Chapter Text
Alex didn’t like it when it was just him and his parents at home for dinner. Stephanie served as a good barrier, or at least as an adequate distraction. She seemed to sense it too, always jumping in with an antidote about school whenever their parents started to question why he was spending so much time with the band or why he hadn’t asked a girl out to homecoming yet.
She didn’t know, of course, at least Alex was pretty sure she didn’t know, but somehow she always knew when to jump in with a silly joke or random story to divert attention from her brother.
But that night, Stephanie was at a friend's house, leaving Alex to fend for himself against the onslaught of questions and unsolicited advice.
Alex tried to keep his attention on his plate of spaghetti instead of the conversation between his parents. If he made himself as small and quiet as possible, maybe they would forgo their annoying questions.
“Son, what do you think?”
He should have known. It was foolish to hope he could get through dinner unscathed.
He glanced around the dining room as if the answer was hiding behind the heavy curtains or amongst the flower designs in the wallpaper.
“I—“ Alex paused, “—what did you say?”
His father huffed, but didn’t look too upset, more mildly annoyed.
“Your mother and I were talking about inviting the Paynes to get lunch with us after church this Sunday.”
Alex bit back the urge to sigh in relief. These kinds of questions he could handle.
“Yeah, of course. That sounds great.”
His father’s mouth turned up in a half smile before he quickly resumed eating.
Alex would call that a win. He was one step closer to escaping to band practice.
“So what are you up to this Friday night? Maybe a date with a nice girl?” His mother asked, with a playful lilt to her voice.
Alex shook his head with a snort.
“Very funny, Mom.”
His mother raised her hands in mock surrender.
“What?” She said, “You’re growing up. Soon enough, you're going to have a wife and kids, and you won’t need your poor mom anymore.”
Alex glanced up at the clock on the far wall of their dining room, wishing it would tick a little faster. But the hand made its way around the face leisurely.
Tick,
Tick,
Tick.
“So what are you doing tonight, son? Can we expect you back by curfew?” His father added.
“I’ve got band practice, so I should be home by 10. I’ll call if I end up staying later,” Alex said.
A pregnant pause followed, long enough for a flare of nerves to spark in Alex’s gut. He watched his parents’ eyes as they seemed to have a silent conversation with each other across the dinner table.
Alex held his breath.
“Alex, honey…” his mother trailed off. There was clearly more she wanted to say, but she was waiting for his acknowledgement.
“Yeah?”
“We love that you’re so passionate about music,” she said, “we just think you shouldn’t spend all your time with those boys.”
He should have known this was coming. As kind as his parents were, he knew that appearances were important to them, and playing in a rock band didn’t exactly fit the mold of the model nuclear family.
He stared ahead at the empty chair where his sister would be. Maybe if he stared at it long enough, she’d materialize out of nowhere with a story about lacrosse practice that could distract from whatever lecture he knew was coming.
“Alexander!” His father’s booming voice made him jump. His forkful of spaghetti clattered down onto his plate. “Listen to your mother.”
Alex picked up his fork again and met his mother’s soft gaze.
“Sorry!” he said, “I’m listening, I swear. I just don’t understand. You like my music.”
His mother sighed. She was fiddling with her golden cross necklace.
“Of course we do, sweetheart. We just think it’s time for you to prioritize the things that are going to help you in the future, like your grades.”
Alex understood that to an extent. Luke was often going on and on about how Sunset Curve was going to be the most popular band of all time, so they wouldn’t need to worry about stupid things like school. Alex didn’t exactly agree with that, so he tried to get good enough grades. It made him less anxious to know he had an education he could fall back on, but that didn’t mean he wanted to just give up on the band.
“But I‘m getting good grades. And those guys are my best friends.”
His mother smiled at him. Her blue-eyed gaze was soft but unyielding, like she was staring directly into his soul. Alex squirmed in his seat.
He’d always been good at picking up on his mother’s emotions. There were subtle tells, a twitch of an eye or the tightening of a smile. His father said it was because he was sensitive. His mother claimed it was the “mama’s boy” in him. Alex knew it was just because the signs were easy to pick up on once you knew where to look.
The slight crease between his mother’s arched brows meant there was something pressing on her mind. The stiff smile meant she was trying to soften the blow for whatever came next.
Alex gritted his teeth and waited for the bomb to drop.
“We understand, sweetie, and we think it’s so great that you have such great friends. But–”
“–you don’t want people to get the wrong idea,” his father cut in, “what with you spending all your time with those effeminate types.”
He had said it so casually, but there was something about the way he said it that made Alex’s skin crawl.
“What do you mean?” he asked, ignoring the way his stomach swooped.
“They’re clearly not a good influence on you and their…” his mother paused, “…lifestyles aren’t exactly something you want to be associated with.”
Alex wondered if his face had already given it away. Was it ashen gray or burning red? Was the fork trembling in his grasp?
“And you don’t want people thinking you're a queer .” His father continued, spitting out the word like it was ugly. Like it was the gum on the bottom of his shoe, and Alex had picked it up and popped the chewed wad into his mouth.
Alex folded his hands carefully over his lap. He righted his posture and squeezed his fingers until the trembling stopped.
“And we’re not saying you are one,” his mother hastily added, resting her manicured hand on his arm. “We just noticed a few things and thought we would talk to you about them. We're worried about you, and we think it would be a good idea if you step away from the band for the time being. Pastor Thomas has this great program that…”
Alex could see his mother’s lips continue to move, but no sound reached his ears. All he could hear was the frantic thump of his heartbeat like a drum, beating against his chest. Her hand was warm against his arm, but it burned like a brand. His breath was stuttering out of him in short bursts.
They were going to make him leave the band. They were going to tear him away from his only friends. He was going to lose the most important people in his life–the only people who accepted him for who he was—because his parents thought they were turning him gay.
There was a sick feeling coiling in his gut. The drumbeat of his heart increased tenfold.
Alex had to say something, anything, to stop this trainwreck before it could happen. He needed to prove to his parents that his friends weren’t the problem.
It was him.
“I’m gay.”
The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant to say it. He’d meant to come up with something clever—some sort of way to quell his parents' worries without outright lying to them—but that was the only thing his mind could come up with. He’d always been a terrible liar.
Maybe if they knew, they’d stop worrying? Maybe this was their way of asking him without outright asking? Maybe now things would be different?
There was silence.
There was nothing apart from the steady tick of the clock on the wall. Laughter seeped through the open windows, and a bird was warbling something shrill and high-pitched outside, but the Mercer household was unmoving. He couldn’t even be certain his parents were still breathing. They were frozen still, like animatronics awaiting the drop of a coin to bring their metal limbs screeching back to life.
Alex glanced between them, waiting.
The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow.
Tick,
Tick,
Tick.
His father was on his feet, chair scraping against the hardwood floor beneath him. His mouth twisted up into what Alex could only describe as a snarl, and he pointed a finger past Alex’s head and to the door behind him.
“OUT.”
The single word was like a dagger to his chest. His stomach lurched.
“Greg, don’t–” his mother said.
“OUT!” his father repeated, dragging Alex to his feet by the arm. His mother quickly rocketed to her feet as well, with hands tented over her mouth.
“Dad, I don’t–”
His father’s fingernails were digging hard into the skin of his arm. Alex thrashed against his grip, an animal instinct to simply survive outshining his desire to be the well-behaved son.
Alex had never feared his father, at least, not until that moment.
“Greg, honey, he’s just confused. Alex, tell your father that–”
“I want you out of this house RIGHT NOW!”
Alex was hyperventilating. His vision was swimming. He could feel his father’s death grip on his arm, manhandling him out of the kitchen and towards the front door.
“I’ve let this childish behavior go on for far too long.”
“Dad, please don’t be mad. I’m sorry, but I’m telling the truth.”
There wasn’t even a second for Alex to flinch away before he felt the sting of a hand against his cheek. It was burning, pulsing in time with his rapid heartbeat. His head had snapped to the side. Tears flooded his eyes.
His father had hit him.
He’d never done that before.
“Greg!” His mother scolded, but she made no move to check on her son. She stood teary-eyed and helpless in the hallway. She was a frail waif of a woman—like a single touch could turn her to dust—and she was staring at Alex like he had ripped her heart in two.
“Mom?”
“Just go,” she said, sniveling. “We’ll talk later.”
His father stepped between them.
“I will not entertain this idiotic behavior in my house. Get out, and don’t come back until you’ve gained some goddamn sense.”
Alex didn’t need to be told twice.
He turned on his heel and ran.