For weeks, he’d been worried about meeting his boyfriend’s parents. Now that the moment had gone well, he felt beat, mentally whipped by the whirlwind events of the day. He stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom, a spacious area that consisted of the entire basement of Memphis’s childhood home. “Nice room,” Tyler said. “Yeah.” Memphis crossed the floor and flopped onto his back next to Tyler. “My parents renovated it for me when I first got sick in high school.” He let out an amused snort. “A consolation prize for feeling like shit during chemotherapy, I guess. By the way”—he rolled his head to look at him with an apologetic expression—“I’m sorry about my mom.” Tyler’s smile was so wide it made his cheeks ache. “She’s great.” She was everything his mother hadn’t been when he’d come out to his family: supportive, warm, and fiercely protective of his feelings.
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