Page 116 of Unstitch

‘Been hanging with your wife much?’ Rafe asks him, and Zach laughs. ‘Seriously, that day when your dad kicked off at Belle and we got Maddy over—the boundary chat she gave Belle was un-fucking-believable. Sounds like you’ve learnt from the best.’

‘That’s my girl,’ Zach says, his grin that of a man helplessly, hopelessly smitten. ‘She’s actually fucking good on boundaries. I’ll send her your way if you need her.’

I imagine Maddy laying into me and laugh a little. ‘I think Belle’s passed most of it on to me. But what you said about Dad being irrational—that resonates, and it’s what I keep coming back to. Because there’s no doubt in my mind that I want to move forward with Max and Darcy. I really—I love them both so, so much.

‘But I know I’ll lose him as soon as I tell him. He’ll probably kick me out, but even if he doesn’t, I know I’ll never be able to introduce the man and woman I love to him and have him give them the respect they deserve. So that’s going to be it, pretty much.’

Cal groans. ‘Shit, mate. It’s so fucking tough.’

‘Yeah.’ We’ve reached the next tee, but none of us have made a move to play. I rake my hand through my hair. ‘But, as you say, I’ll never make him happy. That really helps. Nothing I do will make him happy unless I live a life that’s one-hundred percent false to me, so when you put it like that, the only thing I can do is choose my own happiness. Any other outcome would be a fucking joke.’

‘The thing I remember most about that afternoon,’ Rafe says, ‘is that Maddy told Belle she wasn’t responsible for her father’s reactions. He’s a grown man, and he’s chosen his own belief system, but you get to choose yours. You’re responsible for your actions, and he’s responsible for his.

‘Don’t even think about trying to take on the burden of whatever emotional reaction he has, whether it’s grief or disgust or genuine fear for the damnation of your eternal soul—that is not your burden to bear. You hear me? I think that’s been the biggest shift Belle’s had to make, but absolving herself from that has allowed her to live for her own joy and not his approval.’

Fuck, that hits hard. And Rafe may actually be Yoda. How I ever suspected this guy may be morally questionable, I have no clue. Turns out I’m as bad as my father with all that insidious, hardwired Catholic judgement.

‘You’re totally right. And it’s so easy to forget. I think I needed to hear that out loud. Thanks mate. It’s just so fucking hard to walk into a room and know that you’ll devastate the man who raised you, even if you wholeheartedly disagree with the basis of his devastation.’

‘If it’s any consolation,’ Rafe says slowly, like he’s choosing his words, ‘I’m sure your dad loves you as much as he’s capable. I really don’t think he’s had unconditional love modelled for him—he doesn’t have that within himself to give. He’s confused morals with love, and all that extremist shit in his head has made him fearful.

‘But Darcy and Max love you unconditionally, and mate, you deserve that. You deserve to choose that for yourself—every single human deserves knowing how it feels to be loved wholly and unconditionally, no matter what filthy sinners the Church thinks we are. If people put conditions on their love, I’d argue it’s not real love.’

Unconditional love.

God is love.

Love is love.

Jesus Christ, he’s so fucking right.

80

DEX

Dad, I’m bisexual.

Dad, I’m dating a woman… and a man.

Dad, I tried so hard to tamp it down, but I couldn’t. I’m in love with two people, and we’re all together.

I can confidently say, after sleepless hours and worried weeks and uneasy years that there is no way to tell your religiously radicalised father that you are not only queer but in a happy, healthy relationship with two other people.

I know.

Believe me, I’ve employed every neuron in my usually dexterous brain to find that way.

The crux of the matter is that, as the boys agreed, this situation is binary. There is no possible way for me to live in the wonderful fullness of who I truly am with the people who make me truly happy and not break my father’s heart.

That said heart resides in a dark place of false piousness and fear and fucked-upness is immaterial. I can condemn and despise my father’s beliefs as much as I want. I can know, with unwavering certainty, that his worldview is wrong, that he’s been barking up the wrong spiritual tree for decades now, but it doesn’t stop the fact that his warped, bigoted version of the truth is just that.

His truth.

None of us humans can handle having our truth threatened, especially not by the people we’ve brought into the world—brought up in the world. And I wish it didn’t have to be like this. I wish I didn’t have to choose between my own happiness and self-actualisation and my father’s love and respect for me.

As it is, I’m fairly sure I’ll lose the former and I know with certainty I’ll lose the latter.

All I can cling to is our conversation last weekend on the golf course. Telling my father is the respectful thing to do, no matter how unwelcome my message will be, and how he reacts to my life choices is not my responsibility.

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