Ghost Boyfriend Anthology.

#6 - Ghost Boyfriend.

Life is a pain when petty things such as paranoia takes hold of your parents.

And you'd be left wondering if the next lie you're gonna tell might kill them.

Technically, I'm religious. I avoid occasions of sin at all cost and hey I'm also part of the church choir and I stand by the truth at all times. Well, everything changed last year when I got dumped by my flat-ass boyfriend and he mysteriously turns up dead in Southwest Manhattan.

Suddenly, the press were all over me, gushing to know what happened. Every deets about  our relationship exposed to the world. Unfortunately, my parents had vouched zero approval for Mark and I and when they found out I'd lied to them about putting him out in the dumps, I knew I was in trouble. They tried as much as they could to help me out, by whisking me off home at Hampshire with them, keeping me away from the hum, clicking of cameras and ‘Hey, Mr Peter. So sad to hear about your boyfriend, could you tell us what might have killed him?’ like I was his keeper.

But that came at an expense, my parents never believed a word I say till this day and sometimes I find myself going an extra mile to get what I want, like when I asked for a bunch of tickets to the new Subway station which seemed to be the banging new stuff in town, they refused. Too bad I stole them. And also convincing them that I'm actually taking reading classes at my best friend's place; Kelly and I promise to head home after that.

It's high-key annoying. I mean, what gives? I'm not some three-year old they could bend as much as they please.

“I swear I'm not spending above my budget,” I say to Mom when she demands to see the receipts of all shops I've been to last month while scrolling through my phone, keeping her eyes glued for any debit messages.

She takes a deep, fat breath. “Your electricity bill was left unpaid last month? Was there a power outage?” she's hyperventilating. “Did you hurt yourself in the dark? Break a bone? Kiss the floor?”

I try to stop her assumptions. “Come on Mom, nothing happened. I just used the money meant for the bill to get a new coat.”

“Peter! You could have twisted your ankle or ended up with a broken leg. You could've hit your head somewhere and died!” her brow is creased in anxiety. “This is why I suggested we never let you out of sight. You barely care about your safety anymore. Goodness knows I could have been childless by now,” whenever she gets like this, She makes it seem we're nearing the apocalypse or the end of the world of some sort. The rapture where all the good souls are taken up with wings and I'm the only one left on each with no one and she has to let go of me.

Times like this, I wish I could yell out loud ‘Hey! Why am I a twenty-year old something when my parents can dote and boss me over all their lives, worrying if I'll ever make it past the door in one piece without close supervision!’

Its suffocating!

So, to calm her worries I take my phone away from her clutches and say as sweetly as I can. “Relax Mom, I'm totally fine. There's no way I'll break a bone.” like that's even possible, I might as well add. “I promise to be extra careful from now on.”

She looks dubious. “You do?”

I nod. “With all my heart. Now, what was it you called me for?”

Looking a little better, she says softly. “It's Uncle Jin's birthday anniversary today and he's throwing a party.”

Ugh bugger, I've never been a huge fan of my Uncles since they proved to be big, puffed-out egocentric asses with billowy wives and big-toed children. Since Dad is the youngest and most handsome in a more accurate type of way, they treated him like he was a piece of s**t and act cross anytime he reaches out to them through constant calls, great attempts at healthy conversations but they don't even try to pay attention to what he says. Sometimes I think it's because they're jealous.

Jealous because Dad was Grandma's favourite and had left her biggest plot of land at Idaho to him which in turn will be passed down to me eventually. There would be a huge amount if that land was sold and though I've checked and estimated it sum to a billion quid, it still seems like it worths more.

Another reason is because their wives are nothing close to being pretty along with horrible cooking skills and messed up languages. My Mom and I are better looking than any of them would ever be and I sometimes pride myself for being a beauty with my gelled hair, big doe brown eyes, round shaped head and a smile that gleams.

Cutie much?

Shoulders hunched, I gape at Mom. “We'd be attending? I thought we talked about this! Dad's brothers are never happy to see us and we didn't get an invite did we? This is not the time to be forward.”

“Your Dad received the invitations.” I pale at her words. “We just want you to come along so you'd meet your Uncle George. You know him right? He's a musician, your father's immediate elder brother.”

I pale even more at this. I'd never kept track of all Dad's brothers because they were so many.

“What would I have to do with him?”

She tugs at her scarf, draping it round her neck. I think she's forgetting she's putting on a suit and a scarf with it doesn't match but it'll be the death of me if I tell her that. She'll probably get paranoid and rip the scarf up to pieces, then spend half the day weeping in her room on how bad her dress was.

“Well, we figured he'd introduce you to the field, show you a few things here and there. But mostly, we want him to tutor you. Global domination is very much possible these days and youths are making their mark worldwide. Take Ashnikko for example, she started off recently and has got a million followers who fawn over her music. You haven't even considered a solo! How will you progress?”

Perhaps telling my parents about my career choice is bound to be my worst decision yet because its gotten them worried on how I would blend college life while still being a celebrity. They kicked against it. And now what's this I'm hearing about tutoring and performing a solo?

“Mom! I gave up, I don't want to be a celebrity.”

It's her turn to look crestfallen. “Why darling?”

“I want to be a doctor and have my own establishment. Never did I even mention being a celebrity. Seriously, did you and Dad even listened to me when I talked about it?”

Guilt swamps across her features. “Um...sure darling, you must have mentioned it somewhere.”

Sometimes, I think about my family and can't help feeling ashamed. Everyone had their own selfish motive. Some personal gain they searched for in every circumstance. Try all I could and considering how much they pretended to care about me, you think they'd pay heed to every word I say but the real deal is that they always want things to be done their own way. I've constantly recited about being a doctor or some famous fashion blogger who does YouTube videos and pretty much has it big(though my parents consider the latter no job at all) every single damn time but all I ever manage to get across is how respectful the public would view them if I become full-blown famous, schlepping across cities while screaming my lungs out as a great singing personality. Of course the credit goes to them at gathering, ‘That's our boy, Peter looking all fab! We've done a good job in training him to be this great.’ but what about me? No one ever cared about my feelings at all.

“Look darling I'm sorry. I was so caught up with the moment that... I'm so ridiculous. Here now, we'll say nothing about this till your father comes. I'm sure a few of your aunts are well groomed in the medical field. We'd look around and find one you could look up to,” she adds with a smile. One that cuts my insides. In her head she's thinking ‘Wow, Peter a doctor? At least I wouldn't have to pay hospital bills or stand in a queue anytime I needed to see the doctor when older and have to battle with arthritis or leg cramps. What a kind soul he must be for placing our interests in his career.”

Dad comes in, looking like a wilting seaweed in combat shorts. Those are so out of vogue these days and if only I wasn't so busy (oh darlings, you have no idea) I'd be kind enough to restock his closet but favours like that ends with a thank you and no tip of appreciation. No ones adding money to my account these days! I get nothing at the end of the month from both parents and still Mom stares at my budget, a palm reverentially placed on her bosom, comforting herself in case she sees something outrageous.

Dad has always been a handsome man but with the emotional stress his brothers plunge him too(those jerk-faces!) He looks more like a tired potato, begging to be fried and stuffed down one's throat. Age crawled up on him like a thief and he's got permanent dark bags beneath his eyes. My parents were so sixth century so my suggestion over a makeover would obviously be kicked against.

They always think that they're the best and whatever they say matters since they've gone through that experience. The experience always hovers around the air when they discuss about my well-being which of course I get to say nothing! Such discussions normally ends with ‘Peter, we know the world's changing and things are not the way they used to be. What we've decided is the best for you and believe us, someday you'll thank us for it.’

They said that when Mark left after on the day I introduced him to them, thought him to be a bit on the downside and strongly showed off their dislike each time he visited. These were things that caused us to break up and not because of ‘Teenage phase of losing interest’ as they assume. I'm not a teenager anymore, I'm a full-blown mature young man.

With his own f*****g life where nothing ever worked out.

“Fab Dad, you look posh!” I paste a smile and get up to let him have the seat. As you guessed right that's a lie; he looks like Ariana Grande on baggy pants and he's got a tiny waist where the belt never stays on.

Where did I fall from, the sky? Mars? I'm so different.

“Who's ready to go?” he adds after a pause, adjusting his tie and stuffing his feet into comfortable shoes. Mom tugs at her scarf once more and I can't help feeling I'm part of a family jazzed up by a hasty whirlwind and now we're directionless — that's putting things delicately. “Peter, you're not dressed yet.”

“I'm not going,”

“Peter!” Mom scolds. “He's your Uncle. Even if you don't want to be a musician at least come say hi,”

“Oh come on, what if I get sabotaged by the press or asked uncomfortable questions about my sexuality?”

“That's not gonna be a problem, you're who you want to be.”

“Try telling Aunt Priscilla that,”

Honestly, I don't know why I care so much about what that woman says or thinks because she's the most homophobic b***h any one has ever come across. I heard her narrate how she's given loads of people the sack at her office (she's a manager of some marketing establishment) once they hinted at their abnormal s****l orientation. She freaked out the day she was told that I was gay in a casual conversation and now she's labelled me among the rest who'd burn in hell for eternity.

We'd never gotten along after that as I try to avoid occasions where we'd have to talk to each other.

Until today.

“They are still learning you I'm sure they'll come around if they find you trying, and that includes socializing and spending lots of time with your cousins.”

“Dad,” I say crossly this time. “I'm gay, they believe I'm a bad influence and that their ‘precious children’ would catch the homosexual virus if I come near them. It happened at Zoe's party last year.”

Ugh, now they're staring at me like I've lost a few nuts off my brain.

“What?” my voice goes shrill.

“Honey who's Zoe? You've never spoken of her before. Does this mean...” Mom's eyes are gleaming and I can see the hideous thought coming together on her oversize bun.

Oh shoot, they think I'm a hetero!

“No, no, no she's not my girlfriend. I think she's Uncle George's daughter. Zolly or Zoe, either of the two.”

“It's Yvonne,”

Deflated, I'm jabbering with nerves.

“See? You don't keep up with the names of your cousins any longer. This is no longer trivial, it's serious. You have to put a lot of effort at family time so you'd get the acceptance you want. To this effect, you're tagging along.”

I hunch my shoulders in disappointment, wishing a teleportation experiment had gone wrong and I'm the first victim of the fiasco, suddenly finding myself in Asia or whipped up Antarctica.

“Fine! One hour.” I smile at my parents whereas in my mind I'm cooking up a hasty scheme to cut through and maybe go hang out with Trudy and Maggie at Downside Dojo. They won't know I'm gone unless someone tells them, which won't happen cause they'll believe I'm socializing somewhere.

“Aw darling, you don't know how happy that makes me,” Mom bends a little to peck my forehead. A feeling like morbium or a chill is spreading and it's not good. “Go find some clothes now, preferably a suit not a crop top!” Mom says chidingly, reference to a time once when I thought wearing crop tops was part of the fashion trend.

I stocked and restocked my wardrobe with fanciful wears all the time, which is kinda crazy cause I never did wear them eventually.

Here's a tip; impulse buying.

I nod in dissent, trudging back into my room, trying to get my mind around why I had to end my day like this, each minute worse than the last. Now I had to battle a party filled with homophobic relations and probably come home sweating with rage from all their whispering.

I hate my life.

Pulling over the roadside opposite Sixth Poo Street where my dear uncle lived, I notice a couple of kids squealing in the garden with bats, aiming for a giant-sized pinata hung up on a tree. I mentally groan, stepping out. So it's a child party then?

Observing more closely, I notice my uncle (the bald haired one who dressed as a booger last year to his own birthday party) at the centre of the charade, not only laughing with the children but looking as a clown too with puffy marshmallow nose and a meat steak around his neck. Ridiculously shameful enough that I stow away to the toilet for a few minutes. Don't want anyone asking me ‘Hey, isn't that your uncle the clown guy? By the way he's really funny and it's a pity you both are related’ bah, people say garbage these days.

Back pressed against the door, I send Maya a few texts with she responds to in an awkward rush.

Pete: XD, ready for the Dojo?

Mag: No. Dance class came up.

Pete: Crap, what about Trudy.

Mag: Um..he had to take Makyla on a date. Sorry, have fun!

Crushed, I switch my cell off and head out to the damned garden. It's no news I've got worthless friends.

“Hi there Gill!” I snap my head back to the direction of the call and, oh no. It's the bleakest of eyes. Dad's brother who always calls me Gill like I was some fish and try all I could to correct him, he still does it. I think he does it on purpose, he's such a creep.

Anyways, it was hard to blend in and not get noticed with his hyperactive sight. With half his lids closed!

I glance everywhere else for a getaway but found none.

Fuck, I muttered. The universe was against me today.

“How's it going? It's been a long time since I've seen you last. Look at you, all grown!” drawing closer, the air instantly becomes saturated with his ginger cologne which smelt like spice so much my nose twitched.

He places a hand on my shoulder and the area of contact crawls.

Lawd.

Guess this is the part where I have to say something.

“Oh I've been around. Mostly studying,” I smile brightly with my teeth and nose closed while taking wise, cautious steps backward. I'm wheezing harder. “I plan to be a doctor someday.” although I don't know why I said the last part but I was up for anything right now.

“Good. You found your calling quite early.” he reaches into his back pocket for something and my heart thumps faster. Dad's brothers have this age-long tradition of giving out out one copper pence to anyone they felt they've impacted knowledge into. It was made up ages ago before my parents were even born when Granny Collins was much younger and had helped an old woman out of the rain with her luggage. Pleased with this, the lady pressed a copper pence to her forehead and told her to say ‘This is my breakthrough’. When Granny opened her eyes, the lady was gone and so was the copper pence. There and then the age-long cheesy tradition of passing copper pences became a thing.

“Figured you'd use this,” he drops a large book or a dictionary of some sort and slowly withdrew into the crowd.

Hot with embarrassment (And silently hoping no one saw that) I edge away in annoyance, flinging the book into some dumpster. So much for socializing. So much for family and acceptance. At the top of my to-do list right now was to get through this stupid party and go home.

As I let myself into the very spacious house, I'm appalled with the crowd and fancy chairs with Danish tables, everyone about and abuzz. Why, this is where the fun is! Not outside with a couple of crazy kids, trying to grab a shot at a pinata which obviously isn't very bright.

Jostling with the crowd while trying not to get in the way of the stewards milling about with drinks in tall sparkly glasses, I also prevent myself from ripping a gown or stepping on a toe.

Uncle Jin is at the farthest end of the room talking loudly to a man in a woolly suit with Mom and Dad duffed out of their minds. Mom smiles and I wave, almost tripping against the loads of presents lined so close to the walls.

Good thing no one saw that. I do a sign of the cross just before realizing I forgot my present at home. I stand, stunned. What would I do? Will Uncle Jin notice I sent him nothing? Pfft like he even knows I'm around. Oh no, he's looking this way! I quickly squat behind some kid with an explosive afro and wait till the coast is clear.

Shoot, that was a close one.

“Peter! So nice to see you here.” A voice hollers and as I look up, I hunch farther behind the kid who looks mortified to do anything. A cold palm wraps itself around my arm and yanks me out. I come face to face with...

Shit! He's here?

“Peter.” he beams.

“Hi cousin Br-ad-ley,” I stutter. My face heats up when his lips curl up into a smile.

“Cousin?” he asks.

Yeah, cause that's what you are.

“Come on Pete we've talked about this, Aunt Morgan and I aren't related so much that we can't still get back together.”

As he says this, my lungs constricts and I'm suffocating.

It all started last summer when Bradley saved me from a speeding tube and a bunch of whodunits at the train station, we had our first kiss under some dingy but romantic tree (wow Peter so fast! But what could I do? He's gorgeous) and so we we took a couple of nights off, sloshing back wine in his cozy apartment downtown and the next thing is that we're too drunk to stop anything from happening.

So it happens and we both visit Dad and Mom to consummate out relationship/bond whatever yuck explains this and they're telling us we're both related and pointing out the similarities in our eyes and that our noses are pointy with Mom ending with a question ‘Hope nothing has gone on between you two. This is a delectable situation and young adults these days are so in a rush to do stuff. You're both related and s*x would be incest.’

Thanks a lot Mom. Wish you'd told us that beforehand.

The appropriate thing left to do is, never speak again, block each other's number and play it cool like nothing happened.

Which is exactly what I did.

He, of course keeps pestering me.

“Look Brad it's over. We were so young back then and as cousins — ” his lips descends on mine unexpectedly and I push him back, wide-eyed. “Get a grip on yourself twerp. Not here at least.”

“Where baby?” eyes shining, his tone is laced with lust.

“Here,” I raise my knee up and hit him where it hurts the most. He screams, falling to the floor.

I bolted out the doors, almost bumping into Mom.

“Peter! Where have you been? I've been searching all over for you. The party's started.”

I'm breathing hard while looking behind me anxiously in case Bradley shows up. “I've been around. Inside mostly.”

“Well come on, everyone is waiting for you.”