Chapter Eighteen #2
“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.
“So, I met someone,” I said.
“Oh really?” He smirked. “Do I need to kick his ass?” Kevin wasn’t really the jealous type, fortunately, but he did like to tease when he thought there was something he should be jealous about.
“Her,” I corrected. “And no, you don’t need to kick her ass. Her name is Kate. She’s a tax attorney. We sat together at the bar thingy last night. I really liked her. We may go to yoga class together. She’s apparently very good at it.”
“Cool. You said you’ve been wanting to do more yoga.”
“She just took up running. So I may try to drag her on one of my runs too.”
“Poor woman,” Kevin said, shaking his head and smirking. “Drag is the operative word in that sentence. She doesn’t know what she’s in for. You’re not the right match for a newbie runner.”
“Hey, I can slow down,” I said, pouting.
“Yeah, right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“So... we have something else in common—Kate and I.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“She has a lesbian mother who came out when she was in high school. Left the family for the mother of another kid in their town.” I sipped my rosé, hiding behind my wineglass.
I was curious to see how Kevin would react. My family was not like other families. I knew that even growing up. And now I’d met someone who reflected my atypical background.
“Wow...” Kevin dragged out the word. “How did that come up?”
“She just told me. Explained it all so calmly. Didn’t seem to have any discomfort. It was kind of... neat. I’ve never met someone so open like that about such an unusual background. I mean, nowadays maybe, sure. But she’s my age. Things were different back then.”
“Did you tell her?” Kevin asked.
I knew that was what he would want to know.
He always encouraged me to be more open about my dad.
I resisted, of course. He never pushed me, but I knew he didn’t want me to feel so twisted up about my past. Now I was telling him that someone else had a similar family dynamic to mine, and she didn’t pack it away like a shameful secret.
I raised my finger to my lips and felt myself attempting to bite a nail then quickly caught myself and placed my hand back around my wineglass.
No, I will not start biting my nails again.
I made a mental note to call my local salon and schedule a gel manicure, which had kept the biting at bay ever since I graduated from law school.
I inhaled deeply. “Actually, I did tell her. There was no one else at the table at that point, and I found myself opening up. I mean, if anyone understands, it’s her.
It felt good. Kind of cathartic.” I felt like a kid who’d just gotten an unexpected A on a test at school and was bashfully sharing her score.
I wasn’t looking for approval exactly, but I had a feeling Kevin would be proud of me.
“Wow, I’m surprised. I mean, good for you. I’m glad you did. But I’m still surprised. Maybe you’re becoming more open to talking about it. Maybe this is a good sign.”
“Maybe,” I said, careful not to make any promises.
I’d spent much of my childhood, and my young adulthood, defined by this one fact—that I was the daughter of a gay father—yet as much as it defined me, I still hid it.
It would never be something I shared with everyone.
Kate was unique, and I wanted Kevin to understand that.
“I think it has more to do with Kate than me. She was so open about it. I think it made me feel safe to tell her. Like we were in a little cocoon.”
“That makes sense. Either way, I’m glad you confided in her, Lena. I think it’s going to be helpful for you to have a friend with such a similar background.”
“Yeah, I think so too.” I shifted in my seat and then shifted gears, done with this topic for the time being. “Thanks again for making the stuffed mushrooms. You know I love them.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You cooked, so I’ll clean up,” I said, reiterating our long-standing arrangement. I rose from the table, grabbing my plate.
“Thanks,” Kevin said, kissing me as I leaned over to stack his plate on top of mine. “I’m going to sit out here a little while longer and knock out some email. It’s so nice out.”
“Good idea.” I headed into the kitchen.
I loaded the plates into the dishwasher, put the pots and pans in the sink, and started scrubbing away.
I noticed my wedding ring gleaming through the suds.
Our wedding had been a great day. But of course, there’d been drama.
With the Antinori family, there always was.
Deciding where to hold the wedding was more difficult than I expected.
I loved the idea of a California wedding but worried that my extended family wouldn’t be able to attend with the distance and expense involved.
In the end, Kevin and I decided on a beach wedding in California followed by a large Italian-style party in New York before heading to Europe for our honeymoon in Madeira.
My parents were excited about the wedding and getting along well in the months leading up to it.
I grappled with the tradition of the father walking the bride down the aisle and giving her away.
It seemed so old-fashioned. Besides, I felt like my mom had been the one to raise me.
My dad just hadn’t been there as much as she had, and I felt as if asking him to be the one to walk me down the aisle would be a slap in the face for her.
I couldn’t help thinking my mother belonged by my side too.
In the end, I had them walk me down the aisle together, and it felt right.
Then there was the matter of whether my dad would bring his boyfriend to the wedding as his plus-one.
Kevin, of course, knew about my dad by that point, but few other people did, including his parents, who we didn’t tell until after we’d been married for a few years.
Our wedding list included extended family members, friends, and work colleagues.
When I asked my mom for advice, she made her position crystal clear. “Don’t let your father ruin the most important day of your life. This isn’t his coming-out party, for God’s sake. It’s your wedding!”
I’d told my dad it would be best if his boyfriend didn’t come with him because I didn’t want his relationship to be the focus of the wedding—for him to essentially out himself to anyone who still didn’t know he was gay.
Remembering this filled me with regret and an overwhelming sense of sadness that my dad had needed to hide who he was on one of the most important days of my life.
Sometimes agreeing to live the same lie made a family a family.
We excelled at burying the truth and all its inconveniences.