Chapter Fourteen #3
Rage rocketed Nico to his feet, resentment choking him.
“You said it right here, Dad! Right in this room. ‘Queers wanting to get married—next thing we know, they’ll want to play baseball too!’” He struggled to breathe.
“That’s what you said. And Val wasn’t even paying attention—she was so used to you spouting hateful garbage, and she ignored it back then.
Nonna crossed herself the way she does every time something gay comes up.
And I was sitting right there—” He jabbed his finger at the corner where an armchair had once sat.
“I was right there, and I knew I had to hide who I was, because I was a little queer, and you’d hate me more than you already did. ”
Palms sweaty, Nico quivered, refusing to sit back down. He’d opened the wound, and the poison gushed out.
Still on the couch, Dad stared up at him, demanding, “What does that mean? Hate you more?”
“For Mom. For being born, for making her sick. Val says no one blames me, but I knew it was my fault.”
His craggy face turning red, Dad shoved to his feet. “What the hell are you talking about? It was cancer. It wasn’t you. She—” He broke off, eyes on the polished hardwood.
“You can’t even say her name. You never say it. She was all around us in this house, but we acted like she’d never been here at all. Like we weren’t missing anything.”
“Of course we missed her,” Dad gritted out, jabbing his finger toward Nico. “Don’t you dare stand there and tell me I don’t miss her.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. It just… We never talked about it. About anything! She was just gone and we weren’t allowed to say her name.”
“That’s bullshit!” Dad’s chest heaved. “When did I ever say you weren’t allowed?”
“But you and Nonna never even mentioned her!” He wanted to punch the coffee table. Wanted to rip the damn TV off the wall and throw it through the bay windows.
“Because we missed her!” Dad’s nostrils flared. “Because it hurt too fucking much!”
“Why didn’t you say that? I blamed myself, and maybe it made no sense, but I was a little kid. Someone should have told me how it was. How she died.”
“I was supposed to read your goddamned mind?” He swallowed thickly, speaking more quietly than Nico had maybe ever heard. “I can’t read your mind, Nic.”
The anger ebbed, Nico trembling in its wake. “I know.”
“Your mother… Angela died of cancer, and it didn’t have a damn thing to do with you. You hear me?”
He nodded, hugging himself, fighting the urge to curl up into a ball and weep.
“Good,” Dad said. “Good.” The bluster returned in a flash, veins bulging in his neck. “Now about this other nonsense—”
“It’s true.” Nico cleared his throat, willing strength and surety into his voice. “Whether you want to believe it or not, I’m gay.”
The gasp came from behind him, and he turned to find Nonna in the wide entry that led down the hall to the kitchen, clutching a bouquet of fresh peonies, still wearing her gardening apron over her plain dress. She crossed herself, and Nico wasn’t sure whether to cry or scream.
Backing up toward the TV so he could talk to them both, blood rushed in his ears. It was happening. He was saying it all out loud. Being with Jake, being touched by him and fucked by him like he’d dreamed for so long had apparently opened the floodgates, and there was no stopping it now.
“I’m gay. I’ve always been gay, and I always will be.
I want men. A man. A man to be with, to love, maybe even marry one day.
And I know you think it’s a sin and it’s wrong, but it’s who I am.
It’s not a phase. I’m not confused. I tried to deny it, to hide it.
” He pounded his chest, tears burning. “I tried to bury it so deep, because I knew you’d never accept me, but I can’t do it. ”
“It’s not true.” Dad grimaced. “It’s not true,” he repeated, more forcefully this time. “It can’t be. You’re a baseball player for fuck’s sake. You can’t be…” He wiggled his hand, his wrist limp.
“I am. I’m gay.” Nico looked between them, Dad’s shoulders rising and falling, Nonna an absolute statue, the poor peonies wilting in her iron grip.
“I can’t hide it anymore.” Lungs constricting suddenly, he gasped.
“I can’t. Jesus, I can’t. It’s only my rookie year.
I can’t pretend for another decade or more. That’s a lifetime.”
Little white spots crowded his sight, his vision tunneling. “I can’t do it. I can’t!” His head light, a wave of dizziness swayed him, his bare feet trying to grip the polished wood. “I tried so hard to be perfect—to be what you wanted.”
Then Nonna was there with her gnarled hand on his arm, the peonies scattered. “Breathe,” she ordered.
He did, and the swirling faded, leaving nausea behind. He should probably stop talking, but the words stumbled off his tongue, undeniable. “I want to be honest. I want to be free. I need to be. I want to be with Jake, and…” As he realized what he’d said, bile rose in his throat. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
“Jake?” Dad’s face paled. “Fitz?”
“Yes.” Nico was proud of how he didn’t tremble, even though he’d never intended to out Jake.
“Fitz is a…”
“A fag? Yeah, Dad.” He glanced at Nonna, still digging her fingers into his left arm. “He is. We… We’re together.”
Mumbling something in Italian that sounded like a curse or a prayer or maybe both, Nonna pressed her lips together, still grabbing him. “I don’t understand, Nicolito. How?”
“I know it must be confusing. I’m sorry.” He looked to his father, who simply stared with his mouth open.
Before Nico could say anything more, the drone of an engine approached, a car coming up the long drive. Nonna sprang into action, bending to collect the fallen flowers like she was half her age. She muttered, “The sauce,” and disappeared toward the kitchen.
Nico prayed it would be Val, but a carload of cousins appeared on the front walk through the bay windows. Running his hand down the front of his shirt, then over his hair, Dad drained the rest of his beer and headed to the door.
With a second to spare, Nico dashed up the wide stairway, escaping to his childhood room as he heard his father’s booming welcome.