kieran says, setting down his empty cup. “Got a lot of errands to do. And another tree to set up at home.”
“So just stay for lunch. Rexie would love it.”
Oh, ouch. Kyle fights dirty.
“Nah. Maybe next time,” Kieran says unconvincingly. “Gotta roll.” He flips on the sink and rinses his cup.
I take the hint and drain the rest of my cocoa.
Sally Shipley bustles in and repeats the offer of lunch. Kieran declines just as quickly, but she follows us out the back door anyway. “Kieran? There’s something I need to ask you.”
He turns around, a wary look on his face. “Sure, Ma. What is it?”
“It’s about the cows. Your brother has this big idea. He wants to do some angus crosses next year.”
“Yeah, cool. Why not?” Kieran draws his keys out of his pocket.
“Your father hates the idea,” she says. “Highlands are our breed. That’s the way we’ve always done things.”
“So? Is the way we do things always so great?”
Sally’s mouth forms a hard line. Like she’s trying really hard not to say anything. They just stare at each other for a moment, as if continuing some age-old argument through mental jiu-jitsu. “Just talk to Kyle,” she says eventually. “Tell him it’s not a good time.”
“No,” Kieran says forcefully. And everyone is surprised. Even Kieran. “Dad wants Kyle to step up around here. We all do. And when he does, his idea gets shot down.”
“That’s not just an idea,” his mother hisses. “Changing our whole breeding program?”
“So he could do a few of them, not the whole herd.” Kieran shrugs. “But it won’t be me who talks to him. If you and Dad and Kyle need to make a decision, you can all sit down and discuss it like grownups.”
“But Kyle listens to you,” she tries.
“This is not my job. It’s literally his job. I can’t be your go-between.”
“I see.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Fine. Drive safe.”
“I will,” he says gently. “See you soon.”
She looks down at her shoes. “I meant to tell you—we’re going to your aunt Ruth’s for Christmas. She’s invited us all. I’m sure you won’t mind that plan.”
“Not at all,” he says. “Sounds fun.”
“Nice to meet you, Roderick,” she says, recovering her polite face.
“My pleasure.” I give her a small wave.
And then we’re out of there. Kieran is silent until we’re back in the truck and the engine is running. “Fuck,” he says, blowing out a breath. “I’m sorry my father said that thing about dead-end jobs.”
“Oh, I don’t give a crap,” I promise him. “I don’t need your dad’s permission to like my job.”
“I know.” He sighs. “But why can’t people just keep their traps shut?”
“He’s stuck in that chair, counting down to his next pain pill. He can’t do his own job, and he feels super irrelevant.”
“Damn.” Kieran glances at me as he puts the truck into drive. “Accurate. All of it.”
“I’m sorry I was such a goofball talking to your mom. I couldn’t shut up about the whole roommates thing.”
He shrugs. “You were fine. My parents aren’t paying attention, anyway. Nobody in that house ever listens.”
Except you, I privately add. Kieran listens more than he talks. And that house feels full of minefields. I don’t know why, but it’s clearly weighing on him. “Your brother didn’t bail on you after all,” I point out. “So that’s something.”
“Yeah. True.”
“He misses you. Not quite as much as the dog, but…”
Kieran chuckles.
“By the way, Audrey invited me over on Christmas. Is it okay if I come?”
“Sure,” he says, perking up. “Of course you can come. Christmas at their place is much more fun than Christmas here.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s a big party.”
“Cool.” We wind down the dirt driveway toward the main road. And I try to think Christmassy thoughts again. Audrey is making ham, with a million side dishes. I offered to make a Bûche du Noël, which is a Christmas cake shaped and frosted to look like a yule log.
Kieran and I can go there together. Except not really together, and that’s going to eat at me. Even though I understand that Kieran is still just figuring out his sexuality. And I wouldn’t ever pressure someone to come out.
The holidays always bring this stuff into high relief. When I was with Brian, he’d fly home to his parents’ place in Georgia without me. And I’d stay home alone, or go to the movies with a few LGBT friends that I saw a little less often every passing year.
I love the holidays, but they make me broody. And here I am with a fresh Christmas tree in the back of Kieran’s truck, that he cut down just for me. Why can’t I just enjoy it?
Kieran
Two days before Christmas, I have to go to Burlington on our day off. The art school dean wants to give me an interview and a portfolio review before they decide on my application.
So I’m scowling in front of my closet, wondering what the hell a guy wears to something like that. And wondering if I own it.
“Is something wrong?” Roderick asks, entering the room. “You just made a grumpy noise.”
I pluck a white shirt out of the closet. “Is this my nicest button down? You don’t think I’m supposed to wear a tie do you?”
“No tie,” he says lightly, taking the shirt from my hand and holding it up to the light. “This one is fine. But it isn’t the one I’d choose.”
I take a step back from the closet and close my eyes, like a man condemned. “This is why I was just going to audit a class or two. I never asked to be interviewed, for fuck’s sake. Or to submit a portfolio.”
“It was a terrific portfolio,” Rod says, flipping through my shirts.
“But this isn’t just about learning now,” I argue. “It’s paying people to judge me.”
“That’s one take on it.” Rod laughs. “There’s a reason nobody uses that as a university slogan.”
“Am I a better person if I get a diploma on a piece of paper?”
“No.” Rod pulls a shirt from the closet. It’s white, with a conservative navy-blue check running through it. “If this fits you, wear this with dark jeans. And tuck it in.”
“Jeans?”
“This is Vermont. And nobody is trying to make you into someone you’re not, Kieran. The only point of this exercise is to get half price on courses that you already want to take.”
“I hate interviews,” I grumble, pulling on the shirt.
“You don’t say.” He snickers. “It isn’t a parole hearing, honey. Go in there and smile at the nice lady so she’ll give you money for art school.”