Mom sees us from across the yard and motions us over, pointing to the opposite end of her table, where there are two empty chairs just waiting for us.

“Is it too late to run away?” I ask Wyatt.

“It won’t be that bad,” he promises, reaching down to hold my hand.

Right, we’re dating.

“You got off easy last night, Fowler. I’ll go ahead and apologize up front for whatever they might say to, through, or about you.”

We make our way to the center table and take the empty seats.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Nana says before I even have a chance to open my mouth.

“This is my boyfriend, Wyatt.”

Grandpa reaches across Nana. “Nice to meet you, son,” he grumbles while offering Wyatt a handshake.

“Nice to meet you,” Wyatt replies, shaking Grandpa’s hand. Thank God Wyatt already has good manners. The less ammunition he gives them, the better.

“Quite the handshake you got there, son,” my grandfather says admiringly. “What sports do you play?”

“Oh, none, sir. But I play the guitar.”

“I see.” Grandpa stares at Wyatt, this unsure look on his face.

“How did you boys sleep?” Mom asks.

“Fine,” I reply. “We slept fine.”

For what it’s worth, brunch isn’t that bad. Everyone seems more preoccupied with talking to everyone else. No one makes comments about my weight or my gender or my surgeries. Grandpa tries to occupy Wyatt in conversations about baseball and soccer, the two things he knows most about in this world. And poor Wyatt just has to sit there and endure it, even when he admits that the only baseball team he knows anything about is the Yankees.

Then Nana starts asking her questions.

“So, Wyatt. What do your parents do?”

“Oh, well, one of my moms is a teacher. And my other mom is a librarian.”

“Mothers,” Nana says slowly. “Two mothers?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I need water.

“No father?” Grandpa asks. “A boy needs a father figure, don’t you think?”

“Well, my father can’t really parent from his urn on the mantel.” Wyatt lets out this soft chuckle, and I have to resist laughing while my family sits there in their discomfort. “But both my moms raised me pretty well, so I’ve been just fine without a father figure,” Wyatt says matter-of-factly.

I barely have time to aim away from everyone in front of me as I spray the water out of my mouth.

Between that and what Wyatt just said, no one really knows where to look. We all kind of just sit there, staring at him for hours. Or it feels like hours at least. I had zero idea that Wyatt had a dead parent, that that was something he was carrying with him. But at the same time, seeing the reactions from the rest of my family, it’s pretty hilarious.

Then I can’t stop myself from laughing.