If Jake’s mother noticed he was unusually quiet during dinner, she didn’t comment on it. He stared at his plate as she rambled on about a phone call she’d had earlier in the day, some old childhood friend she’d found on f*******: who wanted to catch up and chat. Jake didn’t feel like eating—his stomach churned as he counted down the minutes until Thad would arrive. Six thirty seemed an eternity away, even though Jake would see his boyfriend in less than twenty minutes.
Less than nineteen, now. Eighteen. Between bites of the frozen lasagna his mother had baked in the oven as if to pass off as her own creation, Jake glanced at the clock and counted. Seventeen now. Thad would be getting ready to leave soon.
Jake’s thoughts circled back to what Mr. Wagner had told him earlier. Though he didn
