And then I take the keys out of the ignition and go inside.
23
Sam
Dad and Gran are at the kitchen table.Dad looks tired; Gran looks put out.They’ve got drinks; Dad’s holding a beer, and Gran’s got something in a glass—it smells like vermouth.She’s got the soundtrack forGuys and Dollsplaying; it’s probably driving Dad out of his mind.
“There you are, Sammy,” Gran says.She’s taking off her big hoop earrings, and she sounds like she does right before she starts doing her Liza Minelli impressions.Now I notice the lipstick on the glass.“We didn’t know where you were.”
I’m looking at Dad, and he’s looking at me.The same dark hair.The same build, more or less.He’s got lines around his eyes now, and he’s got some gray, and because he’s sitting, and because he’s all the way across the room in the kitchen, it’s like he’s much, much smaller than I remember.
“I told your dad you were on a date,” Gran says and then she cackles and helps herself to more of her drink.“Iwas supposed to go on a date, and then the Caddy crapped out.”
“Alternator,” Dad says.
“And Eugene wouldn’t even pick me up!”Gran’s voice gets shrill at the end.“How’s that for a gentleman?”
“I’ll get a new one tomorrow,” Dad says.“Put it in.”
And now’s where I’m supposed to say that I’ll help him, and then I have a beer too, and we’ll sit around for a while until Dad decides to drive home, and Gran puts her sorrows to bed because she’s going to find Mr.Right tomorrow, and the world keeps spinning like it always has.
I bounce my keys once in my hand.The keys make one tiny clink.
It’s been quiet too long.
Dad’s staring at me.Gran’s got the glass halfway to her mouth, both of her earrings in her other hand.
“I’m bi,” I say.
Nobody says anything.
“Bisexual,” I say in case they don’t understand.“I’ve been going out with a guy.Was, I guess.It’s over now.”They’re still looking at me, so I say, “I thought you should know.”
Guys and Dollsis playing so loud I can’t hear myself think.
But when Dad pushes back his chair, I can hear the legs scrape on the floor.He turns, and he walks out of the house through the garage.He leaves the door open behind him.
Gran says, “Oh, Sam.”
The night’s coming in through the garage, so I walk over to close the door.The automatic light in the garage door opener is on, brownish-yellow and too weak to show much more than the garage itself.No Dad.I think maybe if I listen I’ll hear his steps, but I don’t.I press the button, and the garage door rattles down, and I head back into the house.I shut the door behind me and lock it.
Gran’s sitting now, the earrings on the table in front of her, and her drink is empty.
“I’m going to bed now,” I say.
She nods.
I wait, but she doesn’t say anything, so I say, “Goodnight.”
But when I get to my room, I don’t undress.I take off my shoes and lie on my bed.There’s enough light coming in through the cracks that I can see the popcorn ceiling overhead.It’s not hard to get rid of it.You scrape it off and paint.You can do it in a weekend.
That’s the way the world works, I tell myself.People leave.They do it all the time.And you knew before you opened your mouth how it was going to go.
And I guess that’s true.I guess I did.
I’m still lying there, later, when I hear a tap at the door, and Gran says, “Sammy?”
I don’t say anything because maybe she’ll think I’m asleep.
