“So,” Mom cut through the unusually endless silence of the dinner table, “I ran into Ryan today,” she dropped that nugget in there before quickly adding. “Did you know you have to insert your card into those new gas pumps?” She made some random hand gestures as she mimicked what must have been an earth-shattering discovery. I knew she was casting her line, seeing if I’d fall for it, sinkerand all. I simply couldn’t peel my eyes away from the extra chair still placed at the end of the table. The same chair that had remained empty since the last time Ryan ate with us.
But, luckily for me, all it took was the mention of someone simply related to Patrick for Sarah to take the conversation and turn it her way. “Did he tell you about the new car?” she asked, her fork nearly fallingout of her hand as the excitement raced through her body. “It’s actually a pickup truck. And black. So sleek. Daddy, you’d love it,” she rambled as she lost all interest in her meal. “Actually, I was going to ask you if—”
Cue the puppy dog eyes.
“—there’s a bonfire tonight. A bunch of my friends are going. Patrick said he’d pick me up and bring me home, so you don’t have to worry about drivingme anywhere.” She was begging but also playing it off as if the entire thing was no big deal.
They were well aware that this was her version of reverse psychology on them, but they relented nonetheless. “That’s fine, dear,” Mom answered for both of them. “Just be sure to be home by curfew.”
And then Dad brought up something else about work and all conversation about Patrick, and Ryan, for thatmatter, was dropped. The weight was lifted and I could breathe again. Though, I suddenly had no appetite. Spending the rest of dinner pushing food around on my plate was a far better alternative to letting my mom know I was affected somehow. Not like it really mattered. She probably already knew, and if I had the money to bet, I’d say she knew Ryan was getting gas and followed him there just soshe could corner him.
Before I had too long to mull it all over, we all cleaned up dinner and then Dad wandered into the den to watch some sports crap. I was about to escape down to my room, beat myself senseless with a workout, and then a mental torture session where I debated calling Ryan and pleading with him to tell me why he wouldn’t talk to me anymore, when Mom called me into the kitchenunder the guise she needed help with something.
“What do you need?” I asked as I walked into the kitchen.
Much to my surprise, she wasn’t buried under a set of shelves she needed hung, nor was she asking me to dry the dishes she’d just washed simply to keep her company. Instead of those scenarios, I was greeted by her smiling and concerned face. She stood next to the kitchen counter, holdingtwo mugs of coffee in her hands. “Come on outside with me.” She didn’t ask and didn’t demand. But she also didn’t wait for an answer, so I knew I had no choice in the matter.
Stepping ahead of her, I opened the door since her hands were full and we walked wordlessly out to the chairs set up at the water’s edge. She walked ahead of me, stopping only to hand me my mug. After she lowered herselfinto her chair, I followed by doing the same. For a few minutes, we sipped coffee while listening to the soft, soothing sound of the water lapping up onto our yard. She finally broke the silence asking, “So you don’t have any plans this weekend?”
Around the rim of the mug, I explained, “Just don’t feel like it much.” It was a damn painful truth, because everything with Ryan aside, it had beensix months. I had other friends. Korey had already invited me to some party him and his brother were throwing while their parents were out of town. But considering the bombshell I’d just dropped on my parents last week, I really didn’t have the energy to put on a front for my friends.
“Is this about what we talked about?” she asked as if she had been in my head two seconds ago.
Not one everto lie to her, I nodded as I took another sip of coffee. “It’s just a lot, you know?”
A soft, kind chuckle filled the space between us. “No, actually I don’t. I’ve never come out to my family before. Maybe you can enlighten me,” she prodded, obviously concerned for my well-being.
It had only been seven days since I sat next to Sarah in our family living room and told my parents the truth I’dknown since I was in kindergarten. Sarah held my hand through the entire thing, eventually explaining that even though she already knew, she couldn’t possibly tell them a secret that was only mine to tell.
It had gone well. Or as well as expected. My father was surprised but not shocked. And somehow that reaction had speared me straight through the heart. It was as if he’d known all along thatI wasn’t the perfect son. It wasn’t until the night after when he’d walked into the shop in the garage and hugged me out of nowhere, saying, “I’m damn proud of you, son. For owning who you are, for being brave enough to use us as support, for knowing that we love you no matter what.” There had been tears in his eyes, which he’d more than likely chalk up to sawdust if I pressed him about it.
So rather than that, I’d hugged him back, muttering into our embrace, “Are you sure, Dad? I feel like I let you down.”
He’d held me at arm’s length, asking, “Let me down? How?”
Through my confusion and emotional state, I’d managed, “Like I’m less of a man or something—”
A fire had flashed in his eyes, the telltale sign that something important was on his lips. “Do not ever let anyone ever tellyou that you’re less of a man because you’re gay.” His fingers had dug into my shoulders, accentuating each and every word he spoke. “The only thing that determines how much of a man you are is how you treat other people. Not that you’re gay.” The power and conviction of his words had made me feel like I might actually stand a chance against this whole coming out deal.
It was tentative at best,but he’d accepted my feebly mumbled, “Okay,” as a response.
Stepping back from me, he’d leaned against the work bench, folding his arms over his chest. The years of hard labor were very clearly written across his wrinkled face and gnarled hands. But every bit of his carefree youth shone in his eyes as he’d looked right at me. “I’m so proud of who you are. Gay or not. And last night when you toldme, well, I just wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t expecting it. So I didn’t know how to react,” he’d explained, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose and then swipe his hands through his dark hair. When his eyes then settled on mine, he’d said, “And I’m so incredibly sorry if my inability to react the right way made you feel like you were somehow wrong, or something like that. I love you, son.”He’d choked on his words before pulling me into another hug.
We might have said a few more words, but all I remember about the rest of that night was that he helped me with my current project—a safety banister for our elderly neighbor, Mrs. Harvey. And it was perfectly clear to me, nothing had changed at all.
Mom’s soft touch on my forearm pulled me out of that particular memory. Her reactionhad been quite different, of course. She told me she loved me no matter what and that she’d be with me every step of the way. And here she was. Step one. Figuring out how to go back to being the same old me while being an entirely new me at the same time. “It’s just that I’m no different to them, to my friends,” I clarified as she listened intently. “To them I’m the same person I’ve always been,but now I feel so incredibly different. I just don’t know how to be the person I was just a week ago.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Mom cooed. “No one is. I’m most certainly not the same person I was a week ago.” Arching her eyebrows at me, she almost looked ridiculous. But I got her point loud and clear. “See,” she pressed. “So everyone is always different, always changing. And if your friends are truly yourfriends, then they’ll change right along with you. And if they’re not—” She sipped her coffee, searching for the right sentiment, I was sure. “Well, then that doesn’t change whoyouare one bit. That’s on them. Not you.”
With my eyes focused on the water, I let the sound soothe me as her words seeped into my bones. I wanted to devour them, make them part of who I was so that I could guard myselfagainst what I knew would be a life of challenges, or at least a life of discrimination in one way or the other. Just as I was about to thank her, she turned in her seat, facing me.
“Does any of this have to do with Ryan?” There wasn’t a doubt in my mind she was digging for gold, but there was just something about her—her calm sense of self, her ability to pepper seriousness with sarcasm, herkind generosity that made it certain, no matter what I said, she’d always be on my side.
Shrugging, I said, “Maybe. It’s just… I mean… I can’t,” I rambled, and she laughed.
“Slow down, dear. Breathe,” she calmed, sarcasm dancing on her playful words. “Let’s start out with the most important question.” She shot me a look that insisted I calm down. “Would part of the problem be cleared up or atleast start to be if the two of you just talked?”
Taking a sip of my cooled coffee, I rested back in my chair, giving the question some serious consideration. As open as I was with my mom, I didn’t feel much like telling her about us kissing or about him telling me he was gay. “It could be,” I answered honestly.
