Chapter Twenty-Two
Throughout the workday, there were landmarks that signified that quitting time was getting closer. The first break. Lunch. Second break. All I had to do was make it from one of those milestones to the next, and eventually, it would be time to hurry out to the giant parking lot and hope I made it out ahead of my thousands of coworkers.
Lately, there’d been another marker that gave me something to look forward to each day—the first text from Sailo. He usually woke up around ten in the morning, so partway between my breaks. It wasn’t quite like clockwork—sometimes he rose earlier to see his son off to school, and sometimes he slept in after a particularly late gig the night before—but once that first message came through, my day went by so much faster.
Days like today, when I still felt lost and hurt over what I’d learned about Becky, I lived and died by those little milestones. They were something normal, something to remind me that, yes, life was continuing and everything would eventually be fine.
I’ll get through this, I reminded myself while I sucked down coffee at my desk. She cheated. We’re divorced. It’s over.
And I had Sailo now. The thought of him brought a smile to my lips. As tough as things had been recently, I couldn’t really complain because all the chaos and heartache had made it possible for us to cross paths. Everything happened for a reason, apparently. The pain would wear off. This new life? It would be worth it. It was already worth it.
At a little past nine one morning, my phone vibrated. I flipped it over, surprised he was awake this early, but the message wasn’t from him.
Can we have lunch?
The message was benign enough. I just hadn’t expected it from Mark, my middle son. He wasn’t one to make contact out of the blue like that. Immediately, I started imagining every possible worst-case scenario that might’ve made him reach out when he normally wouldn’t. I tamped them down, though, and replied: Sure—when?
After a second, though, I added, Everything ok?
He responded almost immediately: Everything’s good. Just want to get lunch.
That didn’t do much to settle my stomach. This was not like him at all.
Through a series of short texts, we made plans to meet for lunch. Then he had to get to class, and I tried to concentrate on the report I was working on, but my brain was a million miles away.
What had prompted this? Was everything okay? We didn’t have a bad relationship per se, but we weren’t as close as April and me. We hadn’t been in a long time, especially from the time he was twelve or thirteen. All his life, he’d been a little shy, but lively once he warmed up to people. Then around seventh grade or so, he’d started putting up walls. While both his siblings had fought and rebelled their way through their teenage years, he’d quietly avoided us. He was the kid who came home from school with one-word answers about his day, stared at his plate all through dinner, and disappeared to his room or with his friends whenever he had the chance. Now that he was in college, he dutifully visited on all the holidays, and had occasionally shown up for Sunday dinner or to join his younger brother and me for a hike, but he always seemed…elsewhere.
Becky and I had been worried sick that he was depressed or something, and we’d put him in therapy as a teenager, but the counselor hadn’t been able to pry anything out of him. He had what seemed like a healthy social circle, so we’d eventually decided he just preferred the company of his peers.
Still, I worried about him, and this text out of the blue didn’t help.
The morning crawled by, but finally, it was time to go meet him. As soon as I could, I ducked out of my office and headed down to the brewery we’d agreed on. It was a sports bar, but since there were no games today, it was relatively quiet, and I immediately zeroed in on Mark at a booth near the back.
He was hunched over a glass, both hands wrapped around it, and gave me a slight nod when he saw me. Then he dropped his gaze and shifted a bit as I approached.
I sat across from him and tried not to let my nerves show. “Hey.” I smiled. “This is a surprise.”
“Yeah.” He smiled back, but it seemed forced. “Just, uh. Hadn’t seen you in a while.”
“Well, it’s good to see you.”
“Yeah. You too.”
And…silence.
We perused the menus, placed our orders with the waitress when she came by, and quietly sipped our drinks, but I struggled to find a way to break the silence. I was still uneasy, still uncertain about why we were here. At the same time, I didn’t want to pry at him to the point that he decided meeting up for no reason was grounds for suspicion. Especially if he really was just trying to spend more time together.
It was Mark who finally spoke. He took a long swallow from his soda, then pushed the glass away. “So I talked to April the other night.”
Well, that was a surprise. He and his sister had never been all that close. “Oh. How’s she doing?”
“Good.” He watched himself fold and refold his fingers on top of his untouched menu. “She’s, uh…she’s good.”
I studied him, not sure what to say.
Abruptly, he lifted his gaze and looked me in the eye. “Is it true that you’re gay?”
I nearly choked. “What?”
“April said…she told me…”
I winced. “Oh. She did?”
He nodded slowly. “So, is it true?”
He held my gaze, and I had no clue what answer he was looking for. His tone was flat, his expression blank. How would he react if I told him the truth? I couldn’t lie to him, though. And if April had already tipped my hand, then there was no point in hiding it anyway. Shit. This is what I needed. First I’d found out my ex-wife cheated, now my son knew I was seeing a man.
“Well…” I hesitated. “I’m not sure if I’m gay, to be honest.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “Huh?”
“I mean, I guess I’m bisexual? Maybe?” I shook my head. “I’m still kind of working it out, I think.”
“Oh.” He lowered his eyes, wringing his hands on top of the menu. “So is that why you and Mom split up?”
Ha. No. Someone had a boyfriend, but it wasn’t me.
I swallowed the bitterness and shook my head. “No. I think Mom and I just reached a point where…” I tapped my thumb on the edge of the table as I searched for the words. “Sometimes people just don’t…” Christ. How was I supposed to explain this to him when I didn’t fully understand it myself? Why were we divorcing? Why had she cheated? Finally, I sighed. “I don’t know, to be honest. I guess we both just realized we weren’t as meant to be as we thought.”
He lifted his gaze again and studied me for a long moment, as if searching for a sign that I was bullshitting him. I didn’t break eye contact. I wasn’t bullshitting him. That was the best answer I could come up with, and in the absence of any other explanation, I believed it.
“So, what?” he asked finally. “You and Mom broke up, so now you’re gay?”
“Well, no. I’ve known for a long time that I was attracted to men. So after we separated, I…” Decided to go get laid? Decided it was time to hook up with a dude? How the fuck was I supposed to word this?
“And now you have a boyfriend.”
I swallowed. It was hard to think of Sailo as my boyfriend—weren’t we just friends and fuck buddies?—but that wasn’t something I wanted to explain to my son.
“Yeah,” I said quietly, bracing for his response. “I do.”
He held my gaze for a long moment, his expression offering nothing, until he finally whispered, “Me too.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“Me too.” His shoulders slowly sank as he softly said, “I…have a boyfriend too.”
I leaned forward, resting my arms on the edge of the table. “You’re gay?”
My son nodded, and when his eyes flicked up and met mine, he released a breath, one he seemed to have been holding since long before today. “Yeah.”
“Oh. I…I had no idea.” I paused. “How long have you known?”
“Since junior high. Seventh grade.”
I swallowed. “All this time?”
Eyes down, he nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Mark. My God.” I reached across the table and squeezed his arm. “Disappointed? No, not at all. I—” I paused, my mind flashing back to all those years when he’d been so quiet and distant. How he’d withdrawn…right about the beginning of seventh grade. When he apparently figured out he was gay. Barely whispering, I asked, “Did I ever give you any reason to believe I’d be disappointed if you were gay?”
Cheeks darkening, he lowered his gaze. After a moment, he shook his head. “No. But I guess…I mean, how many dads want their sons to be gay?”
My heart clenched. “Jesus, Mark. I don’t think I ever gave it much thought, to tell you the truth. I just wanted you kids to be happy.” I cleared my throat. “The hardest thing in the world was seeing you unhappy when you were a teenager, and not being able to do anything about it. There’s no way in hell I’d have been upset about you being gay—I just wanted you to be all right.”
Mark swallowed hard, as if pushing back a lump. “I feel stupid for never saying anything.”
I shook my head. “No, there’s no reason to feel stupid.” I squeezed his arm again and then withdrew my hand. “I don’t think it’s easy for anyone to come out to their parents.”
“No, it’s not. And I didn’t want to be gay. I didn’t want to think about it. So I guess I started pulling back from everyone.” He ran an unsteady hand through his dark hair. “And then when I got to where I accepted it about myself, I didn’t want to tell anyone.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s stupid.”
“No. I…kind of had the same thoughts.”
He met my gaze. “You did?”
“Well, yeah. When I realized I was interested in men, I was already married to your mother, so I couldn’t really tell anyone anyway. Not without hurting Mom, or making anyone think I was planning on cheating on her. Which, for the record, I never did.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “I never thought you did.”
“Just making sure that’s clear. I don’t know why I’m so worried anyone will think I did, but…”
He laughed dryly. “But part of coming out seems to be thinking everyone will think you’re the worst person on the planet?”
“Yeah. Kind of.” I exhaled. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“You’re going through it too. Sucks, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “And you know, I don’t envy you for all that hell you went through when you were a teenager, but I do envy you for figuring this out about yourself now. Instead of when you’re, you know, my age.”
He watched me silently for a moment. “But you knew? When you and Mom were still married?”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “I’d been in denial for a long time, I think, but finally admitted it to myself, even though it was a moot point. Or, I thought it was a moot point.”
“So, you and Mom…” He gnawed his lower lip. “Be honest—is that why you split up? Because you’re gay?”
I shook my head. “No. It was never an issue.” Was it? “I loved your mom, and I always will. After we decided to separate”—after your mother threw me out—“I just decided it was time to see if I really am interested in men. And it turns out, I am.”
“Oh.”
Silence set in again. I wanted to bat it away, physically chase it off with my hands like a cloud of smoke in the air between us. I’d been hoping for way too long that Mark and I would find a reason to open up to each other—I wasn’t ready to let it go now.
And once again, it was Mark who finally spoke.
“I was going to come out to you and Mom,” he said. “I’d been thinking about it for a while. But then you guys separated, and I didn’t want to make things worse.”
“Worse? My God, no. To be honest, this is a huge relief.”
“Really?”
“Well, yeah. I’ve been worrying about you for years. We knew about the depression, and Jesus, we tried everything we could to help with that. But—”
“You and Mom helped a lot,” he said quietly.
“But you were still afraid to tell us you’re gay?”
Mark sighed, his shoulders sinking a little. “It…was a little more complicated than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it wasn’t just you and Mom.” Mark took a deep breath and, with what seemed like a lot of effort, met my eyes. “I was afraid to tell you guys, but it wasn’t because of anything you or Mom did. My therapist said a lot of it was the depression talking.”
“The depression was that bad?”
“Still is.”
I reached for my drink, needing something to moisten my parched mouth. “I had no idea. I mean, I knew you were struggling, and—”
“Nobody knew,” he said. “Dr. Sandler was the only one. Because I didn’t tell anyone. I felt stupid and helpless, but that was the depression talking too. That was one of the things she and I worked on for a long time. Knowing when the depression was telling me lies.” He sighed. “She thinks being in the closet made the depression worse, and the depression made being in the closet worse, and it was just this awful cycle. I didn’t want to be gay, and the more I tried to tell myself I wasn’t…” Mark shook his head. “So it was rough.”
I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “I can’t even imagine. And you’re still struggling?”
“I probably always will,” he said softly. “But she’s got me on some antidepressants. And they help. I still have bad days, but it’s not like it was before.”
“Good. Good.” I paused. “Listen, if it gets bad, you know you can call me any time. Day or night. Come by my place, call me, text me.”
He nodded. “I know. I’ve always known that.”
“But you’ve kind of shut us out the last few years. Did I…did we make you think you couldn’t come to us?”
“No. It’s hard to go to anyone. I mean, do you have any idea how hard it is to tell someone that your own brain is telling you you’re a worthless slug?”
I flinched. “I can’t imagine.”
“Most people can’t.”
“Can I ask you something about the depression?”
He nodded.
“Were you ever…” My throat tightened around the words, but I forced them out. “Did you ever think about hurting yourself?”
Mark avoided my eyes for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “Sometimes. I never did. But…the thoughts were there.” He stopped, but I had a feeling he wasn’t finished, so I didn’t say anything. After a while, he went on, “I was mad when you guys sent me to Dr. Sandler. I thought you thought I was crazy or something. But she made me realize there really was something wrong, and that it wasn’t my fault, it was just something I needed help to work through.” He paused, swallowing. “You and Mom gave enough of a shit to send me to her. So yeah, you helped.”
“Of course we gave a shit,” I said. “You’re our son. We love you.”
“I know.” He smiled faintly. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out. I promise.”
“I can see that now.” I watched him for a moment, and then cautiously asked, “And Dr. Sandler knows, right?”
“That I’m gay?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded again. “I didn’t tell her for a long time because I thought she’d tell you and Mom, but when I realized she’d only tell if she thought I was going to hurt myself or someone else, then yeah. I told her.”
“Good.” I swallowed. “I’m glad you were able to tell someone.” I couldn’t even be upset with April for outing me to Mark. Though I’d asked her to give me time, since I wasn’t ready to talk to my sons about this, she’d gone ahead and told him. If she’d known about him—that he was gay, that his sexuality was the reason for so many of these walls between us—then she must’ve known what she was doing.
“Does Mom know?” I asked.
“No.” Mark shook his head. “How do you think she’d react?”
“I can’t imagine she’d react any differently than I did. If anything, she’s been as worried as I have about you.”
He winced. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I just wish we’d made it clearer that you had no reason to hide this from us.”
“Does she know about you?”
“No. I never told her, and I don’t think she knows I’m seeing anyone.”
“Think you’ll ever tell her?”
I pursed my lips, then shrugged. “Haven’t really gotten that far, to be honest. Maybe someday.”
He seemed satisfied with that answer and didn’t push the issue. Right then, our food came, and as we ate, we continued into lighter subjects. The whole time, though, my mind kept going back to everything we’d admitted since we’d sat down. It killed me to know just what he’d been suffering through all these years, but in a way, it was a huge relief to hear it. To be having a conversation like this at all, listening to my son open up to me about things that were difficult to hear, was a big improvement from trying to chip away at the stubborn silence.
After the waitress had taken our plates, Mark laid his napkin beside his drink. “So, um.” He drummed his fingers rapidly on the table. “Maybe we could meet up for dinner or something. With both of our guys. I’d kind of like you to meet Devon.”
“Yeah, we can do that.” I paused. “I mean, let me see how Sailo feels about it.”
“Sailo?” A faint grin played at his lips. “That’s his name?”
I nodded. “He’s Samoan.”
“Cool. What does he do?”
“He’s a deejay.”
“A deejay?” Mark laughed. “That doesn’t seem like your type.”
“Oh yeah?” I raised my eyebrows. “What kind of ‘type’ do you think I have?”
“I don’t know. Before April said something, I didn’t think you’d be into guys, so I guess…I don’t know. But…a deejay? Really?”
I shrugged. “You just never know who you’ll stumble into, right?”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“What about yours? What does he do?”
Mark smiled shyly. “He’s a musician.”
“What kind? He in a band or something?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “First chair violin at the university.”
“Oh. That kind of musician.”
“Yeah. That kind. He’s going to school on a full ride.” Mark beamed with pride. “He’s really talented.”
“Wow. He must be. So, that’s what he’s going to do professionally?”
Mark nodded. “I mean, he’s doing a double major, and he’s planning to get an MBA so at least he has a fallback.”
“An MBA is a pretty ambitious fallback plan.”
“Right? But he figures if he’s got that, he’ll be in good shape if he can’t land a symphony gig that pays well enough.”
“Smart man.”
Mark grinned. “He is.”
“How long have you two been dating?”
“About a year.”
“Wow. I had no idea.”
“I know.” Mark’s good spirits dimmed a little. “I wanted to tell you and Mom about him, but…”
“No, I understand. I’m just glad you’re telling me now.” I smiled. “He obviously makes you happy.”
Once again, his face lit up with a shy but heartfelt smile, and he nodded. “He does.”
“Good. I’m, um, assuming this is pretty serious, then?”
“Yeah. We’ve talked about getting a place together. Probably this summer.”
I smiled. “Well, if you need help moving, give me a call.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
“So how did the two of you meet, anyway?”
“Well, we were taking a history class together…”
As he told me the story of how a study group turned into missing class because they were too busy talking over coffee, I couldn’t help getting an odd little thrill out of casually chatting with Mark about our respective boyfriends. Just having a candid conversation like this, talking happily about boyfriends as if neither of us had ever had a reason to hide who we were from each other, was such an enormous relief, I was almost giddy from it.
I studied him for a moment. “How long has your sister known? About you?”
“A few years. Kurt knows too.”
“Oh. Good. Good, I’m glad you were able to be open to them.” I just wish you could’ve been open with me. “Have they met your boyfriend?”
“April has.” He laughed. “She keeps joking that Nathan is going to leave her for Devon—get the two of them together, they never shut up about music.”
“We might have to pry him and Sailo apart, then. He’s pretty passionate about his music too.”
“Cool. Can’t wait to meet him.”
“Likewise.”
I paid for lunch, and we left the table. Outside, we paused. This was where we’d normally have a tense, muttered good-bye, but the air between us had shifted dramatically since I’d sat down at the booth. I wasn’t sure what to expect now.
“Well, I should go,” he said finally. “Thanks for lunch.” And then, for the first time in years, my son hugged me.
I held him tight, willing myself not to break down despite the tremendous relief. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I’d be disappointed in you.” I forced my voice to remain even. “I mean it—all I’ve ever wanted is for you kids to be happy.”
“I know,” he whispered. Drawing back, he said, “Let me know about dinner?”
“Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too.”
We exchanged smiles, and then he headed toward his car. Halfway to it, he paused, looked back, and waved.
I returned it and started toward my office, my head spinning as I thought about everything we’d discussed. Of all the scenarios I’d played out in my head before we’d sat down, this was the furthest from what I’d expected. I’d never guessed he was gay. And I’d sure as hell never guessed he had any reason to believe I’d be disappointed in him if he was.
All the way back to my office, I was grinning like an idiot. We hadn’t talked that much in ages, and it felt good not to be so far away from him anymore. It would take time to knock down the rest of the walls, but it was a damned good start. Even knowing how serious his depression was felt like a positive step—maybe now that I knew, I could help somehow. At least be there for him. And for God’s sake, he was talking to me about it. Opening up. Not ashamed of his depression or his sexuality, despite what the demons in his head told him.
It was a start. I’d take it.
At my desk, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and was about to put it beside my computer where I always left it when I was working.
But then I paused. And pulled it back.
I pulled up April’s number. After a long moment of hesitation, I wrote out a text:
Thank you for telling Mark. Love you.