Chapter Twenty-Four
“Mom?”
Twenty-six years old, and yet I still felt like I was trying to explain a poor report card.
She paused, her back to me, damp cloth in hand.Both arms outstretched on the edge of the counter, her posture brittle and tight.
They’d not pestered me about girlfriends, or dating, or when they might get grandchildren.Had been scrupulous, in fact, at respecting my privacy, my boundaries.
I couldn’t help but feel like I’d taken advantage of that respect, used it as an excuse not to correct them on their fundamental misunderstanding about what I wanted from a partner.
“Say your piece, Oliver.”
I could’ve spent a hundred years trying to decode the tone with which those four words were delivered.Only I knew I didn’t have the luxury of time.
“I...I didn’t know how to tell you.Either of you.”
You hide it for so long, I wanted to explain, that deception becomes second-nature.Not just a secret, something you want to keep from everyone else, but a whole other layer of yourself that you can’t even imagine sharing.
“Tell us what, exactly.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly feeling tight.“That I’m gay.”
She turned, wiping her hands on the cloth.A familiar motion, not that I’d ever given it much thought before.The mark of one chore ending, and time for another to begin.
“And you thought we wouldn’t understand.”
A question, or a comment, it wasn’t clear.Then again, perhaps it didn’t matter either way.
“Based on your reaction now, are you really surprised I might’ve wondered about that?”
Lips narrowed, she looked away.There was a sense of distance between us that I could never remember feeling before.
“Say something, mom.”
“For the record, it wouldn’t have mattered.Doesn’t matter.”
