It's been a year since Clay, otherwise known as Porkchop, planned the graduation event in Newport Beach. The event where a handsome Tyler Hamilton caught Clay off guard by kissing him. Clay, up until that day, had never kissed a boy before.
At 24 ye...
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"CLAYTON?"
I gulped, and then I just reached out, grabbed the front door, and shut it again. Because it was an illusion, and I must have knocked on the door and summoned some sort of magical portal. Because there wasn't another explanation in my mind for why my mom would have answered the door to our old house she said she sold so many years ago. My mom who said she lived in Maine with my dad, in a new house, and not this one, on the same old street I grew up on in Columbus, Georgia.
Tyler looked at me, confused, eyebrows drawn together. "Was that your mom?"
I gulped again. "I think we teleported."
"Ah, right, right. The good ol' teleportation trick. Let me try," Tyler said, reaching forward to knock on the door.
The door opened again, almost immediately, and my mom was still there. She looked past Tyler, right to me. "Clay?"
Tyler waved his hand in front of her, catching her attention, pulling it away from me for a second. I was kind of glad because I couldn't really get words to come out of my mouth.
"Yes, Clay, your son. But this time I knocked, and I'm Tyler, and we," he motioned between the two of us, "were expecting a random ass stranger, but you are not a random ass stranger. You're his lying mother."
She ignored Tyler, looking at me. "Clay, honey—"
"You, uh ... you still live here," I said, gulping down the bubble coming up my throat. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to cry. "That's great."
"Honey, we ... we should talk—"
"Who's at the door?" I could hear my dad's voice, and soon enough, he was standing in the doorway beside my mom. His eyes grew wide when he saw me. "Clayton! What a nice surprise to see you!'
Tyler scoffed. "A fucking surprise? Seeing him is what warrants a surprise right now?"
"I thought ... Well, what, um ... what about Maine?" I asked.
"Honey—"
"Would you stop honeying me?" I interrupted. Because every honey was eating away at my ability to swallow the lump in my throat, push back the tears.
"We should talk about this inside," my mom said. "There are some things we could talk about—"
"Talk about the fact that you—you lied to me?" I asked, shaking my head. I didn't even realize I was backing up until I stumbled a little on the rocks, almost losing my balance. "I—I can't. I can't do this..."
I turned around and stood there, then turned back around and ran to the front door. Before anyone could stop me, I reached out and closed the door shut, slamming it basically. Because I wanted to close it, and I didn't want to see them, and I didn't want to deal with this.
