Even in his words, I can hear his disapproval of me being gay—that conversation that rarely comes up but is always there, lurking in the back of our minds, reminding me of the day I told him and he was so upset, as if it was the end of his world rather than the beginning of mine.
“No, you never stood in my way,” I tell him, “But you never supported me either.”
“I supported you every day. I fed you. I clothed you. I gave you a home.”
“That’s not the kind of support I’m talking about. Yes, those things matter. I get that. Trust me, you have buried that into my head. But I’m talking about a sort of support that means just as much.”
He’s quiet. He doesn’t say anything, just grabs his fork and knife and continues eating.
But I can’t. I throw my napkin on the table.
“Sorry,” Conner mutters, clearly feeling guilty that his simple observation started this fight between me and Dad.
I push to my feet. “It’s not your fault.”
“Where are you going?” Dad asks.
“Thank you for dinner, and thank you for raising me, but I don’t feel welcome tonight.”
I head for the door. I know he’s not going to be happy, but tonight, I don’t care. I won’t let him sit there and judge me and my life. Maybe it’s because I finally get that Mikey is right and that I’ve deserved some encouragement all this time.
I return the shit in the car to Home Depot and then head back to Kate’s house.
When I walk into the kitchen, Mikey sits at the table in just his sweats eating from a Healthy Choice plastic tray. I can’t help but smile and enjoy seeing him smile back as he chews on some of the lasagna—one of his favorite microwavable meals, I’ve learned. He swallows, which reminds me of other times he’s swallowed.
“Are we out of Froot Loops?” I tease, since we’ve both been bad about eating that for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“Had some as an appetizer. How’s the fam?”
“Could have gone better.”
“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“No, that’s fine.” I sit across from him, and as I’m about to share my evening, this strange sensation comes over me. Here he is, sitting before me, and I can’t help but feel like this is an exchange boyfriends would have. I mean, it’s better than the way Sam and I interacted, for sure. It reminds me of how nice it is to have him in my life and how I’m going to miss him when he leaves.
I tell him about the evening, and why it bothered me so much.
“That’s a good thing,” he says when I finish.
“Yeah, well, I don’t feel that great.”
“He deserved it with the way he always hounded you.”
“I know, but I just… I don’t know. I think I need to give Dad some time to think about what I said. To realize that I’m not ashamed of who I am or what I do. Whether that’s with guys or work.”
“What did he do when you came out? Did he freak out?”
“I was in high school, and I had this guy who I was attracted to. I wasn’t going to say anything, but I felt like I needed to tell Dad because it was something that had been itching at me since I was a kid. Everyone else was either off at college or working at that time, so one night, I told him over dinner, and he got quiet. He told me that it was going to make my life harder than everyone else’s and that I needed to be careful about who I told. Didn’t remind me that he loved me. Or tell me that everything was going to be okay. If anything, it was all a warning. And after that, I never felt like I could talk to him about it. It was like it was this burdensome thing that he didn’t want to hear any more about. I felt so guilty about it that I spent those four years working on my bachelor’s in accounting to please him… but when I finished, it still wasn’t good enough. Then I had to get a job. And with Conner and Miranda, it was more money, and I realized that if I spent my life constantly doing the things I thought he wanted, it was never going to end. I’d always be trying to do the next thing and then the next thing to please him. That’s when I started picking up more graphic design gigs. Quit interviewing for accounting positions.”
“He’s still in your life, though, even after all this. He does love you.”
“I know that. And we’ll be fine. It’s just… maybe we needed to have this discussion, you know?”
He nods, gets up, and walks around the table. Kneeling, he hugs me.
“What are you doing?” I ask with a chuckle.
“I think you just need a hug to feel better.”
