Page 20 of Everything We Thought Was True
I stole a glance at the pearl ring on my right hand—her ring. I admired its antique setting, the centered gem surrounded by tiny diamonds. It was one of the few valuable pieces of jewelry she’d ever owned. She’d worn it from the day her mother, Rosa, died until she gave it to me for my law school graduation. I thought about her long, elegant fingers, and my mind drifted back to that fateful day when the spaghetti and peas went flying. I recalled seeing the shimmer of that pearl ring on my mom’s hand as she jumped out of her chair at the dining room table. The glint of the ring had matched the steely look in her eye. I’d never seen her look like that before—or after.
“Yeah, a little weird. But I know what you mean,” he said, audibly letting out a long breath. “Listen, I gotta go. Call me if you need me. I’m here.”
Anthony always made himself available to me. Unless he was in the middle of a serious issue at work or at home, he answered when I called. I couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been there. We’d shared a room until I was nine and he was eleven, whispering secrets across the darkness between our beds. When we first saw the house in Johnston, Anthony’s face had dropped as he realized he would be sleeping alone on the first floor, far from the rest of us. Far from me. I remember how pleased I was, after years of sharing with Anthony, to move into a room of my own. Filled with the dignity of my nine years, I picked out pink paint and white curtains, reveling in my independence and closet space. But lying alone in bed at night, I would hear Anthony call, “Good night,” from the bottom of the stairs below and felt—well, wistful.
He’d taken me everywhere, letting me tag along to the park, the movies, and the pool. His guidance smoothed my way through the awkward parts of childhood. Sure, there were also pillow fights, hairpulling, and the terrifying time when I’d thrown a fork at him and it stuck in his upper arm. I smiled, remembering how I’d hightailed it out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into my room, behind the safety of a locked door, before he could catch me.
For every major event in my life, my brother had been there—all the boyfriends and breakups, when I went to college and law school, and when I moved away to California. Anthony had been on my side always. The least I could do was let him be happy for Dad with no reservations.
“Stay near the phone for the next few months. I have a feeling I’ll be giving you an earful.”
He laughed. “You got it. Talk soon. Miss ya.”
“Love you, bro. Bye.”
“Love ya too. Bye.”
I stared at all the brake lights in front of me on the freeway and shook my head. After all these years, I was still sometimes in awe of my brother’s carefree attitude about growing up with a closeted gay father. He truly didn’t seem to care what others thought or whether they approved, as if it didn’t touch him as much or he didn’t let himself be defined by it. I wore it like a scar. An ugly scar I always tried to hide.
What was fascinating about my brother was how, when we were kids, his personality was a juxtaposition of different attributes. He’d clearly wanted everyone to know he was as straight as they came—not only heterosexual but very macho as well. He joined the wrestling team, only dated girls with ample breasts, rode a motorcycle, got his first of many tattoos, and vowed to get a rottweiler as his first dog when he was old enough to have an apartment of his own. He’d kept his promise and named the dog Tarzan, as if the dog needed a masculine name to announce to the world that he was a badass. You could say Anthony wore his heterosexuality likearmor, sending the message constantly that he chose women and definitely was not gay. Yet he didn’t hide the fact that his father was.
I remember the day when Anthony came home from high school and announced to Mom matter-of-factly, “Well, I told Victor, Angelo, and Nicky that Dad is gay. They’re all okay with it.”
Mom stared at Anthony, blinking repeatedly. She kept opening her mouth to speak, but nothing came out—like a guppy caught on a fishing line. I felt sweat beading on the back of my neck, and my hands tingled. A wave of nausea flooded into my gut. I tried to breathe evenly to calm myself down.
Then Mom exploded into words, like someone had just performed the Heimlich maneuver and dislodged them. “Are you crazy? You can’t tell anyone. Least of all a bunch of Italian boys from your Catholic school with off-the-boat parents.”
Anthony shrugged, clearly not appreciating the weight of his betrayal in our mom’s eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal. I told them that my father is gay—but I’m not—and they’d better be okay with it if they still want to be my friend. If they have a problem with it, they can take a hike. They all said they understood and felt bad for you, Mom, but they were okay with it.”
“I don’t care if they say they’re okay with it. It’s none of their business. You never talk about what is going on with this family with outsiders, you hear me? Never. How dare you talk about your father to those boys? Their parents are old-fashioned Italians who would crucify your dad for what he is. Don’t you get that?”
“They pinky swore, Mom, and said they’d tell no one, including their parents. They don’t even get along with their parents.”
“I don’t care. In a few years, those little shits won’t even remember your name. But family? They’re forever. You don’t talk about family to strangers. You hear me?”
“But they’re my friends,” he said.
“Your real friends are your family.”
I realized Anthony had committed the cardinal sin of disloyalty, but he’d done it out of loyalty to our dad because he worshipped the man. I also recognized that he’d done it out of respect for Mom, as if he was proud of her battle scars and that she—we—were all still standing. The reasons made no difference to Mom. She didn’t care about Anthony’s intentions, only his impact.
Anthony looked hurt but didn’t walk away. He stared at Mom with genuine curiosity. “You’re saying we can’t tell anybody? Not even someone we trust?”
“That’s what I’m saying, yes.” Mom’s voice had softened a little around the edges. She let out an enormous sigh. “Do I need to remind you that your father could get fired from both his jobs if this comes out—that in the worst-case scenario, he could even be thrown in jail?” Her jaw tightened. “And if that happened, I couldn’t support us on my own. Not to mention that we’d be the laughingstock of everyone.” She teared up.
Anthony moved toward her. “I’m sorry, Mom. I am. I didn’t... I wasn’t thinking of all that.” As she opened her mouth to speak, he put up his hand. “I heard you. Loud and clear. It won’t happen again.”
“Please tell those boys not to tell anyone. Not a soul, you hear me, so help you God.” She pointed at Anthony like a spectral ghost that had come back from the dead to haunt him.
He raised his hands in surrender. “I will—I promise.”
Satisfied that she’d convinced Anthony, she turned her attention to me. “Have you told anyone?” she asked in an accusatory tone.
I shook my head vehemently from side to side.
“Good. Keep it that way.”
“What if someone asks us?” Anthony asked. “Kids talk about who their parents are dating and stuff like that.”
