“What do you mean?”
“Well, first of all, you dolikewomen, do you not? You’ve certainly been with enough of them, so I think you’d know if you weren’t sexually attracted to them.”
Something about this conversation is borderline embarrassing to think that my mom has been paying attention to my sex life, but I power through it and nod.
“Well, think about it. That follows the cultural standard of what ‘society’ expects of you as a man. So, you fit into the box they made for you, which meant you didn’t need to question whether or not there was anything else outside of it. People who don’t fit in with the ‘traditional’—" she air quotes and rolls her eyes with the word “—roles of sexuality are the ones who generally understand more quickly that they don’t tick the marks in those little boxes, and it’s easier to know why that is for them. But if you’ve never experienced a connection with someone of the same sex before now, then it makes sense why you wouldn’t have known objectively. Because you’ve never had a reason to.”
Mom tries to smile reassuringly, but I frown. “It kind of makes me feel like a fraud.”
“Honey, anyone who makes you feel less than for something like this is an idiot and an asshole,” she says earnestly. “Your awakening to it now is just as valid as it would have been if you were sixteen when you found out. Or if you were sixty-five! And you know, it’s not like you had a lot of role models to look up to back home. That’s one of my biggest regrets.”
“What is?”
“Your father and I raised you in a place where something like being gay or bisexual was practically unheard of or squashed down by small-minded idiots. Small towns have a bad reputation for being closed off from the rest of the world. We didn’t do you any favors living there, but we didn’t have a choice at the time. We couldn’t afford to move when you were growing up, and by the time we could, you were already established with your friends, and we felt it wasn’t worth making you give them up to go live somewhere more diverse.”
“Okay, butI’mnot closed-minded. I had you and Dad teaching me not to be. Even though I grew up knowing all that, why didn’tI ever question it with myself?” I ask miserably. “Thinking back, it feels like it should have been obvious, but I was oblivious.”
“As much as your father and I openly supported gay rights, we were your only exposure to that kind of culture, and we could only do so much on our own. For Christ’s sake, the only other representation in the media actively villainized queer people. There weren’t many movies or TV shows with happy endings for anyone who was gay for you to reference, and evenlesswith bisexual representation. It was mostly a ‘one or the other’ kind of thing. I’ve seen a lot more coming out now and couldn’t be happier. But you have to give yourself some space to realize that you didn’t have it as easy as the kids are starting to have it now. Even twenty years ago, things were not as good for queer people. Don’t you remember hearing about that poor kid who got bullied when he came out back in your high school?”
My brows arch with a mind of their own. She’s talking about Luke. I can’t believe she remembers that whole situation. I doubt she recalls exactly who he was, but how odd is it that we’re actively having a conversation about the same person, and she doesn’t know it?
“Thatwas the culture you grew up in,” she continues. “It wasn’t easy living authentically, and many people didn’t because they were afraid of being ostracized. There have been a lot of positive changes in the last decade, even though we’ve still got a long way to go. If anything, you’re lucky coming into it now instead of when you were a kid. Adolescence is hard enough without adding that into the mix.”
I realize she’s right. Everything she said rings true, and there are some solid points I never considered that make perfect sense. Although I still think I’m an idiot for not recognizing any of this sooner, I can’t deny she’s made me feel better about the whole thing.
Sighing, I rub a hand along my neck and lean back in the chair. I meet my mom’s eye, and she smiles, her face softening. She seems to be able to tell that I’m no longer on the knife’s edge, and she pats her hand on my back, standing up again.
“So, tell me about this boy who’s made you question your reality,” she says in typical nosy mom fashion. “What’s his name? Where’d you meet him?”
I roll my eyes. “At work. His name is Luke.”
“Have you told him you like him yet, or did you run away from him, too?”
I groan and drop my head on the counter again, wrapping my arms around myself tightly. Mom just laughs at my pain.
Chapter Twelve
Reflections and Respite
Ratherthanrushthisunexpected visit with Mom, I decide to stick around for the week.
After calling Marcus to let him know that she’s okay, I’m shocked and touched by how relieved he is to hear it. It makes me feel like the shittiest friend to have worried him so much with my senseless lie. I never even stopped to consider that everyone might take it so seriously, but given my history, I probably should have.
I make a mental note not to do anything like that again—gay panics or not.
Marcus asks about my date with Chrissy, regretting that we didn’t talk about it before I left. I tell him it went well, but he seems to sense I’m holding back. He questions whether I really enjoyed it or if I’m just saying what I think he wants to hear, but I don’t have a good answer. It’s hard to get into that without bringing up the real reason I fled to Florida in the first place, and I’m not prepared to go into that right now.
It may have been easy coming out to my mom, but the idea of coming out to Marcus is altogether more daunting and notthe kind of thing I want to do over the phone. Besides, all I can think about is Mom’s theory that I might have had a crush on him growing up, and now I’m panicking, wondering whether he knows or suspected.
I never consciously considered it until now, but thinking back, there may be a kernel of truth to it. Like how I talked about him obsessively to anyone who would listen, or how I hung onto his opinion like it was the only one that mattered. If it was obvious to Mom that I unwittingly crushed on him when we were both awkward pre-teens, it couldn’t have gone past Marcus’s notice. He’s never said anything, and at this point, I’m not even sure if it matters. Nothing ever happened between us, and the idea of him and me together in any romantic setting is enough to make me cringe, so I can safely say it’s a non-starter.
Still, Marcus is my best friend. He’s basically my brother—my favorite human on this planet besides my mom—and the only person who probably knows me better than I know myself. I know I owe him the truth about what’s happening, but I want to tell him properly. And face to face. He deserves that much.
Thankfully, Marcus doesn’t press the date issue with me any further. He tells me to have a good week off and that we’ll discuss it more when I get back home. Hopefully, I’ll have the courage to follow through.
Halfway through the week, it hits me that this is the first real vacation I’ve taken in a couple of years. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when I withdrew into hermitude, but it’s clear I’ve become a shut-in. Outside of the occasional get-together with my friends, I haven’t done anything fun for myself in a long time, and it shows.
Even Mom points out that she was worried I’d stagnated. Whenever we talked on the phone, I wouldn’t have anything new or exciting to tell her, and after a while, she picked up on the fact that I wasn’t as happy as I led her to believe. I can’t even say she was wrong.
