Chapter 6 TARAN #4
“Yeah,” I said. Because he wasn’t; not intentionally. Just in that typical old white guy way that made my life increasingly more difficult. In that typical small-town way that had Diego pissing in a stall instead of using a urinal next to some other dude all through high school.
I thought it was so weird that Diego did that, the first time I noticed. And then I realized.
Mom said, “He wasn’t. He just—”
“Mom.” I shook my head. “I love him. He was my dad. I’ll always love him, and I felt loved by him.”
He always had time for me. Was always proud of me. Was at every game and event, and supportive no matter how bad or good I played. He loved me unconditionally.
I don’t think anyone’s parents really know them, not completely. But I couldn’t help feeling like if my dad ever knew all of me, he’d have a really, really fucking hard time liking me. And I didn’t know what to do with that.
“Of course, honey.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
“I’m just…” I sighed and squeezed back. “I guess I’m unpacking some stuff, since it fell apart with Jennie. Regrets I have.”
“You’re only twenty-six. You can’t have that many regrets.”
“I thought I had a lot more than I do,” I admitted. “So that’s been cool to figure out.”
“Talk to me about it.” She took her hand back and started eating again.
I considered the request. Dad dying had definitely brought us closer, and not just because I’d moved back home.
I think we both realized how fast we could be left alone in the world, especially since we were on a one-phone-call-a-month schedule for a while there.
Largely my fault, since I felt kind of shitty about letting my parents down football-wise, and pulled away for a while.
Losing Dad suddenly really put shit into perspective, though, and Mom was easy to talk to.
Mostly.
She tried again. “What did you expect to regret?”
Jennie. My GPA. Letting my school, my county, my parents down, but that was really tied to, “Football.”
“Ah, sweetie.” She smiled knowingly.
“But I don’t. I wish no one knew I ever played, sometimes, but other than that, I had my fun. And I still love the game.”
“Did we push you too hard?” She’d asked me before, once or twice. It must’ve been something that worried her.
But my answer was always the same: “I don’t think so. I didn’t resent anything you did. I don’t think I ever could. I’ve had a charmed life thanks to you two.”
“That’s all we wanted for you. A good start. And I’m so proud of you.”
I nodded, and I tried not to wonder how this lunch would’ve gone if Dad was at the table with us.
“Bring Diego over sometime soon,” she suggested after a few moments of silent eating.
I smiled. “I’ll try. He’s a little skittish about commitment, I think—which, fair enough, but he might not be too keen on family events yet.”
“Annie always speaks highly of him; apparently he’s a very helpful stepson.”
“Seems like she’s been good for his dad,” I agreed. “Mellowed him out a little.”
“He was…” She made a face.
“A dick, yeah,” I supplied with a snort. “Diego used to have a hard time with him. But I guess they’re okay now.”
“Well, it’s not surprise. Diego is a little flamboyant,” Mom said, like she was making an allowance for something.
It set my back up. Made me think of Dad bitching about Johnny Weir commentating for the Olympics when I was a kid. Why’s he have to be so flamboyant all the time?
Oof. Talk about dams breaking…
I shrugged it off, though, not wanting to drag the conversation back there. “He’s hard to look away from, for sure.”
“His father is trying, Annie says. But Diego could make it a little easier.”
A flush rose in my neck, then my ears. I’d given her an off-ramp, but she was still blindly driving down that same highway, huh? I shot her a look, not trusting myself to speak.
Fuck. And this had been going so well.
She must have noticed something was off, because she rushed to say, “I mean, just for his father’s sake. When he’s in town, just tone it down a little.”
“Why?” I asked flatly.
She blinked, startled.
“Sorry.” I shook my head, trying to get past the reflexive anger and into the right words. “But that’s really—it’s not okay.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I just meant, sometimes older people have a hard time changing their worldviews. It’s hard when it’s thrown in their face like that.”
I could hear my dad bitching again: Okay, so you’re gay. Don’t throw it in my face all the time.
“If he’s doing it to make a point—” she tried.
But I cut her off with, “Doing what?”
Now she was the one turning red.
I hated this. I hated making her uncomfortable on purpose.
I hated not smoothing things over, I hated confronting her like this, I hated everything about it.
But I knew from twenty-six fucking years of experience that the only thing I hated more was not calling this shit out.
That was what I would regret tomorrow, if I let it slide today.
“You have no idea the kind of bravery it takes for Diego to be who he is all day every day,” I said after another long, tense silence.
“I mean, especially in high school, when he was surrounded by guys who’d beat the crap out of him as soon as look at him.
Do you know how often guys like him don’t survive towns like ours? ”
She flushed even harder. “It’s true—I know it’s true, honey. You’re right. That was thoughtless of me.”
“You wouldn’t ask me to walk and talk differently if it tapped into some rando’s fragile masculinity.”
“Never.”
“Right.” I took a deep breath. “This weird boomer myth that anyone would act gay just for attention is—it’s crazy.”
And it hadn’t done me any big favors, that was for damn sure, but I couldn’t bring myself to point that out to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for my hand again. “I clearly need to educate myself better.”
I took her hand and sighed. “You and me both.”
“I’ll do better.”
“Me too.” For her, for Diego, but especially for myself.