Thank you again. I really needed a reminder about the fucked-up state of my life and body."Sir, yes, sir."
Shannon eyed us as she collected Annabelle from me. "Do you think you could help me upstairs with these two?" My father rushed over to assist but she held him off. "No, we're fine, Bill. I wouldn't want to pry Abby away from Uncle Wes until she's decided she's ready." When I didn't respond, she waved me toward the back stairs. "Come on. We're going to have some quiet time. All of us. You too, Wes."
Since extending this discussion of my mental health wasn't a good choice for anyone, I gathered Abby up with one arm and settled her on my hip. Without another word to my father, I followed Shannon upstairs and toward the master bedroom.
"This one needs to eat," Shannon announced, tipping her head toward the newborn in her arms. "That one"—she glanced at the girl-shaped koala on my hip—"needs to settle down for a quick nap. And you"—she grinned at me as if she saw something I couldn't—"need some baby snuggles."
I gestured to my niece. "This? No, she needed a chew toy. If I hadn't been there, I'm sure she would've found a chair leg or some running shoes to stick in her mouth. I'm not one for dispensing snuggles. I'll just leave her with you."
She set her M&Ms on the table and climbed atop the massive bed with its luxurious navy velvet quilt layered over a thick down duvet and patted the space beside her. "Sit with me, Wes."
It was an invitation but it was also an order.
I didn't know much about my brother's wife. I'd met her the same time he did—our sister Lauren's wedding—but I'd paid little attention to the redheaded steamroller that weekend. As the story went, Will paid a lot of attention to her that weekend. It was her sister, the geologist expat whose need for space and independence from her family was rivaled only by mine, that I'd noticed. Our journeys abroad hadn't overlapped many times since that weekend but whenever they did, I was left with the sense Shannon wasn't the kind of woman you crossed and lived to talk about it.
From this angle, I could see it.
I set Abby on the bed and settled beside her but she immediately crawled into my lap, resting her head on my chest. "Oh. All right," I said, giving her back a tentative pat. She brought her thumb to her mouth. "This is…fine."
"I'm going to offer you some unsolicited advice," Shannon said, propping her elbow on a pillow.
I glanced away as she edged up her shirt. "I'm all stocked up on PTSD diagnoses, thanks."
"Yeah, I caught most of that," she replied, popping a candy in her mouth. "But here's the thing, Wes. He wasn't talking about PTSD back there. That was the gateway he used to start the conversation, to signal that he supports you."
Abby grabbed a handful of my shirt in her fist, dragging a corner of the fabric into her mouth. Her eyes were glazed and lids drooping. The only things she wanted in the world were something to chew on and somewhere warm to rest her head. If only my life could be that simple. "It's pretty great how he requires the shield of psychological trauma to start a conversation."
"Are there better ways to do it? Sure. Is it major progress for a guy who will admit that, until very recently, he didn't appreciate the importance of mental health access for service members? Yes. I maintain that he was trying to open the door for you."
I glanced at Abby, her eyes closed and her thumb still on her lower lip. I guided her hand to my chest to prevent her from startling herself awake. Her curls were insane. Messy corkscrews of the palest blonde, a shade barely above translucence. Fine wisps of the same platinum covered Annabelle's head too. "I would've bet money on these two having your hair."
She shrugged. "What can I say? We make blonde babies."
I watched Abby sleep for several minutes. I couldn't spend any time considering whether my father's insistence I talk to someone was a poorly veiled attempt at discussing—what, exactly? Did Shannon believe he was trying to have a good-natured chat about my sexual preference?
My parents were good, decent people but when my father was a commanding officer in the United States Navy, he'd carried out Don't Ask, Don't Tell. He'd booted sailors from SEAL school for being openly gay and he hadn't seemed terribly remorseful about it. I remembered him talking about it at the dinner table when I was a kid. If anything, he thought it was a good, sensible solution to the "problem."
Even if he wanted to be supportive now, how the fuck was I expected to forget how he institutionalized homophobia? And even if he'd grown and learned and knew better, why did I have to bother with that conversation when there was no earthly need to discuss sexual preference with anyone other than my sexual partners? Will and Lauren hadn't sat our parents down for a chat about preferring the opposite sexes. Why was I obligated to do it based on the simple fact I preferred men? And why did I have to do it on his terms?
Even if I'd thought about telling them when I was bleeding out on that tanker, I knew now it wasn't necessary. It wasn't worth it and…and I didn't think I'd survive if my father told me it was a good thing my cover was blown and my military intelligence career was over. I didn't think I could handle seeing the tiniest flicker of disappointment in his face.
So no, I wasn't out to my parents and I wasn't coming out because my father spent a minute rethinking a hateful policy. And I wasn't out at work, assuming I still had a job, because the spirit of that policy was baked into the institution.
Eventually, I said to Shannon, "I admire the sentiment, both from you and the Commodore. The conversation you're suggesting isn't on the top of my to-do list this week."
"I don't think you want to hear this but youcantalk to him," Shannon said. "I won't pretend I know the relationship you have with your parents but they've spent a lot of time here over the past two years. They've become a second set of parents to me and much of my family. I've heard them talk about you when they didn't know I was listening and I know they only want the best for you."
"Maybe this is the best thing for me." I ran my hand over Abby's curls. This kid was pretty cute. "So, Tom."
Shannon scooped candies into her hand as she considered me. "Yes?"
As casually as I could manage, I asked, "What's his deal?"
Her lips pursed and her brow bent to a point, she stared at me for a long moment. "Bydeal, you mean…what, exactly?"
This conversation was like stepping on a landmine. If I moved, I'd be blown to shit. If I didn't move, I'd also find myself blown to shit because the best way to get shot was to stand still. Since I was taking the hit either way, I asked, "Is he single?"
A noise sounded in her throat. Something like an irritable sigh-snarl. "One more piece of unsolicited advice for you."
