I drive back to my apartment quicker than usual, probably breaking about fifty rules in the process. It's a miracle I passed my driving test, to be honest.
I drag Cay upstairs and shove an open suitcase in front of him. "Talk and pack," I tell him. I'm not usually so demanding, but can you blame me? I wanna know what I'm letting myself in for here.
"Where do you want me to start?" he asks, beginning to pick up my clean clothes and folding them into my suitcase.
"It's your family; wherever you feel most comfortable." I smile a little. I'm not that mean, after all.
"Alright. Well..." he trails off, packing a shirt before frowning and changing his mind, putting a different one in. "My dad used to be a teacher but he's retired now. And my mom used to be a housewife but when we moved out here she got a job at Wal-Mart." He changes his mind about the shirt again and puts the first one back in, still frowning slightly. "She works with troubled kids now." He pauses as he considers the shirt and what to say next. I say nothing, waiting for him to find the words he's looking for.
"I've got an older sister Ava but she stayed out in Australia. Every single day up until we left she dreamt about singing in the Sydney Opera House. I guess she didn't make it yet," he says and I smile slightly, her dream of singing reminding me of my own dream. I've always wanted to be an actor and so far, apart from that play-doh commercial, I've not gotten anywhere yet. I can relate to that part, at least.
"Who- what are your parents like?" I ask, changing my mind about asking who Hadley is. That can come later.
"Dad's great. When I came out to them Dad turned to my mom and went "I told you he was, you owe me twenty bucks". I think because he always knew deep down that I was gay he had more time to prepare for it. Not that he would've kicked off or anything. It's just it's all fine and dandy to say you've got nothing against gays but when it happens to your own kid sometimes people just freak out and can't handle it, y'know? Mom was like that for a bit but it was mainly ‘cause she was upset that I wouldn't ‘produce any grandchildren for her'."
...I want his parents. I am amazed that my granddad managed to raise my mum without instilling some kind of tolerance, if not acceptance. I guess being married to my dad didn't help, though. He's homophobic like his life depends on it.
"You can still adopt," I shrug, "or isn't that good enough?"
"She always said she wanted grandkids with my eyes. She's totally cool with it now, though, couldn't be more supportive if she tried," he holds up a pair of jeans at me, "Do you want these? They're sort of falling apart a bit."
"No, I've been meaning to throw those ones away, but I never had the money to replace them," a small smile pulls my lips up, "your parents sound brilliant. You made me jealous," I laugh a bit, only half joking.
"You're welcome to share them, dollface," he smiles. My own smile turns into a grin, before I glance into the suitcase and scowl, pulling out one of the shirts.
"Where's the white polo shirt?"
He jabs a finger at a pile of clothes. "In there somewhere." Making a mental note of it, I turn back to him, fiddling with the material of the shirt in my hands.
"Okay. While you're looking for it, you can explain to me why you looked vaguely murderous when Brent brought up Hadley."