I don't go to church on Sunday. I tell Mom that Coach scheduled an extra hockey practice, but that's not true. I go to the neighborhood rink instead.

"Hi, Cameron!" says George when I walk in. His face splits into a wild smile, wrinkles creasing across his skin. "You played great at World Juniors, son."

"Thank you, George," I say, and I bit my lip. The last word hurts. 

"We were all rooting for you here in St. Anne!" 

"I really appreciate that."

George sets his broom against the wall and brushes his hands on his jacket. "So, are you here to practice? The rink is open for the next couple hours, figure skating lessons are later this afternoon."

"Actually, not today," I say, stuffing my hands in my coat pockets. "I didn't bring my stuff."

"Oh, really?"

"I thought I could just... you know..." I glance around the rink. "Hang out here for a bit. Do you need any help cleaning up or anything?"

George scratches his neck and thinks about it. "Do you want to dust the trophies?"

"Sure."

So that's what I do. George unlocks the trophy case in the wall and I dust all the old trophies and medals. Some go way back to the 50s and 60s. A couple trophies have my name on it. 

It's just nice, to be in here. I'm stressed all the time now. My brain is always thinking so fast. Maybe that's how Sam feels, solving math equations. Except I'm trying to solve my life, and it's not as fun. 

I mean, how bad can things be when you're inside the rink? Little kids find their passion here. I have good memories here. It's just safe. So I dust the trophies slowly and carefully, until the dull, faded metal is as shiny as it can possibly get. 

When I'm done, I sit on the bench. The ice is smooth and glazed in front of me; no harsh blades have scraped against it yet today. When I was little, George let me ride on the Zamboni a couple times. See? Good memories.

George sits down slowly beside me. I know he's getting older. He winces as he bends his limbs a little. "Are you doing okay, Cameron? You seem tired."

"I'm okay. A bit tired."

"Is hockey burning you out?"

"No."

"School?"

"School is okay."

He clasps his hands together and looks out on the ice, a quiet sigh running through his body.

I clear my throat. "George?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gay." 

He glances at me. "Really?"

"Yeah." I said it. Out loud.

"A gay NHL player."

"Yeah."

George shakes his head and smiles slowly. "You sure are something. I'm proud of you, son."

Again. I stuff my hands deep in my pockets and stare at my shoes.

"If you need anything at all, you know where to find me."

I try to speak, but the words get stuck in my throat. 

"Have you told your mother?"

I finally look up at him. "She's at church right now."

"I see. Give her a chance."

"Okay."

He ruffles my hair, like he used to do when I was little, and I bite my lip really hard.

I walk home. I feel so empty, for some reason. Light, cold snow is slowly falling from the sky. I feel like my insides have been turned to snow too. 

~

For dinner, Mom makes lasagna. Sam offered to join us for dinner, but I said no. I said that it would be better if he wasn't here. 

Everyone is talking too much and too loud at the dinner table and it hurts my head. 

"I need poster board for science class!" Hailey says in almost a yell, shoving large forkfuls of lasagna in her mouth. Her legs are swinging above the ground. 

"We'll get it for you later," says Mom, brushing a strand of hair behind her ears. Her eyes flicker to me. "So, Cameron. How was hockey practice today?"

"It was fine."

"Just fine?"

"Yeah."

Veronica dumps a pile of salad on her plate. "You're so quiet, Cameron."

"Yeah, Cameron!" shouts Hailey. "So quiet!"

Mom squints at me. "Are you sleeping okay, Cameron?"

"Alright."

"I heard you awake in the middle of the night last night," says Veronica. She raises her eyebrows innocently as I shoot her a look. "I'm just saying."

"Mom, I need poster board for science class!"

"I have to use the car tomorrow night." That's Veronica. "It's for a group project for my history class, we're meeting at Riley's house. Mom, you know Riley?"

"Riley Johnson?"

"Mom, no! Riley, she's the one with the eight siblings, remember? Brown hair?"

"Um..." Mom glances at my plate. Hailey's talking about her stupid poster board again. Utensils are clanking loudly against the silverware. "Cameron, are you not hungry? Eat the lasagna."

"Okay." I pick up my fork and poke at the food. I rest my chin on my hand. "Um, Mom, I'm gay."

Yeah, that makes everyone go quiet. Finally. All sets of eyes turn to me. Mom and Veronica are frozen, but Hailey continues to stab at her lasagna, her eyes wide as she shovels food in her mouth. 

Veronica glances between Mom and I. She doesn't look quite as shocked. She runs a hand through her dark hair as her lips twist, trying to find the right words. "Cameron... okay. I mean, we still love you. Of course we love you. We want you to be yourself... right. Mom?"

Mom is just staring at me, her eyes almost glazed over in shock. I can't read her face. I can't read myself, either. Really, I can barely blame her. I feel frozen, too.

"Oh." That's the first thing she says, real quiet. Then, "Are you sure?"

"Um -"

"Was it... Sam?" I know what she means. Did Sam make me gay? 

"No."

Mom licks her lips and shakes her head quickly. "I don't -" Then she pushes away from the table, the chair legs screeching on the floor, and walks down the hall into her bedroom. Her door clicks shut. Her plate is still sitting on the table, sad and unfinished.

I stand up, and Veronica does too. "Cameron," she says. Her green eyes are wide with fear. "Just give her time. She probably won't..."

"It's fine," I say. I walk to my bedroom, I think. 

The last thing I hear before closing my door is Hailey exclaiming, "Veronica, what's happening?"

I flop on my bed. Do I not have any parents that love me? Is this how Sam feels? Or do I have it worse - mine are alive and they choose not to love me. Fuck, this hurts. It feels like someone physically scratched at my heart with their fingernail and just peeled it away. What was it? Was it the crosses hanging all over our house? Was that why my mother couldn't talk to me? I stare at the Leafs poster on my ceiling as silent tears stain my quilt. Was I going to get kicked out or some shit? Or just ignored? Was it different when it was your own son, and not some neighbor? Do you know what some people do to gay people? Do you know how religious my family is? Do you know how shit like this would affect my career, my friendships, my family? I wish I didn't feel so empty. All these questions that I'm too empty to answer.

My phone vibrates on my desk, but I can't pick it up. I close my eyes. Everything is quiet. Time goes by, and soon I don't feel anything at all. 

Someone creaks out my door but I'm too tired to open my eyes. "Cameron?" It's my mom's voice. "Do... you want to talk?"

I don't say anything. The bed squeaks and I know she's sitting on the edge. 

"Cameron..." She sighs. "It's not that..." 

"Are you mad at me?"

"Honey, no, I'm not mad." The bed springs groan again, and I open my eyes as my mom lays down beside me. Her light hair fans around her face, and she glances up to the Leafs poster. "I'm not mad."

"But you're disappointed."

"I - no -"

"I'm sorry." And then I squeeze my eyes shut as tears are leaking out faster. I didn't think I would care how my mom reacted. But I do. And fuck, this hurts worse than any physical fight. 

"Shhh," she whispers. "Don't be sorry." Her warm fingers reach out and comb my hair, her soft hands on my cheek. "I'm sorry. This is just... a lot... to process."

"For me, too."

"I just want you to be happy, honey."

"I don't know how to be happy."

"Does... does Sam... make you happy?"

"I don't know."

"I just want you to be happy, Cameron. You know that, right?"

"What about religion?"

"You're my son."

Suddenly, I'm everyone's son today. The back of her knuckles are brushing away tears that slide down my cheeks. 

"I don't know how to do this, Mom." I blink open my eyes and meet hers. She has grey hairs that are noticeable up close. It's hard to remember that she's still young, that she had Veronica and I when she was nineteen.

"Cameron," she says. "You're the strongest person I know."

"Veronica and Hailey are stronger than me."

"I love you, Cameron. You know that?"

Maybe I forgot. My mom and I haven't said that to each other in a long time. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't... here for you. And I'm sorry if I don't always... understand. But... I'm..."

"It's okay, Mom," I say, and I let my eyes close again. I like laying here next to her, her warm hands on cheek, like we did when I was little. 

I can breathe again. Is this what happiness feels like? Sam makes me happy. 

A/N sorry for not updating as often, life has gotten busier the past couple weeks unfortunately! I'll write as often as I can :) lemme know what you think so far!! p.s., I'm writing this very late and I'm very tired so I'm sorry in advance for any typos lol