“Justin?”

            I whipped around, and there he was. Kent Fisher. He was shorter than I’d thought he’d be, but I guess that made sense, considering I was only five-seven. He was a thin and wiry guy wearing work boots, jeans, and a T-shirt with the logo and name of some woodworking company. His hair was cut short, but I could still see little wispy curls twisting their way up around the brim of his faded baseball cap. There was nothing special about him, really, except that I instantly recognized parts of myself in him, like the shape of his face and the nervous twist of his mouth. It was an intensely weird experience, to the point that I didn’t even know what to do except stare like a moron.

            “Wow,” he said in a powerful exhale of breath. He reached up and pulled off his baseball cap, swiping his hand through sweaty hair. “You look your mom, holy shit.”

            Hearing him swear helped jolt me out of my trance. I cleared my throat. “Got my hair from you though.”

            “Oh, yeah, ha, no doubt about that. The Fisher hair gene is legendary.” For a moment he hesitated, then stepped forward. “Sorry, but I have to hug you.”

            “Alright.” I laughed nervously as he tugged me into a strong embrace. I probably should have hugged him back, but I was still feeling like a fish out of water, unable to figure out what to think about this reunion. Thankfully the hug didn’t last long, though my dad gave me that straight dude arm slap thing guys did after showing more emotion than they were comfortable with.

            “Last time I did that, you were a little baby,” he said, and I could tell by the waver in his voice that he was just as weirded out as I was. “God. You’re a whole ass man now.”

            “I guess you could call me that.”

            For a second, he stared at me, then seemed to realize he was doing it. He put his hat back on and straightened. “I can take your suitcase if you want.”

            “I’m cool,” I replied.

            “Alright. Well, I’m parked, uh, that way.” He pointed vaguely, then turned and started walking. Could it be my dad was as awkward as me? Shit, now I knew who to blame when I acted like a weirdo in front of strangers. I followed along behind, expecting to walk outside to the usual slew of buses, taxis, and parking garages. Instead it was just a regular parking lot. And beyond that, very little, just some brown hills and a scattering of warehouses and factory outlets. As much as I bitched about the traffic and suburban sprawl, I was already missing the chaos of Los Angeles. This felt lonely and isolating.

            “My truck’s over here,” Kent instructed, as if that meant anything. Nearly every vehicle in the parking lot was a truck or extremely large SUV. He stopped beside a red truck with a crew cab and tossed open the back door. Without asking, he grabbed my suitcase and tossed it into the back like it weighed nothing. He was deceptively strong for his size, but I guess he would be if he worked in construction all day.

            We both got into the truck, and he started it up.

            “So… you wanna go to Missoula or straight home? Because they’re in opposite directions.”

            “Uh, we can go home, I guess. I’m kinda tired.”

            “Sure. Just let me call Zahra and let her know.” He pulled out his phone and it connected to the truck’s sound system as the phone rang.

            “Zahra? We’re getting ready to leave the airport now and will be back there in about ten minutes.”

            “Oh, good! I’m cooking dinner right now,” replied a lightly accented voice, interrupted by a gurgling of who I assumed to be Charlie. “See you soon!”

            Kent hung up and threw the truck into reverse.

            “Ten minutes? You really live that close?”

            “It’s literally down the road. You take I-90 the whole way there.” He pointed to the highway that was connected to the airport entrance. “Can’t beat that, can you?”

            “Damn. Getting to LAX takes like half a day.”

            “That place is a madhouse.”

            “You’ve been to LA?”

            “Sure, when I was sixteen, long time ago. Before I met your mother. My parents took us to Disneyland. They enjoyed it more than I did, to be honest. I’m not really a big city person.”

            “I could never live in the boonies. Not enough twenty-four-hour liquor stores or gay people.”

            “Ah.”

            I turned to look at him, realizing too late that I probably shouldn’t be talking about how much I loved booze if I was trying to pretend as if my drinking habits were totally healthy.

            “Some lesbian on the plane told me there are a lot of gay people in Missoula though.”

            “Oh yeah. The university is here, so…” He trailed off, as if that explained it all. “It’s not really my scene though.”

            “You think the gay gene came from Mom’s side?”

            He did kind of laugh at that, which helped relieve some tension. “Maybe. Her family’s in the movie business and all that.”

            “Lucky for you, I’ve got a boyfriend, so I’m not gonna go cruising at the local park or anything,”

            “Oh? Your mother didn’t tell me that, but it’s been a while since we’ve communicated.”

            “Yeah.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled through some photos until I reached a selfie I’d taken of Thad and I, which I then turned to show Kent.

            “He’s planning on becoming a neurosurgeon,” I boasted, because I was never going to give up a chance to brag about my boyfriend. “He hasn’t started college yet though. His grandmother has cancer, so he’s taking care of her first.”

            “What’s his name?”

            “Thad. He’s from Alabama and has the cutest southern accent. He had to move back there to take care of his grandmother, so we’re in a long-distance relationship at the moment.”

            “He sounds like a good kid.”

            “You wouldn’t believe. He’s such a Boy Scout. Insanely smart, super nice. Everyone who meets him loves him. Maybe you can meet him some time.”

            Kent was smiling in this slightly sappy way that seemed to have little to do with what I was saying. “I’d love that.”

            “You sure you’re cool with the whole gay thing? I know you’re a real country boy or whatever.”

            “Pfft.” Kent waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I don’t really know any gay people on a personal level, but it doesn’t bother me, no.”

            “You know me.”

            “Now I do.” Another smile. “Your mother told me when you were about ten that you might turn out gay. She said you were very into make-up at the time.”

            “Still am, kind of.” I hadn’t worn any eyeliner and hadn’t planned to, because you could only really get away with it in Los Angeles, and only in certain places. I wasn’t about to dump all my queerness on this man all at once. Straight people generally didn’t take it well. “I remember how nervous I was when I came out to her, and when she told me she had already figured, I got so mad. It had been a really hard thing to tell her, and she seemed to think it was nothing.” I was still a little bitter about it, though I could understand why she’d found my seriousness unnecessary. I had been an effeminate child, and all the shame I’d felt from it had come from Gary, not her. She’d always let me do her make-up, even when it turned out terribly. In hindsight I could even remember the little hints she dropped, like when she asked if I was interested in anyone at school without specifying gender.

            “What else has Mom told you?” I couldn’t help but ask.

            “A lot of stuff, especially around your teen years. She liked to blame me for what you went through.”

            The light mood dissipated, and I bit my lip. How deep did we want to get into this in the next ten minutes? I barely knew this guy. I was hoping we could stick to small talk until I’d known him a few days.

            “That was not nice of her. You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

            “There’s no history of addiction in her family like there is in mine.”

            “But that’s still not your fault. You can’t control your genetics.”

            “Maureen was a bit of a mess back then. She had a lot of anger and fear and didn’t know what to do with it.”

            “She could have taken it out on her husband. He deserved at least some of it.”

            “Yes, she’s also told me that you and your stepfather don’t get along that well.”

            “He’s a prick.”
            I could see that Kent’s jaw had tensed up as he stared at the road, and I decided that talking about this probably wasn’t a great place to start our relationship. So I began asking him questions about his job and family, which helped him relax again. He’d met Zahra two weeks into his sobriety, at a medical clinic where he was getting a check-up.

            “That’s when I decided I wasn’t going to touch a bottle again,” he said.

            A mean part of me wondered why he couldn’t have done the same for my mom, but luckily, I had a stop valve on my mouth. He’d been so young at the time. He was obviously better equipped to get a hold of his life in his forties than he was as a teenager.

            “I know you’ll like her,” he gushed, and after years and years of watching my mother and her husband act like they could barely tolerate each other, I was happy to see the obvious love in his eyes. I’d never seen a straight married man who spoke so highly of his wife. “She loves to cook, and she’s Lebanese, which means she takes hospitality to a new level. Expect to be fussed over for a few hours.”

            “Can’t wait.”

            The truck slowed, and Kent pulled the truck onto a winding road that headed up toward the mountains. It soon turned into gravel, and a few hundred feet after it did, Kent pulled into a long driveway. To the left was a cute little log cabin with a wraparound porch, and behind that was a decent-sized barn attached to some post and rail fencing.

            “You have animals?” I asked.

            “We’ve got a few goats, chickens, and two horses.”

            “You have horses?” It was hard to keep the excitement out of my voice. As a kid I’d been obsessed with cowboys, and it was why my cowboy boot fetish persisted. I’d always been curious about horseback riding, but I’d never been presented the opportunity to try.

            “Yup. Zahra and I will ride up in the mountains on occasion, or we did back before Charlie was born. When he’s old enough, we’ll buy him a pony so he can come with us.” Kent analyzed my expression. “You like horses?”   

            “I’ve never really met any.”

            Kent chuckled. “You are a city boy. After Zahra feeds you, I can give you a grand tour of the place before it gets dark. We own a good twenty acres, and I built the barn myself.”

            I pushed open the truck door and saw that Zahra was already on her way out the door. She was a little on the plump side, with lots of black hair and a smile that could knock you out from across the room. In her arms she carried a toddler, who was already squirming to be released when she pulled up beside the truck.

            “Look, Charlie!” she said to him, bouncing him in her arms. “It’s your big brother!”

            Charlie was a kid with the exact same tight dark curls I’d had at his age—it truly was a powerful gene. His eyes were nearly black, which made them look huge. He also had a set of the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a child. I was the last person to gush over how adorable a child was, but this was the kind of kid grandmothers went nuts over.

            Charlie offered me about two seconds of attention before whining and pushing away from his mother’s chest. So she released him, and he went charging off like a wild animal that finally got a taste of freedom. Before he could scamper off too far, Kent swooped in and grabbed his hand, redirecting his attention. Charlie hadn’t been much impressed with me, but he seemed happy to see his dad.

            Zahra enveloped me in a warm hug that smelled strongly of her cooking. To my surprise, she grabbed my face and placed a kiss on each cheek.

            “Look at this Fisher hair!” she exclaimed with a laugh, tugging on a curl. Then she clucked her tongue as she gave me a once-over. “And skinny, too. I keep shoveling food into your father and he keeps looking exactly the same. Anyway, come on inside! I hope you like Lebanese food, because that’s what I made.”

            “I love all food. I’m not picky.”

            “That’s what I like to hear! Kent, bring Justin’s luggage in, will you?”

            “I can carry my own—”

            “No, no, let him do it. Men need to feel useful sometimes.” At that, she laughed and then ushered me up onto the porch and into the house. It wasn’t anything grandiose, but it was a pretty impressive timber frame cabin with all decorations you’d expect to see in a Montana log cabin—at least one deer head on the wall, a cow pelt tossed over one rocking chair, and so, so much wood—on the walls, on the floor, across the ceiling. Right now the big screen television was on, and toys were strewn all over the living room. Zahra didn’t apologize for the mess, and I was glad she didn’t. The house looked lived in and homey, and that helped me feel more comfortable in such a foreign place.

            The kitchen smelled amazing, and when I offered to help, Zahra waved me away.

            “No guest cooks in my house,” she told me, steering me toward the dining table and pushing me into a chair. “Kent! Can you please set the table?”