19. Micah
MICAH
Istood in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting the collar of a button-down shirt I only wore for family functions and church. The shirt itself was perfectly fine. The problem was that every time I put it on, I felt like I was fourteen again.
The version of me my parents preferred had always worn button-downs.
He'd played guitar on Sunday mornings without complaint.
He'd memorized scripture. He'd smiled for church photos and nodded through sermons and accepted every answer he was given.
The older I got, the more I realized that version of me had mostly been trying to survive.
My phone buzzed against the counter.
Robin: How are you doing this morning? Your family nonsense begun yet?
A grin spread across my face before I could stop it.
Micah: Leaving soon. Send Help.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Robin: Send me a text and I’ll come to your rescue.
Micah: My Hero
Robin: You know it.
I laughed quietly to myself.
I still had to pinch myself that Robin was mine. In fact, last night I thought she was going to tell me she loved me for a split second. And much as I want to hear it, and as much as I fucking love her… I have to tell her the truth before we got there.
That thought makes me even more nervous than the thought of family dinner.
I did love Robin. In fact, I wished I could be more like her. She’s so brave and strong. She isn’t afraid of anything. Meanwhile I feel like I am afraid of everything. I needed to do this. I needed to be brave.
Tonight. After our family dinners I would tell her, then if she was still talking to me I would tell her I loved her. I could be as strong and fearless as she was.
Before I slipped my phone into my pocket, still smiling, I got off one more text.
Micah: Six o'clock. Pie.
Robin: Six o'clock. Pie.
I grabbed my keys from the counter and headed for the door before I could spend another twenty minutes thinking about Robin.
Outside, the crisp November air greeted me with enough chill to make me regret not bringing a heavier coat. The drive to my parents' house took twenty-five minutes.
By the time I pulled into the circular driveway, my good mood had mostly evaporated.
The Nottingham house looked exactly the way it always did.
No one did expensive and vapid quite like them.
Especially on holidays I missed my childhood home.
Even though I’d had to share a room with my brother who now felt like a stranger, it had more warmth than this home with at least four fireplaces.
I sat in my car for a moment longer than necessary.
The front windows glowed with warm yellow light. Through one of them I could see my family sitting around waiting for me.
I grabbed my phone and looked at the last text from Robin. I just had to get through this and then I would meet her for pie. I could do anything for a couple hours.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and climbed out of the car. The front door opened before I reached it. My mother stood framed in the entryway.
"Micah."
"Mom."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "We need to have a talk before we head to the restaurant for dinner."
"Sure," I said, stepping inside. "Let's talk."
I should have known it was going to be bad when my mother led me into the sitting room instead of the kitchen.
The Nottingham house had three separate living areas because one living room wasn't enough when you were trying to build a personal brand around being blessed by God.
This room existed primarily for appearances.
Nobody actually relaxed here. The furniture was expensive, the decorations looked professionally curated, and I was reasonably certain my mother would tackle anyone who attempted to eat a cracker on the cream-colored sofa.
The moment I stepped through the doorway, I stopped. My father sat in one armchair. My mother took the one beside him. While my older brother occupied the couch, and my younger brother slouched in another chair looking vaguely uncomfortable.
They were arranged in a semicircle facing an empty seat just waiting for me. I stared at them, before sitting in the empty chair.
"You've got to be kidding me,” I muttered
"We're concerned about you, Micah," my mother said.
Concern was the favorite weapon of every religious manipulator.
I nearly rolled my eyes. Instead, I sat.
The next forty minutes went exactly the way I expected.
My father droned on about responsibility.
My mother guilt tripped me about what it meant to be a member of this family.
While my oldest brother chimed in about taking more of a leadership role.
My younger brother mostly avoided eye contact while the family piled on.
Five years ago, I would have spent the entire conversation trying to explain myself. Three years ago, I would have left feeling guilty. Today I mostly felt tired.
"I haven't changed," I finally said.
"You clearly have changed. You never used to behave in such a manner than had us questioning your loyalty,” my father said.
"No." I shook my head. "I'm just finally being honest."
My mother's expression tightened. "Honest about what?"
"I’m being honest about all of it. I don’t think you guys have any interest in who I am or what I actually believe. I don't believe what the church teaches."
The words landed like a grenade. My father's jaw tightened.
"Micah—" my father began.
"No." I held up a hand. "You wanted honesty. Here it is."
I took a deep breath because it was now or never. I stood up to them today and I came clean to Robin tonight. It was time I showed the same courage Robin lived her life with every day.
"I don't think queer people need fixing.
I don't think women should be treated as lesser.
I don't think fear is a valid ministry strategy.
I don't think shame changes people. I don't think making people hate themselves brings them closer to God. And I don’t think taking money from people who are barely surviving to further the ministry while you live in this house is ethical. "
The realization arrived so suddenly it almost made me dizzy.
My mother looked horrified and my father seethed next to her.
But none of it mattered, because for years I'd been treating their approval like oxygen.
And somewhere along the way I'd discovered that wasn't true.
I'd built a life with people who didn't require me to become someone else before they decided I was worthy of love.
Then I looked directly at my father.
"The people you talk about from the pulpit?" I said. "The people you think are broken? They are some kindest people I know. The bravest people I know. The people who show up for each other when nobody else will."
My voice stayed calm.
"I won't be part of hurting them anymore."
My father stared at me. "So that's it?"
I nodded. "That's it."
"And because of that, you're walking away from your church?"
The wording almost made me laugh. My church. As though it had ever belonged to me.
"I'm walking away from a system that hurts people and calls it love."
My mother finally shook her head. "That isn't who you are, and quite frankly, I’m hurt that you would insinuate that we hurt people–"
My father held up a hand and she immediately stopped talking. “I’ve made things better since Pastor Young left. I have made the church more welcoming.”
I scoffed. “But what have you done to right any of the past wrongs?”
“What is it you want us to do? I am a pastor. There is still right and wrong. There is still scripture that guides us.”
“Well, you do what you feel is just and loving and I will do the same,” I said.
“So that’s it. You’re done?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’m done with the church.”
The silence that followed felt final.
My father only glared at me.
The silence was interrupted surprisingly by my younger brother. “Well, it looks like our reservation is in fifteen minutes, if we don’t want to miss it….”
“Let’s go,” I said, ready to get out of there.
By the time we arrived at the restaurant, I was emotionally exhausted enough that I would have happily traded places with the turkey.
As we crossed the parking lot, my mother slipped her arm through mine. Anyone watching would have assumed we were a close family enjoying a holiday meal together. My mother had always been good at appearances. She could smile through almost anything if there was an audience.
"One favor," she said quietly.
I already knew what was coming. "What?"
"We don't need to continue this discussion tonight."
I glanced at her. She kept her eyes forward. "There are some families from the church meeting us for dinner. I'd appreciate it if we could act like everything is normal for a few hours."
"It's Thanksgiving, Mom. I’m leaving the church, not the family."
Relief flickered across her face. "Thank you."
The restaurant was crowded with families celebrating the holiday, the scent of roasted turkey and fresh bread hanging heavily in the air.
We were led to a large private dining area in the back where several tables had been pushed together.
The Hendersons had already arrived, and I spent the next ten minutes shaking hands, making polite conversation, and answering questions about teaching.
Normally I enjoyed talking about my students. Tonight my responses felt automatic. I smiled when appropriate, and laughed when expected. The entire thing felt oddly detached, as though I were watching myself participate from somewhere outside my body.
Eventually everyone settled into their seats. I found myself across from my younger brother and the three empty chairs remained at the far end of the table.
"Susan and Dave should be here with their daughter any minute," one of the Hendersons said.
My father nodded. "Good. I've been wanting to introduce our families for a while."
I barely registered the comment. I slipped my phone out of my pocket and looked at that last message between me and Robin. I might have to buy a pie on the way there, but if I survived this day, I could survive anything.
I put my phone back into my pocket before scooting my chair and excusing myself. I made my way to the restroom to get a little bit of air. I’d pretended for years to be who they wanted me to be, but I was finding it harder today.
After that conversation all I wanted to do was talk to Robin. I was going to tell her. She deserved to know and I deserved to live the life I genuinely wanted. The first step was already done.
When I came back from the restroom, I found the other seats at the table had been filled. I made my way back to my table and sat down.
“Micah, let me introduce you to the Sherwoods.”
Surely not, there was no way.
As I raised my head to see the family across from me my heart fell to the floor.
There sitting directly across from me was a face I would recognize anywhere.
Robin.
Her mouth fell open and all the blood whooshed to my head.
This was not good.
“This is my middle son, Micah. Micah, this is Dave and Susan and their daughter Robin.”
I nodded and muttered a greeting, still unsure of how to respond in this situation. Robin’s eyes were still glued to me. I needed her to know it was still me. No matter what was going through her mind right now I was still the man she’d spent the past six weeks talking to and spending time with.
I did the only thing I could think of to reassure her.
I winked.