"Can football players be gay now?"
Gavin smiles. "There are a few of us, sir. More every year."
More blinking. Papa looks at me again, and I hold my breath.
"Well." He clears his throat. "I suppose a doctor would be alright in the family. Maybe if mi papà would have listened to a family member. Maybe he'd still be here."
My throat tightens. Grandpapa. The heart attack that took him too fast, too young. The one that made me want to be a doctor in the first place.
"That's it?" I hear myself say. "That's your response? 'Maybe Grandpapa would have listened'? And me being gay is just... fine with you?"
Mamma elbows my father sharply. He startles, looking between us with an expression of genuine confusion.
"Well... yes? Gaga says you were born this way, no?"
I stare at him. "Did you just quote Lady Gaga to me?"
"Your mamma plays her music very loud."
I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I settle for scrubbing my hands over my face. "Okay. Okay. Fine. Great. In that case, will you start doing some heart-healthy exercises? You're at risk for the same thing that got Grandpa."
My father's expression immediately shutters. "I wouldn't take it that far."
The table erupts into laughter, the tension breaking like a wave, everyone talking over each other, mamma already planning how to announce my medical career to every relative within a hundred and fifty mile radius.
Gavin tugs my hand, and I look down at him.
"C'mere," he murmurs.
He pulls me into his lap right there at the dinner table, arms wrapping around me, solid and warm and mine. I should be embarrassed. I'm not.
"Awwww," Sophia coos.
"Disgusting," Gabi says, but she's smiling.
Gavin presses a kiss to my temple, and I finally, finally let myself relax.
"Told you it would be fine," he whispers against my hair.
"Shut up."
"That's not very nice."
"I'm not very nice."
His arms tighten around me. "Yeah, you are. You're the nicest person I know."
I twist to look at him. "That's a low bar. Remember, I've met some of your family."
He laughs, bright and warm, and I feel it vibrate through my whole body.
Around us, my family chatters and argues and laughs, mamma planning, my father still processing, my sisters teasing, Rick watching it all with a bemused smile on his face.
It's chaos. It's loud. It's home.
And somehow, with a giant football player's arms wrapped around me and my sisters making dick jokes across the table, this is the first family dinner in years where I haven't wanted to fake a stomach bug and leave early.
I don't need to run.
