Dad’s face firms right up. “Don’t say that.”
What?
“There’s nothing—” Dad rubs his temple and grits his teeth. “Idon’t care. If you like men. It, ah, I thought I made it clear when we’d talk about the news or whatever.”
I can’t stop the garbled scoff rising from my throat, because I remember theexactmoment he's referring to. “You pointed at a news segment about a gay couple that was arrested in Hong Kong for running a drug ring, and you asked me what I thought about ‘this stuff.’ And I was sixteen.”
“Did I really do that?”
I nod.
“Okay, maybe I could have chosen a better example. Anyway, I really don’t care. I doubt your mother does, either.” He shifts in his chair at the same time I do, and it's painfully obvious neither of us are comfortable with this discussion.
Neither of us admit it.
“Thanks for…not caring,” I manage. “It's still hard to talk about this kind of, like, identity stuff.”
“Then let's not,” Dad says quickly. “You like men, Nick's your boyfriend, and your parents won't really care.”
“Nick isn't my boyfriend,” I correct.
“He isn't?” Dad rubs the bridge of his nose. “But he came all the way to China with you.”
“That doesn't mean anything. He didn't want to be alone for two weeks,” I reiterate.
Hold up—Dad’ssmiling.
NowI'mconfused.
“So Nick's solution to being lonely was…to come to China,” he says. “Has he even left the US before?”
“He has.” I pause after my fast, firm response. “I think he’s visited Canada.” The second part comes out a lot quieter, and then Dad fuckinglaughs.
“Hangzhou is alotfarther than Canada.” Dad clears his throatagain, and I have no idea why he’s pressing on with this conversation. “I think he might like you. Just a little bit.”
“Dad,” I groan. “That’s so inconvenient. You know I’m moving back in four months. We can’t go anywhere.”
“So youdon’tlike Nick back?”
My reply flies out of my mouth before I can stop myself. “I never said that.” When Dad doesn’t say anything, I have no choice but to keep talking. “I like him. Ireallylike him.”
“Ah, so you’re admitting it.” Dad smiles and rubs my shoulder. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Besides, you’re my boy. There’s no getting something like that past me, at least not easily.”
And come to think of it, I didn’t exactly try, beyond making sure my parents couldn’t hear us doing certain things.
“That’s it? The way we look at each other?” I keep my fingers crossed for Dad to deflect and talk about something else, but he doesn’t.
“You seem happier. I mean, you weren’tsadthe last few times you came home, it’s just this time, it’s different. You haven’t complained once about your high school friends not being in town.”
Sheesh, he’s right.
“And honestly, if you’re happy, that’s what matters,” he continues. “It’s important to?—”
I groan. “Weren't you uncomfortable with the conversation five minutes ago?”
“Maybe, but now I'm giving you hell for liking someone. That's an easy dad topic, no matter who you like.”
“I thought I escaped.” I fiddle with my empty cup, resigned to talking aboutmyselffor the next while. “Does Mom know?”
