Epilogue -- Christmas Eve Eve
Molly Jones thoughtfully sipped her wine as she leaned against the kitchen counter. Indiana was all over the kitchen preparing their evening meal. He said it was just a simple Mexican soup recipe one of his roommates had taught him, but it looked delicious—whole chicken pieces with hearty chunks of potatoes, carrots, zucchini, celery, and cabbage, along with just enough jalapeno to give it some heat. He had an avocado in the fridge, which he told her would go on top.
She watched him add the last few ingredients to the stock pot, put on a lid, and set the whole thing to simmer. Tomorrow, she and her son would spend Christmas Eve with the Sages and Trans. Tonight, it was just her and Indiana. He'd arrived earlier that day, and they spent their time together chatting about this and that inconsequential detail—what she did at work, what he did at work and school—neither hitting close to the things she really wanted to speak about.
Molly remembered a time when her son told her everything, but that hadn't happened in years.
Now, Indiana kept secrets, kept her in the dark about the things going on in his world. Looking back on their life, Molly realized the change hadn't happened over night. Indiana began hiding parts of himself little by little, starting back when he'd been a boy, and the hiding only became worse as he became a teenager, and later a young man.
Indiana had been around five or six the last time he'd been completely open to her. Her then-husband had finally brought himself to pick their son up after school, which had been the first and only time Indiana's teachers and classmates saw him. Indiana had her coloring, and the likeness to his father would only appear once he'd matured, which made it difficult to see that they really were father and son. Children could be petty and cruel with those different from them, and having a father who looked so very different from him instantly marked Indiana as "other". Then, she and Andre had their own problems, and over several years caught between the stresses of school and home, their son simply clammed up, gradually stowing away things.
If she got anything at all from him, it was under duress. And really, she only remembered that happening once when he was ten, right after his first summer with his father. Their custody agreement allowed Molly to keep Indiana during the school year, but he would spend his summers and alternating holidays with Andre, who had remarried before the ink even dried on their divorce.
She'd convinced herself that Indiana's nightly calls home had been little more than separation anxiety, and managed to keep up the pretense right up until he told her he didn't ever want to go back. It had taken days to coax out the reason. She knew from Andre that Indiana hadn't been getting along with his new step-brothers, Trevor and Devin, but had been assured that it was all just "boys being boys". Molly did not think however, that "boy being boys" was a good enough excuse for Claire's hellspawn calling her child
freak
,
faggot
, or
momma's boy
.
She recalled that her son managed to hold himself together through most of the telling, but broke apart the moment she tried to assure him that he wasn't any of those things. "But, I am," he'd sobbed, his voice rising. "All of it! Just like they said! Like everyone says—an ugly weirdo cocksucker pussy who needs his mommy!" No amount of consoling, of assuring him that being different or gay or loving his mom was okay, could ease his pain, so she had held him until he'd cried himself out.
After that, Indiana had drawn his uniqueness around himself like a mantle, a protective barrier between himself and the rest of the world. Molly had celebrated this change, mistaking his non-conformity for free self-expression until it was too late. Indiana's hidden life had stretched out beyond the normal secrets children keep from their parents. If it hadn't been for his interest in running and Laurel coming into his life, he might have closed himself off from her entirely over the course of his teens.
Molly blamed herself. She blamed her ex-husband. She blamed Claire and her horrible sons. But, most of all, Molly blamed Michael Jameson—the little shit who found every little chink in her son's armor and exploited it.
The boy treated her son like a dirty secret at home, and a meal ticket when they went off to college, and Molly had to learn about this treatment from Laurel, who Michael had thankfully been unsuccessful in driving away. Years of screaming matches, Michael's cheating and hypocritical jealousy, his refusal to acknowledge Indiana, the times he flipped out when Indiana tried to hold his hand in public. Laurel said Michael had once shoved him away hard enough to leave bruises when Indiana hit a stone pillar. Molly kept silent in all this because trying to talk had made him even more secretive, a condition that hadn't improved once that
boy
had been pushed out of Indiana's life.
But, things were shifting.
Indiana, for the first time in ages, was opening up to her.
And all she had done was ask, "Who's Preston?"
Molly had been angry when Indiana disappeared after Thanksgiving dinner, but then curious as pictures began filtering in. Sure, there had been pictures of Indiana with Laurel and Mike Tran, which increased in number once Michael Jameson was out of his life. However, the last few weeks were something else. Three young men had joined the cast of characters in her son's college life.
Molly recognized one of the boys in these new pictures as his roommate, Efrain, who was a smart and serious young man. She liked him well enough, especially after he'd cooked for her during one of her visits. The second boy—a wholesome blond-haired, blue-eyed football stereotype—usually appeared along with Efrain. Cory, as Indiana had identified him, was the new roommate who'd taught her son how to make the
caldo de pollo
that was now simmering on her stove.
But, it was the third boy that got her attention. Laurel had told her all about "Indie's Upgrade", but Molly didn't think he'd be this adorable. Well-dressed and well-coiffed, with a sweet face that made him seem cheeky and lively.
Although, the kid could have been the Antichrist and Molly still wouldn't have cared.
Because of this young man, she had photographic evidence of her only child, who she loved beyond reason, dancing in bars, and having movie nights, and looking sharp and confident for a big presentation, and cuddling on the couch, and snuggling under blankets, and sharing meals with friends. Through these pictures, Molly witnessed a change in Indiana, little glimpses of his former self peeking through, growing more frequent over that short period.
So, it was only natural that she would ask about the boy.
"Who's Preston?"
"A friend," he said simply, setting a timer for the soup.
"Didn't look like just a friend," she said as they took up their wine glasses and headed for the living room. "I saw the pictures."
"Oh," he said. "He's Cory's best friend. I ran afoul of him when I tried to break him and Efrain up."
"Why'd—"
"It's a long story." Indiana plopped down on the sofa, and she sat down next to him.
"We got some time," Molly said and listened intently as her son led her through his and Preston's sordid journey from enemies to lovers.
"So, do you think things might get serious?"
"I don't think so. We're just fooling around."
"I doubt that."
"Even if I was serious," he said, "Preston is a little out of my league."
"Don't say that," Molly chastised.
"No, really. He's smart and funny. And, he's very attractive."
"Sounds like a catch."
"He is. Could have any guy he wanted." Indiana stared at his wine glass before gulping down the contents. "No idea what he's doing with me."
She ruffled his hair. "You're a pretty good catch yourself."
He laughed.
