Page 25 of Glad You're Here

Cool.

My parents’ house continued to fill with siblings, spouses, and grandchildren. Even my youngest sister, Sariah, was already married and pregnant at twenty-one. Her tool of a husband didn’t believe in birth control and had proudly announced that a week before their wedding. “We’ll have as many children as the Lord wants us to have,” he’d said while draping his arm around my sister and kissing the top of her head like a condescending creep. Did I mention that he was ten years older than her, too? All the women his age had rejected him, but my poor, naïve little sister stepped right into his slimy trap.

Sariah’s wedding took place last May at the Saint George, UT temple. I didn’t attend the ceremony, but Gina did. My wicked worldliness would have desecrated the holy house of the lord. Sariah had pleaded with me to get my life in order, pay my tithing, and believe again so I could sit in the stuffy, dated sealing room to watch my sister bow down to her disgusting new husband. Mormon weddings were weird as fuck.

I sat outside the temple that day like an invited but unwanted guest.

Did Mormons have any idea that they constantly made people feel this way?

This Thanksgiving left me feeling the same—invited but unwanted. My siblings and their families chatted with each other while I stood alone in the corner of the kitchen, waiting for this little slice of torture to be over.

“Oh my heck!” My oldest sister, Emma, cut through the chatter. “Gina is engaged!”

What? I moved through the crowded house to see what was on Emma’s phone. She turned it toward me so I could view the photo of my smiling ex-wife and her new fiancé. “We’ve been divorced for five months,” I muttered.

Emma read the photo caption aloud. “So blessed to be joining the McGary family in February! I could never fill the hole in their hearts left behind by the most loving wife and mother, but I truly believe that our Heavenly Father has a plan for all of us. He led me to Colton and his girls, and because of our righteousness through our trials, we can find joy together.”

I blinked and rubbed my chin. Leave it to Gina to turn her engagement into an opportunity to bear her testimony. Did she even love this guy? Did she even care if he loved her?

“Oh my goodness!” my mother said, placing a hand over her heart. “Gina gets to be a mother now! Oh, I’m so happy for her!”

Becca squealed and clapped, and my sisters and sisters-in-law gathered around Emma’s phone to look at the ring as if I weren’t even there. No one said a word to me. I was invisible, invalid, a reject. No one batted an eye at the oddness of the situation. Five months after our divorce, my ex-wife was engaged to be married again to a widower with children.

And this was normal, an event to be celebrated even.

Was I living in the twilight zone? Could no one see how messed up this all was?

Then my father entered the room, dressed in his usual perfectly ironed white button-down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and his nicest pair of jeans. I knew my mom bent herself over backward to make sure his shirts were always clean. I’d heard him yell at her over them more than once. It bothered me so much as a kid that I never let Gina touch my laundry when we were married. What kind of man couldn’t wash his own fucking shirts?

I knew my dad hadn’t lifted a finger in the kitchen today, either. No, all that man did was work, complain about work, yell, and read scriptures. He nearly always had a Book of Mormon in his hands and rage in his eyes. Did he think the word of god would hide the ugliness inside?

Russ Thompson disgusted me.

He spoke, and the room quieted. “I’d like to thank you all for being here this Thanksgiving Day. What a beautiful family we’ve created, Lisa.” He smiled at my mother. “The blessings of the gospel are abundant, and our table is full.” He spoke like he was conducting a church meeting instead of addressing his family.

Then, my father’s cold gaze settled on me. “Let’s have the blessing on the food. Brigham, would you do the honors?” The challenge in his eyes turned my stomach.

“Please choose someone else.” I stood my ground.

“Son, I’ve asked you to say the blessing.” He pushed back.

“No, thank you.” I squared my jaw and clenched my fists. I’d informed him at least three times that I wouldn’t pray at family events. This was a blatant disregard for my wishes — a clear asshole move.

My father let out a disappointed sigh and shook his head. “Brigham, think of the poor example you’re setting for all your young nieces and nephews. Haven’t you done enough harm to this family? Turn your heart back to your Heavenly Father and speak to Him. Let the healing begin.”

To my surprise, I laughed. It suddenly all seemed so stupid. I suddenly had no idea why I stood here in my parents’ kitchen with every judging eye in my family on me. Why?

“I have repeatedly asked all of you to respect my beliefs and choices. If that can’t be done, I have no desire to be here.” My words tasted like freedom. I kept going. “And how dare you talk about the harm that I’ve done to this family, Dad, when you’ve been abusive our entire lives.” Gasps erupted around the room. I continued. “And mom, don’t you dare use your tears and manipulation and call it love.”

Right on cue, my mother let out a sob. Emma hurried to comfort her, shooting me a dirty look.

“The church is bullshit. This family is bullshit, and I’m done.” I sunk the final nail into my coffin and headed for the front door, ignoring my father’s shouts to get back there and apologize.

I practically floated to my car. The light, airy freedom of my broken chains felt more intoxicating than alcohol.

That was the tattoo I’d get— broken chains. And maybe a wolf. Mormons loved to use the analogy of wolves in sheep’s clothing to describe all those who would try to deceive and deprive you of the blessings of the gospel. But the wolves were the smart ones all along, and I’d rather be a lone wolf than a blind sheep any day.

I drove to a Chinese restaurant and pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. Fuck being grateful for Mormon Jesus in a room full of people who didn’t know me at all. I’d have my own Thanksgiving and be thankful for the courage it took to walk out of my parents’ house.

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