Page 114 of Charming Like Us
“Who would I invite, Kuya? My only friends in Philly are my surfboard and laptop.”
“I thought you exchanged numbers with Winona after the Fun Run?”
“I thought so too, but she gave me the number to some Wildlife Conservation fund.” He lies back down, not expressing much defeat in that rejection.
We talk more about shoots for theBorn into Famedocuseries before we say our goodbyes. “Talk later, Kuya,” he says before the screen goes black.
Now for the harder call.
I phone my dad, and FaceTime pops up. Bottles of red wine in wooden slots fill the screen.My parent’s wine cellar.“Dad, flip to front-facing camera.”
“Dammit, sorry.” He swears casually often. Once the camera flips, I’m staring at a sun-tanned face that could grace classic western movies. But he can’t act for shit. He warned me too, and still, I asked him for help on an amateur film project about skateboarding.
He sounded like a robot.
And he almost broke his ass on cement after trying to ollie.
I love him a lot.
“I was just grabbing a 1934 Merlot.” Creases line his forehead. Only a few grays in his brown hair—he was young when I was born. “So…? You’re okay with the press? You’re safe there?”
I nod. “Yeah. Is Mama around too?” I’d rather talk to them both at the same time.
“She went to bed, but I’ll let her know what’s going on. She’s very proud, you know. She wants to meet him.” He inspects the label of the Merlot.
“What about you?”
He sets the bottle down. He offers a lot of supportive words of me being with a man, as much as I expected. He says he loves me, and then the questions arrive.
When did you know you liked guys? Are you bisexual? What’s Oscar like? Is he good to you?
I answer honestly to each one.
And then he asks, “What’s his goals? He doesn’t want to be a bodyguard forever, right?”
“I think so.”
He makes ahmmnoise.
“It’s a good profession.”
“No it’s not. I have a friend in private security, and it pays nothing. It’s fucking dangerous. Plus, his back will be shot by fifty.”
“My back will be shot before then.”
“Youneed to stop doing camerawork. Take care of your body now before you become old like me.” He pauses for a second. The air strains like he’s thinking back to the serious topics.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’ll be honest, it’s taking me a longer time—longer than your mama—to get used to the idea of you with a guy. I keep thinking that if you marry a man, I’m going to have ason-in-law.” He lets out a breath. “Just never pictured that.”
My muscles tighten, even though I knew this might be coming. That future picture. The one so vividly painted. “I get it,” I say, but my heartbeat pounds loud in my ears. “But just think it’s just as good of a picture because it’s what I want. And I’d be happy in it.”
His smile is warm. “I know that. Whatever you choose, you know I’ll be happy for you, too.”
I nod, and I do believe that.
He doesn’t press about Oscar as we talk more. He hikes out of the wine cellar and ends up on the private dock, his boat rocking with glittering water in Naples Canal.
