Chapter 18 #2
And if it went badly—if my father reacted the way I’d always feared—then at least I’d have done one brave thing in my life.
And if it went well...
If it went well, maybe I could fix things with Beau.
Maybe.
* * *
I parked in Dad’s driveway and sat for a moment, trying to calm my racing heart. Caroline’s car wasn’t in the driveway, which was good. I needed to do this alone. Just me and my father, no buffer, no escape route.
You can do this. Just tell him. Rip off the band-aid.
I got out of the car and walked to the front door before I could change my mind.
My father answered after two rings, still in his work clothes minus the tie, a glass of scotch already in his hand.
“Mason.” He stepped aside to let me in. “You look terrible. Rough day?”
“Rough week,” I admitted.
“Well, come in. Want a drink?”
“God, yes.”
He led me to his study and poured me two fingers of Macallan—the same stuff I’d been drowning in last night—and handed it to me before settling into his chair.
“So,” he said. “What’s going on? You sounded serious.”
I took a long drink, letting the scotch burn down my throat. Dutch courage. “Where’s Caroline?”
“Last minute Christmas shopping. Won’t be back until late.” He studied me over his glass. “Why? Did you want her here?”
“No, actually, I’m glad she’s not. This is...” I took another drink. “This is something I need to tell you. Just you.”
My father’s expression shifted, concern replacing casual interest. “Mason, you’re worrying me. What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“No, nothing like that.” I set my glass down before I drank it all in one go. “I’m fine. Work is fine. I just... I need to tell you something. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”
He waited, patient, and that somehow made it worse. This was it. The moment I’d been dreading for years. The moment that would either change everything or destroy it.
“Dad, I’m gay.”
The words hung in the air between us.
My father blinked. Once. Twice. Then he took a sip of his scotch, set his glass down, and said, “Okay.”
I stared at him. “Okay?”
“Yes. Okay.” He leaned back in his chair. “Is that all?”
“Is that—” I laughed, the sound slightly hysterical. “Dad, I just came out to you. That’s not an ‘okay’ kind of thing. That’s a big deal.”
“It’s a big deal to you,” he said gently. “And I’m honored you felt you could tell me. But Mason, your being gay doesn’t change who you are. You’re still my son, and you’re brilliant, successful, and someone I’m incredibly proud of.”
My throat tightened. “You’re... you’re okay with it?”
“Of course I’m okay with it.” He frowned. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”
“Um, yes. I thought...” I ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t know what I thought. That you’d be disappointed. Or angry. Or—”
“Mason.” My father leaned forward, his expression serious. “I’m going to say something, and I need you to really hear it. Are you listening?”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked slightly. “I am so, so sorry that I made you feel you couldn’t tell me this. That I was so emotionally distant, so focused on work and success and maintaining appearances, that my own son didn’t feel safe enough to be honest with me.”
“Dad—”
“No, let me finish.” He cleared his throat.
“I know I haven’t been the most... expressive father.
I know I focused too much on your achievements and not enough on you as a person.
And I know—” He paused, his eyes bright.
“I know that’s why you’ve been carrying this alone.
Because I never gave you a reason to think I’d be supportive. ”
“It’s not your fault—”
“It is my fault. At least partially.” He picked up his glass again, his hand shaking slightly.
“Caroline’s been on me about this for months.
About being more present, more open, more.
.. human. She said I was pushing you away with my expectations and my emotional unavailability.
I didn’t understand what she meant until now. ”
I couldn’t process what I was hearing.
“When did you know?” my father asked. “That you were gay?”
“High school. Maybe earlier. I don’t know.” I took a shaky breath. “But I knew by the time I left for college.”
“And you’ve been hiding it for...?”
“Ten, twelve years. Give or take.”
My father closed his eyes. “God, Mason. All those years of carrying this alone. I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t know—”
“I should have.” He opened his eyes, and they were wet. “I should have been the type of father you felt you could tell. I should’ve been better.”
We sat in silence for a moment, both of us drinking our scotch, both of us trying to process what had just happened.
“For what it’s worth,” my father said finally, “Caroline figured it out, and told me what she suspected.”
I laughed despite myself. “Of course she did.”
“She’s perceptive. And she likes you.” He smiled slightly. “She’s been trying to get me to... I don’t know, bond with you more. Be more involved in your life. I thought she was being dramatic, but apparently, she was right.”
“I bet she usually is.”
“Don’t tell her that. Her ego’s big enough already.” He paused. “Is there someone? Someone special?”
And just like that, the knife twisted again.
“There was,” I mumbled. “There is.” I cleared my throat. “Dad, I might have messed it up.”
Dad’s brow creased. “Tell me.”
So I did. Not everything—I didn’t mention names or details that would identify Beau—but I told him about falling for someone at work. About keeping it secret, and the hiding and fear and the constant anxiety. The look on Beau’s face when I’d panicked at the Christmas party.
About Beau saying he couldn’t keep loving someone who wouldn’t let him.
“And I just stood there,” I finished. “I couldn’t tell him I loved him too. Because I was too fucking scared of what it would mean.”
My father was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “You love him.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” I said. “I love him so much it terrifies me.”
“Then tell him that.”
“It’s not that simple—”
“Yes, it is.” My father’s voice was firm. “Mason, I’ve spent my entire life prioritizing work over relationships. I’ve missed anniversaries and birthdays and important moments because I thought success was more important than connection. And you know what I learned?”
I shook my head.
“Success means nothing if you don’t have someone to share it with.
” He set his glass down. “I loved your mother, but I wasn’t a good husband.
I was too busy building my career to be present in my marriage.
And when she got sick...” He trailed off, his expression pained.
“I would give anything to go back and do it differently. To prioritize her over work, and to tell her I loved her more often. To just... be there.”
“Dad—”
“Don’t make my mistakes, Mason. Don’t let fear or pride or career anxiety cost you the person you love. If this man makes you happy, if he makes you want to be better, if he makes you feel like yourself—then fight for him. Be brave enough to fight for him.”
My vision blurred. “What if it’s too late? What if he’s done with me?”
“Then you’ll know you tried. But I don’t think it’s too late.” My father stood and pulled me up, then did something he hadn’t done since I was a child—he hugged me. “You’re my son, and you’re brilliant and brave and capable of anything. Including this.”
I hugged him back, feeling like I was fourteen again, like I was small enough to fit under his arm and believe that everything would be okay because my father said so.
“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling tears sliding down my cheeks.
“No. Thank you. For trusting me with this. For giving me a chance to be better.” He pulled back, his hands on my shoulders. “Now go home. Figure out what you’re going to say to this man. And tomorrow, you tell him the truth. All of it.”
“And if he doesn’t want to hear it?”
“He will.” My father smiled. “Trust me. If he loves you—and it sounds like he does—he’ll want to hear it.”
I nodded, not quite believing it but wanting to.
We finished our drinks, and my father walked me to the door. As I was leaving, he called after me.
“Mason?”
I turned.
“I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you for being honest, and for being brave enough to tell me the truth.” His voice was rough. “I love you, son.”
My throat closed. “I love you too, Dad.”
I drove home in a daze, replaying the conversation over and over. My father knew I was gay, and he was okay with it. More than okay. He was supportive.
Caroline had been right. He’d surprised me.
Back in my apartment, I sat on my couch and pulled out my phone. Beau’s contact info stared back at me.
Call me. Please. I need to talk to you.
I typed it out, then deleted it.
I told my father. About us. About me. He was okay with it. Better than okay.
I typed that too, then deleted it.
I love you. I should have said it on Saturday. I should have said it a hundred times before that. I’m sorry I’m such a coward. I’m sorry I’ve been so scared. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. Please give me a chance to make this right.
My finger hovered over the send button. But he’d asked for space, and I was terrified of this entire conversation.
Instead, I set my phone down and stared at the ceiling, wondering if Beau was in his apartment thinking about me the way I was thinking about him. Wondering if he’d already decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.
Please don’t give up on me, Beau.