I laugh. He’s trying to be serious, but I know the second the three of them get together, they’ll start drinking tea and lose themselves in conversation. My dads sized Rafael up a long time ago, and they’ve always enthusiastically approved.
“He will want to see you,” I agree, “if you’re in town.” It seems ridiculous to have them drive all the way here, but I can’t think of anyone else I can talk to about it, and the idea is such a relief, I could almost cry again.
“You have to come to beach clean with me in the morning,” I say.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Pop says brightly, while Abba, who does not wake early, forces a smile. “Sure, sure.”
My day at the library is busy enough that I don’t get too much time to pine over Rafael after that phone call, although he’s never truly far from mind. He and I are building up to anal, closer every time we touch. I know that all I have to do is say the word and it will happen, but there are so many promises on my lips already, things I need to say and things I can’t.
It’s distracting.
When I meet up with my dads after work, the relief is immediate, just like I expected. I find them outside our favorite noodle place, not far from the library. Pop has purchased a large telescope for himself, and he hauls the unwieldy thing around, nearly knocking some paintings off the wall, for which he apologizes profusely.
They fill one side of a booth, and I sit across from them, sipping tea.
My dads don’t even have anything new to say, not really, but their words still ease me. The consensus is clear that I need to talk to Rafael soon, and seeing how confident they are about that solidifies my own feelings. My dads really think that my read of Rafael is right, that he probably does feel the way I feel, although I know my own confidence in that will waver the second I’m trying to tell him the truth.
“It’s in your nature to keep everything tidy,” Abba says. “You want to stay ahead of the problems, catch anything bad before it happens.” He glances to Pop, and they exchange a loving smile. “But sometimes, you just need to take a chance, son, even if it does get messy.”
His words sink in, the truth of them settling slowly. Soon enough, we’re back to making dorky jokes together. We laugh and tell old stories, and in a way that no one else can, they remind me who I am. My dads have a generous way of looking at the world. They’ve found their own unique passions, Pop the nature center and Abba his ceramic vases, and they’ve found each other.
I know what it takes for two weirdos to be happy together. An amazing example is sitting right in front of me. There might be some dirt on the kitchen table, but as I look at them, I realize the annoying things can kind of be the good things, too.
I sip from my tea. It crosses my mind that, if things really were to blow up between me and Rafael, they all might never see each other again. My feelings get tangled by the ugly thought, which I push away.
“We’ll do breakfast with Rafael,” I say abruptly, then smile at my dads. “I want to have you by the apartment anyway.”
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
RAFAEL
“You know,”Ezekiel says, then leans forward, “my husband and I both have tattoos. Just not anywhere you would see them.”
“Abba!” Alexander yelps.
Nayland leans back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest, and chuckles. “It’s true, though.”
We’re all sitting around the kitchen table at the apartment. A plate of cold waffles sits between us, and the four of us have finally downed enough coffee that we’ve stopped refilling our mugs. My parents are all the way on the east coast, so I don’t get much chance to see them in person. But Alexander’s dads feel like family to me, after spending so much time together over the years, and it’s actually deeply comforting to see them.
I push my glasses up. “So, what’s the butt tattoo?” I ask, and me and the dads all break out laughing.
Alexander sighs. “They literally got matching rainbows,” he says.
“That’s right we did,” Nayland says and chuckles as he rubs his husband’s back.
“The fact that we made it through the nineties without getting tribal tattoos feels like its own sort of accomplishment.” Ezekiel nods.
I glance between Alexander and his dads. The dads are both big guys, Ezekiel with a long white beard and broad nose and hands that move with the delicate care of an artist. Nayland has a cute belly and thinning black hair, and he’s always wearing a piece of rope or lanyard like it’s jewelry.
Today, he sports a great blue heron feather, recovered from his nature conservatory and hanging around his neck. “Tattooing is quite a profession.” Nayland nods. “I’m impressed.”
Ezekiel stretches his arm over his husband’s shoulder. I catch a glance that he shoots Alexander, something knowing in it that I can’t read; then he nods to me. “It wasn’t until I picked up ceramics that I found myself as an artist,” he says. “Maybe tattooing will open up something new in you.”
I smile and glance between them. I just think it’s so cool that Alexander has a queer family. I don’t have many older queer people to learn from in my life. My parents are supportive, and I love them, I wouldn’t trade them for anything. But it’s exciting for me to have Ezekiel and Nayland in my life, too, and to see how happy their relationship is.
“It already feels like it opens something up,” I say. “I just have to actually learn the skills I need now.”
“Ah,” Ezekiel chuckles. “Now that is the tricky part.”
