Page 85 of Perfectly Us
My heart skitters to a stop. He only ever talks about Clay when he’s reminiscing over old times, not addressing the dark stuff.
“I’m sorry I said his death was your fault,” I tell him, unsure why I’m saying it. I’m just the type of person that hates when other people are upset.
“You were right.” Dad takes another drink. “Clay might’ve had other shit goin’ on in his life that drove him to it, but I didn’t help any. And now I look at you and worry I’m making that same mistake again.”
“Why are you talking about this now?”
“Because I’m losing you,” he says, tone hard. His eyes are pained. “I don’t want you goin’ off to college thinkin’ I hate you. Now I’ll admit I don’t get the whole gay thing, Alex. I really don’t. Boys didn’t act that way when I was growin’ up. It’s not right.”
I squeeze my hands into fists as a crack forms in my chest. He’s so small-minded it both tears my heart wide open and pisses me the hell off.
“But you’re my son. I don’t understand it, but I’m trying to accept it. I hoped you’d grow out of it, that you’d meet a nice girl and see things differently. That you’d be normal.”
Normal? Another gash in my chest.
“I’m not doing this.” I turn around and start to leave the kitchen.
“You don’t walk away when I’m talkin’ to you, boy,” he says, and I stop walking. “You’re hangin’ around that Walker kid, and I’m worried I’m gonna wake up one morning and find you dead. Head blown off or wrists slashed. I can’t go through that again.”
He’s doing this to appease his own guilt.The revelation makes my eyes water.
“Shiloh’s good for me,” I say, barely containing my anger as I flip around and glare at him. “If you spent time with him, you’d see that.”
“I did meet him.”
“And?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t talk much. I’d like to meet him again.”
“Why? So you can make him feel like shit too? So you can lecture him and try to tear us apart?”
“Goddammit.” Dad blows out a breath. “This isn’t comin’ out like I wanted it to.”
Mom enters the kitchen and moves a gaze between the two of us. She seems more alert tonight, not as detached. When she looks at me, she even appears concerned. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.
But she doesn’t say anything to me.
She grabs a bottle of water from the fridge before leaving the kitchen. When Clay died, something died inside her too. It’s like she doesn’t let herself feel anything anymore. I want to scream at her sometimes, to say that Clay’s gone but I’m still here. That I matter.
Why don’t I matter?
“I’m going to Ruben’s,” I say, taking a step back.
I need to be anywhere but here.
“Alex.” Dad’s voice is the softest I’ve ever heard it. “I’m sorry. I’m not the best at talkin’ about these things. Never have been. I know it might not seem like it, but I’m trying. I love you, kid. Don’t ever think otherwise.”
A tear slips from my eye. I don’t remember the last time he told me that. Probably not since I was a little kid.
If this were a movie, I’d say I love him too, and we’d hug. He might even offer me a beer, and then we’d have a heart-to-heart, putting our differences aside or whatever. Everything would easily work out, like the years of pain and anger never happened.
Real life is messier.
Harder.
He loves me, but it’s not unconditional.
I nod to him, then head toward the front door, slipping back out into the warm summer night. More tears fall as I walk to my car, my shoes crunching on the gravel driveway.
