Indie snickers next to me and I gently say, “Mama, it’s Kanye West.”
“What?” She throws her hands up. “This is absurd. How am I supposed to know these people?”
“Maybe stop watching men’s balls flinging around and look into some pop culture,” Mom says, gathering our Cards Against Humanity cards and sticking them back in the box.
“This coming from the lady who didn’t know what a queef was,” Mama says. “You know very well it’s a vagina fart.”
I press my fingers to my brow and say, “Can we tamp it down on the vagina farts, please?”
“It’s a natural thing, and I think society needs to embrace it, not shame it,” Mama says, looking far too dignified while talking about flatus from a lady’s nether regions. And yes, the only reason I know the words flatus and nether regions is because of the craziness my moms call education.
“Or, we just don’t talk about vagina farts with your son and his friend.”
Mom winks at me. “Then I wouldn’t be able to see that sweet blush on your cheeks.”
Standing from the table, I hold my hand out to Indie and say, “We need some fresh air.”
On a laugh, she takes my hand and I walk her to the sliding glass door that leads to the back porch. I snatch a blanket off the couch and then guide her outside, shutting the door behind us. Thankfully, we have a partition that grants us some privacy from prying eyes and a porch swing that’s perfect to gather some peace from all the vagina fart and Cain West ridiculousness.
I sit on the cushioned swing and steady it so Indie can sit as well. Instead of facing toward the trees, she faces me and drapes her legs over mine. I cover us both with the blanket and then rest one arm on the back of the swing, the other on top of her leg.
“Comfortable?” I ask her.
“Extremely.” I feel her gaze on me and then she chuckles.
“What?”
She reaches out and runs her thumb over my jaw. “It’s really cute seeing you with your moms. I kind of like this embarrassed Lincoln and the best part is, you’re never rude or disrespectful to them as you deal with their antics.”
“I mean, yeah, they get on my nerves, but they also gave me a life I never would have had without them. My birth mom was a drug addict and my birth father wasn’t any better. They gave me up at birth and my moms were called, asking if they wanted an newborn boy with a drug addiction.”
She clutches her chest and sits taller. “Oh my God, you were born with an addiction?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, my birth mom used her entire pregnancy. It’s a shock I’m as strong and healthy as I am. But it was hard on my moms. I had a diva moment when I was in middle school and told my moms I wanted to live with my birth parents.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I nod. “Unfortunately, and regrettably, I did. They drove me to my mom’s parents’ house and told them to take me to my birth parents. I didn’t think they were serious until my grandparents packed me up in the car and started driving to Detroit. That’s where I heard the story of my birth, the pain my moms went through to get me healthy. I cried and begged them to take me back to my moms. They said they’d only take me back if I spent the rest of my life appreciating the sacrifices they made to raise me. From then on, I put up with whatever they threw my way, even if it’s my mom trying to set me up.”
Indie chuckles. “Well, it all worked out.”
“It did.” I look out toward the trees. “They gave me a great childhood and things might be slightly different than the quote unquote normal family, but we have love and appreciation for each other, and that’s all that matters.”
Indie’s hand goes to my hair, and she plays with the short strands. “The normal isn’t all that great. My mom put together the traditional Thanksgiving dinner and we sat at the table, eating, silent, unsure what to say to each other. I would have much rather come over here, had chicken from the crockpot and roasted potatoes while talking about the porn your mama is watching.”
“Technically not watching. Working on.” I boop her nose and she smiles. “Big difference, Mayhem.”
“Either way, it’s the love you guys exude for each other that’s making this Thanksgiving so much better. So thank you for inviting me over.”
“You’re always welcome here, Indie.”
“I would say you’re always invited to my house, but I fear you’d run into one of my parents’ lovers.”
“Yeah.” I move my hand over my jaw. “That’s got to be awkward.”
“You could say that. But I don’t want to talk about them.”
“What do you want to talk about, then?”
“Anything. Are you going to come back to training sessions on Mondays?”
“I don’t know, are you going to try to hook me up with Jasmine again?”
She chuckles. “No, I learned my lesson.”
“And Brandon, are you . . . you know, getting to know him?”
Her eyes pop up to mine. “No. Why, do you want me to get to know him?”
“You can do what you want, Indie,” I say growing serious. “But I want you to know I’m content with what we have right now.”
“And what is that exactly?”
I move my hand to her hair where I play with the silky strands, biding time to figure out the answer. What is it exactly that we have? Even though we say it’s a friendship, I know it runs deeper than that. There are feelings involved, feelings it seems neither one of us wants to admit to, but we rely heavily on when it comes to one another.
Is this the moment where I cross that line?
All night, watching her with my moms, it felt so real, so right. Joking around, playing games, having a pie-eating contest. I was the winner—naturally—of who could eat the most, although Indie gave me a run for my money. She fits in perfectly, but there’s so much ahead of us that I don’t know how to navigate, like what happens when I’m drafted? She wants to go pro, so what happens when we’re both pursuing our dreams and potentially on opposite sides of the country, our schedules not matching up? It could only lead to heartache, but not having her in my life isn’t an option either.
Letting out a long breath, I roll my head to the side and say, “Hell if I know, Indie. But I like you a lot, and I don’t want you out of my life.” It’s a lame answer, but I’m having a hard time expressing myself.
“Why do you care if Brandon’s interested in me?” she asks, and it almost seems like she holds her breath as she says it.
She’s coming in hot with the questions tonight.
I drag my hand over my mouth and try to find the right words, hoping and praying she’s feeling the same way, that I’m not in this alone.
Turning toward her, I decide to go with honesty, because when we’re honest, we’re closest. Complete. “Because I don’t want you hanging out with any other guys the way you hang out with me.”
She smiles and plays with the three buttons on my sweater. “You want me all to yourself, Castle?”
“Is that a problem?”
She shakes her head. “I want you all to myself too.”
It’s as if a dam just broke in my body. Relief floods through me—she wants the same thing as me. I’m not in this alone when it comes to these crazy, confusing feelings.