Page 55 of One Little Problem
“I’m saying you’re important to me. Guess that’s what having Lydia around made me realize. That there’s so much that doesn’t matter when you care about someone. So much you can get past.”
I frowned. “Right, so you don’t like me dating a dude, but you’re willing to overlook it for me?” One minute things would seem so good, then they’d go right back to bad. Like a super unfun roller coaster.
“No, or maybe, I don’t know, Luke.” At least Mom didn’t seem to be doing it on purpose with the emotional thrill ride. “All of this is new to me.”
“Actually pretty new to me too,” I admitted.
She almost smiled. “We’re in this together?”
Yes please. That would be awesome. I only said, “Guess it’s up to you.”
“I used to think so much of what was, well, wrong with a person came down to parental failure,” she said, staring down at her hands. Oh my god, she could just say yes or no. Don’t keep me in suspense. “Kid in jail? Offspring that’s gay? Unwed pregnancy? The parent must have done something wrong.” Duh, those were the type of things she liked to whisper about with all her friends at the bank. “I’ve realized that I’ll love you anyway, even though you’re gay.” She grimaced and added, “Or bi or whatever.”
For a moment it seemed like she was afraid she offended me, with the or whatever part. But I barely understood the terminology myself. It was the other stuff she said that made me frown. It was like good news and bad news at the same time. She still loved me, that was good, but there was something wrong with me, that was bad.
“Wait,” she said and I looked from her hands to see her looking at me. “I would love you no matter what, but as much as some things have changed, some things haven’t.” She seemed to struggle for the right words, but I was so willing to let her try. “You’re a fine young man and I’ve always been proud of you and I, when I think of you, I don’t think there’s a part of you that’s wrong or lacking.” Her eyes looked as watery as mine felt. “Maybe this part of you isn’t wrong either. This takes some getting used to, but I want to try.”
“Really?” She just needed to say it one or a hundred more times. Until it sank in.
“I love you,” she said again. Really good to hear. “I’m so sorry I let anything distract me from that because that’s always been true, and it always will be.”
Then we were no longer opposites staring at each other across the table, she came around to my side and we hugged. I didn’t even know all the emotions running through me. Relief, happiness, I don’t know, I just held onto her tightly. She held on tight back.
“Okay,” she said when we finally pulled apart, wiping tears from her eyes. “Maybe we should have Ryan over for dinner one night.”
“Are you sure? Is that okay?”
She laughed. “I have no idea. I’ve never given him a chance before and I want to try. Your boyfriend deserves that.”
“Boyfriend?” Hey, my dad was in the room. “You’re back together?” He didn’t even let me answer. “Not again. Fuck, not again.” Wow, I so rarely heard him swear. Everything had been great for a moment and now it was all going wrong again, but I barely had time to process it because he was storming out.
* * *
I found my dad at the batting cages. I was a better ball player than him. He told me that all the time. I surpassed him a long time ago and we didn’t play the same position, but he was the one who started the spark in me, the love of the game that developed into something more, made it my sport.
I still remembered him giving me my first mitt, me kind of thinking I wanted a monster truck instead, but I managed not to comment because of the almost reverent look on Dad’s face, like something important was happening. How he took me to the batting cages and I loved it because it was just him and me, no older annoying sister, nothing else to worry about, just hitting the ball and watching Dad smile when I did.
We had all that history and even without it, we had a shared interest, a love of something we took part in but that was also bigger than us, the fine pastime of baseball. Dad didn’t acknowledge me as I stood outside the batting cage he was in, focusing on the ball and connecting with it. I stood watching him, idly wondering if he was pretending the ball was my face or Ryan’s face or some weird combination of both our faces as he viciously sent it to the netting in the back.
I didn’t try to get his attention by yelling or causing a commotion or yanking the cord out of the automatic pitching thing. I let time do the work instead. Eventually he’d get tired or run out of cash to pay the machine with. The ball dispensers were old school and didn’t take credit cards, though they were supposed to be upgraded, that’s what I’d heard. I didn’t know if they’d come first or the new Dairy Queen would.
Eventually, he took his last swing and didn’t move to put more money in. He just stood with his back to me. Like maybe he was done batting, but he wasn’t ready to face me yet. Fortunately, I’d gotten a lot of experience with him ignoring me lately, but it was over now.
“This has gone on long enough,” I told him.
The words amused him. “I think the same thing every day.”
“Not up to you to decide how long my relationships last,” I snapped. Then I took a deep breath and tried again. “I get that this feels like a big deal to you. It did to me too. But now it feels normal. That’s possible you know.”
His back didn’t seem particularly effected by the words in any way I could tell, but I almost heard the scowl on his face as he said. “No, it’s not.” Don’t have to be so damn sure about that.
“Not if you don’t want it to be.” I used to get freaked out by even thinking the word bi and now I owned it proudly.
He made a frustrated noise and turned to face me. “Why now? Why date girl after girl and it never lasts, never leads to anything serious or more than a few months and then this? Throwing it in our faces. No warning, no hints, not until people in town started talking about you. I had to hear it from them for the first time instead of you.” Dad sounded hurt by that.
“That’s not what I wanted,” I told him honestly. Even though I didn’t like disappointing my parents or making them sad or anything, I was so weirdly glad for my dad to be expressing something to me other than anger or avoidance. “I just wasn’t ready to tell you. I wasn’t prepared for any of this either. The way it happened was—"
“Don’t need the details,” he cut me off forcefully.
