Unwanted.
I clear my throat and turn back to the microwave. “It’s fine, Dad. You were only trying to help me grow up.”
“That’s true. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do because that’s part of a parent’s job. But another part is to protect their kids.”
The microwave beeps, interrupting him. I open the door and pull out the container. As I move around the kitchen, grabbing silverware and a can of soda from the fridge, he continues. This is so fucking weird that it’s difficult giving him my full attention.
“I don’t know if I’ve done a good job of that. I hope you know if you ever need me for anything, I’m here.”
Once I have everything for dinner, I stop on the side of the island. There’s sincerity in his eyes along with a heavy sadness I haven’t seen there in a long time.
“Is everything okay?”
I realize it’s been too long since I’ve given a shit when it came to my dad, but in my defense, it’s been just as long since he’s given me a reason to give a shit.
He nods, giving me that barely perceptible hint of a smile. “Just had to get that off my chest.”
That’s it. No lecture. No argument. Just a quiet truce hanging between us.
When he doesn’t immediately stand to stalk off to his study, I’m tempted to sit and have dinner with him. But I really do have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on, and with the trend of where we usually end up after a conversation, I’d hate to ruin a good one for once.
“Thanks, Dad. Good night.”
“Good night.”
As I go out the back door and head down the walkway to the guesthouse, dry leaves skitter like bones across the ground, their faint scratches following me as the last traces of daylight bleed away. I replay the conversation with my dad over in my head and wonder if he finally heard about my being outed.
Maybe that was his way of saying he’s okay with it?
He’s known Bodie’s gay for nearly as long as I have, and he’s never had a problem with my best friend. He still let me stay over at his place and him at ours. He gave Bodie a high school graduation gift and even wrote him a recommendation for a job.
Maybe I’ll talk to him about it.
But not tonight.
Unlocking the door to the guesthouse, I step inside and flick on the lights. I let my bag slide off my shoulder and land with a soft thud in the middle of the couch. Placing my dinner on the coffee table, I sit down and pull off my hoodie, tossing it over the back of the sofa. As I get out my laptop, a couple books, and my notes, I kick off my shoes.
While my computer boots up, I take my first few bites of pot roast. I let out a literal moan as the first taste of the au jus hits my tongue. It was one of my mom’s recipes. I think most of what my dad meal preps is.
I let myself enjoy it, eating slowly as I go over a few notes and everything that’s due over the next week. As I pull up my internet browser to start on a research paper, I try really fucking hard to ignore the way the screen glows at me, glaring.
Dylan hasn’t sent another email. It’s like he knows that one was enough to taunt me, just patiently waiting until I reply.
I told myself I wasn’t going to. That I was going to ignore it because even if it really was from Dylan, it doesn’t matter. I no longer have interest in blackmail. And whatever he has to say, it’s not going to change the way I feel about Isaac.
But then my professor’s words from earlier come back to me.
You don’t know what you’re talking about.
Before I can stop myself, the cursor moves with the glide of my fingers, and I open up my email. That damn message is still sitting in my inbox, provoking me.
The cursor hovers over the reply button for a long time. I shouldn’t. Every rational part of my brain is screaming at me not to.
But I’m not sure rational thought is winning tonight.
Maybe I’m no better than Faust ready to sell his soul for a little knowledge.
I type out a reply.
