Page 15 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

He knows. My Dare-bear knows, and he doesn’t hate me. I haven’t lost him. I thought when he found out, any shred ofrespect he once held for me would vanish for sure, but it hasn’t. If anything, he seems even more committed to our plan. Sure, he’s been giving me a lot of sympathetic looks, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it ought to. When Mal and I used to talk aboutit—back before the bottom fell out of our marriage—I always felt overwhelming levels of shame. Eventually, I just stopped talking about it, tucking that part of my life out of sight, out of mind.

I kind of want to talk about it with Dare, though. I think I’d like to share some of my experiences with him. Maybe he’ll even be willing to answer some of the questions I never got answered when I was younger. I know he probably has the answers. Dare’s been to Dallas, Texas, for gosh’s sake. He’s seen the world. And what have I ever seen? My childhood home, and my church’s pulpit. That’s as far as I ever got. It’s probably as far as I’ll ever get. Should it hurt this much? Should knowing I’ll never be anything more than what I already am feel so overwhelming? Dear God, Almighty. “Am I having a midlife crisis?”

“Probably,” Mal calls out from behind me, startling me. “Miles—babe—if you pace the floor any harder, you’re going to fall through the ceiling.” She’s probably right. I’ve been walking in circles for the last hour, replaying every moment in my head, and it still feels like I’m coming out of my skin. Mal sighs in the door frame, then walks to her old side of the bed and takes a seat, legs dangling over the edge.

She’s got her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a pink t-shirt and a pair of jeans. I smile, because I love when she wears them. It’s not a sexual thing. Our church preaches women should only wear modest blouses and ankle-length dresses. Well, our denomination does, at least. I tend to shy away from topics I’m not sure I believe in. I know what the Bible says, but I also know a woman wearing a pair of pants isn’t hurting anyone. It doesn’t change her character as a human being, they’re justreally dang comfortable, and I don’t think someone should miss out on comfort simply because they were born with a vagina. There are other topics I don’t preach about. Sexuality. Gender. A woman’s right to choose. The queasiness I feel anytime I read a new headline about our president. They’re all things that could lead to my dismissal, and that would cost me my home. My family’s home. My father’s legacy. The church owns it, and if I’m ever ousted, I lose the life I’ve built. Even worse, I won’t be across the street from Darren anymore, and that is simply unacceptable.

The evangelical status quo doesn’t allow much leniency when it comes to politics. I guess I’m a conservative. That’s what I was born into. It’s what Dare was born into, too, but I have no idea where he stands on the big issues. He lets things slip from time to time that almost make him sound like a dang Marxist, whatever the heck that is. Sometimes, he’ll make his point so well, it changes my entire opinion on something. Even when we argue and he lets the sassy Dallas, Texas, version of himself out to play, I come out the other side feeling like I’ve grown as a person. He makes me better. He makes me want to be better. Maybe one day I can be. Maybe we both can.

Mal pats the empty space beside her, and I shuffle over and take a seat. She rests her hand on my knee, staring out the window. “You can talk to me, you know. Even if we’re not . . . you can always talk to me.”

“I know,” I whisper, even though I don’t really know that at all. Not when it comes to this.

“Is it about us?” she asks, but I shake my head. “Is it abouthim?” The way she says it. It’s not disdain or anger that’s coating her voice, it sounds like resignation. Darren’s always been a constant figure in our lives. A figure she never asked for. Someone she barely tolerated, much less liked. But something has changed between us. Our dissolving relationship seems tobe a breeding ground for home truths and feelings that I don’t necessarily want to feel. “You told him about the separation, didn’t you?”

I shake my head. My marital struggles are none of Darren’s business. It’s not that I don’t trust him with the information, I just don’t want to add anymore unnecessary weight on his shoulders. Not when he’s battling demons of his own.

“I can’t,” I finally say. “He’d be so disappointed in me. I’m his role model, and if I can’t make it work with you, how can he be expected to . . .”

“Maybe it’s time to stop trying,” she says, her voice soft, not a trace of cruelty in her tone. “Miles, we’ve been at this for twenty years. We’ve pretended. We’ve spent two decades of our lives pretending to be a happy couple.”

I gape at her. “We were happy.” I don’t say wearehappy, because I love Mal too much to lie to her. “Weren’t we?”

She rests her head on my shoulder the way she used to. I remember the first time she did it. We were sitting next to each other at church, and she’d been up most of the night before, helping her momma put together flyers for an upcoming revival. Our church had a ton of revivals when my father was still around. It seemed like we had them every few weeks, and I never understood how you could revive something that never faded in the first place. She’d been really sleepy that morning, and her eyelids kept drifting closer and closer together until she eventually fell asleep, her head softly falling on my shoulder. Mal had her hand on my knee, just casually resting on top.

Then I saw Dare. He was little back then, and the look of hurt on his face when he stared up at me felt like a knife to the heart. There were big, sloppy tears in his eyes, falling one after another. It was a look of absolute betrayal, but I didn’t know how the heck I betrayed him. Then he placed his hands on Mal’s arm and shoved until her hand was no longer on me. I’m pretty sureit was the day their silly feud started. He’s always been really jealous of Mal for stealing my attention from him. He didn’t get a whole lot of love at home, so I tried to sprinkle as much as I could his way. I still do. I hope I always will.

Mal gives me a look I can’t quite read, her eyes darting from mine to the picture of Darren and me on my nightstand. He and I have matching copies, and I swore to him I’d keep it by my bed as long as he wants me to. That was dang-near ten years ago, and since then the only time I’ve moved it has been to clean the glass and dust the frame. There’s a strange, queer feeling inside me, demanding I replace it with a newer one, because it’s like part of me doesn’t want to see him this way. Part of me almost wants to forget I’ve known him for as long as I have, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out where that twinge of guilt is coming from.

“No,” Mal finally answers. “No, Miles, we weren’t happy. Not as much as we should’ve been. Not nearly as much as we still could be.”

“You really want a divorce?” I finally whisper, and her hand squeezes my knee, giving me a little of her comfort. I feel humiliated. For so long, I’ve tried my best to love her in our own way. It’s not enough. I’m not an idiot. I know she deserves better than this thing we’ve become, because Mal’s special. She’s got a warrior’s heart. It won’t be long before she’s riding into the next chapter, trailblazing through life and making her mark.

But she’s going to leave me behind. She’s going to flourish, and I’ll be stuck here in this family tomb, surrounded by relics of my past, the story of my life painted across the living room walls in pretty golden picture frames to make us look more than we ever were.

“I’m not in any rush, but yeah. I think it’s the only way. We can still make it out of this as friends. I want that. Don’t you?” She falls back in bed and stares at the ceiling. “I’m going to miss this bed.”

“You can have it if you want it.”

She shakes her head, her eyes locked on the ceiling as if she’s trying to read words in the popcorn ceiling. “You have to be more careful, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Darren. If you’re really planning on pursuing this conversion therapy televangelist dream, you’re going to both need to be a little more discreet. Honestly. You sound like dogs in heat every night. I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t called in a noise complaint.” My brows furrow as I try to piece it together. She must notice my confusion, because she rolls her eyes. “My bedroom is directly under yours. Did you think you were being sneaky?”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“Your little late-night rendezvouses upstairs. I know Darren thinks he’s pulling a fast one by sneaking in through the attic, then down through the trapdoor he created above your closet, but this house is as old as Methuselah, and you can hear every single creak from a mile off. The man is fooling no one.” When she finally tilts her head and looks at me, she’s got this really sweet smile on her face that reminds me of when we were kids. She’s been my constant companion for twenty-plus years, and it feels really good to see this side of her again. “I’m happy for you.” She lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles. “We’re going to get our happy endings, Miles. I just know it.”

“Mal,” I say, shaking my head as I try to make sense of what she’s saying. “I don’t understand what the heck you’re talking about. What trap door? And why the heck would Darren sneak into our room at night?”

“You know, when you two . . .” Lifting her hands, she forms a circle with her thumb and index finger, then drives her other index finger in and out of it.

I gape at her, my eyes bulging. “Are you insinuating Darren and I are having—” I gag at the thought, unable to get the word out. Never. I would never do that with Dare-bear. He’s my best friend. “I have overcome, and Darren Matthews is on the offramp leading to the straight and narrow. I won’t let you create an unnecessary detour by insinuating he’s backsliding.”

“Backsliding? He backs it up for you every night, Miles,” Mal groans as she sits up, flinging her hands in the air like she doesn’t give a dang one way or the other. “Fine. If you want to continue pretending he doesn’t come over every night and cuddle with you—amongst other things—for hours on end, we can do that too.” She chews her bottom lip, staring thoughtfully at me like she’s trying to work up the nerve to say something, but she just shakes her head and stands before making her way to the door. Pausing in the door frame, she looks over her shoulder at me and gives me a parting smile. “I love you, you know. It might not be a romantic love but it’s still love. If he hurts you, I’ll hurt him.” With that, she turns and walks away, leaving me alone in our room with my heart racing a mile a minute.

Darren? Here? At night? The allegation is ridiculous, quite frankly. I think I’d know if Darren was sneaking into my room at night through a trapdoor. I know Mal and Darren don’t have the best relationship, but making up silly accusations—probably to drive a wedge between Dare and me—is crossing the line, even for her. Thou shalt not lie. It’s in God’s top ten sins, for goodness’ sake. And a trap door? Really? What’s next, secret passageways? Creepy portraits with their eyes cut out so someone can watch you doing whatever?

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