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“How are things going?” I asked, hoping to keep the attention on them for as much of this phone call as I could.
“Oh, we’re good, honey,” my mom answered. The sound of her cheerful voice always drove a nail of guilt into my chest. Both she and my dad were such happy, loving parents, and I knew how lucky I was for it. But there was a chasm between us. It was a horrible, yawning thing—full of all my secrets and shame.
Old remnants of cigarette smoke wafted around me, and I closed my eyes to dispel the ghost of my past.
Seth had ruined so many fucking things.
“That’s good,” I said. “Dad, you finish building the shed yet?” He’d retired from his construction job last year and was still trying to figure out how to occupy his time.
He chuckled. “Not yet, but I’m close.”
“You know the other day I found him out back, furious and beet-red, working on that thing,” my mom jumped in. My father chuckled again, and it made me smile to imagine it. “I thought you were supposed to find hobbies that didn’t feel like work,” she kindly chided.
“I like the work just fine. I’m a man who needs to keep my hands busy.” It was true—my father had always placed his self-worth in things he could make and build. He wasn’t the smartest or the savviest of businessmen, but he could outwork anyone. I knew his retirement was a big deal to him, that he didn’t feel ready to let that part of him go. But he was getting older, and construction work wasn’t getting any easier.
“Well, I can’t wait to see it next time I’m home,” I said lightly, though the words instantly made me anxious.
My mother latched on. “When do you think you’ll come home to visit, honey? Lord knows we miss you something fierce.”
I sighed. Knowing they were a less-than-thirty-minute drive away from the city definitely didn’t help on the guilt front, because lately I was only seeing them a handful of times a year. “I know. I’m just . . . busy. Things at the club have been a little up and down, and there’s a few things I have to see through. But the holidays are coming up—I’ll try to come home more, okay?” The lie tasted sour on my tongue.
“Maybe you’ll have a nice girl to bring home with you?” Mom asked. “Or a nice young man?”
I refused to look, but I could feel Leo’s eyes burning on the back of my neck. “Who knows,” was all I said. After Seth, I’d built a pretty strong wall between myself and the rest of the world—including my parents. They’d known my interest these last few years had been on girls, despite never having a firm discussion about my sexuality or how I chose to define it. I wasn’t even sure I’d known how to define it. Until Leo, I’d had no interest in any new men. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
“You know, there’s a nice young man who moved in down the street, where Mrs. DeSoto used to live! I think he lives alone—maybe you could stop by and introduce yourself next time you’re here?”
“Leave our poor daughter alone,” my dad gruffed. “She doesn’t have time for men . . . or women . . . do ya, honey?” Leo snorted, and I whipped my head to glare at him. Shit! Things went silent on the other side of the phone line. Eventually, I could hear my father take a deep breath. “You have company with you, honey?”
“No,” I blurted. “It’s just the TV. I’m . . . the news is on while I clean.”
“Oh,” he responded, his voice considerably lighter again—thank god. “Well, we don’t want to keep you too long, we know you’re a busy little lady. Everything going okay? Anything you need, baby girl?” Again, the twinge in my heart, the shame that felt like poison.
“I’m okay,” I assured them as best I could. “I promise. I miss you guys, and I can’t wait to see you soon.” I needed to visit them—I knew I needed to. There were so many things that were left unsaid over the years, and I wanted nothing more than to lay it all at their feet . . . If only I could bring myself to. They were so good to me, so supportive of me bartending even if they didn’t understand it. They didn’t make me feel bad about my piercings or colored hair—hell, they were just desperate for any piece of my life I would share.
But that was the problem. Because if I gave them everything—if I told them the truth about Seth, about the abuse—I wasn’t sure they’d be able to handle something like that. I just . . . I couldn’t do it to them.
“You know our door is always open. You don’t even have to ask—just come over any time, okay?”
My eyes stung and my breaths came more rapidly. “Okay, Daddy.” I wanted to slip into the body of my six-year-old self and crawl into his lap for one of his powerful hugs. I used to think I would forever be invincible with a dad whose presence was so large and formidable and protective, like nothing could ever hurt me. But sometimes the monsters under the bed grew up to be six feet tall and handsome, and you never saw the danger until it was too late.
After saying quick goodbyes and hanging up, I refocused on stacking columns of clothes in the duffle bag, ignoring the slippery slope of emotion swirling through me, the uncomfortable tension pressing into my ribs. But I wasn’t alone, and there was a static energy in the room that was being directly sourced from the man on my couch. Eventually, he spoke. “You aren’t going to tell your parents about what happened to you?”
I balked. It took me a moment to realize he’d meant what happened last night. “No,” I answered on a shaky breath. “Of course not.”
“Why not?”
I turned around and threw Leo a hard look. “What do you mean why not?”
He watched me carefully. “They seem like nice people. It’s obvious how much they care about you. Why not let them support you through it?”
Wiping a falling tear off my cheek, I turned away from him again. “There are plenty of things I choose not to worry them with.” It would break their hearts to know how much I’d suffered.
“Is there anyone you do allow into your life enough to support you?” he asked. “Perhaps that woman from last night?”
If you need someone to bite, I can take it.
“Leave Charlea out of this.”
