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Most of all, though, beyond all the parades and donations and drag queen bingos attended, they loved their gay son. Unconditionally. With everything they had. I didn’t doubt that for a second. It had taken a minute for them to come around, even though I knew they loved me through that time, but they did and I couldn’t be happier.
“I’m so glad you and Austin were able to fix things. I always had a feeling about you two, always laughing and joking with each other. When his mom told me why Austin left—I could barely believe it. And then they were gone, too. Moved away, and that was it.”
I scrunched my brows. “What did his mom tell you?”
My dad, still silent, put his drink down, and shared a look with my mom. “You don’t know?” my mom asked.
“Know what…”
“I—oh, I thought maybe you and Austin would have talked about it.” My mom’s face flushed red, and she nervously played with her dangling necklace.
“We did, but maybe I didn’t get the full story. What happened?”
She stood up and looked like she was about to parkour over the railings and run off into the trees to avoid answering my question. “Talk to Austin, Char. I don’t want to say too much—I don’t feel like it’s my place. His mom didn’t tell me much anyway. She just said Austin was devastated by whatever you had told him.”
That made me jerk forward, shocked. “What? That I told him? He never said… What was it that I said to him?”
Candace loved a good heart-to-heart, but she always hated spilling secrets. I tried getting her to elaborate, but she was already halfway through the door and back in the house before I could get anything else. I believed that she didn’t know what I said, but… fuck, what the hell did I say?
I looked to my dad, who hadn’t said a word this entire time. “I’m guessing you don’t know either?”
He shook his head, giving me a pursed-lip smile. Something was off. My dad normally wasn’t this quiet. He always had a quip or joke to toss into a conversation, even if it wasn’t exactly the best timing.
“No, no, I don’t.” He turned his gaze down. The creases around his eyes deepened, multiplying with the wrinkles on his forehead. His trimmed beard was going from black to gray, matching the gray that peppered his hair. He looked older to me in this moment, with shoulders slumped and head dropped. His slightly oversized beige shirt and khaki pants weren’t exactly doing him any favors either. Parents always seemed to have an air of invincibility to them, like not even aging could touch them.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
His thin smile flipped into a frown, reflecting the sadness that now permeated through his dark eyes, framed by thick-rimmed glasses.
“I’m just thinking about what your mom said. How she feels guilty. But, Char, if she feels guilty, then I don’t even know what I feel… She never said anything to you. She never treated you differently, even when we first thought you might be gay. It was me. I was the one who fucked it all up.”
He dropped his head into his hands. I didn’t think this would be where my mom’s spike raspberry lemonade would lead us, but I felt ready to tackle and fully unload the baggage between my dad and me.
“Dad, you weren’t perfect, I can admit that, but no one on this floating rock can say they’re perfect. I understand. It was a different time and—”
“No, no. I hate that excuse. It wasn’t a different time. There are black-and-white photos of people in the seventies marching for their gay kids. It didn’t matter what time it was. All that mattered was that I wasn’t there for you. I forced you to hide who you really were, and I robbed you of happy years that you can never get back. I hate myself for that.”
The words hit me right in my chest. I could hear the cords of pain that tightened my father’s throat. He looked back up, looking to me. People always said I looked like my mom, but I could see myself more in my dad, now more than ever.
“I love you, Char, and when I found out that you might be gay, I completely lost it. I’m so sorry. For making you ever feel like you didn’t belong or that you were broken. None of that was ever true.”
“I know, Dad. I know all of that.” I did have one question, though. It kept me up some nights, and I honestly wasn’t sure if I’d ever even ask it.
Until now.
I didn’t let myself think twice about it: “Why, though? Our family isn’t hugely religious, and Blue Creek might be a small town, but I feel like it’s always been a progressive one, even when the bigger cities around us weren’t. What made you hate the thought of me being gay so much?”
