I scrunch my nose and turn away from the TV. They’re having a short intermission to make announcements about what the fundraiser is up to, so Jesse and the band are no longer on screen.
“Tell me how many times you’ve heard your daddy say,” she clears her throat and tries to imitate my dad’s voice, “I don’t care what somebody’s got goin’ on behind closed doors, just keep it to yourself.”
“What’s wrong with keeping your personal business to yourself?”
“You ever hear him say the same thing about a straight person or a straight couple?”
I open my mouth to defend him, but I stop short. As usual, she’s right. Not that I’d tell her that to her face. I’d never hear the end of it.
“I’m not saying he’s a bad person, or that he’d be outright homophobic to someone. People say shit like that all the time and don’t even realize how fucked up it is, but that’s exactly why more of us need to put on our big girl panties and speak up, correct them, point out their mistakes. Because people are going to stay set in their ways until they’re taught better.”
I snort. “I’m not sure Dad can be taught anything.” He’s a good man, but he’s old and stubborn as hell.
“Maybe, maybe not. But when or if it comes up someday, especially if you’re serious about this guy and have to weigh the risk of getting publicly outed, what do you want from him?”
“From my dad?”
“Yeah. You want him to be okay with it, right?”
“Of course.”
“And you want him to be okay with you bringing Jesse home, and him being welcomed and treated the same way a girlfriend would be, right?”
That’s when I take a pause. I see where she’s getting at.
“It is not enough to be tolerated. Especially when that tolerance comes with the caveat of making yourself smaller. Tolerance is bullshit. You deserve and should demand acceptance. You can’t hide who you are to protect small minds.”
“You’re right.” I know she is, but that doesn’t mean I want to get mobbed by reporters every time I leave my house or place of work.
“Duh.”
I focus on my phone a bit, sending Jesse a text now that I know he’s probably sitting backstage, taking a breather.
ME: I wish I could see you in person, but I think I’m sold on live-streaming for concerts. It’s way better watching from my couch. Less people-y.
Ghost: Next time you can watch from side stage. You’d only have to deal with crew.
Ghost: Well, and Blake.
ME: Tempting.
Ghost: Good. It’s happening.
ME: Ha. Ha.
Ghost: So cute how you think I’m kidding.
Ghost: Are you having fun with Shawna?
ME: Yeah. Except she’s a know-it-all and a slob.
Ghost: The love you have for this woman is astounding.
ME:
ME: I told her about you.
Ghost: Really?
