“Don’t think I didn’t suggest it. He’s stubborn as hell. And he knows if he lived with me, he wouldn’t be able to sit around and just drink all day long.” As I picked up the scattered trash from the counters, I added, “I think he feels like he’s still independent like this. Like he doesn’treallyneed me.” Tying up the nearly overfilled garbage bag, I laughed once again. “Which is clearly true.” The sarcasm hung heavily in the air as I opened the door to the garage. Spreading my arm to the side, I said, “See? Totally independent.” There were piles of beer cans everywhere and a few garbage bags sitting next to the pails. “I even called on trash day. He still couldn’t manage to get them out to the curb.”
“Man, I’m . . . I don’t even know what to say.” Micah was clearly surprised to see how bad things had gotten. And even though I knew it wasn’t entirely my fault, I felt an incredible sense of guilt for allowing both me and my father to survive this way for so long.
“There isn’t much to say. It is how it is,” I answered, keeping my focus on the task at hand—cleaning the garage and then food shopping. Rather than say anything in response, Micah helped, making quick work of what would have been a rather large task for just me. When we were all done, I tied the last bag and dropped it in the pail. “Thanks, man.” Micah smiled, shrugging. When I asked, “You up for some food shopping?” he smiled again and walked in front of me back into the house.
Strolling up and down the aisles with Micah was all too normal. And I loved every minute of it. We compared favorite food items as we made sure to get everything on the list for my dad. As he was dropping a box of Shredded Wheat into the cart, Micah asked, “I take it you still don’t bring up his drinking, huh?” That was when normal went out the window.
“It’d be kind of pointless, don’t you think? Not sure I can undo a lifetime of a habit.”
“Well, you never know unless you talk to him about it. You’re never going to get anywhere if you don’t admit to him how much it bothers you.”
“You a psychiatrist now?” There was a bite to my question. To be honest, I didn’t like talking about the subject much, and I figured of all the people in my life, Micah would be the one to understand that.
Tuning in to my annoyance, Micah held up his hands, feigning surrender. “Loud and clear. Do not talk about the drinking.” We covered another aisle or two in awkward silence before Micah asked, “So does he know you’re gay?”
“No,” I answered immediately, trying my best to keep my voice hushed, something he didn’t even bother to do. “What about you? Does your family know?”
Something in his face changed. It was a subtle shift, but one that I noticed nonetheless. His steps even faltered as if my question literally tripped him up. “Some do,” was the cryptic answer I received. But as he stayed a few steps in front of me, mindlessly picking items off the shelf and dropping them into the cart, I knew that topic of conversation was one best left for another time.
So what started out as a routine and almost mundane trip to the grocery store, ended as an awkwardly strained exchange. And as we both slid back into the car, we let out a deep breath as if it would free us from the stress of the last thirty minutes.
“Listen,” I said, hoping to cut the tense air. “I’m sorry.” I made the first move. “I got defensive and shouldn’t have. His drinking is just part of my life now.”
“I’m sorry, too. That’s your battle to fight. Not mine.” He paused for a second before turning in his seat to face me. “Can I ask you something else?” His voice softened, helping lower my defenses.
Dropping my hands from the steering wheel, I turned in my seat. “Sure. Anything.” If I was going to prove to him that I wasn’t going to mistrust him again, there was no better place to start than a few simple questions.
“How come you never told him you were gay?” There was no accusation in his words. They sounded more like they were out of curiosity than anything else.
Shrugging, I answered, “I guess I never had much of a reason to tell him. I don’t bring anyone around, and it’s just not something that comes up.” Starting the car, the vibration of the engine filled the blip of silence. “Besides, it’s not like he ever noticed.”
And with that, we drove back to my childhood home, where my father slept in his bed, snoring the afternoon away. We unpacked the groceries in comfortable silence and straightened the rest of the small house before my father woke up. And when he did, he was mostly sober. He showered and even offered to help with dinner.
“So what brings you back around these parts, Micah?” Dad drawled.
With his fork midair, Micah stopped to answer. “Just had some loose ends to tie up, I guess you could say.” He looked at me when my father’s attention returned to his steak and smiled.
“How long you staying?” Dad asked around a bite of food, reaching for his beer.
“Not sure.” Micah looked at me again. “As long as I’m welcomed, I guess.”
This time it was my turn to smile back at him. In all the emotion of the last two days, I hadn’t thought much about how long he’d stay. As much as I wanted him to stay for a long time, I knew it would complicate my life far more than I could handle.
But as I watched Micah finish his meal, chatting easily with my father, a carefree smile gracing his beautiful face with ease, I tried not to worry about the complications his presence would cause. The bottom line was I wanted him here. I wanted to be with him. Camp was over in a week, and then I had a few weeks off before school started up again. We could figure something out in that time.
The three of us cleaned up and even watchedJeopardy,calling out all the wrong answers and laughing at each other. True, I hadn’t seen Micah in far too long, but his anger from the other day made me think he hadn’t laughed like this in quite some time. Neither had I. It scared me how quickly I was developing feelings for him all over again.
But to say it was all over again would be a lie.
In all the years he was gone, I’d never stopped loving Micah. Now that he was here, sitting next to me, his body heat radiating in waves against my leg, I knew I was completely powerless against loving him for the rest of my life.
After another bathroom trip, Dad returned with a pile of sheets and a pillow in his hand. Much to my surprise, he dropped them on my lap, explaining, “You’re on the couch tonight, son. Micah gets your old room.”
As Dad lowered himself back into his recliner, Micah and I exchanged a heated look. We both knew there was no way in hell we weren’t ending up in bed together. But now wasn’t the time to break that nugget to my father. So instead, I simply joked, “Thanks, Dad. Now I know where I stand.”
Dad polished off another six-pack before we put him to bed. Based on my can count out in the garage earlier, I knew six was probably far fewer than he would have had if we weren’t here. There was something different in his demeanor since Micah had arrived. It wasn’t a huge change, but it was enough for me to notice. And I’d be lying if it didn’t give me a little hope.
Maybe, like I did, he felt more than a little nostalgic, reminiscing on a time when things were far simpler, and much happier.
