“Here’s hoping,” Tucker said.
Chad took a hold of him as they walked. The dress shoes were still an issue. “But so many people are cool with me being what and who I am. People that matter. Lots of people who don’t matter aren’t. And a few that do…”
“Like?”
“I went to live with my mom in Rhinebeck when I came home in the fall, when I was supposed to head up to SUNY: to you, I sometimes fantasized. I pretended it was all so magnanimous, that I was doing it to relieve my little brother, but I was hiding, ya know, like I accused you of doing. And, uh, my mom, she hated what I was. She hates…what I am.” It seemed difficult for Chad to say, and Tucker reached for him, but then he remembered his touch would no longer be comforting. “It’s hard, because she treats me like she doesn’t sometimes—d
