Rainbow Snippets*--The Moms
I just finished my third viewing of Heated Rivalry. I find myself, on each rewatch, catching something I've missed during previous viewings. There are so many emotional scenes in the series, but the one that makes me teary every time is the conversation between Shane and Yuna in The Cottage. It's just this gut-punch, and I think it was handled beautifully.
I don't have many coming-out scenes in my books because most of my characters are older, in their 30s or 40s, but in Smoke and Sparks, Daryl and Vaughn are 21 years old when they meet. Meeting Vaughn is the catalyst for Daryl coming out even to himself. And I have a scene with his mom. Sorry, I've gone way past a paragraph or two, even though it's compressed from the full book version:
I sat at our kitchen table, alone
in the big room, except for Mom. With six siblings, that was a rare occurrence.
She set a mug of coffee and a slice of apple pie in front of me and then
dropped onto her usual chair. I glanced at her gentle smile–proof that it
wasn’t a coincidence we were alone–and I let out a small grunt. “Who’d you hear
it from?”
“That you’re moving? Or that you have a boyfriend?” she asked, and took a sip from her coffee cup. Which answered whether or not she’d heard I was moving, and I chose to ignore it, instead focusing on the second question.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I muttered.
“Is there a ‘yet’ after that?”
I covered my face with my hands and took a couple of deep breaths before I raised my head to meet her steady gaze.
With a resigned sigh, I dropped my hands and took a bite of the pie. “You seem pretty okay with it,” I finally said.
“Of course I am. You’re my son,” she said, matter-of-factly and possibly slightly affronted. I hid my grin. She was right, I should have known better.
The silence was comfortable as we drank our coffee and I finished eating the pie. She waited until I’d swallowed the last bite to say, “Well?”
I’d lost the thread of our conversation; what was she asking? I sat back and looked around the kitchen as I gathered my thoughts. “Vaughn is my age, a few months older. He’s tall and thin, has blond hair and blue eyes. He’s a student, studying to be a physical therapist. He’s funny. He’s sweet.” And he’s sexy. But I wasn’t going to admit that to my mom. Even the thought was causing a blush. Honestly, I didn’t know what to say.
“So when I said someday you’d meet the right girl?”
Could she please quit asking these open-ended questions? I couldn’t work out what she wanted to know. “I figured you were right. That I hadn’t met the right girl.” The words came out sharper than I meant them to, and her eyes widened. I softened my tone. “I didn’t know then that the right girl was a guy. I really didn’t know. But I maybe suspected. And although I like him, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Okay.” She said it slowly, as if it were two words, the second syllable dipping slightly; she didn’t believe me. Again there was silence between us and this time it wasn’t quite as easy, but finally, she took a deep breath and smiled. “I want you to be happy. That’s all I want for all my kids. I’d like to meet your Vaughn.”
I shook my head but refrained from saying “He’s not my Vaughn” because I kind of liked the sound of it. Instead, I changed the subject.
“That you’re moving? Or that you have a boyfriend?” she asked, and took a sip from her coffee cup. Which answered whether or not she’d heard I was moving, and I chose to ignore it, instead focusing on the second question.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I muttered.
“Is there a ‘yet’ after that?”
I covered my face with my hands and took a couple of deep breaths before I raised my head to meet her steady gaze.
With a resigned sigh, I dropped my hands and took a bite of the pie. “You seem pretty okay with it,” I finally said.
“Of course I am. You’re my son,” she said, matter-of-factly and possibly slightly affronted. I hid my grin. She was right, I should have known better.
The silence was comfortable as we drank our coffee and I finished eating the pie. She waited until I’d swallowed the last bite to say, “Well?”
I’d lost the thread of our conversation; what was she asking? I sat back and looked around the kitchen as I gathered my thoughts. “Vaughn is my age, a few months older. He’s tall and thin, has blond hair and blue eyes. He’s a student, studying to be a physical therapist. He’s funny. He’s sweet.” And he’s sexy. But I wasn’t going to admit that to my mom. Even the thought was causing a blush. Honestly, I didn’t know what to say.
“So when I said someday you’d meet the right girl?”
Could she please quit asking these open-ended questions? I couldn’t work out what she wanted to know. “I figured you were right. That I hadn’t met the right girl.” The words came out sharper than I meant them to, and her eyes widened. I softened my tone. “I didn’t know then that the right girl was a guy. I really didn’t know. But I maybe suspected. And although I like him, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Okay.” She said it slowly, as if it were two words, the second syllable dipping slightly; she didn’t believe me. Again there was silence between us and this time it wasn’t quite as easy, but finally, she took a deep breath and smiled. “I want you to be happy. That’s all I want for all my kids. I’d like to meet your Vaughn.”
I shook my head but refrained from saying “He’s not my Vaughn” because I kind of liked the sound of it. Instead, I changed the subject.
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