Chapter 13
Nobody told Patrick how hard it was gonna be to tell his folks.
Nobody prepped him on how to tell his mama that she wasn’t gonna get any grandbabies or how to confront his old man about the fact he was in love with another man.
Patrick knew he’d have to tell them at some point, knew that day was always right around the corner.
He’d dreaded it for the past four years, but he couldn’t hide any more.
Couldn’t come up with any more clever lies about why he wasn’t datin’ anyone or keep pretendin’ like he was just unlucky in that department.
If he wanted to live his life with Nash—and he did, more than anything—he was gonna have to tell ‘em.
Patrick’s folks lived closer to town than the ranch, givin’ him plenty of time to get his head on straight.
He thought about the years he spent travelin’ back and forth between the ranch and home, all the time he spent ridin’ shotgun with his old man—the stories told, the laughs shared.
Life was a whole lot simpler back then. Patrick tried to pinpoint when things got more difficult, when the laughter died down and distance grew between them.
Sure, things weren’t awful, but he could feel that their relationship wasn’t the same as it used to be.
He wasn’t the same as he used to be either, so he supposed it made sense that things changed.
Patrick pulled into his folk’s driveway then took a steadying breath.
There wasn’t anything to be scared of. He was grown—he didn’t need their approval or blessin’, but even so, he prayed for the best. Patrick left the safety of the truck, swallowin’ down his fleeing heart—it stuck in his throat all the way to the door.
He knocked then took off his hat as he waited, whiteknucklin’ the brim.
The door swung open, revealin’ his mama, silver hair piled high on top of her head and glasses sittin’ on the tip of her nose.
“Well what a surprise,” his mama said, puttin’ a hand on her hip. “I wasn’t expectin’ to see you 'til spring.”
“I, um”—he wrung the brim of his hat and looked down at his squared toe boots—“I needed to talk to you and Pa ‘bout somethin’.”
“Is everything okay? Are you okay? Did somethin’ happen?”
“I’m fine, Mama, slow down. Let’s, uh, let’s go inside and sit for a minute.”
His mama led the way into the living room where Patrick’s father sat. At the sight of Patrick, his old man muted the tv and sat up straight. “Everything alright?”
“Relax, Beau, everything’s fine,” his mama said, wavin’ her hand dismissively as she sat down. “Go ahead, honey, what did you wanna tell us?”
“I, uh, I wanted to tell y’all that I’ve been seein’ someone these past few years in private and—”
“That li’l blond that comes in the winter,” his old man said. Patrick’s stomach dropped to the floor. “I knew somethin’ was goin’ on there. I ain’t never seen you so fuckin’ mopy durin’ the summer 'til he started comin’ ‘round.”
“You knew?”
“Course I knew. Anybody with two workin’ eyes and a brain could fuckin’ tell.”
Patrick opened his mouth to respond, but before he could word it, his father held up his hand.
“I ain’t finished”—the toothpick in his mouth bobbed as he spoke—“let me finish before you start heehawin’.”
“Beau, you be nice now,” Patrick’s mama warned, voice low and tight.
“All I was gonna say is that I don’t care what y’all get up to out there—it ain’t nonna my business. Long as the work’s gettin’ done and the business keeps rollin’ as normal, it don’t matter who you shack up with.”
Patrick’s mama elbowed his father in the arm, cuttin’ her eyes at him. “What he means is as long as you’re happy, we’re happy, right, Beau?”
Patrick’s old man rolled his eyes but agreed. Patrick dropped down in the empty rocking chair next to the couch. “So you’re tellin’ me y’all both knew and didn’t bother talkin’ to me about it?”
“Hell Pat, it ain’t that big of a deal,” his father huffed. “It ain’t what we expected, but like your mama said, if you’re happy, it don’t matter what we think. Or anybody for that matter.”
“Am I gonna be able to meet this mystery man of yours?” his mama asked, eyebrows raisin’ almost to her hairline as she looked at Patrick.
Patrick had run through at least twenty different outcomes on his way there, but not a single one accounted for the conversion to turn out quite like this. He sat back in the recliner and gave his mama a slight smile. “‘Fraid I ain’t got no choice but to bring ‘im ‘round now.”
“Good, it’s ‘bout damn time.”