Page 118 of Unstitch

Facts. Facts will be my friends here. I’ll try to keep emotions out of it. I won’t succumb to the temptation of preempting any issues they may have.

I’ll tell my truth, and that’ll be it.

It feels like I’m underwater. Everything is slower. Slightly more surreal. It’s the nerves, I decide. That edge-of-the-precipice, I can’t believe I’m about to do this feeling.

I meet my sister’s gaze and take genuine comfort in the unconditional love I see there.

Then I clear my throat and raise my eyes to my father.

81

DEX

‘There’s, ah, something I wanted to talk to you about,’ I say, hating how thin my voice sounds. My mum, who is a stunning woman, gives me a beatific smile and I return it gratefully.

I already hate this for her.

I hate that when Belle and I tear out of here like our arses are on fire, she’ll be left to pick up the pieces.

I hate that, even though I’m slowly allowing myself to believe that I will have a beautiful family in the future, including plenty of babies, that picture won’t look like what she thinks she wants for her firstborn.

They say kids teach their parents as much, if not more, than parents teach their kids. But the paradigm I’m introducing mine to is such a radical departure from the image of love and morals and family units they’ve been raised to want that I’m really not sure if even Mum can handle it.

And I know, just as I know the earth is round, that Dad will summarily condemn me with just as much moral indignation and just as little logical footing as the Inquisition condemned Galileo for his “ridiculous” theories of heliocentricity.

Somehow, that reminder of just how much the Catholic Church abhors a philosophical threat makes me feel a little better.

When I hesitate, Dad gives me a curt nod. ‘Well, spit it out.’

You asked for it, mate.

I begin the coward’s way. ‘I’ve met a woman.’

(I know. Pathetic.)

Dad looks faintly, pleasantly surprised. Mum gives me an excited grin. And, in my periphery, I can see my sister trying her hardest not to react.

‘That’s wonderful!’ Mum squeals. ‘Do we know her?’

I glance at Belle, who’s watching like she’s waiting to see where I go with this.

‘She’s the sister of one of Rafe’s… oldest friends. She’s called Darcy and she’s wonderful.’

‘She’s seriously amazing,’ Belle says. Maybe if we pack as much positivity and glee into my Darcy news, no one will react when I tell them I’ve finally worked out I love dick as much as my sister does.

Ahhh. Wishful thinking, eh?

Before the gushing tangent derails us too far, though, I dig my fingernails into my thigh under the table and press on.

‘That’s not all. I’ve met a man, too.’

My parents give me what can only be described as blank looks. I notice in a haze that Belle’s pressing her lips together and reach blindly for my wineglass. My fight-or-flight response has majorly kicked in, my throat is completely dry, and there’s a very good chance I piss myself, such is the urgency with which my nervous system is responding to this perceived existential threat.

I force myself to clarify. ‘I’m in a relationship with Darcy, and we’re very happy, but the two of us are also in a relationship with a man, too. I realise it’s unorthodox, but the three of us are very deeply in love.’

If I wasn’t so bloody terrified, I’d laugh at my father’s face right now. It’s a purple-hued mask of stunned disbelief and horror, but I suspect his blood pressure has just ratcheted up so far that his eyeballs might actually pop out of their sockets.

This is a fucking nightmare, but the knowledge that I’ve done the worst bit, that I’ve said it, sends a rush of euphoria so strong I feel giddy. It’s done, and everything else is on Dad now.

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