Page 84 of The Photograph

“Oh my God!” Alex says, running his fingers through his hair and pacing away toward the window. “Did you come here to argue with me about whether I am gay or not?”

His father flinches again and studies his hands. “No. No, I did not. I came here to apologize.”

“You fucking hit me.”

“Don’t swear. I was shocked, okay?” His father holds up his palms.

Now my blood really does start to boil. God knows what this is doing to Alex.

“Shocked?And you think it’s acceptable to deal with a shock that way? Are youkiddingme?”

His father waves his hands about. “Let me finish. Let me finish! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Alex slumps a bit beside me. Oh fuck, I hope he’s not going to forgive the asshole.

“I forgive you,” he says, and I want to tear out my hair. I open my mouth for the first time. “But I’m not coming home,” Alex continues, and adrenaline surges through me. “Why would I live somewhere where I will be so disrespected? I haven’t been happy for a long time, Dad, and I am now. I hope that one day you’ll understand that and respect me for the choices I’m making and be pleased for me.”

He’s happy? Alex has been so quiet since he’s been here. I’ve been worried all week about how miserable he’s seemed. I want to jump all over my apartment, swing around the support pillars. The anger that was tightening my skin starts to seep away.

His dad opens his mouth. God forbid he?—

“Now you need to go,” Alex says.

“I came here to talk to you, Alex,” his father says, a mutinous set to his face. “This is all a load of nonsense. You’re a young man who’s had his head turned …”

“Can you hear yourself?”

“Do you think it’s worth falling out with your family over this?”

Alex sucks in a deep breath. “I understand why you’d say that, Dad, and I even think you might be right, and if it was only one incident then maybe. But I was assaulted by my father who’s determined to continue denying something that has been a truth for me for a long time. So, this will turn into a wound that is going to keep on festering. That’s how I’m looking at it. I might have forgiven you for hitting me, but I don’t want to spend time with people who disrespect who I am and my life choices so badly.”

When did he get so wise? I fall in love with him a little bit more, all over again.

His father shakes his head, then looks me in the face for the first time with his eyes narrowed. “You may think you’ve won this round, but you’ve manipulated my son and God will surely punish you in this life for that.”

Alex steps forward. “Get out. Get out before I’m tempted to hityou. Don’t you dare talk to Des like that, he’s been nothing but kind to me.”

So much for me defending him.

His father scowls at both of us and moves to the door, then he turns and delivers his parting shot as he leaves. “Your mother wants you at the house for dinner on Friday.”

Alex is quiet that evening after his father’s gone. I love my apartment at this time of night, side lights on, casting crazy shadows up the walls, some coffee lounge music humming in the background or a game on mute that I can watch or not as I’m buzzing around sorting, cleaning, prepping for work. But tonight Alex’s silence is eating at me. It’s so different from the way I’d be dealing with something like this that it’s driving me a little mad. I’d be storming through the place, throwing clothes on the floor, maybe undertaking a little china smashing, before deciding to reorganize a whole cupboard and chucking a load of things out. How do James and Jane survive living together when one of them is in a mood?

I spend over an hour blitzing the bathroom, putting out fresh towels and polishing the glass screen of the shower. Getting the limescale, mold, and dirt out of the grout is a Zen-like experience. After I’ve made my sixth cup of coffee, I eye up Alex where he’s sitting on the couch. He hasn’t moved since his father left; he’s been staring down at his phone, earbuds in. I look down at the stainless-steel sink and pull out the Mr. Muscle—because what else does any self-respecting gay guy use?—from under the counter, squirt it all around the metal, and start swishing it over with a soft-bristled brush.

“Alex, you’re driving me a little insane here,” I say loudly, and he turns to look at me, taking his earbuds out, mouth agape. Then he frowns.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Cleaning the sink. Why?”

“You’ve been wearing those rubber gloves for about four hours.”

I wave my hands at him and pout. “Are they sexy?”

His mouth tilts up, and some of my tension seeps into the cold stone of the counter.

“Don’t you want to process that scene with your father?” I say.

---