Page 75 of The Photograph

The whole table goes silent. Mom is staring at me. Dad puts down his cutlery and wipes his mouth with his napkin. Nana’s sharp eyes meet mine over the table.

Does she know what she just said? She must. Fuucck.

Shrugging my shoulders as nonchalantly as I can, I say, “Maybe he is. I can’t say we’ve ever had that discussion. A lot of gay people work in the city.”

Dad clears his throat. “Did you meet this friend through your job?”

Oh God.

Let’s keep this as close to the truth as possible. A glimmer of hope catches me by the throat. Perhaps I can move this conversation on and avoid this whole confrontation.

“Actually, I’ve been doing some research into technology businesses for the senior investment board. He’s second in command in a tech startup and is giving me lots of information on companies, trends, that kind of thing.”

Mom places a forkful of food in her mouth, lips hardly moving, eyes never wavering from my face. Am I getting away with this? I must look as guilty as sin.

Nana’s eyes are narrowed on me. What’s her game?

Hannah and Becs are both staring at me as Rachel forks a potato into her mouth and chews, not meeting my gaze. The I-told-you-so vibes seep across the table.

“I thought you were better friends than that,” Nana mutters, carefully cutting up a piece of steak. “I knew he was gay the moment I clapped eyes on him.”

“Nana!” I say.

A dull red color is building in my father’s face. My mom stares unseeing at the tablecloth.

Oh God.

Oh God.

I look at my father and hold up a hand. “What? I think it’s rude to presume someone’s sexuality in this day and age,” I say. It’s the best I can come up with.

“What’s going on with this boy?” my father thunders.

We can all see the storm coming. Hannah, God love her, gets up and grabs her plate and Rachel’s and disappears into the kitchen.

I raise my hands. “Nothing! He’s a friend. Jesus.”

My father’s lip curls. Nana carries on eating her meal as Mom gazes down at her lap. Becca stands up and heads out into the kitchen, too, closely followed by Rachel—the traitors.

“We’re not having a repeat of what happened last year,” my father barks.

My mother nods like a nodding dog.

“That whole messed-up business with that … that …”

“Tom … your nephew,” I say.

Shame and anger bubble inside me. How happy have I been since I found Des? For the first time, I’ve managed to escape the oppression of this family and this house. Tom was treated appallingly, and they think that’s fair? Although Tom blames me for everything that happened to him, his parents were the ones who disinherited him and he had no way to fight it. It’s so unjust. But he wasn’t the only one in that relationship—he made the first move, he confessed his sexuality to me, he kissed me, but I responded—I still bear some responsibility here: to him, to Des.

“So what if I were gay?” I say.

My father’s eyes jerk up to mine, face getting ever redder.

“What did you say?” he hisses.

“There is nothing wrong with being gay.”

His hand shoots out and he slaps me across the face. A sting blooms over my cheek.

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