It’s not even a week later, and I find myself on a bus to Leonidas, my childhood neighbourhood, again. This time I’m not alone. Rashid is with me, and we’re headed to spend Thanksgiving with my family. It’s going to be the first time that they’ll meet him. The first time I’m introducing a boyfriend to my family.

I’m a little nervous but mostly excited, and I think Rashid feels the same way. He doesn’t show it, of course, not my Master of Concealment, but I’m starting to see the little signs that betray his otherwise stoic facade. The twitch that tickles the corners of his mouth when he tries not to smile. The way he rubs his thumb against his index and middle fingers when he’s pondering something, like he does now.

The bus is pretty crowded, so we give up our seats for a pregnant lady and an elderly man. Of course, the old man then shoots us irritated side looks when he sees Rashid putting an arm around my waist, his hand inside the back pocket of my jeans. I think I might have given Rashid the impression I’m in constant danger of losing my balance, and one dramatic visit to the ER per quarter seems quite sufficient. I’m not that accident-prone, but his hand on my ass feels nice, so I’m not complaining. And that dirty old man can be grateful he’s sitting down. The pregnant lady obviously is, as she smiles at us.

I love how unashamed Rashid is about his sexuality and being with a man. Like when I asked him in our early days if he’d ever done it with a man, and he simply said yes as if I’d just asked him about the weather. Or when we were out shopping and could hear some dumb teenagers snicker behind our backs when they spotted us holding hands. He seemed completely unfazed by them, so I asked him if it doesn’t bother him at all. He just shrugged in reply and said if they don’t like what they’re seeing, it’s their problem, not ours. And then he pulled me in for a kiss.

I know it’s not always been that easy for him. Growing up in a conservative household and a small town in the north of England, he probably didn’t have any gay role models, no one to help him navigate his personal coming out. He actually hates standing out, and he already was, as the only brown kid in the neighbourhood. Sexuality was also a subject that was never discussed with his parents. It was more important that young Rashid succeeded academically, and then somewhere along the way, a nice young Indian or Pakistani girl would come along naturally to start a family.

He hasn’t given me any specifics, but from the bits and pieces he shared with me, I gathered that it wasn’t until his time studying in Oxford that he started “experimenting” and came to terms with his preferences. I think he deeply regrets never coming out to his parents, although he says it was probably the right decision. He fears they would have never accepted it, and it would have caused quite some conflict between them. But he hates that he couldn’t be open about this side of him with his family. I think this is part of why he’s so unapologetic about it now. He can’t fix this mistake with his parents because they passed away years ago, but he’s not going to repeat it.

Rashid spots the old man shooting us dirty looks and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, making it a little more obvious. He shifts to make sure our precious cargo – a bag containing a bowl of Indian rice pudding called kheer, made with a dairy-free version of his nanu’s recipe – isn’t squashed or trampled.

“So, quick briefing before the big meeting. Your family – that is, Mal and Josie – know you’re gay.” He starts quite out of the blue. But I think we’re getting to whatever was going through his mind all morning.

“They sure do,” I confirm.

“What about Soso?”

“Oh hmm, good question. She’s never seen me with anyone before.” I ponder the question for a moment. “I’m sure Josie talked to her. Told her I’m bringing someone today and added something like, ‘Mal is Mama’s boyfriend, and Lell is bringing his boyfriend.’ She probably didn’t go into full details about the bees and the birds, though.” I pause. “If you think about it that’s a really ridiculous metaphor. Whatever the bees do to the birds?”

“It’s clearly a queer metaphor because the bees do the bees and the birds do the birds,” Rashid laughs. “And you’re smiling again.”

Rashid has been teasing me all week about the “ridiculously cute” grin that apparently spreads across my face every time the word “boyfriend” is mentioned. I can’t help it. He’s the first person to call himself my boyfriend. It just makes me happy. Remy was my first (and so far only) boyfriend. We just never put that label on, so the word never came up. I know it means just as much to Rashid, but he also loves teasing me about it. I maybe shouldn’t have “threatened” him with a spanking if he doesn’t stop.

“I don’t think you need to worry. We won’t have to pretend to be ‘just roomies’. If you behave yourself, I’ll even let you share my bed with me in my old room tonight… with all my Rockstar Lestat posters on the walls.”

Rashid groans softly and rolls his eyes. “That’s like a dream come true. A bad one.” And he laughs. I know Rashid worked for Louis (make that: spied on Louis) many years ago, but I don’t know how well he knows Lestat. He obviously knows enough about him and watched at least one of his concerts – as a work thing.

“What about how we met? And my job?” He wants to make sure our stories match.

“I told Josie we met at a bar. You sat next to me; we started talking; you looked hot; I asked you out…” I watched a spy movie once where they said if you need to lie, you should always stick to the truth as closely as possible.

Rashid raises an eyebrow, but I can see the beginnings of a smug smile tug at his lips.

“I looked hot?”

“Do you think I would have flirted with any random stranger?” Okay, maybe not the best retort from someone with my former occupation. “At least not anymore.”

Rashid’s grin widens in response, and he places another kiss on my forehead.

“I didn’t actually mention anything about your job… just that you’re in New Orleans regularly for work. I mentioned once that you’re staying at a hotel, and Josie got curious, so I had to tell her that you live in London. She freaked out, and I had to assure her, there’s potential for more than just a vacation fling.”

“Perfect. The usual cover story is that I work for Credit Dauphine, a global financial institution with branches worldwide. Nicely explains why I travel quite a bit for work and can’t go into details. Bank client confidentiality and all that. Most of the time, people hear ‘banking business’ and naturally lose interest.”

“I am dating James Bond. That is so cool.” My grin now matches Rashid’s, but he just huffs.

“James Bond is boring. He certainly wouldn’t do this.” And he leans over – carefully avoiding squishing the rice pudding – and kisses me on the lips. There’s a sharp intake of air from the seat in the row behind us, but Rashid only pulls me closer and deepens the kiss. I love my boyfriend.

By some miracle, we manage to get Rashid’s kheer to my sister’s place without adding a footstamp to the elaborate decoration. We’re still yards away from the house when I hear a familiar squeal and the patter of feet on concrete.

“Lell!” Soso is running towards us, pigtails flying, dressed in mismatched shoes, a pink tutu and her new Rainbow Rangers t-shirt that her favourite gay, superhero-loving uncle might have gotten her for her birthday. I let go of Rashid’s hand, and Soso rushes into my arms. I lift her up, and she throws her arms around my neck. She smells like strawberries and bubble gum. I blow a loud raspberry on her neck, and she shrieks with laughter.

“How’s my princess?” I ask her.

“Mama made a big turkey, Lell! And mashed sweet potatoes, and she put tiny, little marshmallows on top! And Mama made them vee-gum!” She declares with full conviction.

“Vegan, princess. She made the mash vegan,” I say with a wink, planting a big smooch on her cheek. She makes a pondering “mhmm” sound and I can tell her attention is elsewhere already. She glances over my shoulder curiously.

“Who is this?” She whispers into my ear.

I turn us around. Rashid stands a few yards back, observing us with a smile. I told him so much about Soso that I got worried at some point I was completely boring him. But he said he loves the stories about my princess.

“This is Rashid,” I explain to her. She looks him over and then whispers again, “Is he your boyfriend? Mama said you bring your boyfriend today.”

I look at Rashid, and our eyes meet for a moment.

“Yes, princess, he is.” Judging by Rashid’s grin, I’m doing again. “Want to say hi to him?” I ask Soso and let her down when she nods eagerly, her pigtails bouncing.

Rashid squats down for her, so they’re on eye-level, and waits until she’s crossed the distance between them.

“Hi! I’m Rashid. What’s your name, shona?”

Soso scrunches up her little face and replies, “I’m Sophia. Who’s Shona?”

“Shona means ‘gold’ in my dad’s language. It’s what we call someone precious.”

“My Mama, Dada and Lell call me Soso.” She explains to Rashid.

“May I call you Soso?” Rashid asks, and Soso bobs her head up and down. “You can call me ‘Rash’ if you like.”

Rashid obviously hears my only half-heartedly suppressed snort and shoots me a warning glance. Oh, I will dare for sure.

“Come on, Soso… Rash… let’s go inside. I’m starving! Let’s see if your Mama produced anything edible today.”

“Wendell Geronimo Dupree, you will eat whatever I put in front of you, whether you like it or not!” I hear my sister’s voice from the porch. She quickly takes off her apron and combs her hair with her fingers as she spots Rashid. I jump up the few steps, hug her and kiss her on the cheek.

“You look beautiful, sis,” I tell her with a wink.

Rashid is being dragged to the front door by Soso, who grabbed his hand. Seems like it’s love at first sight between them. I can’t really blame her. Must run in the family.

“Mama! Lell brought his boyfriend. His name is Rashi!” Soso shouts at her mother. Thanks, kiddo! Now the entire street knows, including Mrs Batiste. I add “Rashi” to my mental teasing list.

I make the introductions. Josie and Rashid politely shake hands. I’m trying to look calm, but my pulse is in my throat. On this porch right now, in front of my family’s house, are the three most important people in my life, and I desperately want them to get along.

Josie ushers us inside pretty quickly after accepting Rashid’s bag containing our dessert. She thanks him and makes some appreciative comments when she takes a look inside. I bring up the rear of our small procession inside the house and frown slightly at Josie’s back. It’s not quite the reaction I expected from her. It seems so far Rashid only has half of the Dupree girls’ stamp of approval. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, and Josie is only stressed out after sweating over pots and pans since sunrise.

Inside we’re greeted by Mal, who’s in the middle of feeding the twins. By the look of things, he managed to get more food on their faces and onesies than into their mouths. He still gets up to give me a hug and pat me manly on the back. He shakes hands with Rashid but smiles at him warmly.

“Can we maybe get the formal part out of the way first?” I ask Josie. Rashid is tugged into the living room by Soso, probably to watch a cartoon with her. He nods at me smiling to let me know it’s fine.

“Sure. Let’s go upstairs where we have a bit of privacy.” Josie suggests.

We go into my old room, still untouched, and I pull out the papers that Bas Mutters prepared for me. They will make it official: we’re heirs to what little Franklin Dupree left behind. And the only thing worth anything – this house – goes to Josie. She only skims the text, trusting Bas and his legal advice.

“You know this still doesn’t feel right.” I knew she’d protest.

“I made up my mind, Josie.” There’s no arguing with me on this. “I know you can be as stubborn as a mule, but so can I.”

“It’s a lot of money you’re signing away.” She still tries…

“Put it into Soso’s college fund. Make sure she has a better life growing up than we had.”

“She will. We’ll make sure of that. We both will.” She takes my hand and squeezes it.

With some reluctance, she signs the papers on the dotted line with a sigh. I already did at Christine Claire’s office earlier this week. Bas really was amazing and had everything ready in record time. I carefully place the papers into the folder and put it back into my backpack. Josie sits on my bed and watches me silently.

“So what’s the verdict?” I ask her. I don’t have to elaborate on the subject.

She hesitates. Okay, so it isn’t just being tired and stressed. There is something on her mind.

“He’s a bit older than you?” She finally says.

“Yes… so?” I’m a bit surprised at her question. I know twelve years is maybe a little more than the average age gap, but it’s nothing I lose sleep over.

“Just saying. How old is he?” She insists.

“Gawd, Josie, you’re making it sound like he’s ready for the geriatric ward.”

She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me.

“He’s 35.” I admit a little meekly.

“Jay-zuhs, Wendell, you’re only 23. Twelve years isn’t nothing. That’s more than an age gap – it’s life experience.” Her voice sounds tight and a little stunned, like she’d just gotten confirmation of something she’d already feared. “Is he good to you?”

“Yes, he is good to me!” I throw my hands up. “Seriously, Josie, where is this coming from? You’ve been egging me on to date him from the start, and now this?”

“I’m sorry.” She says, her voice low.

“Sorry for egging me on?”

“No, Jay-zuhs, Wendell.” She sighs, shaking her head. “I just thought he would be someone closer to your own age.” She draws in a breath. “Well, if you’re sure about him.”

“Yes, I’m sure! He makes me happy, Josie. I feel safe with him. And he knows – about my past – and it doesn’t scare him off. Maybe someone younger wouldn’t get it, wouldn’t be so understanding. But Rashid’s patient and loving and kind and…” I trail off, frustrated. I don’t get why this age thing matters so much to her.

“So he knows… Did you tell him?” Josie interrupts me.

Well, no, not exactly. “We talked about it.” As close to the truth as possible.

Josie chews her lip. “Is this how you met him, then? Was he…?”

“What? No! Jesus fucking Christ, Josie!” I can feel my temper rising. “I stopped years ago, before I even met him!” Not a lie. He saw me with my last client, but I didn’t meet him until much later.

“I just thought…”

“Seriously, Josie, that is so fucked up.”

“Sorry I said anything.” Her voice is tight, but I can tell she’s upset.

So am I.

She gets up and for a moment it looks like she might say more but doesn’t. Just nods – half to me, half to herself – and turns to leave.

“I’ll be downstairs. Getting dinner ready.” The door clicks shut behind her, and I’m left alone in my old bedroom. Lestat is staring down at me from his poster in all his rockstar glory, and I’m wondering if he ever had to prove himself to people who should’ve known better. Probably not. He’s a vampire.