The Long Ride Home

“You want the rest of these fries?”

Travis glanced at his sister’s oily potato wedges, imagining an injection of hot grease barreling straight to his heart. “Nah, I’m good.”

Blake tilted her head back and stuffed the last chunk of her double cheese jalapeno burger in her mouth, her cheeks bulging as she chewed. She chased it with her strawberry shake, sucking the red straw until all that was left was the irritating sound of air scraping the bottom of an empty cup. Then she belched.

“I can’t believe you aren’t hungry,” she said.

“We’re almost there. It is Thanksgiving, you know. Last I checked, food is sort of a big part of it.”

“You know Dad takes forever with the turkey. And Mom will probably have like four pots still going when we get there.”

He chuckled. “So how’s school?”

“Glad you asked,” she said, while brushing her dirty blonde locks behind her ear. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not throwing away the ‘Spencer Family College Fund’.”

He caught a glimpse of her twisted lip at the end of the remark. Blake’s choice to switch majors from pre-law to film had become the hot-button issue whenever he found time to call his parents. After she picked Columbia, their mother bestowed him the honored duty of being Blake’s unofficial guardian. Since he lived in New York, she expected him to keep an eye on his younger sister and help her stay focused on school.

His mother however didn’t account for one thing—Blake did whatever Blake wanted to do. The late night partying, bar-hopping and tattoos were bad enough, but once she transferred to NYU, his watchdog credentials came into serious question. And just when he thought he’d assured his parents that Blake was under control, she dropped her latest bomb—one he was sure his mother considered a middle finger to the family and reason enough to deem his assigned mission a total failure.

It happened at just after 3 AM on a Tuesday, the perfect time to go unnoticed. It would have been so easy for it to get lost in the rush of morning updates that were sure to follow or simply dismissed as a gag or a drunken rant.

No such luck.

He was working late, bouncing from his Power Point presentation, to twitter, to facebook when he saw his sister’s notification. He clicked on it expecting her usual sarcasm and dry humor. That expectation didn’t change when he saw her—drink in one hand, smiling and cupping another girl’s breast with the other. That’s what college girls do, he thought. They get drunk. They get playful. They post pics. Because what good is it to have a wild night if you can’t share it with the world?

Nothing out of the ordinary—especially not for Blake.

It wasn’t until he read her status update that he choked on his sip of coffee and did a double take:

‘It’s official. I’m out. Have a nice gay.’

Have a nice ‘gay’. It was so Blake. Not the gay part, the defiance, the unapologetic humor. Coupled with her responses to the comments and her switching her profile picture to an image of a rainbow, there was not mistaking her post for a prank. She'd come out, and worst of all, on social media.

He called her immediately. All he got was a slurred ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow’ and three bars of whatever song was blasting in the background.

Two days later, they were headed home, to Philadelphia—to the reckoning.

“You should have talked to them before you did that,” he said.

“For what? You know how Mom feels about homosexuals and the whole 'moral decay of society' thing. I just would have ended up hanging up on her.” She brought her hand to her forehead and raked it over her hair. “I mean, why can’t she be more like Dad? As long as what you’re doing isn’t keeping him from having a beer and watching the Eagles game, he could care less.”

“Still, you blindsided them. You’re an adult now. Part of being an adult is standing up for yourself and dealing with your choices.”

She scoffed, gnawing the straw as it hung out of the side of her mouth. “Choice? And just when did I choose to be gay? When’s the last time you saw me in a dress when there wasn’t a family member’s casket nearby?”

He sighed as they crossed the Ben Franklin Bridge, watching Blake as she sat arms folded, her glare locked on the skyline. “You’re gay. Okay. Fine. It’s your life. It’s who you are. I’m just saying that there are better ways you could have handled sharing that.”

“Mom’s a bigot, so presentation my good man, is irrelevant.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He looked over just in time to be met by her cocked eyebrow, causing him to exhale in frustration. “Yes, she’s got her own views. Granted, some of them are a little antiquated…”

“Antiquated?” Blake rolled her eyes. “Every morning since 1985, that woman has got out of bed thinking it’s 1985.”

“True. But you’re her daughter. She’ll come around.”

“Like she came around about Mya?”

“She just expressed concern.”

“Yeah, okay." She went into her best imitation of their mother's voice. "Uh...Travis, I’m concerned about your new girlfriend. Most notably, the fact that she’s black."

She ended her performance with an eye roll. Then she placed two fingers against her temple and mimicked pulling a trigger.

“Well concerns or not… she’s gonna have to get used to Mya. She has no choice now.”

Blake turned toward him, suspicion swirling in her eyes. “Wait. No. What? You serious?”

“I asked her last week and she said ‘yes’.”

“Bitchin’!” Blake’s face lit up with glee as she punched him in the arm.

“Hey,” Travis steadied the wheel. “I’m driving over here!”

Blake’s smile widened. “Okay, first… congrats big bro’. I’m happy for you.” She looked away rubbing her chin.

“And second?”

“Second, I’m so happy I won’t be the only topic of conversation today. You have GOT to let me break that news.”

“I’m an adult, remember? I can tell her myself.” He took the exit ramp off the freeway and into the light holiday traffic, their destination less than ten minutes away. “I love Mya. Nothing Mom has to say is going to change that.”

Under a blank stare, Blake brought her hand over her wide open mouth. “Oh my God. That woman's head is going to explode before we even get to carve the turkey.”

“She’ll get over it,” he said. “Serves her right for always hounding me about settling down.”

After several traffic lights and a few turns, they were almost there. He drove through the streets of their neighborhood, each block reminding him of the familiar, rekindling memories and reinforcing an unmistakable connection. Despite the looming specter of the dreaded and predictable exchanges lying in wait at his parents’ home, he drew comfort from the sight of the houses, shops and street signs rolling past his window.

Minutes later, they pulled into their parent’s driveway behind his father’s blue pickup. As he turned off the engine, Blake flashed a sly grin.

“Twenty bucks says she’s going to be more mad at you than at me.”

He unbuckled his seat belt and opened his door. Before exiting, he looked back over his shoulder. “You’re on."