Page 51 of Call Me Sir

“I know, I haven’t reached out to you and I’m sorry.”

I think I’d gasp if I didn’t have my hand pressed firmly against my mouth. My father, Samuel Hammond, a big piece in the game of the galas here in Bayfront California, doesn’t say sorry. Is he ill? Passing away? Is this a prank call?

“Times have changed. I’ve been a complete ass. I’m not saying I understand it all, I’m saying none of it matters. Please, will you come for dinner this weekend? Bring your husband, or boyfriend, please.”

Hearing my father beg is unsettling.

“Why?”

My voice is hard and angry. Can he sense it?

“I want you in my life, Sal.”

My attention flits over to the magazine resting on my cabinet. It’s faced down but I’ve got the photos etched in my memory. This is because that other trust fund kid came out.

I ought to threaten him and hang up.

What I do next must surprise him as much as it does me because he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Fine. As long as you apologize again.”

The following silence is disheartening. I’m not asking for much. Is his pride cracked and bleeding?

“Of course.”

“In person.”

He sighs. “Yes, Sal.”

“Okay.”

“Seven o clock and please bring your date! I look forward to seeing you again, son.”

I’m pretty sure I throw up in my mouth but I can’t remember because I say, “okay, bye,” to cut him short and hang up the phone.

It slams into the receiver and I find myself storming from the office. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing but I’m pretty certain I need to leave this office.

The door doesn’t automatically clasp shut behind me but I ignore it.

How did my dad find me? He must know I go by mom’s last name now…

It doesn’t matter. I can’t show up. I have no date. And besides, it’s a trap. It has to be. There’s no way that after ten years he’s just changing his mind and cool with me being gay.

I want to punch something or run far away.

I find myself stepping into the single room bathroom and when I look into the mirror, I see Cole’s eyes staring back at me, the bathroom door propped open.

“Hey,” he says quickly, “are you alright?”

Reality sets in. Everyone in the office saw me freak out.

I step forward to the sink and rest my arms against it, hanging my head low.

“It’s not important.”

I’m amazed at how steady my voice sounds, as if my personal life isn’t completely unraveling. How can I face my father after ten years of not speaking?

And it’s not like I have some husband I’ve spent all this time with to prove to him I’m happier than what he wanted from me.

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