Page 17 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

“Hi, Daddy,” someone says, but I don’t startle. I don’t jolt up in bed at the unexpected visitor, because I feel an overwhelming sense of safety that I can’t explain. Like his showing up in my bedroom unannounced is inevitable. Like it was ordained, though that can’t be true, because what reason would God have for sending a man to my bedroom in the middle of the night?

I look up, and there he is.

“Darren? Why . . .” I look past him at the open closet door and furrow my brow, trying to make it all make sense. I remember lifting boards earlier, but can’t remember if it happened in the attic. He smiles as he steps forward, pausing instantly when I ask, “Did you just come out of the closet?”

“I came out of the closet a long time ago.” His eyes are on me, searching for something, but I don’t know what for. He swallows, his throat bobbing as color floods his cheeks. He approaches, his eyes on mine. “Are you awake?” And I don’t know if I’ve ever heard a more ridiculous question in my life. Obviously, I am. I’m talking to him, for gosh’s sake. He sits beside my leg and places a hand on my ankle, brushing his thumb back and forth. His eyes search mine, and the gaze is intense. I hate seeing him like this. Wound-up in worry. Drenched in apprehension. I don’t know what else to do to soothe him, so I open my arms and offer a hug. A blush rushes across his cheeks, and then his worry is gone within seconds.

I did that. I made him better.

Darren dives forward, landing on top of me and pinning me to the bed as he wraps his arms around me. He buries his face in my neck and inhales deeply, making my whole body tremble. He’s hugging me fiercely, harder than he ever has before.

“Missed you,” he says.

“I missed you too,” The admission catches me off guard, because I realize how true it is. Isn’t that strange? I saw him earlier today, and I’m already missing him. I miss having him here, wrapping me up like Jesus’ shroud. And the hug doesn’t end. It just keeps going and going, his breath ghosting against my neck with each exhale. My hands find their way to him, one resting at the small of his back, the other gently rubbing his shoulder. I think I might still be sobering up from the sleeping pill, because in my head, I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t remember any scripture saying a man can’t hold another man the way I’m holding Darren, but anything that feels this good has to be a sin.

“Why are you here?” I finally ask, not letting go.

“Because it’s where I belong.” He pulls his face away from my neck and I have to fight the urge to pull him back to me. His nose brushes against mine, and his eyes have this softness in them I’ve never seen before. He’s never looked more at peace than he does right now, and it feels like I’m seeing him for the first time.

No.

No, because that’s not entirely true. I’ve seen him this way before. When he first came home from college. When Darren was younger, he was always timid and shy. He opened up around me, but he never let his flame burn bright. He kept it hidden because he was scared of disappointing me. Then he left for college, and when he came home, he wasn’t hiding a thing. Darren was a proud gay man, and even I can’t deny he had a stunning glow to him. For three hours, I waited by the window, anxious to see my boy for the first time in forever. When I saw his car pull up, I rushed outside, stopping dead in my tracks as he stepped out of the car. The boy I knew was gone, replaced by a man who knew himself. A twenty-something twink with sass and sparkle and a Daddy’s Boy crop top. I remember standing inthe middle of the street, staring in awe like I was watching the Second Coming of Christ.

He was magnificent.

And then he was gone. Tucked away, out of sight and into the closet. Because of me. Because I asked him to hide. Because I sat him down and begged to fix that part of him. To take away that single flaw, so he would be absolutely perfect. My sweet boy, just like he’d always been. But he’s not my sweet boy anymore. I see that now. He hasn’t been my boy in years. When he left, I lost that part of him. I lost the boy I knew.

But look at the man he’s become.

Our noses touch repeatedly as he brushes his back and forth, and the silly nature sends the corners of my lips twitching into a smile. He’s so innocent like this. Carefree, like nothing can touch him as long as he’s here with me. “I’m sorry I’m late. Dad was watching cable news all night, foaming at the mouth about liberals. I had to wait for him to go to sleep before I could sneak out.”

The way he’s acting like we have some standing appointment that he’s tardy for confuses me, but with his face only inches from mine, staring into his eyes, my mouth won’t work. It’s like he’s Medusa, turning me to stone. The way he’s pressed against me feels foreign, but so very familiar like we’ve done this before.

I can tell something’s upsetting him, but he’s trying to put on a brave face, the same way he did when I taught him to roller skate when he was little. He was so scared of falling, but I told him he didn’t have to be, because I’ll always catch him. When he stumbles, it’s my job to pick him back up.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

“Nothing.” He rolls over until he’s on his back, and his hand finds mine. I can’t deny how good this feels. It’s like our hands were meant to go together. Like God made each with the other in mind. It reminds me of how I used to hold it during churchwhenever I knew he needed a strong shoulder to lean on. With Johnny Matthews as his father, Darren needed to be held a lot.

“Don’t lie to me,” I say, my voice taking a passionate, possessive tone. “Did he say something to you again? Was he calling you names?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s not about Dad. It’s you.” My heart sinks, because if I’ve done something to hurt my boy, I’ll never forgive myself.

“I’m sorry. If I hurt you—”

Darren quickly shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything.” There’s a tear trickling down his cheek, so I know his words can’t be true. I’ve hurt him. Maybe even crushed him. “You’re gay. You’re gay and you never told me.” He rolls onto his side so he’s facing me, and a whiff of vanilla and cotton candy invades my senses. It must be his body spray, and it’s a realization that takes me by surprise, because it’s the same scent I smelled on my sheets this morning. The same scent I smell every morning. When Mal mentioned it earlier, I brushed it off as her imagination getting carried away, but then I found proof. Circumstantial evidence at best, but with Darren right beside me on a bed with sheets that still smell like him, I know it has to be true. I should just ask him. He wouldn’t lie to me if I flat-out ask. I know Darren better than I know myself. I open my mouth, but close it just as quickly when I see another tear fall down his cheek. I can’t stand to see him like this.

I reach up and wipe his tears away. “Don’t. Don’t you dare cry. You’re too sweet to be crying.” I grip his hand tighter and scoot a little closer, trying to put him at ease. “I was embarrassed, Dare. It’s my biggest flaw, and now you know it. I don’t ever want you to look at me differently, because I love the way you look at me. You’ve always looked at me like . . .” I pause, shaking my head, unsure where I’m going with the statement, because I don’t havea word to describe how he looks at me. The sparkle in his eyes. The admiration in his smile.

“Like a God,” Darren whispers, touching my chest with his hand, right over my heart. “Because that’s what you are to me. My God. My everything.”

And then he leans closer, and our lips brush together. It doesn’t last long, but it’s long enough that it pulls me back to my senses, startling me and making my eyes bulge. When he pulls away, Darren’s got his eyes closed, and he’s smiling wider than I’ve ever seen.

I kissed a man.

I just kissed my best friend.

He looks up at me with lovesick eyes. I have to close mine, because his gaze is overwhelming. I have to get out of this. I can’t have him looking at me that way. I can’t be in bed with another man. I have to remove the temptation, but not because it’s a sin. There’s an undercurrent of something that feels a lot like hope, and I can’t hope. Hope leads to loss. It leads to an ache so strong you can feel its aftershocks for years, and I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.

---