She's right. She's so fucking right. For the first time in my life, I'm really sure about something.
And in my heart, I desperately hope it’s something Scott would be willing to do.
He might not be ready. He might think it’s too fast, but I’ll try anything at this point. I don’t need him to care about me the way I care about him, because this is confusing as fuck, but I do believe that one day he’ll feel for me the way I feel for him.
I have to believe this connection we share is real.
39
I approach the door to Dad’s house.
The house I grew up in.
The house where Dad always made me feel like I needed to work harder, to do a better job, to do the things he wanted me to do with my life.
I knew I would talk to him again. I don't have Mikey's horrible parents, and I know my father cares about me, but I don’t know how we’re ever going to get through this when he refuses to take my life and my choices seriously. Since our fight, he's left a few curt voicemails and texted a few times, but other than that, I haven't wanted to approach the problem. I’ve been sad enough without Mikey being here.
I miss him so much, and the idea of him going out tonight and winding up in the bed of some hot trick makes me uneasy. But he has every right to. I don’t have a say in what he does. I let him go.
I knock and wait before Dad opens the door, his expression stoic. I can't really tell what he's thinking, but then again, I was never all that good at that. I'm glad it's just the two of us right now, unlike other family nights when he and my other siblings gang up on me.
“How've you been?” he asks.
“Been good, Dad. You?”
“I would’ve been better if you would have talked to me. Come on in.” He guides me into the kitchen. “I’m making fettuccine, your favorite. You okay with that?”
I see the concern in his eyes. It’s kind of nice seeing him worry about our relationship. It reminds me of what Mikey told me, that he loves me despite the hell he gives me sometimes.
“That will be really nice, Dad.”
He heads over to a pan and pulls off the lid before stirring the contents. I sit at the kitchen table, waiting for him to finish.
“It wasn't easy raising you guys by myself,” he tells me, “and I made a lot of mistakes. I know that. I know you don't necessarily believe this all the time, but everything that I've done, I've done so that you could all have happy, meaningful lives.” He sets the lid back on the pan and the spoon down on a small plate on the counter next to the stove.
“I do know that.”
He turns, his lips curling into a frown. “I knew from the time you were a kid that you were going to have a more difficult time. You didn’t take to reading as fast. And you struggled with math in elementary school. It was different with your brothers and sister who were all ahead of their classes all through school. They excelled on standardized tests, and you were just… average.”
He makes me feel average when he says it like that.
“I don’t mean it that way,” he adds, as though he’s sensed my offense. “I meant that I understood you’d have to work harder than your brothers and sister to survive. Because with them, their skills and talents set them on paths to success. You weren’t as easy, and you didn’t want the things they wanted. And I know I handled you coming out in the worst way a father can, but it was never about you liking guys. It was about me worrying that it was just one more setback for you. I don’t care who you love. I just want you to have the same opportunities as everyone else in the world.”
“But I still needed your support.”
“I get that. I should have been there then. I know that one was wrong. And it hasn’t hindered you—”
“Would it have mattered if it had?” He stares at me like he’s confused about what I’m saying. “If it had been some sort of obstacle,” I clarify, “would that have made you love me any less? Or care any less?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why do you always make everything about that?”
“Because I know how hard this world can be. That’s all that was ever about. I want you to have a great life—”
“How can it be great if I’m not happy?”
“It frightens me how much you sound like I did when I was younger. You reminded me of myself, and I think that’s why I wanted to push you… if only to prevent you from making the mistakes I made.”
