Page 34 of Everything We Thought Was True
“Yes, I know it can be very shocking for people. It’s certainly an unusual background,” Kate added, lifting her eyebrows again while a playful smile spread across her lips. She seemed so at easewith this conversation.
I looked pointedly at Kate, and then the words fell out of my mouth. “Not as unusual as you might think. My father is gay. He came out when I was in middle school.”
“Wow,” Kate said, eyes wide. “That’s incredible.”
I nodded vigorously. “Yes, it is. What are the chances?”
“I don’t know,” Kate said. “Well, I do some volunteer accounting work for a nonprofit organization that specializes in children of gay and lesbian parents and families with same-sex partners. So I’m familiar with statistics and percentages. Plus, like I said, I’m a numbers person. But I’ll tell you what—I don’t meet many people my age with a gay or lesbian parent. Or at least many who admit it.”
Heat rose in my neck and face. “I rarely admit it. In fact... I’ve hardly told anyone besides my husband.” This revelation made me tingle. This closely held secret that I’d guarded for so long... I thought of all the people I hadn’t told. Not my high school friends, as most were too sheltered or judgmental—though some might have cheered me on and been in my corner—nor my college roommate, who probably would have been supportive. And not even my colleagues at work, most of whom were allies and advocates of the LGBTQ community.
Kate leaned back in her chair and looked at me carefully. “Well, I’m honored. I’ve never actually kept it a secret myself. I felt like there were enough secrets and hiding to last a lifetime. So I decided to just be very open about it.”
I nodded. “My brother was the same way. He told a few of his closest friends, and if they were okay with it, great. If they weren’t, then he figured he didn’t want them in his life.” I shook my head, remembering how angry my mom had been. “My mother wasn’t happy about that. She wanted us to keep it quiet. I can’t say I blame her, given all the circumstances and the era.” I didn’t need to rattle the issues off for Kate, sure that she was familiar with them—societal stigma, religious doctrine, lack of legal protections.
Kate frowned. “That’s tough. I’m sure she did what she thought was best. People have different ways of dealing with it. There’s no one right path. Being the spouse or kid of a closeted gay or lesbian parent doesn’t come with a rule book. Especially back in those days.”
I felt my emotions rise to the surface. “She basically instituted an Antinori gag order. We all abided by it out of respect for her.”
Kate studied me. “Lena, I’m glad you told me. It must be very lonely not really having anyone in your life you can confide in besides your family.”
I felt wetness on my cheeks and quickly lifted my hand to wipe my tears. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Please don’t be sorry. I’m so glad we met. I think this is going to be the beginning of a very special friendship. We have lots of other things in common—our legal careers, our ages, and apparently, attempting to learn a new form of exercise and failing at it miserably.” She smiled. “But our shared experience about our parents is something special.”
The rush of affection I felt for someone I’d just met surprised me. I didn’t realize I needed this so badly—to meet someone around my age with a closeted gay parent who came out when they were a kid. It felt strangely like peering at a mirror image of myself.
As I opened the door, a thrilled Atticus greeted me, wagging his tail so forcefully it could do damage. The house smelled delicious, and I heard notes of jazz playing. Kevin was humming along, busy at the stove. I put down my bag, kicked off my shoes, and gave Atticus a few pets.
“Hey, babe,” Kevin said as I walked over and gave him a kiss hello.
The scent of him, warm and familiar, sent pleasure signals to my brain. I leaned into him, nuzzling his neck, breathing him in. Heswept away a curl that had fallen on my face. I had the kind of curly hair that looked great one day and horrible the next. In New York, I often looked like the character Roseanne Roseannadanna fromSaturday Night Live. But fortunately, in the dry heat of California, most days were good-hair days—one of the many reasons I was happy that I’d met Kevin after I moved out to the West Coast.
He held out a spoon. “Taste this.”
I licked the spoon to taste whatever deliciousness he’d been cooking up. “Mmm, that’s so good.” I hummed with pleasure.
Kevin turned off the burner under the pan. “All ready to go. That’s the extra sauce for the stuffed mushrooms. Your mom’s recipe, of course.” He smiled brightly as he gathered our plates and started serving dinner.
“Yum. I love her stuffed-mushrooms recipe. And you make it so well.”
“I do now. Didn’t go so well the first time around.” He chortled.
“Oh, I remember.” A bubble of laughter rose in my chest, warm and expansive, as I recalled the burnt mushroom dish. It was our first Thanksgiving as a married couple, and he’d been eager to show off his culinary talents to my mom and her boyfriend, Larry. He was so nervous because I’d bragged about what a superb cook my mom was. And he screwed it up. Burnt to a crisp. But she ate it—every bite. And when he was cleaning up the kitchen, she came in and even had the good grace to tell him she’d burned it also the first time she made it. Kevin had said it was so sweet of her to eat the dish anyway and not embarrass him.
As we walked outside to eat in the garden, I sighed contentedly, remembering that visit. It had been a special one for Mom and me. I’d been so excited and proud to show her the house. We gave her and Larry the grand tour, pointing out the renovations we’d done and the gardens we’d planted.
“Oh, Lena, this is beautiful,”my mom cooed.
I felt swathed in her love and approval. As monumental as it was that I owned a home with my husband—something my parents could never afford—it felt like her blessing wasn’t just for the house but for my entire life in California. I knew it had been hard for her to say goodbye to me when I left New York.
New York, New York. What a love-hate relationship I had with it. I missed it but also felt like I’d escaped something I’d outgrown that didn’t serve me anymore. I’d felt myself exhale when I moved to California in 1995.Ah, yes. Now my life can begin—as if it hadn’t started yet. I felt strange sometimes about moving to the place in the country where my father lived—almost like I was cheating on Mom. Deep down, I worried Mom felt like I’d chosen my dad.
When I first moved, I remember her saying, “I love your father, but I don’t know how you can live out there when he’s just all... out!”
I’d tried to assuage her worry by telling her he kept a lower profile than she realized. My dad might be free to live his life, but I didn’t have to rub my mom’s face in it, sharing all the gory details. I’d held back to protect her, sure. But it made me simmer beneath the surface, as I sometimes felt more like my father’s daughter than I cared to admit. Old habits died hard indeed.
Kevin raised his glass of rosé. “Cheers,” he said, pulling me out of my memories. We tapped glasses.
