66. Graham
66
GRAHAM
“ W here are your men?”
“Hello to you, too, Dad,” I say as I enter the formal dining room where a lunch spread ample enough to feed half a dozen men has been laid out. I assumed it would just be the two of us, but I should know better than to assume when it comes to him. “They don’t usually join me for meals.”
“I heard from Derrick. He said they haven’t seen you since yesterday afternoon.”
“I told you I was meeting a friend.”
“But you wouldn’t say who.”
As I sit, he pours me a glass of ice water from a carafe. With as much sex as I’ve had in the last twelve hours it looks as good as a million dollars. My stomach rumbles, and my salivary glands kick into gear. I try not to seem too eager as I sip the water. I wasn’t nervous on my way over, and I chalked it up to endorphins, but even sitting at the table with my father asking where I’ve been all night, I’m still calm and feeling confident about this conversation.
“I think you can probably guess who.”
His thin lips press into a grim line. He breaks eye contact with me, looking down at the untouched sandwich on his plate. “I was afraid you’d say that. I knew I should have kept eyes on him. How’d he get to you?”
“He was at the party in the Hamptons. I’m surprised you didn’t see him there.”
“What the hell was he doing there?”
“Working,” I say. Knowing my dad, he’ll probably assume he was part of the catering staff.
“Interesting. Do you have a stalker?”
I laugh. I can’t help it. If anyone’s stalking anyone, it’s been me stalking him for more than a year. “No,” I assure him.
“I appreciate that you find this amusing but thank you for at least being discreet. I had no idea until yesterday.”
It’s a little sad, admittedly, that I told my dad I was seeing a friend, and his mind automatically went to Silas. I guess that proves what a social butterfly I am. Still, so far, so good.
“He’s moving to Florida this month.”
A huge sigh of relief escapes my dad. “Thank God.” He emphasizes this by looking heavenward and making the sign of the cross.
“I’d like to keep seeing him.”
He shakes his head. “No, Graham. That’s ridiculous. It’s too risky. We’re not dealing with that again. I won’t.”
“I’m not asking you to go through anything. I’m not asking for permission either. If he’ll have me, I intend to be there whenever I can manage it.”
“Lord, give me strength,” he mutters before leveling his pale green gaze at me. “Son, I accept that you’re homosexual. I’m not thrilled about it, but I realize you don’t get a choice in the matter.”
“I appreciate that.” It’s actually validating to hear that from him.
“ However , you do have a choice about whether to act on those…urges. ”
“Yes, Dad. I do know the church’s prescription for being gay is to stay celibate forever or find a woman to accept my deviance and birth my children regardless. I’ve been dealing with this a long time, and if you’ll recall, I tried that.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re as concerned about your eternal soul as you are about your earthly desires.” He says this with a hint of sarcasm that surprises me.
“Yeah, I guess I’m not. Can you blame me?”
“No,” he says quietly, contemplating his food again. “Does he know what you’ve done?”
“I take no credit for that, but yes. He knows everything.”
“I’m surprised he still wants anything to do with you.”
I let that go without comment. “Do you know of Miles Mayer?”
“From California? Yes, he’s on your committee now.”
“He’s openly queer.”
Dad winces. “I hate that word. Do we have to use that word?”
“Fine. I guess my point is, we assumed I’d be run out of the state on a rail when that video came out, and I wasn’t. The video was much more salacious than my simply being involved with a man.”
“You don’t get it,” he says, frustrated, a fist clenching on the tablecloth. “Whenever anyone in the public eye comes out, it’s all anyone thinks about when they see them on TV. For men? It makes them look weak. It’ll make you look weak.”
“It doesn’t have to be an issue,” I insist, but he goes on.
“They won’t hear a word you say. They’ll just be wondering if you throw or catch.”
I assume he means top or bottom. “If that’s the case, then I’d suggest they do some self-examination.”
“How can you be so glib about this? You’ll be the focus of so much hate .” He’s got genuine anxiety in his eyes. “Think about this, Graham. This party— these times . The death threats.”
I’ve had plenty of those. It’s why all my emails are screened before they get to me. Death threats are forwarded to the authorities, and several assholes have been arrested. There have been no actual attempts on my life.
He unclenches his fist and covers my hand with his, giving it a squeeze. “I’ve lost too much in my life. I can’t lose you, too.”
“You’re not,” I tell him, with all the sincerity in the world.
“I wish I could make you understand this, Graham.” His lips and chin tremble. “I can’t have a gay son.”
I look at him with genuine confusion. “Explain what you mean by that.”
He speaks in a choked whisper. “If this comes out, I can’t protect you.”
“I’m not asking you to?—”
“Graham. I can’t have anything to do with you. I’ll lose—I could lose more than we can afford to lose. Do you understand?”
“No,” I say because I refuse to.
“You’re acting like you have no idea who I am. This family stands for something. I can’t risk everyone for the sake of your…your… needs .”
I slide my hand out from beneath his, and I can feel his reluctance to let go, the tightness of his grip. “It’s kind of ironic—all the things I did, everything I gave up to be loyal, to be the best first born son I could be—that you’d turn your back on me over something I can’t control.”
“You can control it,” he says urgently. “Like you said—you’ve done it before?—”
“And that’s what you want for me?” I ask. “To be alone? To be your golden boy in public and miserable in private?”
“No—I— I don’t know how to fix this ,” he nearly shouts, startling me.
I’m not sure what I expected when I came here today. I prepared my mind to remain agile, allay his concerns, map out a strategy if he wanted to. But he seems so defeated. It reminds me vaguely of the way I felt sitting across from Gibson Hayes and seeing the video for the first time. Like there was no way out that wouldn’t hurt me more than I could bear.
I take a deep breath and try to keep calm. “What I’m hearing you say is I won’t be welcome at Thanksgiving.”
“It’s not—Graham—Your mother…”
He doesn’t need to finish. My mother is far more devout than any one of us. She disowned Theresa for having sex out of wedlock and getting pregnant as a teenager. She and my father turned her out on the street. To say Mom and I have never been close would be an extreme understatement. There’s a reason I’m the one who goes out with Dad to parties and benefits. She finds it unseemly and only attends events that are very, very Catholic. Her life is the church and charity work. She’s involved in pro-life causes and has made her volunteer work a full-time job. The closest she and I ever got was after the miscarriage, and that was more for Avery than me.
The video was appalling to her, and it was far too easy to convince her it wasn’t me.
This would be different. She won’t be able to deny it if I don’t enable her.
She wasn’t always this bad. Theresa was the catalyst, but it wasn’t until all of us boys were grown that she really focused her efforts on one Catholic cause or another.
“What are you planning to do?” my father asks after a long silence.
“I’m not planning a press release or anything, I just want to be with him whenever I can be.”
“How do you do that without making some kind of a statement? You’re a fucking senator.”
“There’s no need to remind me. It weighs heavily, I promise.”
“I—I don’t know what else to say.”
I lean back in my chair. We glance at each other briefly before he looks away.
The weight of the moment settles on me with a crushing suddenness. I swallow hard as I consider his reaction and wonder what he’s thinking now. Is he angry? Disgusted? Sad?
I feel lost. “What does that mean, Dad?”
He blinks several times and turns his head so I can no longer see his face. He clears his throat.
The way I know something is very wrong is that he hasn’t asked me once about the legislation that’s been the topic of all our conversations since the senate gaveled into session last winter.
“Is this really that bad?” I ask, and then I say—as if it would make any difference at all, “I’m in love.”
He lifts his hand and bushes the side of it over his face. “Go, Graham.”
“Dad…”
Abruptly, he stands, never facing me, and leaves the dining room. Moments later, I hear his footsteps on the staircase.
Deeply shaken, I rise from the table, both our sandwiches untouched. I breathe sharply and take a look around the room. It was a place I did homework, celebrated holidays with my family, announced my acceptance at Harvard and my run for the senate. I was where I shared my engagement with Avery—where we toasted and dreamt of the baby that wouldn’t end up making it home.
The sense of loss is acute. Heavy, like sand filling me.
It’s one thing for them to turn their backs on me now, but what if I’d fallen in love when I was fifteen or sixteen? Would they have turned me out on the street then, too? Theresa was eighteen when they kicked her out, but I think, in my parent’s eyes, my crime against God is worse.
Was this why I kept my thoughts a secret even from myself until I was old enough to be free of at least some of the more life-threatening consequences? Had I always known it would turn out like this? My entire life has been structured around avoiding a rejection exactly like this. A resounding one .
Massive in its silence.
I take one last look at the stairs, wondering if he’ll reconsider and come back. But he won’t, will he?
It’s time for me to leave.
Derrick and Luke are waiting for me outside with a car to take me to Penn Station. Neither of them speak to me. I sit alone with my duffel bag in the backseat of the black SUV as Derrick navigates the light traffic. I come very, very close to asking him to take me to Silas’s apartment. According to my app, he’s still there.
I stop myself, though. I’m too confused, and frankly distraught, to have a coherent conversation about what just happened. I need time to think. It’s all having a numbing effect on me. My fingers and legs are tingling. Even my mouth is numb.
Once I’m settled on the train, I hear from Holden via a text.
Holden
Dad’s a mess.
I don’t know what that means, either.
Me
What’s he so worried about?
Holden
He’s worried about you, dumbass.
Me
Is he cutting me off?
Holden
You didn’t give him much choice
Bullshit.
Me
He barely spoke to me.
Holden
What did you expect? You think he’s gonna invite your boyfriend we trashed in the media to mass? Grow up, Graham.
The text is like a strong slap in the face, waking me up from my daze. But he isn’t done yet.
You should have warned me you were planning to do this. If you give a shit about this family, you’ll give me a week before you start showing your boyfriend off in public so I can do some damage control.
I respond after only a few seconds of staring at his thoughtless words.
me
Why would I give a shit about a family that doesn’t give a shit about me?
Holden
All right cool off. But you know this looks bad, right?
I shake my head at my phone, not in disbelief, but disappointment. They really all expected me to live the rest of my life like a fucking priest.
Shaking my head, I click out of the conversation and open up my thread with Silas, grounding myself with our playful, often flirty, back and forth. What was it he mentioned last night?
I remember and send him a text.
Me
Looking forward to a vigorous exchange tonight re: gerrymandering. I have a feeling I still have a lot to learn.