My mom doesn’t even understand the chaos she’s sown, the mayhem she’s thrown into the void of this universe, as she introduces me to Coach Brentski, her boyfriend, otherwise known as…

“…Ben, and he’s actually working down at your school now,” she says as Brentski blinks and sweats. Neither of us seem to know exactly what to say, until finally Ben steps into action. He extends his hand. I meet it with a limp wrist.

“It’s so good to meet you,” he says, giving me a pleading look.

“Yeah,” I say. “First time ever.”

“I’m sure you’ll be running into each other all the time down at Buchanan,” Mom says.

“Probably not,” I say. “I can’t see many situations where our paths would cross.”

“Ha ha,” Ben says, smiling too wide. “How exciting. Just as funny and bright as your mom said you were!”

I shoot my mom an annoyed glance, but she pretends that she doesn’t see it.

“Well,” she says, “I’m so glad that you two could officially meet. Should we sit down for dinner?”

“Sure,” Ben says, then checks a hugely unfashionable watch on his wrist. “My son should be getting here any minute now, I think he’s just changing clothes.”

“Son?” I say.

“Isn’t that nice?” my mom says. “A new friend!”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Any other person in our friend group might block out the hallway.”

Ben pretends he doesn’t understand.

“Be nice,” my mom says. “They’re new in town. Show them our hometown courtesy.”

“It’s okay,” Ben says. “It might seem like we don’t share many interests, but I’ll bet there’s a lot we have in common. It’ll just take some getting to know each other.”

The idea of getting to know this man immediately sends a shiver down my spine. Not to mention the meathead son he’s about to drag in. I can already see myself drowning in a pit of board shorts and football talk.

“You’re absolutely right, Ben--Coach Brentski,” I say, and my mom smiles a little to see that I'm at least sort of playing along.

We head to the table, and I help put out plates and forks and knives. Everything feels staged, like there’s a camera in the other room that’s telling us where we’re supposed to be and what we’re supposed to be doing to make it look like everything’s normal.

“Excuse me,” I say, with dripping sweetness, and then I duck out of the kitchen, maneuver over the carpeted floor to the end of the hallway and enter the bathroom. I shut the door tightly, splash water in my face like they do in the movies, and see if that makes me feel any better. Hell no. My mind is sprinting through a kaleidoscope of horror: Coach Ben touching my mom, Coach Ben kissing my mom, Coach Ben having sex with my mom, Coach Ben moving in, yelling at me, making me do dishes, beating me when I refuse. It’s a vivid psychosexual nightmare. I wonder if it would be vaguely hot to be abused by the straight wrestling coach? Jesus. Five minutes in the same room as this guy and I’m already spiraling. 

I take a deep breath and try to collect myself. I try to remember that this is for my mom, who seems happy, who wants me and Ben to be best friends. I don’t know if I’ll ever make it to that point, but I guess I can try to be nice for one awkward dinner.

Resolve falls over me. I feel suddenly very mature and wise. Look at me, keeping my cool.

I return to the dining room, making sure my steps are loud and heavy so that I don’t catch my mom and Ben kissing or doing anything gross. But they’re just sitting at the table talking when I get there, holding each others’ hands delicately at the table.

“Everything okay?” my mom asks, and I nod.

“Uh, Dean,” Ben says, slowly getting up. “Can you help me with the salad for a second?”

Already with the private conversations. But I’m making an attempt, so I agree.

In the kitchen, Ben’s hardened, coach-y face gets a little softer. I can see the stress in his eyes. He is panicking just as much as I am right now.

“I don’t have to tell you we got started on this all wrong,” he says, “but listen, I like your mom, you seem like a great kid—”

“Hallway blockages aside.”

“I am still a teacher. But you’re right. I wish that wasn’t how we met. But I’m doing everything I can not to blow this. I really like your mom, and I want to do right by her. And you. Will you help me?”

I consider. A few targeted gripes and I could turn my mom against this guy easy. I know it.

But I feel that same, foreign maturity move through me again. I sigh.

“Okay,” I say. “As long as you stay away from my friends’ hallway.”

He laughs—probably not a genuine one, but a peacemaking one. So it’s a stalemate, then.

We both sit back down at the table, my mom’s eyes glimmering with that soft, love-y kind of glint. Against my better judgment, it moves something in me.

My stomach is starting to growl when I hear a knock at the front door.

Ben and Cathy stand up.

“That must be him,” Ben says. The two go to open the door.

I fold a paper napkin into the shape of a chicken as I wait, listening to my mom’s soft exclamations that she always emits when she meets someone new. Pretty soon they’re all heading back in, and I steel myself to meet Ben Brentski 2.0.

But I can’t prepare myself for what I see in front of me.

“Dean,” Ben says, “meet my son, Conner.”

And then I’m staring directly into the eyes of the guy from the club, my elusive mystery man, who transformed my heart and mind with a simple parking lot kiss. Sometimes the universe has its little jokes, like making the straightest, whitest guy in the world the dad of the beautiful man I’d locked lips with at the club.  

In the worst way possible, I’ve found him.