too.
Homespun | Layla M. Wier
86
The reception was awkward but not as terrible as he’d expected. Some of the younger family members unbent enough to chat with him, as did an elderly aunt Owen found himself liking. She wore an outrageous flowered hat, completely inappropriate, and didn’t seem to give a damn what anyone thought about it. Occasionally he glimpsed Laura, circulating and making small talk with a sort of manic cheerfulness.
Owen kept a constant eye on Kerry, ready to ride to the rescue if any of the Ruehlings turned vicious. It was more of a cold war, though, a mutual frosty silence. Kerry leaned against a wall and gazed through the Ruehling herd, which obligingly ignored him. Despite Kerry’s silence and obvious attempts to blend into the background, Owen couldn’t help being aware of him, no matter where in the room either of them went. Kerry, even this subdued version of him, stood out among the rest of the Ruehlings like a graceful swan in a gathering of chattering magpies. When he disappeared, Owen noticed his absence immediately.
Owen found him a block away, sitting on a bench at a bus stop. “Going somewhere?” Owen asked quietly, sitting beside him. The air was cold and still and smelled like snow, though it was still too early in the year for it.
“I’m not sure. I suppose it’s nice to have the fantasy of it. Besides,” Kerry added, “it’s a place to sit down.”
“True.” Owen glanced down at Kerry’s pointy-toed
shoes. They had only slight platform heels, not such that they might be called high , but enough to look uncomfortable to walk in. Owen himself was feeling the pinch of his dress shoes—the last time he’d worn them was for Laura’s graduation.
“I saw you talking to Aunt Lucy,” Kerry said.
Homespun | Layla M. Wier
87
“I like her,” Owen said.
Kerry smiled. “Lucy is solid. She’s good people, as they used to say. I regret losing touch with her.”
“I wouldn’t mind having her over to the farm sometime.”
Kerry lost his smile. “Owen….”
“I realized something today,” Owen said, and now Kerry looked even more nervous. “I’m in the closet, aren’t I?”
Kerry stared at him and then he laughed, a warm,
genuine laugh, the first Owen had heard from him in a long time. “Ah, honey, I wasn’t going to say anything….”
“I never thought about it that way,” Owen said,
genuinely distressed. He was an honest guy, a straight shooter; or at least, all this time, he’d always believed that about himself. Now it felt as if the solid ground under his feet had turned to quicksand. “I never hid it—can you believe me? I never hid you . I never meant to, anyway. I never even thought about it. I was only trying to give you space.”
“I know.” Kerry heaved a sigh. “I mean, I really did figure that out, over the years.”
“I always thought I was doing you a favor. Not flaunting it. Not making you feel weighed down by my expectations.”
But, he thought, how much of it wasn’t concern for Kerry at all, but worry about what the neighbors would think? He might claim it was just his general dislike of public displays of affection, his restrictive Lutheran upbringing. But it was also the part of him that hated to make a fuss and knew, deep down, that bringing Kerry around to meet his neighbors and family as his boyfriend—saying “I think I’m bisexual, maybe gay” to the people he’d grown up around—would be nothing but fuss. Hiding, versus being discreet… it was a fine line, sometimes.
Homespun | Layla M. Wier
88
But Kerry had never hidden. Who he was, what he was—he wore it on his skin. No wonder he was so volatile, so easily hurt. He put everything he was out there, with no armor but his art to shield him from a world that frequently lashed out.
“I expect most of that lot in there are hiding something,”
Kerry said. “Or some one . You know how many ‘straight’ men frequent bathhouses? Let me tell you, the
Homespun | Layla M. Wier
86
The reception was awkward but not as terrible as he’d expected. Some of the younger family members unbent enough to chat with him, as did an elderly aunt Owen found himself liking. She wore an outrageous flowered hat, completely inappropriate, and didn’t seem to give a damn what anyone thought about it. Occasionally he glimpsed Laura, circulating and making small talk with a sort of manic cheerfulness.
Owen kept a constant eye on Kerry, ready to ride to the rescue if any of the Ruehlings turned vicious. It was more of a cold war, though, a mutual frosty silence. Kerry leaned against a wall and gazed through the Ruehling herd, which obligingly ignored him. Despite Kerry’s silence and obvious attempts to blend into the background, Owen couldn’t help being aware of him, no matter where in the room either of them went. Kerry, even this subdued version of him, stood out among the rest of the Ruehlings like a graceful swan in a gathering of chattering magpies. When he disappeared, Owen noticed his absence immediately.
Owen found him a block away, sitting on a bench at a bus stop. “Going somewhere?” Owen asked quietly, sitting beside him. The air was cold and still and smelled like snow, though it was still too early in the year for it.
“I’m not sure. I suppose it’s nice to have the fantasy of it. Besides,” Kerry added, “it’s a place to sit down.”
“True.” Owen glanced down at Kerry’s pointy-toed
shoes. They had only slight platform heels, not such that they might be called high , but enough to look uncomfortable to walk in. Owen himself was feeling the pinch of his dress shoes—the last time he’d worn them was for Laura’s graduation.
“I saw you talking to Aunt Lucy,” Kerry said.
Homespun | Layla M. Wier
87
“I like her,” Owen said.
Kerry smiled. “Lucy is solid. She’s good people, as they used to say. I regret losing touch with her.”
“I wouldn’t mind having her over to the farm sometime.”
Kerry lost his smile. “Owen….”
“I realized something today,” Owen said, and now Kerry looked even more nervous. “I’m in the closet, aren’t I?”
Kerry stared at him and then he laughed, a warm,
genuine laugh, the first Owen had heard from him in a long time. “Ah, honey, I wasn’t going to say anything….”
“I never thought about it that way,” Owen said,
genuinely distressed. He was an honest guy, a straight shooter; or at least, all this time, he’d always believed that about himself. Now it felt as if the solid ground under his feet had turned to quicksand. “I never hid it—can you believe me? I never hid you . I never meant to, anyway. I never even thought about it. I was only trying to give you space.”
“I know.” Kerry heaved a sigh. “I mean, I really did figure that out, over the years.”
“I always thought I was doing you a favor. Not flaunting it. Not making you feel weighed down by my expectations.”
But, he thought, how much of it wasn’t concern for Kerry at all, but worry about what the neighbors would think? He might claim it was just his general dislike of public displays of affection, his restrictive Lutheran upbringing. But it was also the part of him that hated to make a fuss and knew, deep down, that bringing Kerry around to meet his neighbors and family as his boyfriend—saying “I think I’m bisexual, maybe gay” to the people he’d grown up around—would be nothing but fuss. Hiding, versus being discreet… it was a fine line, sometimes.
Homespun | Layla M. Wier
88
But Kerry had never hidden. Who he was, what he was—he wore it on his skin. No wonder he was so volatile, so easily hurt. He put everything he was out there, with no armor but his art to shield him from a world that frequently lashed out.
“I expect most of that lot in there are hiding something,”
Kerry said. “Or some one . You know how many ‘straight’ men frequent bathhouses? Let me tell you, the
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