‘Maybe we’ve not been very good or understanding. But we do love you, Simo. Very much,’ Mum says quietly. ‘Being a parent is hard enough, you know. Nobody teaches you how to raise a child that isn’t . . .’
‘Straight?’ I offer through gritted teeth.
‘Yes, that. It’s no excuse. But I guess we weren’t sure how you really feel and didn’t know how to ask.’
‘A “How do you really feel?” would have done the trick,’ I say, and I can’t help that I sound bitter.
‘Well, now we know,’ Mum says. I think that’s as much an apology as I will get from her.
‘And, so we know for next time, what was so wrong with the question about you and Luca?’ Dad asks. My heart, which has just stopped pounding, is twitching in my chest.
‘It wasn’t such a bad question. I wasn’t prepared for it, is all.’
‘OK, that’s good,’ Dad says, and pats my hand, looking more self-assured already. ‘But I’m still confused on the matter of what’s going on between the two of you.’
Might as well tell them now. ‘He’s the one who put our names on the noticeboard.’
Dad nods. ‘Yes, and?’
How are they not getting this? ‘He’s a coward.’
‘So, he confessed his love for you for all of Lombard to see, and he’s a coward?’
‘He never owned up to it!’
‘But I thought he just did?’ Mum asks.
‘Months later!’
‘I’m not entirely sure I see the problem. Does he want to be with you?’ she doubles down.
‘I – yes. I think so anyway.’
‘And do you want to be with him?’
‘I thought I did. Now I don’t know.’
‘Well,’ she says and seems to ponder her next words, ‘if it helps, I think he’s good for you. And you for him.’
I want to get angry again, because it’s a little late for the endorsement, but I’m running out of energy. I wind my hand out of Dad’s grip and get up.
‘I’ve got a headache,’ I say truthfully. Crying does that to you. ‘I’m gonna take a nap.’
‘Simo, you can come to us any time, OK? I want you to know that,’ Dad says before I can leave the room.
‘And you’re going back to school tomorrow,’ Mum adds.
‘Safa!’
‘What? He can’t hide forever.’
Obviously, I don’t stand a chance at sleep, because my sleep pattern is fucked, and I’m far too riled up. That exchange with my parents was not on my bingo card. I thought we’d ignore the elephant in the room forever, until the day when they’d get my wedding invitation – if I decided to go down that route, anyway.
It went . . . better than expected and, simultaneously, it was one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life. I never want to repeat it.
The one good thing that came from it? I know that theycare. Most of the time, it feels like I’m a duty, a box to tick at the end of the day, right after ‘mark tests’ and ‘weed the garden’. And on bad days, where my most self-destructive thoughts scream the loudest, I suspected that the only reason they kept going is because they’d already lost one son, and they somehow had to keep the leftover one alive.
But to know that I’m wanted, it’s something I’ve been longing to hear.
