Saturday, January 17th 2015

'I'm not doing that again,' Jack muttered, standing in the kitchen with his hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold.

His mother let out a sharp scoff. 'For Christ's sake, a mhac. You do one house on your own and you're already giving up? What kind of attitude is that?'

Jack didn't respond.

'You know, I was thinking,' she said, reaching for a fresh pack of Custard Creams, 'we're gonna need to do another big push in the next few weeks. Really get out to the estate roads again. I think that's where we'll win it.'

Jack clenched his jaw. His ribs felt like they were caving in on themselves, like there wasn't enough room in this kitchen for him to breathe.

His mother didn't seem to notice. 'And Father Murphy was saying that there's going to be a talk after mass next week—one of those family values speakers coming in. You should come, Jack. It'll be good for you.'

Jack took a slow sip of tea, staring at the chipped corner of the kitchen table.

His mother sighed and shook her head. 'Honestly, the state of this country. And the young people now, getting all caught up in this madness. Some of things they were saying on the doors today. They just don't see what's really at stake here. I'm so worried for the next generation, for you. All I want is for you to be OK.'

Jack's fingers tightened around the mug.

'I mean, imagine what'll happen if this passes?' she continued, oblivious. 'It'll be a free-for-all! Next, they'll be coming after schools, after adoption, after the Church itself—'

Jack took a breath through his nose.

'And as for that priest who came out, what kind of message does that send? A man of God, standing there telling people to vote for sin—'

Jack set his mug down harder than he meant to.

His mother barely even glanced at him. 'I mean, do people think about the consequences? About the children? What kind of life will they have, being raised in something so unnatural—'

Something in Jack snapped.

His mind flashed back to Mary, sitting across from him at her kitchen table, grief in her voice but dignity in her spine as she spoke about Rita. About fifty years of love that the law refused to recognise. About being locked out of the hospital room while the woman she had built a life with lay dying alone.

Jack pushed back from the table. 'I'm not doing it again,' he said again, his voice flat but unwavering.

His mother stilled. 'What are you talking about?'

'I'm not canvassing for you anymore.'

A short silence. Then she laughed, like he'd said something ridiculous. 'Oh, don't be daft.'

'I'm serious, Mam.'

She frowned, finally turning to look at him properly. 'Don't start this, a mhac. We need all hands on deck if we want to win this—'

'I don't care about winning.'

His mother's expression darkened. 'Gabh mo leiscéal?'

Jack swallowed, but the words kept coming now, unstoppable. 'I don't want to be a part of this. I don't want to tell people to vote No. I don't want to vote No.'

The room went so quiet that he could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

His mother's face twisted, like she wasn't sure if she had heard him right. 'You—what?'

Jack exhaled through his nose. 'The woman I spoke to today...she just wanted to marry the person she loved, and she couldn't. She couldn't even see her in the hospital as she died.'

His mother's face hardened. 'Jack, don't be ridiculous. This is about more than one woman's sob story—'

'Sob story?!'

His voice came out too loud, too sharp, but he didn't care.

'She was with her partner for fifty years, Mam! They spent their entire lives together! And when she died, she wasn't even allowed in the room. Could you imagine what that'd be like? Do you—do you even care?'

His mother's expression didn't waver. 'Marriage is between a man and a woman, Jack. It always has been.'

Jack let out a sharp laugh. 'You sound like a fucking robot.'

His mother's eyes narrowed. 'Language, a mhac! Don't you ever speak to me like that!'

'You don't get it,' Jack muttered, shaking his head as tears began to form in his eyes. 'You just don't—'

'You know what I don't get?' she interrupted, voice rising. 'I don't get why you care so much.'

Jack's stomach flipped.

She stared at him now, really stared at him, like she was trying to see through him.

'I mean, what does it matter to you?' she pressed. 'You're not one of them.'

It hit like a punch to the gut.

Jack's mouth opened, then closed.

His mother nodded, like she had already decided for him. 'Exactly.'

Jack couldn't breathe. He couldn't move.

For a second, he wanted to scream. To tell her everything. To say, 'actually, Mam, I think I might be'. But he knew where that road led. He knew what came next.

And he wasn't ready for that.

Instead, he pushed himself away from the table. 'I'm done talking about this.'

'Jack.'

He didn't stop.

He stormed out of the kitchen, his heart hammering as he took the stairs two at a time. Once inside his room, he slammed the door shut and collapsed onto the bed, breathing hard.

His hands fumbled in his pockets, pulling out the remaining leaflets. NINE REASONS TO VOTE NO TO SAME SEX 'MARRIAGE'.

His chest felt like it was caving in.

He didn't belong here.

He knew that now.

He crushed the leaflets into a ball and threw them into the bin.

He lay on his bed for a moment, and screamed into his pillow. Frustration more than anything else. His mother was ridiculous. He had never particularly liked her as a person, but now he feared he was feeling something stronger than that, something more negative than just a dislike. He was starting to despite her, to hate her, and the grip she wouldn't relinquish over his life. But for the first time, he realised he wasn't as afraid of her anymore. She could push, she could guilt, she could preach all she wanted—but he was done listening.

He couldn't get the old woman Mary out of his head. Her locket, and her grief, and the life she had fought for. What could have been if the world had been kinder to them. Another real gay person he had met, that was normal. That was hurting. That just wanted to love and be loved. To be accepted. Jack's eyes brimmed with tears again. His mam's voice echoed in his head—sharp and certain.

You're not one of them.

But what if he was?

He was done letting her control him. He was done with her. And while the weight of that should have felt freeing, it didn't. It just made him feel untethered—like he had cut himself loose from one thing, but had nowhere else to go. His mind wandered to Dublin. To Paul. To the way his stomach had twisted in the café when he'd thought about kissing him again, not with fear, but with want.

He needed something to ground him. Something solid. Something that was his choice.

Jack grabbed his phone and stared at their last conversation. Paul had messaged him first. That had to mean something, right? Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe it didn't have to be that deep.

But fuck it.

If he was going to rewrite his future, he might as well start now. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for only a second before he typed.

'Hey, you free for dinner this week?'

And then Jack hit 'send'. It was a small rebellion. A quiet fuck you to the life that had already been decided for him. And there was no going back now.