Perfect Christmas [2016 Edition]

3. Evans

[ E V A N S ]

"I'm sorry, Evans."

     Three words. Three words that I've been so accustomed to hearing my whole life now that I've become desensitized to it. Three words that hold so little meaning to me.

      I heave a long sigh. Why do I keep letting them do this to me? You would have thought that I'd figured it out by now and keep my distance. But like a fool, I believe them. Like a fool, I've continued to hold up hope that this time, they'll really let us in.

      "It was your dad's decision," my mother tells me over the phone. Rage coils inside of me, burning at the core. I'm so angry that all I want to do right now is to put a fucking fist through my wall. Angry at at them, but rather, myself. For letting them swindle me of my pride yet again. I clench my phone tightly. I can't tell if she's sorry or not. Besides, she's done this too many times for me to even care. "All your father's and my friends will be there. If you go, they'll start talking. About you and Brent. About us. And—and—I just can't deal with that right now."

Of course she says that. She hasn't wanted to deal with it ever since Brent and I got married two years ago. She hasn't even told anybody that her son was bisexual. Apparently, it would 'destroy' our family's reputation.

"It's so typical of you." I roll my eyes. "I don't know if you're really trying to make an effort to accept us into the family or you're trying to humiliate us even more by uninviting us from your social gatherings."

"We're really trying—" My mother attempts to defend herself but I'm not hearing any of it.

"Well, try harder," I snap at her. "Merry Christmas, mother. And tell dad to go fuck himself."

She gasps, horrified. I've never used any swear words in front of them before, but I'm too angry to withhold my tongue any longer. "Evans!" She cries.

"Goodbye."

And then, I hang up.

Brent emerges from our room, pushing his glasses up the crook of his nose as he glances at me, worried. Damn, he looks real fine today. He just got up and his hair is all ruffled and messy, the dark tufts curling and falling past the frames of his glasses. He says that he's going to get it buzzed tomorrow morning but I beg to differ. I quite like his hair like that. It's super fucking sexy.

"What happened?" He asks, half-yawning.

I don't even know how to begin telling him this. He's been looking forward to this Christmas party with my parents ever since we've received the invitation card in our mail a few weeks ago. Since we didn't get invited to last year's one, we were pretty pumped because it felt like my parents were finally starting to accept us getting married.

Fuck, I wish my parents weren't like this. I wish they'd stop worrying about their damn reputations and for once in their life, put me first. I've always been their golden son—why should my sexuality affect that?

It's been almost two years, for fuck's sake. You would have thought that they'll be ready to accept us with open arms by now. But every time I'm convinced that they're trying, they suddenly retreat and slam the door shut at our faces instead. 

"My parents just uninvited us from the Christmas party," I say, placing the phone down on the kitchen counter and scratching the back of my head. "They said that they didn't want people talking if we were to make an appearance."

"What?" Brent says incredulously. He crosses the hallway and saunters towards the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the island chairs. He faces me, his eyebrows furrowed with confusion. "What kind of bullshit excuse is that?"