---

There was a lot May could say about Lazarus Sanders.

None of it was kind.

She hadn’t been angry when she’d found Abigail hiding Laurence in her closet – she’d mostly just been confused. She wasn’t entirely sure she knew what the three of them had going on, and if Abigail was going to give up her disdain for dating for anyone (which May found entirely unlikely) she would have guessed Dorothy before Laurence, who was obviously infatuated with Dorothy himself.

When Larry tumbled out of the closet looking like he’d been crying for hours, she shuffled through the possibilities and came up empty.

“C’mon, up ya get,” she said gruffly, helping him to his feet, “Abigail, did you kidnap the poor boy? The hell is going on?”

Larry, in a rather uncharacteristic move, shrugged off her hands harshly, darted across the room, and- hid.

Hid, behind Abby, like he was- like he was afraid of May.

“Hey, baby,” she said, raising her hands non-threateningly, “What’s wrong? Are ya alright?”

Abby turned and whispered something to Larry, pressing her forehead almost to his temple. Larry looked on the verge of a fresh round of tears, and Drusilla climbed out of Abby’s shirt pocket to clamor up the fabric and onto Larry’s shoulder.

“Promise?” she made out Larry whispering.

“I swear,” said Abby fiercely, “And I can take ‘er if not.”

May recoiled a little. There was a very, very short list of things that Larry could do that she might get genuinely angry at him for, and fewer still that would make him this terrified to tell her. She flipped through them frantically, her heart rate picking up.

“Larry, baby, I need you to tell me straight right now,” she said cautiously, “Do I need to deal with a body?”

Larry actually barked a wet, startled laugh.

“Uh. No,” he choked, “You know, uh. Unless Poppop makes good on the threat to shoot me if he sees me again.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, well, you might want to wait until I tell ya why, in case you agree with him.”

“Laurence Sanders,” she said, some part of her heart crumpling like wadded up trash, “There is not a goddamn thing on this earth you could do that would make me hurt you.”

Larry swallowed hard, and Abby squeezed his hand; he curled into her in spite of having a good six inches advantage, and May wanted to wrap him in knitted things.

“He… found some stuff,” he said, wincing, “You know, like… embarrassing teen boy stuff, please don’t make me say it.”

“He threatened to kill you over smut rags?” she said incredulously.

“No,” said Larry, laughing bitterly, “He threatened to kill me over gay smut rags.”

“… Oh.”

May was ashamed to admit it, but she did blank out a bit. She’d never met a gay – she didn’t really think they even existed this far out of the city. She had a better understanding of the mechanics than most – she was very thorough when giving sexual education to idiot teenagers who were liable to stick their bits damn near anywhere they’d fit – but that was about it. “How to Talk to a Gay Kid” had never been something she’d gone about making a script up for. She was also scrambling to figure out what exactly was going on with Larry and Dot if Larry was gay - she’d been pretty sure, but maybe not-?

“I’ll leave with him,” blurted Abby furiously, shoving Larry further behind her, “If you make him leave I’ll go with him and you’ll never see me again and I’ll make yer life hell from three states away, Momma, I swear I will-”

“Calm down, ya hot-headed little shit,” said May, back on surer footing in the face of Abby jumping the gun like a fool, “No one is leaving. I’m taking a minute to process but let’s make that damn clear.”

“I- No one-?” said Larry, and god, what an awful expression; hope buried under layer after layer of misery, a baby bird too afraid to break the rest of the shell and face the snake.

“No one,” she said, firmer, settling in herself, “I don’t really know what ya need from me right now, baby, I’ll be honest. But you can stay long as you need, and if your granddad comes around I’ll put a bullet in ‘im. Sound doable?”

May had an armful of teenage boy then, and that settled that.

---

Abby had set up this little… picnic. There was only the four of them (Larry, with Abigail and and Dorothy there for moral support and May there for security), the little picnic table covered in knick knacks (crocheted miniature flags, a tub of pins, stacks of hand-drawn pamphlets that they’d had to buy their own printer to copy because no copyshop would let them in) and Jax, circling above and behind. The pamphlets weren’t anything special; black and white, L-G-B-T and a page to explain each that May had had to surreptitiously swipe one of and read rather than put Larry through the misery of explaining what exactly his… situation was when he clearly found the topic very embarrassing. She was pretty sure he was the B, but she wouldn’t say anything until she at least overheard something to that effect.

May sat a bit away from the kids. They were excited – flush and adrenalined with the excitement of doing something they shouldn’t, high on their defiance. May could give them the space for that.

They were just kids. They were old enough to know they were rebelling, to know Lazarus had meant what he said about killing Larry, to know that they were in danger.

And yet still young enough that Abby’s Momma and a twelve-gauge were enough to set them dizzy with victory, make them feel untouchable even in broad daylight, in full view of a road that was gathering increasingly gawking traffic. Some folks drove past four or five times, gaping or glaring or flipping them off. Jax circled the treeline, looking out for anyone sneaking up from the back, and May kept a white-knuckled grip on the shotgun and her eyes glued to the road.

No one stopped. Nobody had the balls or the stupid to face May Gage at her worst, and May was just fine with that. If they could get through this with just the threat alone, she’d be well pleased.

When someone finally crossed that line, she knew it was definitely stupid and not balls.

She stood from her chair, hefting the shotgun, and turned to the kids.

“You hear a shot fire, you run,” she said, “No heroics. You follow Jax back to the house and you lock up and you do not open the door for even god himself, you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Abby, steel in her eyes. Larry was looking over May’s shoulder, his face ashen.

“Larry,” she said, “If there’s one thing your granddad is, it's a grand ol’ coward. I can take him.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said tremulously.

May turned, stalking across the field toward the incoming column of fury that was Lazarus Sanders.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded, “May fucking Gage and her degeneracy again, your feminism turning my boy into a damn sissy-”

“Let me make this quick,” said May, “You’re gonna leave. You’re gonna let my babies have their picnic. You’re gonna never speak to any of ‘em, ever again. And if you don’t, I am gonna kill you, Laz, and I ain’t even gonna feel bad about it.”

“You threatening me, Gage?”

“I damn well am,” said May, “On my life, on God, on Eve and all her daughters, if you raise a single hand to my kids for the rest of your life, I will put you in the fuckin’ ground, Lazarus Sanders.”

Jax finished his third circuit around them, high over their heads, and even Laz wasn’t stupid enough to not notice the June warm climbing to August blood-hot. Jax swooped down to land behind her, wings spread wide, and Lazarus paled like the cowering dog he was.

“You,” he hissed, furious and terrified, “You did this. Possessed him with your- your devil worship!”

“Larry is the sweetest boy who ever lived in this town, no thanks to you,” said May, “If he’s possessed, may we all be so lucky.”

Lazarus’s eyes bugged out of his head, and apparently that was just too much for him. He turned tail and booked it for his car, and May waited until it was full out of sight before she turned to walk back to the kids.

Dorothy was looking at her with wide, astonished eyes, like May had summoned lightning or something, and Abby looked as smug as a Gage ought to.

May turned to Larry, only to find him already half in her arms, bullying under a damn shotgun like an idiot and hiding his face in her neck, shoulders shaking under her hands.

Well. She’d give him the gun safety lecture after the hug then.

---

Dot and Larry had been running the pride picnic long before their falling out, and May had to admit that she’d missed it. It hadn’t gotten much bigger by then, but it had fairly exploded in the past five or so years. Sure, there were still grousing folks, even a few protesters a handful of times, but even that had died down once May came back with the shotgun in tow once more.

She’d sat a bit further away this time, not without ulterior motive. She was glad she did – Roman, Patton, and Logan ran their own little mini-booths apiece, and Virgil would have been alone if not for the spot saved just for him next to her.

“Seems odd.” he muttered.

“How so?”

“To celebrate something like that,” said Virgil, “I mean... is it like the difference between Seelie and Unseelie, for humans? Or more like springs and summers?”

“Is what?” said May, furrowing her brow, “Sexuality?”

“Yes.”

He was looking up at her with those big, wide-set purple eyes. He was tall and gaunt, no baby fat left on him, but he still had the knobby-limbed gangliness of a teenager, looking a bit like he’d been stretched like taffy too quickly. She didn’t know if he’d fill out over the next few years, if he’d age with her boys. His head was tilted so like Logan’s, his fingertips gripping the hem of her skirt as if to ground himself. The Lord of the Forest, clinging to a grandma’s skirt, nervous around a bunch of strangers.

He was just a kid. And May ought to tell him the truth.

But it was a happy day. And something cold and miserable curled up in her belly at the thought of the way his face would crumple if she told him that some – a lot – of the world hated his boyfriends, for no good reason at all.

“Everybody loves a good party,” said May, shrugging.

Virgil nodded, accepting her explanation easily, and May swallowed the guilt like she did everything else.

“Mamaw!”

May looked up at Roman, who was out of breath and flushed pink, beaming and holding out a pamphlet.

“Okay, so- I know this is weird,” said Roman, “But- Dot said- Dot said she thought Mom would have used it if she'd heard it and I know it's not really cool to speculate on people's identities but I thought- I thought maybe it's a bit different? Because you knew her, and I was wondering, if- what you thought. Maybe.”

“Hm,” said May, nodding, “I have no goddamn idea what ya just asked me.”

Roman laughed nervously, and held out a little green, purple, and black pamphlet. May vaguely recognized the colors from a couple of the flags up, though she’d never bothered to keep track of them. She remembered that first little picnic with Dot and Larry and Abby arguing over which of the rainbows they ought to be using, eight or seven or six stripes, and she’d thought it was silly then and she thought it was silly now.

“Do you think Mom- do you think Mom would have identified as aroace, if she’d known the terms?” said Roman, his voice small, “Do you... do you think she would have been queer, too?”

May skimmed the pamphlet... and a lead ball dropped right into her belly.

Aromantic...asexual... lack of attraction... sex repulsion...

May was old. Old enough she’d thought she was just about unflappable – that she’d seen too much of the world to get caught off guard.

Her baby. Always managing to surprise her, even beyond the grave.

“Yeah, baby,” said May, handing it back to him and for once thanking the shake in her hands that never left, giving her an excuse if either of them noticed, “That sounds like my girl.”

Roman beamed, swooping in to kiss her cheek and pressing the pamphlet to his chest.

May decided she was gonna tell him more stories. It hurt, it hurt more than almost anything, to talk about Abigail, to talk about the baby she’d loved with every cell in her body and betrayed and lost without ever the chance to apologize. To make it right. Abigail died angry at her and she deserved it.

But Roman deserved this. To know her, as best he could. To know how alike they were, how much she saw pieces of Abby embedded in him like crystals on a fresco. May’s pain would have to take second fiddle to that.

Virgil set his head on May’s thigh, and she rested her hand on his head as Roman trotted back to his booth with a spring in his step.

Anything. Anything, for her kids.

---

“What’s that one?”

“That’s the demisexual flag,” said Roman, “Your Papa is demisexual. It means not feeling attracted to someone until you already love them.”

“And that one?”

“That’s the genderqueer flag! Avaun Ellie is genderqueer, and so is Vati, a little bit.”

“That doesn’t sound like Vati’s gender,” said Linda, wrinkling her nose at the flag.

“That’s why I said only a little bit,” said Roman, bouncing her a bit on his knee. May listened with half her attention, the other half on Brian in the bassinet next to her as she jingled his little teething keys.

“Vati’s gender doesn’t really fit any of the ones humans have named,” Roman continued, “Because he grew up among the fae, and not among humans.”

“That makes sense.”

“So he says that agender and genderqueer are closest to his gender, and he likes just ‘queer’ for his sexuality. They aren’t perfect words for him, but they don’t bother him, so he uses them for conversations with humans.”

“What about you?”

“I’m a queer gay man,” said Roman, “That means I’m a man who likes other men.”

“But Vati’s not a man?”

“Ah but that’s where the queer comes in!” said Roman, tickling her stomach and making her giggle, “We aren’t supposed to fit into the words; the words are supposed to fit us! I know Vati’s not a man, but the word ‘gay’ is important to me, and Vati doesn’t mind. I use it because it feels good to me and makes me happy, not because I fit the dictionary definition perfectly.”

“That makes sense,” said Linda, “Like how you’re not really a prince cuz you're a consort but Papa and Daddy and Vati call you Princey anyway cuz it makes you smiley.”

Roman laughed aloud, and May cracked a smile too.

“Yes, exactly.”

“What about the green and black and white one over there?”

“That’s aromantic,” said Roman, “Like... well, like my mom.”

“You have a mom?”

The pause lasted just a touch too long, and May ached.

“I did,” said Roman softly, “She passed away when I was very little.”

“And she was aro-mat-ic?”

“Aromantic, yes,” said Roman, “It means someone who doesn't experience romantic attraction.”

“How’d she have a baby if she didn’t have a husband?”

“Stubbornness,” muttered May, and Roman laughed.

“I wish I could tell you more,” said Roman, “But I don’t actually know much about aromanticism, it’s never come up. The only aromantic person I ever knew was my mom, and I don’t remember her.”

May was old. Older everyday. More forgetful too – there were some things even the fae couldn’t delay, the slow creeping away of her memory being one of them.

She might not have many more chances to say it.

“Roman,” she said, shifting in her wheelchair, “Gimme.”

Roman blinked, startled, and turned to Linda.

“Do you want to sit with Mamaw?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, be gentle.”

Linda was, ginger and feather-light as down as she crawled over the armrest to sit in May’s lap. May breathed her fruit-and-earth smell, and steeled herself.

“... Mamaw?” said Roman softly.

“Actually, baby,” she croaked, “I’m aromantic.”

Roman stiffened, but Linda perked up curiously.

“How’d you get a baby without a husband?”

“I did have a husband,” said May, “I got my baby the usual way.”

“Why’d you have a husband, if you didn’t love him?”

May breathed around the lump, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

“You see this festival, all around ya?” she said gently, gesturing around, “How it’s a big party, and most everyone in town comes, and we’re all happy?”

“Yeah?”

“It wasn’t always like this,” said May, “It used to be scary, to be different this way. People might hurt ya. And so nobody talked about it if they could help it. When I got married, it was because I was lonely, and I thought that if he loved me, and I had company, well, that would be enough. I didn’t know there was a word for what I was, I thought... I just thought there was something wrong with me.”

“Mamaw,” choked Roman, clutching her hand hard.

“But... that’s sad,” said Linda, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“It is a bit, ain’t it?” said May, “But now things are better, and we have a grand ol’ party, don’t we? And I’m happy. Happy enough that I can admit it and not feel like I’m doin’ somethin wrong. I’m so, so happy, baby.”

Roman jumped from his chair to kneel beside hers and wrap his arms around both of them. May slipped a gnarled hand into the peppered white at his temple. Her boy, all grown. Maybe grown enough that May could put a little bit down, and trust he’d help her out.

“I’m so proud of you,” said Roman wetly.

And there was no better feeling in the world.

---

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