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Christmas Day in Texas, and Jensen couldn’t help wishing himself somewhere else. Freezing his balls off in Vancouver, waiting in an airport with strangers, whatever. Just about anything sounded better than sitting in his parents living room with Dad and Uncle Ralph, listening to Ralph’s opinions on politics and the world, watching his father and brother nod along in agreement Watching his mother’s face…
Jensen had never much liked Ralph. Always thought his Aunt Arlene could have done a hell of a lot better, but his parents had brought him up to be polite, so he smiled and shook the man’s hand. And Jensen was never much interested in politics, never really cared that much. Sure never cared as much as Ralph, who talked like he was one man standing up against the cultural disintegration of the United States. Watched Fox News like the fate of the nation depended on him being up to the minute on who was trying to get away with what.
This year, like the last five years, he was most concerned about the queers. They’re trying to take away our marriage, he said, trying to brainwash our children, trying to break apart our churches. Never had seemed right to Jensen, considering the number of really decent guys and women he’d met who were gay, considering the many kindnesses done him by people his uncle would sooner spit at than shake hands with.
But his father just nodded his head…
Never felt right before, and it felt even worse now, when just over four months ago he’d felt peace and love in another man’s arms. Another’s man’s body. Jeff’s body. He’d run from it, run hard, telling himself ugly things that kept him from answering the phone the couple of times Jeff called. Hearing those ugly thoughts magnified and amplified and pouring out of his uncle’s mouth made the eggnog Jensen had sipped at twist around in his stomach.
And the look of distaste on his mother’s face…
Ralph said something about “cocksuckers,” and Jensen had had enough, so much more than enough. He knew it was time for him to leave the room because he was about thirty seconds away from standing up and shouting, “That’s me! I sucked Denny Duquette’s cock, mama!”
“I’m goin’ upstairs,” he mumbled instead, turning and walking away, trying to act like he wasn't running away.
~~~
Upstairs, in the room his parents kept for him, Jensen sat on the bed and flipped open his phone. He scrolled down to Jeff’s name and wondered if Jeff was spending Christmas with his parents in Seattle. Or maybe he was snuggled up under a tree in LA with Mary-Louise Parker, if the gossip columns had anything right.
Not like it was any business of Jensen’s, really. He’d gone to Jeff’s house of his own free will, and they’d had, god, some fucking awesome sex considering it hadn’t even gone beyond blow jobs. And he’d felt good in Jeff’s arms. Felt good sitting in Jeff’s kitchen with one had wrapped around a cup of coffee and the other busy scratching Jeff’s dog behind the ears. The weight of her head on his leg had felt warm and safe, and the weight of Jeff’s gaze on him had felt better.
Jeff had engulfed him in a hug, and then Jensen had walked out the door, and the good feeling lasted until he got about two miles down the highway. He’d shoved his panic down under the work of filming up in Vancouver, and when Jeff called there were too many things going on in his head. He deleted the messages, not letting himself listen to them, because he didn’t want to hear that voice speaking into his ear. Didn’t need it.
Fuck. Didn’t deserve it.
Jensen gave up on staring at Jeff’s name on his phone and scrolled up a couple of lines to Jared.
Jared picked up with a “Merry Christmas, man!” Before Jensen could answer, he called out away from the phone, “Yeah, just a sec, I’m comin’,” before talking into the phone again, “Sorry, Jensen, it’s crazy around here.”
Jensen could hear country music and laughter in the background. “I can tell. Hey, I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
“Nah, you’re not. It’s cool.” Jensen could hear a woman calling out JT! JT!
“Yeah, I totally am. Just wanted to say Merry Christmas.”
“Well, thanks! Everything okay there? You sound kinda--“
“Yeah, yeah, absolutely. Everything’s great. Christmas with the family, you know?”
“Yeah, I love it. But, look, my mama’s gonna whack my ass with a turkey leg if I don’t get off the phone. You sure everything’s cool?”
“What did I just say? Look, I’ll see you next week.”
“Okay, later, man! Kiss your sister for me!”
Jensen’s laugh died as the call cut off. He thought about going back downstairs, thought about another week of Ralph’s politics and his mother’s probing questions about finding a special girl. He thought about Jared running wild in San Antonio, playing touch football with his cousins and singing that loud, crazy way he does when he drinks too much beer, and compared it to his own family, the living room with the polite holiday music and the cruel conversation.
Jared was a good friend; he’d invited Jensen to come visit the ranch if he wanted. Jared’s antics had grown on Jensen in the last year and a half, but he knew himself well enough to know that a whole family of wacky Padaleckis would overwhelm the hell out of him. And then he’d be JT’s asshole Hollywood friend who was too good to hang with regular folks. No thanks.
But he thought again about his uncle’s angry words, and even they didn’t hurt as much as the look of naked disgust on his mother’s face when Ralph had talked about things--things that Jensen had done with Jeff. He couldn’t stay. Couldn’t stay eight more days here without going completely insane.
He picked up the phone again and dialed the airline.
~~~
“I’m sorry, but my agent wants me to fly back to LA early tomorrow morning. They need somebody on a project next week. Not a sure thing, but it would be great exposure. I’ve got to go.”
He hoped the speech didn’t sound too rehearsed, for all that he’d muttered it to himself in his room, learning it like any other lines.
“Honey, he called you on Christmas?” It felt as though his mother had learned her lines, too.
“Yeah, lousy timing, but it’s a great opportunity.”
“Hollywood Jew bastards,” Ralph muttered into his whiskey, and Jensen just closed his eyes. Ten more hours. He’d sleep, or try to, and then the cab would come to take him to the airport. He’d fly to LA and he’d hang with Chris and Steve, lose himself in some honest music, and try not to wonder how many or few miles separated him from Jeffrey Dean Morgan.