AnYi 安亦

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Finish a story with the line, “Nothing ever felt easier to say.”

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“Adam.” She says curtly, in lieu of a greeting.

“Mother.” I respond in kind. She grimaces noticeably at the reminder.

Glaring down at me suspiciously, she lowers her voice to a hiss so the rare passer-by.

“Well,” I begin, matching her look but keeping my voice as stoic as possible, “that’s really not up to me. Is it, mother?” I can feel the heat building in my throat despite my efforts, so I promptly feign recognising someone inside before stepping around her through the wide doorway. During the escape, I feel a comforting pressure building between my shoulder blades and resolve to get this coat a nice new hanger when the service is through. For now, it’ll have to accept a soft pat on the arm as thanks. With every step away from my mother returning another sliver of calm, I spot Cal sitting hunched in the front row. My steps seem to clatter loudly against the stone floor as I approach, but he doesn’t flinch or look over – he doesn’t even move until I sit down next to him with a loud creak and a sigh.

“Adam?” It fascinates me how a single word can carry so much meaning – when my mother said it, she did so with her trademarked ‘deliberately poorly veiled’ brand of distain, whereas this felt genuine; the surprise I’ve heard so often mingled with a pained relief to bring a sad smile to my face.

“Hey, Cal. It’s good to see you.” I want to ask how he’s doing, of course, but I figure he’s been asked that at least (quick count of the people here…) thirty times already, so I leave it for later.

He lets out a small chuckle before asking, “Seriously? Nearly three months and all you can come up with is ‘Hey’?”

Now it’s my turn to be surprised. It’s good to see him laugh, though – I don’t know if I could, were I in his place. Rather than dignify him with a real response, I simply mutter, “Shut up” and get to my feet to pull him into a hug. He obliges me a short squeeze (and good thing too, because there’s no way I’d win that tug of war) before he pulls away. His eyes quickly return to the floor, so I cast about for someone better equipped to console him. “Where’s Cassie, anyway?”

He frowns for a moment, as if sorting the words into the right order before he can answer the question. “Oh. There was a mix-up with Lyssa’s sitter – she said she’d sort it so I could get here early.” I find myself nodding along with his words, commending her on her consideration without interrupting him. “She should be getting here pretty soon though…?” Rather than finish the thought, he simply gestures towards the door.

“Of course.” I’m still bobbing my head emphatically. “We should get you some air before this kicks off, while we’re at it.” His response is merely a low hum (it could be agreement, though it could just as easily be ‘I’m hungry’) and we head in that direction. But on the way we encounter an obstacle in the shape of a person. I think it says a lot that I would rather it have been my mother.

“What are you doing here?” No knee-jerk single-word reactions here, oh no. I think deep down I knew he’d pull this stunt, so I’m already prepared with plans to prevent that mess that’s about to unfold. Step one: get him back outside. That should be easy enough. I have the human battering ram that is my brother by my side and following the directions of my guiding hand; I just need to keep walking until we’re through those doors.

He slaps a charming smile onto his face and sticks his hands in the pockets of his fashionable waistcoat. “I’m supporting you, of-“ he’s interrupted by the sudden realisation that we are not slowing down, and his choices are to dodge out of the way or be flattened. Shockingly, he chose the former. “Hey! Where are you going?”

I don’t respond. I don’t even look at him. Not until he follows me outside, having steamrolled through the small crowd and left Cal to wait for Cassie at the door. Finally, after stalking far enough away from the building that we won’t be overheard, I spin on him. “What the hell, Ryan? We talked about this: you can’t be here!”

Surprise, surprise: the charm has dropped. His face twists into a bitter snarl as he retorts, “No, Adam. You talked. You didn’t listen to-”

I know where this is going, so I interrupt. “Don’t pull that crap. This isn’t ab-”

“You’re doing it again!” He yells, flinging his arms wildly into the air. “Would it kill you to let me speak?!” He glares at me, breathing hard. I stare back flatly – I still know exactly what he’s getting at here, but I also realise he’s not going to let this go until he’s said his piece for the hundredth time – before gesturing for him to continue. “You told me to stay at home because you are ashamed of me. You try to placate me with some bullshit about your family, but that’s it; pure and simple: you are ashamed.”

“Done?” I ask, coldly. He frowns for a second, then nods. “You can call me a liar all you like, but this is not about you. This is about my father, who – let me remind you – disapproved of us so strongly that he kicked me to the curb. This is about me trying to have at least an ounce of respect at his funeral. I’m not asking you to get it, all I’m asking of you is to leave.”

“Well: I’m not going anywhere.” He didn’t listen to any of that, did he? He was just standing there waiting for me to stop talking so he could make his big announcement.

“Why?!” I cried, finally letting my emotions slip into my voice.

“Why do you want to stay?!” Was all the answer he gives.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I start, putting up my hand to dramatically count off on my fingers,

“Closure? Because at one point in my life he actually was my dad? To support Cal?”

“But who’s here to sup-“

“I don’t need support!” It’s then that I realise how loud we’ve gotten, and how many eyes are ‘subtlety’ turned in our direction. With a great effort, I bring my voice back down. I’m basically pleading with him by this point. “Why would I need support, Ryan? He hasn’t been part of my life for nearly thirty years – I’m only here because I feel it’s right, and I don’t want you here for the same reason. Stop coming up with excuses and just go. Please.”

His stare is unreadable, but after a few seconds he simply nods and turns away.

I have no idea why what I just said worked where countless variations of the same statement had sailed over his head in the past, but frankly I don’t care. I could cry with relief as I watch him stalk away – still not happy about it, clearly, but at least he’s going – in the direction of his car. After a few moments with my face in my hands attempting to compose myself, I throw one more glance in his direction and head for the church. I get some dirty looks from mum, obviously, but the majority of the attendees just look sympathetic; maybe I didn’t need to send him away after all – although that wasn’t the point. Still, with him finally out of the way, I can- wait. What’s that noise?

It sounds like a voice; it’s a little too far off, or maybe muffled, to make out the words, but it’s getting closer. And more familiar. No. Please, no. This is too far. But, low and behold, when I turn around, I see Ryan’s car speeding towards the church. The roof is down and he’s clearly yelling in our direction, but it’s not until it comes to a halt on the grass bank before the building that I start to hear his words. “-my boyfriend – or rather ex-boyfriend – Adam. Who is gay! Now, unlike what you lot think – fuck you all, by the way – that isn’t a problem. The problem is that he’s too ashamed to admit it to his family, because he’s a pussy.” He stands up in the car so he can look straight at me, but my angry strides have brought me in close by this point, anyway. Everything is burning and I seem to be closing the distance not by walking, but by teleporting in fits and spurts. I have never felt so angry at anyone or anything. “So, there you go, Adam: you’re out now. Maybe the next guy you pretend to care about can come to Easter.”

He drops into the driver’s seat just as I arrive next to his front-side door. He stares cockily into my eyes, but once again I don’t stop. I’m my own battering ram this time. I reach out, grab his stupid little bowtie, and pull his face towards mine until he’s lifted a clear inch off the seat. Under normal circumstances, I would agonize over what to say right now. These are not normal circumstances. I couldn’t catch the thoughts flying through my mind if I tried, so instead, I just open my mouth and scream whatever I want at him. I don’t remember the words themselves, but I do remember this: nothing had ever felt easier to say.