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“It’s not that simple,” I said, looking down.
“Then make it that simple. Maybe I also should have told you to fight for the person you love. Because when you find someone worth keeping, you push through your own stuff to be there for him.”
I thought about that as we sat silently in the car.
“Did you fight for my father? What was his name again?”
“Armand Clement,” Momma said with a wistful smile.
“Right. Did you fight for him?”
“That was different.”
“How so?”
“Did I ever tell you that I used to have a thing for bad boys?”
Feeling like I had asked a question too many, I shrank in my seat.
“No, you didn’t. Do I want to hear this? Momma, think about everything we just talked about—about you telling me things you shouldn’t—and ask yourself if this is what you need to be telling me right now.”
Momma looked at me, then pretended to lock her lips and throw away the key.
“Thank you, Momma.”
“And don’t use anything as an excuse not to do everything you have to do to be with that little blonde boy. He was cute. If I was thirty years younger…”
“And he was straight?” I asked her.
She laughed.
“I guess you can have that one. But please, Son, don’t let me be the cause of your unhappiness. It would break my heart,” she said sincerely before opening her door and leaving me there to think.
Chapter 15
Merri
“Get your head in the game, Merri,” Papa yelled, snapping me back to reality. “Am I gonna have to replace you?”
“No, Coach,” I replied, wondering how many people had heard him.
Looking around, I realized the answer was everyone. I was screwing up again. I couldn’t stop screwing up.
Claude was supposed to be here with me. Not on the sidelines of the Hall of Fame game. But, in Ohio and in the stands.
He had left me, again. Was I worth so little to everyone? Would anyone even care if I wasn’t around?
I doubted my father would. I was just a burden to him at this point. I was his little gay son who made his life and job harder. I would never make him happy. What was I even doing here?
As the game came to a close with six interceptions driving our loss, I stood behind Papa as he gave the team his losing game speech. Papa emphasized that the loss was everyone’s responsibility. But it was hard to win when your quarterback can’t complete a pass to save his life.
Sure, he would blame the offensive line for not giving him enough time, or the receivers for fumbling his passes. But I had seen more done with less. And that quarterback’s name was…
“Claude!” I said, entering my room and finding him there. “What the hell? What are you doing here? How did you get in? And why are you wearing a tuxedo?”
Claude smiled his brilliant, glowing smile.
“Those were a lot of questions.”
