30
Frankie
“Oh my God. This pizza is to die for,” Mom says as she takes another bite, a string of cheese stretching out between her mouth and the slice.
“For sure. We love it here. It’s Evan’s favorite.” My words are immediately followed by a moan as I take a bite of the mozzarella goodness. It makes me think about my conversations with Evan the other day about my cheesy line and how much he liked it. A smile tugs at my lips at the memory and the knowledge that what I said was true, cheesy or not.
“Oh, mijo. You have it bad,” Mom says, and I shrug, not bothering to deny it.
“I’ve never felt this way before, Ma. He’s…Christ, I don’t even know how to put it into words. He’s sweet, so damn sweet. I think that’s my favorite thing about him. Most people aren’t that good—that innocent, in a way—and I just want to protect that, ya know?” I shake my head when I realize how I just rambled to her. There are a hundred reasons I could tell her that Evan is special to me—his kindness, his laugh, the way he always sings without a care in the world, how gorgeous he is right down to his perfect fucking teeth and how he comes apart every time I touch him. The way he’s able to strip down to such a pure, raw, form of himself when he’s in puppy mode, letting go of the ugliness of the world to just play and be happy. How fucking amazing is that? How honest? Most people aren’t that fucking honest.
Obviously, I’m not saying those things to her, though.
Mom reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “That’s one of my favorite things about you. You have such a big heart, Frankie. Such a huge capacity for love and you just want to protect and take care of people you care about. Evan is wonderful, and I couldn’t be happier you found him, but you’re pretty incredible yourself.”
“You have to say that.” I wink. “But obviously, it’s true too.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes at me. “So conceited.”
“Just honest.”
“Hush, you,” she replies, takes another bite, and chews. “Have you told him how you feel?”
“He knows we’re serious. It hasn’t been easy on him. Hell, he’s only had one other relationship, and the guy was horrible to him.”
“So? I was the same way. I only had your father and Randall. That doesn’t mean what I have with Randall is less real.”
“I know. I’m not saying that. I just…I don’t ever want to let him down.”
“Which proves how much you care about him. You have this fear of not being enough for those you love, Frankie, and you are. You’re good and kind. Remember when you first told me you were gay?”
“How could I forget that?” I ask.
“True…but I remember you told me and I cried. It wasn’t that I didn’t love you or I couldn’t accept you. I was surprised because I never had a clue, and as a mother, I felt like I should have, but also because I worried about how the world would react, and I also knew that you hadn’t told me because in some way, you feared you were letting me down. It’s not that you’re ashamed of being gay—I know that, but you thought you were letting me down.”
Again, I won’t try to deny it. What she’s saying is true. “Yeah, but I think that’s true of many people. A lot of us fear that when we come out to our parents.”
“Yes, but you’ve always been like that with everything. Whether it was a grade you got in school, or losing your first job, whether to forgive someone—and I don’t just mean your father when I say that. I respect your choices when it comes to him but…”
“I can’t help who I am.”
“I’m not saying you should, I’m just telling you to cut yourself some slack. The last person in the world who will ever let Evan down is you.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
We finish eating, the conversation getting much lighter after that. I tell her about Gary and Travis’s upcoming wedding, and she’s thrilled to hear more about my friends and their lives.
When we’re done, I pay and get a box to take Evan’s dinner home to him. The moment we step out onto the busy sidewalk, Mom’s phone rings.
“Hold on a second. Let me see if this is Randall,” she says, pulling it out of her pocket before she frowns. “I don’t recognize the phone number.” She answers with, “Hello?” and then adds, “This is she.”
More listening on her part, and even though I can’t explain why, my gut twists coil-tight.
“Yes, I was.” Mom’s voice is soft, questioning.
Who is it? I mouth to her, but she doesn’t reply.
“Oh my God.” Mom’s hand moves to her mouth, covering it. Her fingers trembling, shaking like a twig in the wind.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my throat feeling tight. Her eyes pool with unshed tears that she tries to blink away.
Christ. Is it Randall? Did something happen to him? Reaching out, I put a hand to her arm, try to support her.
“I…I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why this is affecting me so much. I think I need to go. I’ll call you back.”
The second she ends the call, I ask, “Who was that? What happened?”
“Oh, Frankie,” she whispers, her chin trembling before she just lets loose. Sobs pull from the back of her throat as I hold on to her, slipping around the corner and down the alley where it’s quiet.
Mom cries into my chest, her body jerking as I hold her tightly. My mind goes a hundred miles a minute, unable to focus on one thing, possibility after possibility swirling around in my head until I feel swept up in a massive storm.
“What is it?” I ask when her tears slow.
She looks up to me and I can see the confusion in her eyes. “I don’t want to do this here. We can—”
“Tell me. Just tell me,” I interrupt. “Please.”
But I know, somehow I fucking know, what this has to do with as I picture the letter I’d recently torn up.
“Oh, Frankie,” she says again. “Your father…that was his lawyer. He passed away a couple of days ago. He—”
I hold a hand up to stop her and thankfully, she doesn’t continue. “I don’t give a shit about him. He can rot in hell for all I care.”
“I know how you feel about him. You think I don’t feel the same way? I know what he did to us, but he’s still your dad and—”
“And you forgave him. I didn’t.”
“I didn’t forgive him for him, I did it for me, for you. I can never regret him because that would be regretting you. And he’s gone…maybe it doesn’t make sense for that to affect me, but it does. In some ways, it has to affect you too, mijo. It just does, and I’m so damn sorry.”
My chest tightens, and I can’t place exactly why. It’s not for him. It can’t be for him. He hurt her; he could have killed her. There’s a large part of me that wants to scream, wants to walk away and find a way to sort through all the shit in my head, but I can’t. I’m pissed. Fucking pissed at him for hurting her, pissed at him for making me doubt myself, for the pain and self-hate I felt hiding in that closet.
But I hate him for dying too. How in the fuck can I hate him for that?
I’m angry at myself, for ignoring the letter, for being weak, which I swore I would never do, so I pull Mom close, hold her again, try to shut myself down from all the thoughts and questions and feelings.
“Come on. I’ll take you to Metropolis.” We shouldn’t be doing this here.
She nods into my chest. With my arm around her, we weave our way through the people walking the sidewalks, going about their business. Luckily, the lobby at Metropolis is fairly quiet. She hugs me, cries as we’re in the elevator, and I can’t figure out if I want to cry too or if I’m angry at her for feeling. I don’t want to feel anything except hate for him, and I don’t want her to either.
My fingers shake, actually fucking shake as I unlock the door to our unit. “Go ahead.” I nod for Mom to go in, stepping in behind her.
Mom stops abruptly, making me run into her. My eyes dart up and the moment they do, they lock on Evan, who must have fallen asleep on the couch. Evan who isn’t Evan right now, but Pup Runt, fully in his pup gear, harness and tail and all—the stuffed animal and bone I’d given him curled up with him.
“Oh my God. I’m sorry.” Mom covers her face and turns. I don’t need to see Evan’s face to know he’s in shock…that he’s devastated. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t fucking move, just sitting there with my goddamn mom in the room while he’s half-naked and in pup gear.
“Christ, Evan, go to the bedroom!” I say, my words coming out sharper than I mean them to.
He’s all action then, shoving from the couch and running to the bedroom, his door slamming behind him, with almost the same strength as my heart beating against my chest.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see much. I mean…I saw but…” Mom’s stare holds mine. “I don’t understand, Frankie. What…what was that?”
Of course, she wouldn’t understand, and how can I explain it to her? It’s not like she’s into any kind of kink, or hell, likely heard most of it. How do you explain to someone that your boyfriend likes to pretend to be a puppy? That it puts him in a different headspace where he can forget about everything else? How do I tell my mom that I like it? That I love taking care of my pup? That it does something for me that I don’t understand? How do I do all that right after finding out that my abusive father is dead while we’re still trying to figure out how I feel or should feel about it?
“Is that…is this something you guys do? Is it a sex thing? He’s dressed as a dog. Do you…” The questions are there, the worry.
“No, Christ, Mom. It’s not about bestiality or anything weird like that. Really?”
“I don’t know what to think. I’m a little confused.”
“I don’t either.” Why in the hell would Evan have fallen asleep like that when he knew I was with my mom? When he knew we were having dinner together in Midtown and we could come home any minute?
Why didn’t I think to warn him just in case?
My head is a mess with too many thoughts to concentrate on just one—any one. The sperm donor, Mom, Evan, me. “I’ll take you home. We’ll talk on the way. Let me tell Evan.”
There’s a strange sort of feeling making my chest tight—sadness mixed with fear and confusion. Christ, what in the hell must my mom think?
He’s dead…the man who hurt her is dead.
My father is dead.
Is this something you guys do? Is it a sex thing? He’s dressed as a dog…Do you…
The second I’m with Evan, closed behind his bedroom door, he says, “Oh God, Frankie. I’m so sorry. I just…”
I shake my head, close my eyes, try to figure out what to focus on, who to focus on…
He’s dressed as a dog…Do you…
“I can’t do this right now, talk about it, I mean. I just…my mom saw you, Evan. And…” I think about what we’d come here to discuss, about my dad. “I have to deal with one thing at a time. I can’t talk about this now. I’m going to bring my mom home and I’ll be back.”
“Frankie, I—”
“Please, Ev. Not right now. I just, can’t. I’ll be back, okay?”
He nods, and without another word, I walk away.