Jack’s mom clears her throat. “I was just telling Jack and Callum that I met Jack’s father at college. Boston College, class of 2000. Maybe Jack will meet The One, too.” She looks to Callum, nods, and flashes a toothy grin.

“It’s a bit too crunchy granola here,” his dad says.

“Aren’t you from Vermont?” Rae asks, and I love her for that. “It’s like, an entire state of crunchy granolas. No offense. I’m a huuuge fan of Vermont.”

“Yeah, you got the Bernie Sanders libs, and they’re probably the majority, but there are pockets of real Vermonters like us,” Jack’s dad says, and his mom smacks his arm. “As long as he doesn’t come back a lib. Or a queer.”

The way he says queer is not how I use it. His is malicious, a slur meant to make me feel unworthy, targeted. I want to stand up and claim my queerness in front of him, make him feel just as small as he’s trying to make me feel. But then I notice Jack, all color drained from his face, clenching his teeth, and I feel like I have to reserve myself.

“Simon!” his mom hisses.

“What?” he says. “There’s a lot of queers in this town.”

Rae mouths, We should go, and I nod. I don’t feel safe.

“He’s being an idiot. Don’t listen to him. We’re happy Jack is here and that he’s making a ton of friends,” she says. “It would’ve been nice if he stayed closer to home, but Cal has stepped up to help run the family businesses. Our other son, Jack’s older brother, is a teacher, you know. Our youngest is with him for the weekend.”

“I got one son who insists on being a teacher, another who wants to be a writer, and a daughter too young to get involved in whiskey-making,” his dad says. “But we got the next best thing, right, Cal? Maybe Cal will inherit the whole kit and caboodle.”

“Right, sir,” Cal says. “It’d be an honor. You know, it’s funny you should bring up girls because Jack was just telling me last night that he did meet someone.”

I hold my breath.

Rae and Benny exchange glances then look at me.

Rhett stares at his plate.

“Really?” his mom says. “Do we get to meet her?”

“Atta boy, son,” his dad says.

“Leave it alone, Cal,” Jack says.

“What’s her name?” his dad asks.

“He’s clearly uncomfortable, Simon. Look at him,” his mom says. “It’s okay, honey. You don’t have to tell us anything.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jack says, clearing his throat. His eyes meet mine, but he quickly looks away. “There isn’t a girl.” Then he adds quickly, “There isn’t anyone. I’m too busy focusing on my writing, which …”

I don’t care what he’s telling them now.