Page 70 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

“It hasn’t always been easy between us, but you’ve never sat back and let my dad attack me or emotionally abuse me like she did.”

“I didn’t know he was hurting you. I mean, I knew he had problematic beliefs, as does most of our church, but I didn’t know he was so cruel. I would have done something, Darren. If I knew, I would have helped.” The way she’s saying the words almost feels like a plea for absolution. I’m not the pastor here, though. He’s upstairs. I have no jurisdiction on absolution, but it doesn’t stop me from giving it anyway.

“I know you would have. I also know Miles would have killed him, and that’s the biggest reason I never said anything. I didn’t want his hands dirty. Maybe I should have just let him. I mean,he got there in the end, anyway.” I squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry for sleeping with your husband while you were married. I know that makes me a really shitty person. I can’t say I regret it, because it led us here, but if I could go back, I would have brought you into the loop.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“I guess.”

“I felt relieved,” she whispers, aiming her gaze directly ahead, not looking at me. “When I would hear you together, I just felt so happy that Miles could finally walk in his truth. I’ve been trying to broach the topic of divorce for years.” She sniffles. “Do you remember when I had to go to Mississippi for the Ladies in Christ luncheon weekend a few years back?”

I nod. “You brought me peanut brittle. It was super good. I still think you sprinkled them with powdered laxative cut with powdered sugar, because I was indisposed for two damn days after I ate it, but it was delicious. Absolutely worth it.”

“It was actually caramelized Ex-Lax.”

I jerk my head in her direction. “I fucking knew it. Worst surrogate mother ever, Mal. Honest to God.”

She rolls her eyes. “When I was gone, I met a man at the hotel we were staying at. We had a really sweet talk in the bar, and one thing led to another—”

I gape at her. “You cheated on Miles?”

She glares at me. “If you would let me finish a sentence, you might find out.” She pauses, probably waiting for me to argue, but I don’t have an argument to make. “Anyway, we had a really long talk about his walk with God. He told me he tried to do what Miles was doing—hiding himself away just to save his soul. I never really paid much attention to gay people. I mean, I knew you were gay, and I knew Miles was, but we never spoke of it. We didn’t talk about what that was like for either of you, so I was able to put my blinders on and go about life like itwasn’t real. Earlier, after church, I talked to Gray. He told me everything his brother put him through. Everything his husband was put through.” She wipes her eye, and it’s a strange feeling, because I’ve never once seen her cry. “There’s so much hate in this world. So much unnecessary cruelty. I haven’t believed in God in a really long time. The things His followers do in His name are disgusting. I think that’s why I was okay marrying a gay man. Miles never preached hate. He didn’t drag others down just to lift himself up. He’s a good man with a kind heart. Even if I wanted to believe in God, how could I? How could I ever worship someone who allows people to be hated all their lives for something they were born with? How is that Christlike?” She pauses, staring at the picture I left on her bedside table. I guess I was right in thinking she hadn’t seen it, because she looks absolutely speechless. “You saved this one?”

I nod, scooting a little closer, pointing at her once-curly hair. She hasn’t worn curls in years, and that’s kind of a shame, because she looks awesome with them. “I always thought you were beautiful,” I admit. “And I hated you so fucking much for it.”

“Why?”

“Because how could I ever compete with that?” I point at the picture, then up at her, flicking my finger up and down the length of her face. “How could I compete with this? You’re a knock-out, and I was just a gawky teen with tragic hair and a troublesome wardrobe.”

“Yet, here you are, with the man of your dreams.”

I blush. “You’re not mad I slept with him?”

She shakes her head. “No. I probably should be, but I’m not. If it were anyone else, I would claw their eyes out, but you’re not just anyone, Darren. You’rehis. You always have been, and we all know it. I’m just glad we’re finally addressing it. I do have a warning, though . . .”

“A warning?”

“If you hurt him, family or not, I will hurt you. He’s been through enough. That being said, if he hurts you, I’ll hurt him too. No one is exempt from my wrath.”

“Hell hath no fury like an ally scorned.”

“Exactly.” Pausing, she turns her head to look at me, and there’s a gentle smile settled in the corners of her mouth. “Do you want me to move out?”

I quickly shake my head. “No. I think Miles wants us to live together forever. Us and whoever you eventually find as a romantic partner. They can’t be a bigot though. That’s a hard line in the sand for me. I won’t live with a conserva-cuck.”

“I think I can agree to that.” I point at the nightstand. “I left that for you too. It’s pretty lengthy, so feel free to read it at your leisure. The long and short of it is, thank you.”

She lifts my hand and gives it a kiss. “You’re welcome.” She crinkles her nose like a psychopath. “Now get the hell out of my room. Tatum slipped a little trinket into my purse at church that I’m excited to try out.”

“A trinket?” I ask, afraid to know the answer.

She stands and walks to the table beside her bedroom door where she keeps her purse and keys. The moment she removes something that looks like a rambunctious rabbit, I high-tail it out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time.

Miles is in the shower, and there are a few boxes in the corner of our bedroom. I open one to find all my hidden treasures from the attic. Sex toys and sexy underwear. Old porn magazines with Miles’ face taped on top of the bodies. That’s not all, though. There’s another box with relics from my youth. Gifts for Miles throughout the years. There are doodles and drawings and macaroni likenesses of his face. There’s an old windchime I found at a flea market that sounds like angels singing when it chimes. A cracked coffee mug that says, “World’s Best Pastor.”At the very bottom is a stack of photographs of our little family through the years. Miles, Mal, and me on a trip to the coast. Us at a church revival where we’re both staring at Miles like he’s the reincarnation of Christ himself. Atheism be damned, some days I think he could be.

Mal must have brought these down from the attic, and I’ll never forgive her for winning me over.

I carry the box of clothing toward the dresser, pausing when I see a Word document open on Miles’ laptop on his desk. It’s the new book he’s writing. I don’t know much about it, but Miles has told me it features a gay man attempting to overcome his sexual orientation. I really hope he doesn’t plan on finishing it, because I won’t stand for homophobia in this household, internalized or otherwise.

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