Page 117 of College Town

“Ah. Yeah, I get that.”

One of the reasons they hadn’t managed to get the ramp done on their own – and Tommy’s gift of one still sticks in his back teeth like popcorn kernels – was because they spent the money they could have spent on it on a stairlift instead. Of the two mobility tools, the stairlift proved more valuable. Lawson’s strong enough to carry him wherever he needs to go, but it’s far, far easier to manage a short flight of deck steps than it is the narrow, steep staircase that leads up to the second floor. Lawson and Mom talked about moving Dad downstairs permanently, maybe converting the dining room, but there’s only a powder room on the first floor, and adding on would have been more expensive than the lift.

Sometimes it seems like they spend all their time playing financial Jenga.

Lawson gets Dad into the lift, starts its slow, automated ascent, folds and carries the chair up. He has it open and in position when the lift arrives, and hoists Dad over. Then it’s the bathroom, and a shower, and evening ablutions. He puts Dad in a soft, threadbare set of terrycloth pajamas and rubs moisturizer into his feet and legs. Mom always says to wait and she’ll do it once Dad is in bed, but that seems silly to Lawson, and he doesn’t mind.

They have a routine, one honed over years. Dad asks about his day, his questions brief so he doesn’t overtax himself on the difficult syllables, and Lawson fills in all the gaps with extravagant exaggerations of his mundane existence. He tells his father about new Internet memes, and the latest gossip off the covers of the rags in line at the grocery store. About the ads that got put up on the corkboard at the shop; the good news that Happy the cat was found by his family and reunited with his little girl. The Trans-Am posted for sale that they both know Lawson won’t buy, but of which he waxes poetic as he details all the mods he’d apply, from seat covers to gearshift knob.

He's distracted tonight, and keeps catching himself drifting with a guilty jolt. He hopes things are going well down in the kitchen, that Tommy hasn’t hurled, and Mom hasn’t asked Tommy if he knows how broken Lawson was after he left twenty years ago.

When he’s got Dad in bed, propped up on two pillows the way he likes, water glass and Kindle waiting on the nightstand, Dad grips at his wrist, and brings him up short in the middle of righting the covers. When Lawson meets his gaze, he sees concern writ clear in his father’s frown, in the now-uncharacteristic intensity of his gaze.

The hair on Lawson’s arms stands on end. “What is it?”

Dad’s mouth compresses a moment, like it does when he gets determined to get the words out. He speaks slowly, but mostly clearly. “Mom ssssaid. You had a…date. Tonight.”

“Okay, I told her I definitelywas notgoing on a date. I was having dinner.”

“Wit…Tom-mee.”

“Well,” Lawson hedges, fiddling with the blankets. “He wasthere.”

“Lawssssson,” Dad says, sternly.

“I…”

He sees his father tired and spacey so often now that he’s somehow forgotten the full effect of his paternal stare-down. It leaves him shrinking down into himself like a frightened turtle.

“You went on a date,” Dad says. “With Tom –Tommy,” he forces out the last, scowling.

Lawson breathes a startled laugh. “Listen to that! Good job!”

Dad’s responding look clearly saysdon’t patronize me.

“Okay,” Lawson relents, slumping down into the chair beside the bed. “I went on a date with Tommy. That’s not what he called it…” The Dad Look intensifies. “But we went to Flanagan’s, and played pool with Dana and Leo, and we had drinks, and, yeah. It was essentially a date.” He rubs at the spot on his forehead where a headache is forming.

Dad is silent a long moment, and when Lawson peeks at his face, he sees that it’s softened. He looks sad in the same way Mom did earlier.Poor Lawson. “He’ssssss. Imp-important to you.”

Lawson’s skin prickles with a fresh wave of uncomfortable awareness. He never told either of his parents that he was gay. He knew that Mom knew, that she was observant, and not stupid, and so he cried in her arms twenty years ago when Tommy left. She rubbed his back and promised it wouldn’t hurt forever, and said she was proud of him for being strong enough to love someone.Not everyone is brave enough to give their hearts away, but you are, and that’s admirable.

At the time, he thought she was either nuts, or placating him. He doesn’t know what he thinks, now, only that he and Dad have never once talked about Lawson’s love life. Lawson’s always taken the lack of a pep talk or a pointing-out of cute girls as his father’s passive acceptance of his sexuality. He teased Lawson about Dana, briefly, between second and third grade, but then that faded and never picked back up. Dad never slipped him anSIswimsuit edition, or aPlayboy. Never nudged him and winked when they passed a strip club sign. Lawson has happily gone along with his father’s seeming belief that he isn’t a sexual being in any way.

But now he’s talking about Tommy, and dates, and giving himthe look. Like Lawson’s told a lie or gotten detention, and Lawson hasn’t the foggiest idea how to play this.

“Um.” Lawson wrings his hands together and sweat blooms beneath his clothes. He can smell beer and grease and his own perspiration, and it’s an effort not to leap to his feet and bolt. “Well. Tommy and I were good friends –bestfriends – not like Dana and me, you know, but best friends,too. Back in the day, before he moved. And I–”

“Law.”

He forces a few rough breaths in and out through his mouth.

Dad’s forehead is nothing but furrows, a harrowed field ready for sowing. “I love you,” he says, clearly, seriously.

“I love you, too,” Lawson parrots. His shirt’s clinging to his back, and he plucks at the collar.

“No,” Dad says, gaze boring into him. “I. Love. You.”

“You…”

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