“I know, honey,” she whispers. I can see the pain on her face, knowing that her son and husband won’t speak, but she understands it. That’s just who she is. Understanding of everyone and everything.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” I say.
“About what?” She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on her fists.
“Clayton is more than a friend.”
“I know that, Maxy.”
“I know you know, but it’s serious. I’m going to tell him.” That is the only way I refer to my father. I don’t call him dad or father or Randall. I call himhim.Another thing that she understands.
“I think that’ll be good for you. To talk to him.”
“I’m only talking to him to tell him, that’s it,” I declare.
Right on time, as if the universe wants to play a prank, my father walks in. “Good evening,” he drawls.
His plate is already set at the seat next to my mother. He sits down, loosening his tie and throwing it to the side.
“I’m surprised to see you, Maxwell,” he notices.
“I’m only here to tell you something.”
“What is that?” His tone is serious. As it always is when we talk.
I hesitate, looking at my mom for courage. She smiles, reaching across the table and patting my hand. “I’m right here, sweetie.”
I nod at her before sucking in a sharp breath. “Remember Clayton?”
“Yes,” Randall says.
“He’s my… boyfriend,” I blurt out.
“A friend that is a boy.”
“No. Like… we arewitheach other.”
“You’re not gay,” is all he says.
“No. I’m not. I’m bisexual.” It took me a long time to grasp that. That it was okay to be that way. I fought that battle silently, not letting anyone know the embarrassment I felt, but Clayton made me see that it wasn’t something to be embarrassed about. It was me. Who I am. Nothing wrong with that.
“You’re not bisexual. You’re confused.”
“I’m not confused. I love Clayton.”
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, slamming his fist against the table.
“Honey,” my mom says, reaching for him instead. He pulls his hand away from her.
“No! You’re not.” He says again, trying to convince himself and me that I’m no such thing.
“I love Clayton.” I say again, proud of it despite what he might think.
“I don’t condone such behavior.”
“Randall!” My mom calls out.
“Mom, it’s okay. Randall, you don’t have to condone shit. I’m not changing just because you don’t like it. I told you out of respect and because I thought you should know, but it’s a good thing our relationship was already over.”
