Chapter 14 Luke #2
“Luke, your mom says you’re still not attending church,” he says after we’ve barely opened the menus. “You know, the new pastor is really trying to make it more inclusive.”
“Inclusive,” I repeat. “Like rainbow flags and drag queen story time, or just ‘we’ll pray the gay away’ vibes?”
He doesn’t laugh. He never does.
Mom steps in, ever the peacekeeper. “We just want you to feel welcome, sweetheart. We miss seeing you in a community where people care about your soul.”
Daniel makes a noise next to me. I elbow him before he can start.
“We love you, Luke,” Mom says, placing her hand on mine. “We just want what’s best for you.”
Which in their minds is: me, straight. Or at least celibate. Married to a nice girl who bakes casseroles and gives them grandkids they can parade around the church potluck.
I pull my hand back gently and smile, pretending I’m not screaming inside. “Thanks, Mom. That means a lot.”
Daniel squeezes my knee under the table.
Then Dad turns to him. “So, Daniel. What do your parents think of your… lifestyle?”
Daniel grins. “They threw me a coming out party, actually. There was cake. And a slideshow of how they knew before me.”
Silence falls over the table. My dad blinks. Daniel takes a bite of his roll like he just won bingo night. My mom clears her throat and waves the waitress over.
Once our food comes, I can feel my parents ramping up the intervention that happens every time we do family dinner.
My mom cuts into her grilled chicken like it personally offended her, but she keeps smiling. That’s the thing about her—she could deliver a fatal blow with a butter knife and still call it a blessing.
“You know,” she says, turning to Daniel like this is girl talk and not a staged intervention, “Luke used to be so involved with the youth group. He even led the summer retreat once. Those kids just adored him.”
Daniel nods politely. “I can imagine.”
I resist the urge to stab my fork through my hand.
“He’s got such a big heart,” she continues, voice dripping with sweetness. “We always thought he might even go into ministry. Didn’t we, Don?”
My dad doesn’t look up from his meatloaf. “Until he lost his way.”
Daniel’s jaw tightens. “Pretty sure he knows exactly where he’s going.”
“I mean spiritually,” Dad clarifies, like we’re too dumb to pick up on the passive-aggressive sermon they are trying to deliver. “There’s still time to come back. You’ve always been a good kid, Luke. The devil is clever. He uses temptation, confusion, even… unnatural urges.”
I blink. “Unnatural?”
Mom puts a hand on his arm like Let me handle this, dear, but she doesn’t exactly redirect.
“Honey,” she says to me, “we know the world is confusing right now. So many messages being pushed onto young people in the media. But God doesn’t make mistakes. He has a plan for you.”
“Right, and the way he made me,” I say, voice flat, “includes wanting a boyfriend who helps me pick glitter out for my cheek bones. And holds me at night.”
Mom’s smile falters. “You don’t have to be so defensive, sweetheart. We’re not judging. We’re just worried about your soul.”
Daniel chokes on his water.
“Honestly,” Dad adds, “we’d rather you be alone than live in sin. That would show strength. Obedience, even.”
My stomach churns. I can feel every eye in the table boring into me, including Daniel’s, whose hand is still resting casually on my thigh as if he’s holding me together with his fingertips.
“You know what I’d really like?” I say, setting my fork down. “I’d like a dinner where we don’t pretend love comes with strings. Where I don’t have to earn your approval with celibacy or lies. Where being gay isn’t something you tolerate like traffic or gluten.”
Mom blinks rapidly. “We don’t tolerate you, Luke. We love you.”
“Then maybe try acting like it.”
The table goes quiet.
Daniel leans in and whispers, “Babe, we can leave. We’ve made an appearance.”
But I sit there, still, quiet, staring down at the half-eaten plate of lukewarm food that tastes like shame and overcooked forgiveness. Because I’m used to this. I’m always the one who has to be palatable. Forgiving. Safe. Even when I want to scream.
The rest of dinner passes in a series of tight smiles and saccharine comments.
“Luke always did like dressing up.”
“You two sure are close.”
“Maybe, someday, you’ll both find what you’re really looking for.”
By the time dessert hits the table, I feel like I’ve been dipped in honey and fed to wolves.
Daniel sets his fork down slowly, his polite smile still in place—but his eyes have shifted. Sharper now. Calculating.
“Actually,” he says, tone still friendly, “I think Luke’s already found it.”
My mom’s smile tightens. “Oh?”
Daniel leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “Yeah. Confidence. Self-worth. Found family. The ability to survive an onslaught of micro-aggressions without flipping this table. You know, the important things.”
Dad shifts uncomfortably. “We’re just trying to help him. Guide him.”
“With condescension and judgment disguised as love?” Daniel arches a brow. “If that’s your idea of guidance, no wonder he stopped coming around.”
I blink, stunned for a second. Daniel doesn’t usually play the righteous defender—he’s more of a ‘laugh it off and move on’ kind of guy—but he’s standing his ground like it’s personal.
My mom clutches her napkin. “We only want what’s best for him.”
“Then maybe start by asking him what that looks like,” Daniel replies. “Instead of assuming your version of salvation is the only one that counts.”
Daniel glances at me, the edge in his voice softening.
“Luke’s one of the most loyal, brilliant people I know.
He walks into every room like he owns it, but he still makes space for everyone else.
He feels everything a little too much but pretends he doesn’t.
And somehow, after everything, he’s still kind.
He still has love in his heart for his friends. ”
My throat closes.
He shrugs, leaning back. “But sure. Keep worrying about his clothes, make-up, and who he loves.”
Silence.
Thick and heavy and choking.
My parents blink like they’ve just been slapped. My mom’s fork pauses halfway to her mouth. My dad clears his throat as if he’s going to say something, but no words come out.
Daniel doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look away. “You know,” he says lightly, “my parents believe in God too. Only their God loves all of His creations… including the gay ones.”
Another beat of silence.
Then he smiles, slow and unapologetic. “You should try it sometime.”
Daniel pushes back from the table and stands. The legs of his chair scrape against the floor, loud in the heavy silence. He offers his hand to me without a word.
His palm is steady.
“C’mon,” he says, voice calm but final. “Let’s get my boyfriend out of here before I commit a very real crime.”
I stare at him for a second. Then I slide my hand into his and let him pull me up.
We don’t say goodbye. We don’t look back.
We just walk out.