Ian Sheffield is madly in love with Stephan Rodgers. They're even getting married. But there's one minor little glitch in the plan.
Stephan's father doesn't know his son is gay.
Ian is pushing for him to come out, supportive in every way, but is Thanksgiving dinner really the right time to drop the news?
He would leave with Ian at his side.
As much as he loved his father there were just some things he wouldn't give up for the world. Ian was one of them.
Perhaps sensing some of Stephan's misgivings Ian asked, "Are you sure this is what you want to do? On such a big day? Would you be more comfortable springing this on him during a lunch date or something? I don't want to ruin anyone else's day."
"No, we're doing this today. I don't want to wait any longer," Stephan said, conviction in his face.
"Well, this certainly changes everything."
A bit of nervous laughter bubbled out of Stephan. "Yes, I suppose it does, especially since I promised mom we would bring a treat along."
"Ah, let me guess, my famous brownies?"
"Please?" he asked. "You know how much she loves them."
"On one condition."
Ian gathered up his empty plate and took it to the sink. He rinsed off the syrup residue. "You have to tackle the driveway."
"Okay, done, consider it a deal." He joined Ian at the sink, ditching his own dishes.
"What if the plow doesn't come? What if we can't even get to your parents' house?"
Stephan shrugged. "Then I guess we reschedule and find something else for dinner. I think we might have some fish in the freezer."
"Let's hope the plow comes."
"Yes, let's," he said before planting a quick peck on Stephan's lips.
Deep down inside there was a tiny part of him that wished for their street to remain untouched until it was far too late to keep their plans. The inner struggle confused him, why was he so torn up about doing what he felt in his heart was right? Though he claimed he wasn't in any way ashamed of Ian he began to wonder now if perhaps that had been a lie. Pulling on his boots Stephan's mind swirled, twisting this way and that, lobbing one question or theory after another at him. He shrugged into his coat, jammed a hat down on his head and yanked open the front door. Maybe while he cleared a path he would be able to sort out his feelings, create a clearer picture of things.
Thankfully they had a covered porch or he might not have been able to step a single foot outside. A thin layer of snow covered the wood planks. A drift concealed the steps down to the walkway. The shovel rested against the side of the house. Stephan grabbed it and ventured over to the porch's edge. Somewhere off in the distance he heard the song of a snowblower. It was probably only a matter of time until more joined it. Stephan looked at his shovel and the expanse of white, why did he have to insist on going old school?
"Might as well get started," he muttered. "'Because this is likely to take me all day."