PROMPT 002: A man becomes alarmed at how differently his husband talks when he's with his family

Code switching, he remembered, in the middle of the night after that first day. That’s what it’s called.

Ben had struggled to come up with the phrase, but when it finally came to him, he knew it was right: his husband, Ryann, had been code switching. They arrived at Ryann’s family home that afternoon, just in time for a late lunch. Ryann’s mother and stepdad, his two older brothers, and his baby sister were all there. It was the first time Ben had met any of them.

They were not invited to the wedding. That was a whole thing on its own. The wedding was small and hastily planned. Ben’s parents lived in London and wouldn’t be able to make it. Through a series of tearful phone calls, all behind closed doors, Ryann explained to his mother that he didn’t want Ben to feel…

Ben didn’t even know. He would have loved it if Ryann’s people had been there.

That was eight months ago. The wounds had healed, Ryann said, and his family was excited to host them for a long weekend at the family home. Now they were laying in Ryann’s teenage double bed, their butts pressed against one another, Ryann snoring softly, Ben staring at the dusty treadmill folded up in the corner of the room, a relic of his new mother-in-law’s fitness phase.

He closed his eyes and pictured the overloud club where they first met, an old No Doubt song blaring through thumpy speakers. Ryann was at the bar, an umbrella cocktail in one hand and a fluorescent wristband on the other, a silver earring dangling under his long uneven hair. He was beautiful. Ben smiled at him, and Ryann’s face turned red. He said something, but Ben couldn’t hear.

“What?” Ben screamed.

He leaned in closer and said it again, just two syllables, but Ben still heard nothing. Ryann’s mouth formed the shape of the words “tight scar,” but that couldn’t be right.

“What?”

Ryann leaned closer still, his breath warm against Ben’s neck, and he whispered directly in his ear.

“Nice scarf.”

He pulled back but his hands were hanging on to the ends of Ben’s scarf, the Burberry number he rescued from a thrift store that very day.

That was Ryann’s thing - he was soft-spoken, the kind of person who doesn’t speak much, but when he does, people lean in to hear what he’s saying, because each word is profound. Ben was the other type of person - he spoke too much, too loudly, and his words were rarely significant.

Ben loved that about Ryann. It was the first of many things he loved about the man.

But sweet, soft-spoken Ryann went away the second they arrived at his family home. He gave big sweaty man hugs to his brothers and stepfather, slapping them on the back. He twirled his mother around and screamed when he saw his sister, lifting her in the air. Ben had never heard him scream before, not even when Ben proposed or when they rode in a hot air balloon over Napa Valley.

At lunch - gourmet cold cuts, artisan bread, and rustic potato salad - Ryann was the center of attention. He told boastful stories about his life in the city, stories where Ben played only a minor character if he was featured at all. Ben had never heard some of the stories, and others he was convinced Ryann made up on the spot. The family roared with laughter, and Ryann reveled in it.

Ben saw shades of his sweet guy during a family trip to a nearby park after lunch. But Ryann was pulled into an impromptu touch football game, and Ben was left to watch from under a tree. Ben had never played football, but his third boyfriend in high school was a wide receiver. It would have been nice to be invited to join the game.

Ryann’s mom sprang for dinner at the nicest steakhouse in town. Ben winced when they walked in the door: Ryann had never declared himself a vegetarian, but Ben had rarely seen him order anything but a house salad, hold the bacon. When they were seated, around the large round table at the back, Ryann’s stepdad looked at him and said, “You getting your usual?”

“Bet your ass!” Ryan grunted.

His “usual” was a 23-ounce bone-in ribeye with mashed potatoes and onion rings. Ryann inhaled it, and gnawed on the bone until it was stripped of flesh. Then he leaned back in his chair and covered a belch with his fist, grease glistening his mouth.

The worst part about the whole day, Ben thought, was that he didn’t say a word to Ryann about it.

Now he lay in bed next to his husband, a complete stranger. But was he? Or was he strangely familiar?

Ben loved a good steak.

He shuddered, and turned to look at Ryann. He could have been looking in a mirror.

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