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“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I replied, and he scowled. “This has nothing to do with me, and you know it. You’re taking out your awful mood on us. I tried talking to you about whatever might be bothering you, but you’ve never been much for sharing. I have no idea how Mom put up with you.” I balled my fists, but he didn’t refute me, though I saw the flicker of pain in his eyes, that soft spot he’d always reserved for my mother. She had always defended him, telling me he was just old-fashioned and set in his ways while she overcompensated for him. “Dressing that way makes Grant happy, and he’s not hurting anyone. Why squash his joy? He’s a good kid.”
“You’re free to stop visiting if that’s how you feel.” He waved dismissively. “It’s a chore for you anyway.”
“When you act like this, it sure feels like it.” I clenched my jaw. Way to turn it around and play the victim again. “Grant just wants to know his grandfather, and though you won’t admit it, I think you like him visiting. But acting like this will only push him away, like you’ve done to me my whole life.”
When he turned toward the window, refusing to meet my eyes, I strode out of the room, wondering why I even bothered. But no matter how frustrating my father was, I couldn’t leave him alone at the most vulnerable time in his life. And Grant might’ve had the same idea because once I’d given him the option to stay home next visit, he was resolved to come along anyway.
“Mom told me that she visited Papa to support you, most of all, and I didn’t really understand what she meant. But now I do,” he said in this matter-of-fact tone, not realizing how the sentiment made my heart skip a beat. “So I’ll keep coming.”
When I reached out to squeeze his knee, he didn’t shrug me off. “I’m sorry he’s not who you need him to be.”
“I’m sorry for you too,” he replied, briefly glancing my way.
It was one of Grant’s most mature and unselfish moments, and fuck if it didn’t make my eyes sting.
As I turned into our neighborhood and noted the fallen leaves, I knew they had piled up long enough. It was a yearly chore I didn’t look forward to, but it needed to be done. Now that the kitchen was mostly back in order, outside of some last-minute touch-ups, I couldn’t put it off any longer.
I handed Grant a rake, and we started in the backyard, where our large maple had shed its leaves. We had a system going after living here so long, and since Rebecca passed, Grant had stepped in to help, something I greatly appreciated. Marcus had offered as well during our most recent text conversation, and I had a strange inkling he would actually enjoy it. But no way was I going to take him up on his offer. He had his own chores to deal with, and from what I’d gathered, at his mom’s place too. She had been so lovely to us at Thanksgiving, and her cooking was damned good. I’d heard Grant raving about it on a call with his friends.
I could tell how close Marcus was with his family, and the concerns he’d mentioned later that night still weighed heavily on my mind. I wasn’t brave, not when it came to my sexuality. Maybe I hadn’t known what to call it back then, and once I married Rebecca, I was easily able to sweep it under the rug—and obviously pass as straight. But now it just sounded like a cop-out, and I was disappointed in myself that I hadn’t done more—to normalize it, or support the community, or…something.
Grant’s generation was definitely more accepting and proactive, and whenever he’d casually refer to a gay, nonbinary, or trans kid at school, my stomach would flood with warmth. Had society been more open when I was a kid, I might’ve felt safe enough to figure myself out a lot sooner. Still, had I come home spouting those sorts of terms, my father would’ve made me feel small and ridiculous—and sorry for ever opening my mouth.
I gripped the rake, thinking about my visit with my father again. I hated that I still tensed up whenever I was around him. But at least I was stronger now and had learned how to confront him, even if little ever changed.
“I’ll grab the tarp from the garage. We’ll need to put Ruby inside,” I said as Ruby was having herself a good old time running through the pile like a puppy. Grant was no better, egging her on and dumping the leaves over her head as she came barreling toward him. She’d no doubt be tuckered out after this, and once we got her back in the house, she would retire to her pillow for the rest of the day.
