Theoretically Perfect (Theoretically Straight #2)

1. Caleb

Saturday, December 16

“A church service? Like, with the preacher and the choir in robes and all that bullshit?”

Wren watches me from the edge of my bed, shreds of paper scattered around them in piles as they brandish a pair of scissors. They reach over to the nightstand, mashing the volume button on the side of my phone to quiet the Djo album I’ve got on loop.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I reply, standing in front of my closet. “Theo didn’t go into specifics.” A pile of summer clothes I haven’t touched in months covers the floorboards, a neglected assortment of bright colors and loose fabrics. Even my winter wardrobe–a conglomeration of hoodies and sweaters with holes worn in the sleeves–seems too bright for what I’ve dreamed up in my head. Aren’t church services somber affairs? Or maybe that’s only when there’s a funeral.

“And you agreed to this?” Wren presses, brushing dark bangs from their eyes. “Without a gun pressed to your head?”

“It’s Theo’s family, Wren. I can’t say no to the only thing they’ve ever invited me to. If Theo and I are going to work long-term, I’ve got to make an effort to connect with his family. I mean, Nate already loves me, but this could really help me score some points with his parents.” I grab the cream-colored dress shirt from the hanger, holding it out in front of me as I turn to the mirror. “Oh good, I can look like a waiter. Perfect.”

“I have a black button-down you can borrow,” Wren says, gently pushing me out of the way as they help themselves to my closet. “You can wear it with this.” They hold out a sparkly red bowtie my nana gave me for my birthday two years ago when I was going through a preppy phase.

I take the tie, running my fingers over the silky material. “You don’t think it’s too… loud?”

Wren cocks an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to do this, Caleb? I know Theo would understand if you were uncomfortable. Hell, I’d be squirming out of my skin.”

“It’s fine,” I say quickly, a heat prickling at the back of my neck. “Theo has been doing so well these last few weeks, and I want to do this for him. So what if I’m a little uncomfortable?”

Wren may not say anything outright, but you could fill a textbook with all the warnings coming from their face. And I know they’re just looking out for me, but their knowing look makes me want to scream.

It’s fine. Just one morning spent in a church. What’s the worst that could happen?

“I’ll go with the tie,” I say, hoping at least it appeases them enough to drop the silent treatment. “Can I grab the shirt from you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Wren replies, their voice tight as they pick up their backpack from the bed, set aside the scissors, then check their phone. “I should get going anyway. My dad is landing at the airport in a couple of hours, and I promised Mom I’d ride down with her to pick him up.”

“Your dad?” I repeat, my brain trying to wrap around the words. “I thought he was in Australia?”

Wren slings their bag over their shoulder. “He was, which explains the whole plane and airport thing.”

“Sorry, I just–I didn’t know he was coming into town.”

“I told you last week,” Wren says, hovering by the door. “Just a little holiday surprise. Nothing like some awkward family interactions to get you in the mood. Mama is already on edge because Mom agreed to let him stay at the house, so she’ll probably have a nervous breakdown by Christmas Eve. Oh what fun. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” I call after them, but they’re already down the hallway. I lean a shoulder into the wall, deflating with a sigh.

Man, I can’t believe I missed that. How could I forget something so important in Wren’s life? And here they were, helping me with my own silly problems, cutting pictures out for Theo’s Christmas gift, and worrying about how I’m going to feel setting foot in a church for the first time. At least, a church that isn’t haunted, that is.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling me out of my introspection. I open Theo’s message, a smile growing across my face.

Theo

gingerbread house is looking a little sketchy this year. We let Nate handle the frosting, and it’s… well, I’ll let you be the judge.

The picture comes through, and I can’t stop laughing. Every joint of the gingerbread house oozes with a milky, wet goo that looks far too sus. Another buzz and a second picture arrives, Theo giving his brother a concerned look as he holds the door of the gingerbread house, the edges glistening with the questionable icing.

Caleb

Incredible. Tell Nate that he’s a legend, and he’s in charge of all gingerbread construction from this day forward. Those gingerbread men have been having the time of their lives.

Heat lingers in my cheeks as I head downstairs, past the giant tree in the living room that’s surrounded by open plastic bins because Mom is still decorating even though we’re a week from Christmas, and into the kitchen, where I find Lola glued to the breakfast table same as when I got home three hours ago. Flames flicker from a candle on the countertop, filling the room with the scent of freshly baked cookies, even though I’m pretty sure the oven hasn’t been turned on since Thanksgiving.

“Mom still at the office?” I ask, opening the fridge and grabbing a soda from the drawer.

Lola doesn’t even look up from her laptop, the glowing white square reflected in her glasses a constant presence in the room. “Settlement negotiations. You know how people get around the holidays. All that generosity and peace on earth bullshit never extends to our line of work, unfortunately. I literally saw someone put in their settlement request that his wife not tell their kid that Santa isn’t real if they share custody. Can you imagine making it to fourteen years old and still believing in jolly ol’ Saint Nick?”

“People believe wilder things.”

Lola finally looks up from her computer screen, her brow furrowed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“And it’s fine,” I say, running with the train of thought that starts picking up steam through my head. “Because, much like Santa Claus, people need to be able to believe in something. Something that makes them feel good and like the world isn’t an active dumpster fire.”

“Uh-huh.” Lola watches me, the screen on her laptop dimming enough that I can see the whites of her eyes again through the glare.

“And just because I don’t believe in Santa doesn’t mean that I have to go around and try and convince other people that Santa isn’t real, right? I mean, it would be wild for me to walk into a Santa convention and start spouting off facts about how outrageous it is to believe one festively plump holiday deity breaks into billions of people's homes while streaking through the sky faster than the speed of light, being pulled by magical cryptids that can fly but also have enough self-awareness to bully each other for their physical differences, right?”

Lola blinks. “You lost me. Let’s skip to the part where you tell me what that was really about.”

I take a long sip from my soda, the bubbles tickling my nose. Should I explain that I’m having second thoughts about going to Theo’s church thing? It’s not like I’ve intended to keep it a secret from my family. It’s just been a busy week. Or at least that’s the story I keep telling myself.

To be honest, I’m afraid they’re going to try and talk me out of it. And if that happens, how am I supposed to be able to face Theo? I told him that I’d be there when he needed me. And that includes church functions, I guess.

“Theo invited me to his church tomorrow.”

“And?” Lola coaxes me.

“I’m nervous,” I admit for the first time out loud. “This is a huge step for our relationship–not just the two of us, but with me and his family. I mean, his mom is cool with us hanging out and whatever, but his dad literally won’t even look at me when I’m at their house. It’s like I’m invisible. So, if this will help him see that I’m making an effort to connect with his son, maybe it will go a long way into him coming around?”

Lola’s expression softens. “Yeah, maybe.”

“What is it?” I ask, sinking into the chair across from her.

She shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Now I know she’s lying. “You think it’s a bad idea?”

“No,” she says through a sigh. “I’m just worried about you, Caleb.”

I swallow loudly. “Why?”

“Because you’re my brother. And because I know people like Theo’s dad don’t change their minds very often. I just don’t want to see you get hurt if things don’t turn out the way you planned.”

“So, I’ll just make sure they do,” I argue, my cheeks burning hot. “I’ll do everything right, so his dad has to accept us. He’ll see how happy I make Theo, and he’ll change his mind. He has to.”

Lola looks down at her hands, her nose scrunching like it does when she’s holding back tears. “Yeah, totally. If anyone can do it, you can.”

I tug at the collar of my sweater, heat pooling at the nape of my neck. Lola doesn’t say anything else; she just gives me a brief smile before returning to her laptop. The kitchen falls quiet, but my head is filled with noise. I wish Dad were here. He would know how to make me feel better. How to make sense of the swelling chaos that’s hijacked my brain. But he won’t be back in town till Christmas Eve, and there’s no guarantee he’d pick up if I called him right now.

So, I do the next best thing, pulling out my earbuds and drowning out the noise with another round of Djo.

I can do this. I can keep us together.

I have to.

For Theo.

Sunday, December 17

The auditorium–or what did Theo call it? A sanctuary?–is nearly full when we walk in, a countdown clock displayed on either side of the stage reminding me how late I’ve made us. Theo scans the rows of finely dressed people, looking for the seats his mom saved for us. He finally spots her and leads us up the side aisle just as the band onstage begins to play, and the clock flashes zeros across the screen. Theo slides in first, mumbling excuses to the people already seated, and I follow along, my cheeks burning from embarrassment.

Theo’s mom–Kora, she’s asked me to call her–leans over and whispers something in his ear that makes the edges of his mouth twitch, but then he turns to me and gives a weak smile. I don’t want to know what she said, but it’s not hard to guess. I’ve already messed things up.

A guy with perfectly quaffed hair and a spray tan to rival reality TV royalty greets the congregation, inviting everyone to stand as they sing a song I’ve never heard of.

It’s kind of like being at a concert, I guess. That’s not so weird.

Theo keeps glancing over like he’s afraid I’ll bolt. I grip the back of the chair in front of me and glue my eyes to the screen displaying lyrics, doing my best to mumble along with everyone else.

To call the morning so far a disaster would be an understatement. My nerves kept me up far too late, worrying over the fit of the shirt I borrowed from Wren and whether or not I should wear the sparkly bow tie. Theo stayed on the phone with me till midnight, and after he had to go, I couldn’t settle down, so I ended up mindlessly scrolling on my phone and fell asleep without setting an alarm, which meant being rudely awakened by Lola banging on my bedroom door because Theo was waiting in the driveway and scrambling to look even halfway presentable while Theo waited patiently downstairs. He’d never want to make me feel bad, but I know I stressed him out.

So, operation “Make Theo’s Parents Like Me” hasn’t gotten off on the right foot, but I’m determined not to make any more mistakes.

The song ends, and everyone returns to their seats as Spray Tan Guy starts talking with his eyes closed and it takes me a second to catch on that he’s praying. Theo gives me a nudge, tucking his chin to his chest, and I quickly do the same.

“Father God, we thank You for each and every one of us who are here to celebrate the reason for the season, Your son, Jesus Christ.”

A flurry of “Amens” ripple through the crowd around me.

Shit. Was I supposed to say it, too? I quickly mutter my own, “Amen.”

Theo gives me a quizzical look, and I elbow him.

“Father, there are so many out there today who have lost focus this holiday season. They’re hung up on things that don’t really matter. Presents. Traveling. Watching all of those awful Hallmark Movies.”

A gray-haired man on the row in front of us bursts out laughing, and Spray Tan Guy grins, his eyes still closed as the band begins to play softly under his words.

“Please bless Pastor Sheppard as he comes to bring us the good word. We ask these things in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

Another round of “Amens” from the crowd, and Spray Tan Guy abandons his spot center stage as the lights dim and a group of people–dressed in white draping fabrics–start to stream across the stage, lining up along the back on risers in three distinct rows. The lights above us dim, candles lighting along the front of the stage as a guy dressed in all black lugs a huge wooden podium to the center, setting it down gently before hauling ass offstage.

The choir begins to vocalize along with the band, some ethereal tune that I’m sure sounds beautiful in the right context, but someone in the alto section is really off-key, and it’s very distracting.

“God sent an angel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee.”

A light illuminates that weird wooden podium and a man with salt-and-pepper hair stands at it now, leaning into the tiny microphone sticking out of the top. He’s not dressed in strange robes like the rest of the people onstage, but in the most boring beige suit I’ve ever seen, complete with a brown tie. He pulls on a pair of glasses before he continues, “In Nazareth, there was a virgin named Mary. She was betrothed to a man named Joseph, from the family of David. The angel appeared to her and said…”

“Greetings!”

One of the white-robed people steps away from the choir, the spotlight hitting them and illuminating their pale, washed-out face. A woman enters the light beside them, dressed in drab-looking cuts of fabric. She reminds me of the town beggars they have at the Renaissance Fair every year, although they put on silly shows about washing clothes and performing sexual favors, so I get the feeling appearances are where the similarities will end.

“The Lord has blessed you and is with you, Mary.”

The man at the podium picks up, “But Mary was very startled by what the angel said,” he pauses long enough for the woman to react, clutching her chest like she’s about to keel over. “And she wondered what this greeting might mean.”

“What does this greeting mean?” the woman says in a voice that borders on robotic. She makes a sweeping gesture and steps half out of the spotlight.

Move over, Emma Stone. There’s a new Oscar contender in the house.

I bite down on my tongue to keep from laughing.

“Don’t be afraid, Mary,” says the angel, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back into the light. “God has shown you grace. You will become pregnant and give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus. The Lord will give him a throne, and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever!”

“But how will this happen, since I am a virgin?” the theatrically-challenged Mary asks.

“The Holy Spirit will come upon you–”

A snorting laugh escapes the back of my throat, and I slap a hand over my mouth. Theo tenses in his seat beside me, and from two seats down, Kora leans over to look at me. I fake cough into my hand, giving her a shaky thumbs up with the other, and sink lower in my seat.

Keep it together, Caleb.

The choir is singing now, some joyous proclamation about Mary being knocked up by a ghost or something. I kinda missed a few lines there in the middle. Theo leans over ever-so-slightly closer, whispering, “You don’t have to laugh every time someone says the word ‘come.’”

At first, I’m worried he’s mad at me, but then I catch the playful smirk on his lips, so I whisper back, “You could have warned me. I wasn’t prepared for an impregnation by spirit spunk.”

Theo’s shoulders shake as he holds back his laughter, and the coiled tightness in my chest lessens. Maybe I’m not screwing up so badly. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Either way, it’s a relief.

The wild story continues, acted out by what I can only assume are the most “creative” members of the congregation. Mary sports a swollen belly under the dirty clothes, and the guy playing Joseph looks like he’s a good thirty years older than her. They cross from one side of the stage to the other as the choir sings song after song about angels and how brave Mary is, and honestly, it's kind of hard to keep up. But about half an hour into the program, they bring in an actual fucking donkey for Mary to ride on, and to be honest, I spent the rest of the time trying to figure out how the hell they got it on the stage.

Can donkeys climb stairs? Do they have an elevator backstage specifically for barnyard animals? What kind of budget are they working with here at Specter Christian Church?

Before I know it, there’s a crying baby in Mary’s arms and a bunch of people standing around her in a hay-filled hovel as the music swells for a final time and the lights return to normal in the auditorium.

The crowd applauds as the cast takes a bow, and I have to shove my fist in my mouth to keep from laughing as Mary’s baby bump (a big red kickball with the word “Pow!” in bold letters) hits the ground and rolls across the stage.

“We hope you’ll remember the reason for this season,” the beige-suited man says, closing the large leather-bound book on his podium. “And as we invite those of you who are feeling the calling of Christ to come forward, we encourage those who are led toward generosity to please drop those tithes and gifts into the baskets located at the foot of the stage.”

The band starts up as Spray Tan Guy appears from the wings, leading yet another song. The woman beside me taps me on the shoulder, and I step forward enough that she can squeeze by, joining the line of people now forming in the aisle. Some kneel down on the stairs to the stage. Others drop off envelopes into wicker baskets. And still more wait in line to speak with the man in the beige suit as he prays over them, one at a time, with hands raised up.

It’s… a lot to take in. But since everyone is distracted by what’s going on, I take the opportunity to watch Theo. His lips move along to the words of the song, but his voice is so soft I can barely hear it. Which is odd because I’m used to him shout-singing along to Come On Eileen in the car on our way to school. But here, he hides his hands in his pockets, and when the song comes to an end, his lips pull tight.

He just seems so… muted. But maybe that’s how everyone is at church?

“Thank you all for joining us,” Spray Tan Guy says, flashing a blindingly white smile. “We hope you enjoyed the story of our savior, and wish you all a merry Christmas from our family to yours.”

With that, the lights come up full strength, and the auditorium comes alive around us as people weave through the aisles, shaking hands, hugging shoulders, and wiping tears away from misty eyes. I cling to Theo like a life raft, not wanting to be separated from him in these uncharted waters.

He gets quiet as we make our way through the crowds, focusing on the space where his feet fall instead of how many people are around, but then we’re clear of the cluster of bodies, and Theo pulls me into a quiet corner, perking up again.

“What did you think?” he asks, grinning. He seems to realize he’s standing really close, so he takes a half step back.

“Uh, It was… kinda camp.”

Theo laughs, running a hand through his dark curls. “Yeah, it’s not always like this. I told them to pull out all the stops to impress my–” he glances over his shoulder then leans in closer to say, “boyfriend.”

“Shut up, you’re so corny.” I give him a playful shove, my cheeks burning. “I’m definitely going to need you to fill in some gaps in the storyline for me. I kinda zoned out in the middle, and I want to make sure I have everything straight.”

Theo raises an eyebrow at me. “Seriously? It’s the Christmas story. Haven’t you heard it before?”

I shake my head. “The only Christmas stories my family is interested in involve stop-motion reindeer and Tim Allen dressed as Santa Claus.”

“Oh man, I just threw you into all this, didn’t I?” Theo reaches for me, then stops himself, shoving his hand into his pocket. “Yeah, sure. I can fill you in on all the craziness. We can talk on the way back home. Mom invited some people over for lunch, and she said that you’re welcome to join us.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, suddenly aware of just how much I want to touch him. An older woman catches my eye a couple of feet away, her eyes lingering on my sparkly bowtie. “I understand if it’s easier that I’m not around.”

Theo looks like I’ve slapped him. “Never say that again. I’ll always want you around, Caleb.”

My pulse thrums, the tips of my fingers tingling as he brushes his hand against my arm. “Cool. So, uh, what’s for lunch?”