“Well, then please lead the way,” I say, gesturing toward the closed door.
With a curt nod, Mother guides us to the door and then opens it, revealing a bright, cheery room full of flowers and well wishes. Father sits up in the middle of his bed in his smoking jacket. He is smoking a cigar and looking far too pleased with himself.
Uh, we sure he had a heart attack and was in intensive care? Because right now, with him smoking a cigar, looking healthy as a bloody prizewinning horse, it seems like this entire thing was calculated to get me back home. Also, pretty sure he shouldn’t be smoking right after having a heart attack, but that’s just me.
Are we sure it wasn’t some mild angina that he suffered?
Elizabeth and I exchange glances before walking toward the bed where there are two chairs set up right next to it.
Remember when I said calculated? This is exactly what I’m talking about.
Elizabeth and I both take a seat and then rest our hands in our laps like the dutiful children we are, and as I watch my father snuff out his cigar in an old, bronze ashtray, all I can think about is how much I don’t want this.
I don’t want this cold life.
I don’t want to be paraded around like a puppet.
And I sure as hell don’t want to live a life where everything is so manipulated to fit a narrative that is approved by my parents.
I want freedom.
I want to get my hands dirty.
I want to be able to wake up every morning looking my girl in the eyes and thanking the fucking universe for giving me the opportunity to meet her.
But how do I get there?
How do I move past this obligation that’s been hanging over my head?
Clearing his throat, Father presses his hand to his chest and coughs for a moment before leaning back on his pillow.
“You came,” he says, playing the role of suffering patient.
Grant me fucking patience, because Jesus Christ.
“Well our father had a heart attack, didn’t he?” Elizabeth says. “Despite him smoking a cigar a few days after.”
Father glares at her, clearly not happy with the snark, but that’s why I love her, because she will call him out no matter what.
“Because of my recent health scare, I’ve come to the realization that I can’t carry on the family name forever.” So we’re just going to ignore the cigar thing. Okay, feels right. That’s what we do in this family—we ignore. “Your mother and I were talking, and we’ve decided that both of you need to settle down and have children. We have picked you both suitable partners that will deliver us strong-blooded grandchildren and continue the family name.” My father’s eyes fall to mine. “Theodore, I’ve spoken to Neil, and Walinda is on her way over here to offer her hand in marriage. And Elizabeth, I took it upon myself to contact your high school boyfriend, Gerry. He has agreed to marry you as well.”
What kind of archaic bullshit is this?
“Uh, Father, little problem with that,” Elizabeth says, with her finger raised. “Gerry is nice and all, but unfortunately he has a penis, and I’m not interested in a penis right now. If I need to remind you, I can tell you what I am interested in.”
Father winces. “For the love of God, Elizabeth, this is just a phase.”
“For one, that’s extremely offensive. And secondly, it’s not. Gay for life. Hannah and I are extremely happy, and I don’t plan on changing that. But don’t worry, we’ve spoken about having kids and we have options. And if it matters that much to you, they can have our family’s last name.”
“It’s not just about kids. It’s about the perception of the family. We can’t have you walking around with a woman attached to your hip. You’ve had your fun. Sometimes we have to do things for our family and not for ourselves.”
I’m about to butt in and defend Elizabeth, but she sits taller and, in a poised voice, says, “And sometimes, as a family, we need to set aside who we want to be perceived as and rather offer acceptance, love, and understanding. I like to think you’re a good man, Father, but if you can’t accept Hannah, then I have no problem starting a life with her where you’re not involved and never meet your grandchildren. That decision will be up to you.”
Fuck, look at her, my little sister, sticking up for herself, sticking up for what she wants, without blinking, without hesitation.
I want to be like her. I want to?—
“Hope we’re not interrupting.” Neil and Walinda walk through the bedroom door, holding a box of cigars and a bouquet of flowers.
