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Stanley traced his lips with his thumb, craving a cigarette. He knew better than to let his folks get a whiff. He’d gotten a real good spanking after his dad found a pile of candy wrappers stuffed under his bed. Worse than that was his mom’s look of disappointment, which always made him feel as if all the air had been sucked out of him.
Smoking wasn’t the biggest secret he was keeping from them these days.
It was suppertime at the Snyder household. The old farmhouse sat low on the land, a small whistling sound coming from the screen door that had once had a football go through it and never quite recovered. The place was a cozy size and smelled like sun-warmed wood and homemade cooking.
Inside, his dad sat at the head of the table like usual, a stern man of few words. His skin was sunburned from long days in the field, short blond curls darkened with sweat. The calluses on his hands were from more than working on the farm. He loved the rifle and had spent years teaching Stanley how to handle one, steady and sure.
His mom placed the last dish, a plate of mashed potatoes, on the table. She eased herself into her seat, tucking golden strands behind her ear. Even pushing forty and with a day’s worth of dust on her, she still had that kind of beauty that turned heads at Sunday service—a real Texas belle if there ever was one.
Starting from a few months ago, his mom had been cooking like she was going to feed Stanley’s entire new squad instead of a family of three. It was her way of coping with his decision to join the Marines instead of staying on the farm.
His folks weren’t mad. Snyders had worn the uniform for generations. The thought of their boy, not so little anymore, heading across the ocean still weighed on both of them.
With everyone seated, there was that familiar hush before the meal. Heads bowed, eyes closed, the soft murmur of grace mixing with the sound of cicadas starting up outside.
“With the way you’re feeding him, Martha, Stanley’s gonna need to roll himself out to the barn in the morning.”
“You hush and let him eat! He’s earned it after all that hard work. I suppose that means you wouldn’t like seconds?”
“Couldn’t live without it,” his dad replied, the corner of his eyes crinkling with crow’s feet. “I am mighty impressed we got all them fence posts set.”
Stanley smiled softly, happy to help give a hand on the farm while he still could.
“Don’t listen to your dad,” Martha said, swatting at him playfully. “You eat as much as you want, sweetheart. And I made your favourite for dessert.”
“It’s great, mom.” It was the truth, but Stanley’s stomach was churning so bad with nerves that for once, he couldn’t eat nearly as much as usual.
I’m going to miss this brisket, Stanley thought, should’ve asked for the recipe.
He had already choked back these words more times than he could count. It wasn’t like him at all to hesitate. To be afraid.
He thought back to the first time his dad took him hunting. Seven years old, gun feeling heavy and a little too big for his hands. He’d learned to track, to keep quiet, to be patient. And most of all, to respect the weapon. He could still see the pride shining in his father’s brown eyes when he held up that first rabbit. “Fine shot, son,” he’d said, voice gruff but warm.
Then there was his mom in the springtime, showing him how to press seeds into the dirt with his thumb. He’d watched with wonder as rows of corn bigger than him sprouted from those little seeds. Her laughter had been beautiful and spontaneous, spilling from her lips when he’d come to “help” in the kitchen and ended up stealing pie dough instead. He could still smell the cinnamon and sugar, feel the sticky streaks on his chin where she’d wiped at him with the corner of her apron.
Then there was Leon. Three farms down. Gone from church one Sunday. Homosexuality had been whispered like it was a contagious disease. Stanley had seen a gun being brandished as Leon’s parents yelled at their son. Neighbours pretended not to look. Leon was gone the next day and Stanley never saw him in town again. Nobody asked. Nobody said a damn thing.
He could keep quiet too. Just a few more weeks until boot camp. After that, he could hide behind distance, letters, excuses.
But he was tired of pretending.
His heart was thudding so hard it hurt. The smell of apple cobbler still hung in the dining room, sweet and heavy.
“Mom, dad, I’ve got something to say.”
They both looked at him. His mom’s brows creased in concern, while his dad’s eyes were steady but questioning. They could tell he was serious.
“I’m gay.”
The words left his mouth before he could pull them back. They hung in the air, heavier than the August heat pressing in through the windows.
Stanley waited for his world to collapse.
He’d already packed a duffle bag and set it by the door. Just in case he was asked to leave.
Nobody said a word. The only sound was the old clock ticking above the stove and the hum of the refrigerator. His parents looked at him, then at each other. Back at him again.
He waited for the questions, the shouting, the disappointment. The crash he’d been bracing for his whole life.
Instead, when his dad finally spoke, the words turned his worldview upside down.
“We know, son.”
Stanley blinked. Of all scenarios he had run through—shouting, facing a gun, being told he would go to hell—this hadn’t been one of them.
He didn’t move, didn’t speak, and for a second, forgot how to breathe.
“We didn’t say nothing because we wanted you to tell us on your own time,” his mom said softly.
Stanley opened his mouth, then closed it, feeling like fish out of water. He half-considered pinching himself, just to make sure this wasn’t some heatstroke dream. “How did you… When did you… know?” he managed.
His folks traded a glance, that kind of wordless look people only get after decades together.
“Well,” his mom started, folding her hands on the table. “I reckon I realized it first. That time I caught you in my makeup. You said you lost a bet with your buddies, but you couldn’t fool me. You looked like you were enjoying yourself. And, sweetheart, you were better at it than I am.”
Stanley flushed at the memory. He’d only been thirteen, awkward and curious. He’d quietly celebrated that he’d made up a convincing lie on the spot, but it turned out she had just been humoring him. She’d known all the way since then.
His dad spoke. “I put it together later on. All of them girls at your games kept throwing themselves at you, and I never once saw you bring one home. Didn’t even get caught making out behind the bleachers, like your mom and I did back in the day.”
Stanley bit his lip. He supposed he could have fake dated a girl, but it seemed too hurtful, when he knew what he truly wanted.
“So…” He looked between them, starting to have hope. “You knew.”
They nodded in confirmation.
“And you’re not mad at me?”
“Well, that depends,” his mom said.
Stanley’s pulse kicked up again. Depends on what? If he could stop being gay? If he was willing to go to through conversion therapy?
The quiet between them stretched thin as wire.
“Have you been safe about it?”
“What?” Stanley blinked.
“Have you been having safe sex?”
“Mom!” The word shot out of him before he could stop it.
“Well, have you?” she insisted.
For a heartbeat, he almost lied again. It would’ve been so easy to deny it, to tuck the truth back down where it had lived all these years. But that wasn’t what he’d come here to do.
“Yes,” he answered, quietly. “Just with one person.”
He couldn’t meet their eyes. His cheeks burned, but not with shame, just the rawness of saying it out loud. He’d never regretted it for a second.
“I knew it,” his dad said, drumming his fingers on the table, a habit he had when he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. “It’s that Wingfield boy, ain’t it?”
For a split second, Stanley’s stomach dropped. He’d braced himself for harsh words, for disappointment, for anything aimed his way, but not at Xeno. If anyone had done the leading astray, it was Stanley, not the boy who spent most of his days thinking about nothing but science.
“How… how did you know?” he asked finally, the question slipping out before he could stop it, an answer in itself.
“Oh, dear… You two were always thick as thieves, playing all sorts of games together. I recall you proposing to him once with a lollipop. Or remember that time I caught you two playing princess and knight?”
Stanley remembered. That had been a long time ago, before he’d even realized his feelings were something he should hide. After he grew up, he had looked back on those incidents with abject horror, before finally accepting them as truer than the lies he’d told himself.
“That time you got suspended for beating up the kids who messed with the rocket you two made…” his dad added with a soft shake of his head.
“All the gifts from him you keep so neatly in your closet,” his mom jumped in, “while I’ve seen the other presents you’ve gotten get lost or destroyed real quick…”
“That time you two got in a fight and weren’t speaking. I’d never seen you so down in the dumps…”
“And you worked two part-time jobs just to save up enough money to fly across the country to visit him!”
They seemed like they could continue on with the list for some time.
“Okay, that’s enough!” Stanley’s face was as red as a tomato. He hadn’t realized his feelings had been so obvious. Xeno had been surprised when he had finally confessed a year ago, so he’d thought he’d been good at hiding. Now he realized it might have been plain as day to everyone but Xeno.
“We’re not mad at you, son,” his mom said, coming around the table to give Stanley one of her classic crushing hugs. “We could see from a long time ago how much you meant to each other. We want you to be happy. With the one you love.”
Stanley felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. Relief hit him in waves, a tide washing away decades of fear and secrecy.
“Don’t cry, son. Something like this doesn’t change who you are. It doesn’t change who I am. I am and always will be a man proud of his son.” His dad came over, patting his back. The warmth of his hand pressed through Stanley’s shirt, steady and grounding.
“And as son-in-laws go,” his mom added with a teasing smile, “we could do worse than a rocket scientist.”
“I’ve even seen that boy ride a horse, he’s got some grit in him yet! Maybe we can train him up to help run the farm someday, hm?”
Stanley couldn’t stop the smile that broke across his face. A soft chuckle slipped out, turning into a shaky laugh as he remembered a young Xeno on horseback, the very picture of awkward determination. The scientist had never been much for farm animals but had always found horses elegant. Stanley could picture it now. If Xeno had to run a farm, he’d probably build robots to do all the work!
His laughter caught in his throat, and he wiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “But… what about the church?” he asked.
His mom gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “We’ll change congregations if we have to. Nobody’s going to make you feel less welcome in our family.”
“We’d love to have you both visit us over the holidays,” his dad added. “Like old times.”
Stanley let himself take a deep, shuddering breath. The weight of years spent hiding, pretending, and fearing rejection lifted off his shoulders in a rush. For the first time, he felt completely seen, completely accepted, and overwhelmingly, achingly happy.
“Thank you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion, as the warmth of his parents’ love settled around him like the first sun spilling over the fields at dawn.