16. Micah #2
"I don't believe what my family believes. I haven't for a long time." I swallowed and shook my head. "Every year it gets harder to pretend, to sit through sermons and conversations and church events and act like any of it feels right."
The confession settled heavily over the table. Nobody looked surprised. That should have been comforting, instead it was mildly insulting.
"You all knew?"
Jordan snorted. "Micah, you’re in the house of a gay couple.
You married us for crying out loud. So, it’s not some big surprise that you don’t have the same beliefs as the people at your dad’s church.
We know that because we know you… And Robin knows you too.
You need to let her see all of you. Then she will see you just like we all do. "
A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. Then faded, because there was still one more truth waiting underneath everything else. One that scared me considerably more.
I leaned back in my chair and stared up at the ceiling. "I think Robin might actually make me brave enough to do it. I feel like I might be able to finally stand up to my family."
Nobody laughed. The seriousness of their expressions somehow made it worse, because now I had to keep talking.
"I can see it when I'm with her." My voice sounded quieter than before. "A life that doesn't revolve around Ascension. Where I'm not constantly trying to be who everyone else wants me to be. And I don't spend every Sunday feeling guilty for disappointing somebody."
The problem was that the woman I could suddenly imagine building that life with was also the person most likely to walk away once she learned the truth. I looked down at my hands and the dice I'd been absentmindedly rolling between my fingers all evening.
Then I exhaled slowly. "The thing is, I think there's a very real chance when I tell her who my father is she will leave, and it will all have been for nothing."
They were quiet for a long time until Nate finally spoke. "She might."
I looked up. He held my gaze steadily. "But it won’t have been for nothing. You have to do this for yourself, not for her."
The words landed with uncomfortable precision.
Every day I waited made the secret worse. Every day I delayed made Robin's trust more fragile, and I didn’t want to be that person.
By the time I left Nate and Jordan's house, it was well after ten.
The campaign had continued after our conversation, but I'd spent most of the evening distracted.
My character had nearly gotten the party killed twice, Eli had threatened to revoke my dice privileges, and Nate had spent the remainder of the session giving me meaningful looks every time I drifted off into thought.
All in all, a fairly typical Sunday.
Most of Briar Glen had settled in for the night, porch lights glowing warmly against the darkness.
Normally, the drive would have helped clear my head.
Tonight, I spent most of it replaying the conversation with my friends.
Not because they'd told me anything I didn't already know.
All they'd done was forced me to say it out loud.
There was something uncomfortable about hearing your own thoughts spoken out loud.
Ideas that felt manageable inside your head suddenly became real once they were given words.
I couldn't pretend I was waiting for the perfect opportunity to tell Robin about my family.
The truth was simpler than that.
I was scared. Scared she would look at me and see Daniel Nottingham's son before she saw me. Scared that the trust we'd been building over the past month would disappear the moment she realized I'd been keeping something this important from her.
None of those fears changed what needed to happen. If anything, they made it more obvious.
I was so busy thinking about Robin that I almost missed the black Mercedes sitting in my driveway.
Fuck.
The car looked absurd parked in front of my modest little house. It belonged in the parking lot of Ascension Fellowship or outside one of the expensive restaurants my parents preferred these days. Under the glow of my porch light, it felt like something from another life entirely.
I parked beside it and sat there for a moment with both hands still on the steering wheel. Part of me considered backing out and driving somewhere else. I could leave just long enough for my father to get bored and leave. Unfortunately, my father never gave up when he believed he was right.
Sure enough, the front door of the Mercedes opened before I'd even killed the engine. My father stepped out and straightened his coat.
I closed my eyes briefly. Then I climbed out of my car.
"Hey Dad."
The fact that he didn't return the greeting told me everything I needed to know. He wasn't here as my father. He was here as Pastor Nottingham. The distinction had become harder and harder to ignore over the years.
We stood facing each other beneath the porch light. From a distance, it probably looked like a normal conversation between a father and son. Up close, I could already feel the weight of expectation settling over the interaction.
"You missed church."
There it was. Not How are you? Not Is everything okay? Not even I was worried about you.
Just the accusation.
I shoved my hands into my pockets. "I know."
"You missed family dinner too."
"I know."
His jaw tightened slightly. The expression would have intimidated me once.
When I was younger, disappointing my father felt like the worst thing in the world.
I spent years trying to avoid it. I’d spent so many years saying yes when I wanted to say no, convincing myself that if I just worked harder or showed up more often, eventually I would become the son he wanted me to be.
The problem was that the finish line kept moving.
"You let a lot of people down today, son."
I waited for the familiar guilt of his words. Only this time it didn’t come. There was no guilt, just exhaustion of having the same conversation over and over again.
Dad continued before I could respond. "When people are counting on you, you show up. That's part of being an adult. That's part of being a Nottingham."
A Nottingham. The family name carried enough expectations to fill a warehouse. Every Nottingham served, sacrificed, and put the church first. At least that was the story.
“Do you understand what it looks like when the pastor’s own son can’t be bothered to show up? How do you think that makes the family look? I am the shepherd of this church. People need to trust me.” Dad kept talking, droning on about responsibility and family.
I’d heard every word before. For the first time in my life, though, I wasn't absorbing them the way he intended.
“Micah, are you even listening to me? When you behave so irresponsible you let us down. But more importantly. you let God down.”
I had to stifle a laugh at that. I seriously doubted that God cared whether I played guitar in the church band, but I knew better than to say that.
I would much rather have a guilt trip than a power trip.
Making my dad angry always ended poorly.
Because of that, in the past I may have taken his words to heart and berated myself for not being responsible, but responsibility wasn't the issue.
I was responsible. I showed up for my students every day. I showed up for my friends. I showed up for people who needed me.
The problem was that my father only seemed to recognize responsibility when it benefited the church. The realization made something hot and unpleasant twist in my chest.
My father had spent years making me feel guilty.
This was the first time I'd looked at the situation and thought maybe he was the one who should feel bad. Maybe he should be asking why his adult son felt trapped every time his family called.
"You're part of this family, Micah."
Dad's voice pulled me back. I looked at him with his expensive coat and luxury car while the people living in Lantern House were barely getting by. The part of my itching to tell him exactly what I thought was there, just beneath the surface, but I could do nothing but look at him.
"I know," I said quietly.
Dad seemed satisfied by the answer. He thought we had come to an agreement, but the truth was, we were further apart than we'd ever been. Because I didn't want the life he'd built, or the expectations that came with it. And for the first time, I wasn't willing to feel guilty about that.
Eventually he left, climbing back into the Mercedes with the confidence of a man who believed he'd made his point. I watched the taillights disappear down the street before turning toward my front door.
My phone buzzed as I pulled my keys from my pocket.
Robin: I think I killed my last zombie of the day. Goodnight.
And somehow, after the evening I'd had, seeing her name on my screen felt more like home than anything else had all day.