35. As Thick as Your Hand
AS THICK AS YOUR HAND
KEATON
A nother Sunday. Another brunch with Dad.
Except nothing at all is the same. I’ve just had the loneliest two weeks of my life, and I don’t know where I’ll find the energy to make nice with my dad.
This time I’ve changed the venue. I had to get out of the Alpha Delt house. So when classes ended on Friday, I got into my car and drove down to New York for the weekend.
But, shit, even driving down 95 made me think of my outing with Luke. The last weekend I got away from school was so amazing.
This time there’s no sexfest and no drunken kisses. I crash at my father’s tiny midtown condo for the weekend. It’s where he sleeps when he doesn’t want to go back to Long Island after late nights at work.
On Sunday morning I walk all the way from Midtown to the Upper West Side. Our plan is to have Sunday brunch at Good Enough to Eat. The Hayworths know how to party. And this place has slices of bacon as thick as your hand. It’s almost good enough to cure my heartache.
Almost.
Two long weeks have passed since Luke’s arrest, and he’s still not really talking to me. Or sleeping with me. Or even looking me in the eye.
In fact, he’s avoiding the house altogether.
And so am I, if I’m honest. I catch my friends giving me the side-eye sometimes.
It’s not like I think they’re worried about catching gay cooties or anything.
It’s more like they can’t figure out what to say.
Anyone with eyes can see that Luke and I are on the outs.
But I guess they think you can’t use the same back slaps and tequila challenges to sweep away a breakup with a dude.
Although Tanner offered to take me out and get me drunk. And Dan Zimmer quite awkwardly offered his ear if I had any questions for him. “I could teach you the secret handshake,” he’d joked.
But I turned them down. I’m not in the mood for anyone to make me feel better, I guess. So my gloomy face continues to discourage questions. And I’m still getting glances that range from curious to worried.
And sometimes it’s Luke who is sneaking looks at me. On those rare occasions when we’re both around, I see the regret in his eyes. He’s not very good at hiding it.
I know he still wants me. I know he never stopped. But you can’t make someone get over their issues and love you. I know that he’s never had anyone trustworthy in his life, and I really want to be that person. But what if he’s just too broken to let me?
Luke is much like an abused stray. Okay, now I’m comparing the guy I like to a dog.
But animals are my jam, so that’s actually a compliment from me.
Anyway, you see these heart-wrenching videos of abused dogs who thrive with the right kind of attention.
They gain weight, and their coats become glossy.
If you believe YouTube, they’re the most loyal animals in the world.
But if you read enough animal-behavior literature, you know it doesn’t always end that way. Some dogs never get past their terror.
When I reach the corner of Columbus Avenue and West 85th, I’m already depressed. But I plaster on a pleasant face and cross the street to meet my dad.
Today’s the day when I will finally tell him how to steer himself off the exit ramp of my life. So at least I have a plan.
It’s a warm day in early May, so I scan the outdoor tables first. And—shit! My mother is the first person I spot. She’s sitting there next to Dad.
I’m being tag-teamed. Awesome.
“Hey guys,” I say, straightening my spine. Whatever I can say to one parent, I suppose I can say to two.
“Keaton!” My mother pops out of her chair. “Hi, baby!”
I kiss her on the cheek and force myself to smile.
The tables are tight, and my dad is trapped beside her, so he offers his hand to shake. Like real men do.
To be fair, he hasn’t said a word about my little revelation. I honestly don’t know what he thinks about me right now. But it doesn’t change my message.
I take a seat, and the waiter swoops in. He has an Aussie accent and hipster glasses. He’s pretty cute. Stuff like that just pops into my head all the time now, and I don’t try to chase it out like I used to. So at least I have that going for me.
“I’ll have the Lumberjack,” I say before he can even offer me a menu. “And coffee. Thanks.”
My parents order, and then we all just stare at each other for a second.
“How’ve you been?” Dad asks finally.
“All right. The end of the term is always hard.”
“I hope you’re getting enough sleep,” Mom says.
“Plenty, actually.” I clear my throat. Sleep isn’t really an issue now that I’m alone in my bed every night.
“Also…” I decide to get it all out in the open before we eat. “I got this last week.” I pull a piece of paper out of my pocket and unfold it. I hand it to my father and watch as he scans it.
Welcome to the Orca Expedition , it says. Departing from Valparaíso, Chile, on May 19 th .
“I got in, and I want to go,” I say. “It doesn’t cost anything…”
“That was never the issue,” Dad points out.
“Just saying.” I sigh. “You wanted me to get a degree in biology.”
“Or chemistry. Or finance,” Dad adds.
“Finance was never happening,” I tell him. “It’s not the least bit interesting to me. And I’d be terrible at it. I really like biology, though. And I want to study animal behavior in graduate school after I leave Darby.”
His shoulders sag. “But why? A PhD will take five years if you’re fast and seven if you’re slow. That’s pushing back your employment at Hayworth Harper for years.”
“That’s just it, Dad. I don’t want to work for you. I love research. I’m going to be an academic.”
He groans. “Swear to God, can’t you just be gay? Do you have to be an academic, too? It’s like a dagger through the heart.”
My jaw opens as wide as a python’s before a meal.
The silence at the table drags on for several seconds, until Mom finally speaks. “Honey, is it serious with that boy?” she asks.
“No,” I mumble. “But I wish it was.”
Mom blinks.
Dad visibly swallows.
I search for the right words, but luckily the cute waiter returns. He puts a mug of coffee down in front of me. “Thank you,” I say with genuine gratitude. Because I really need something to do with my hands.
“Keat,” my mother says, covering his hand. “Talk to us.”
“What do you want me to say?” I awkwardly wrap my hands around the mug. “That I’m gay? Because…yeah. I think I am.”
Dad pounces on the I think part. “So you’re not sure?”
I take a breath. Then I release it in a fast burst. “No, I am sure,” I admit.
“I guess I was trying to soften it up for you guys. But I’m certain about this.
My relationship with—” I stop, rephrasing.
“Being in a relationship with a guy gave me all the answers I didn’t even know I was searching for. ”
Mom nods slowly. “Annika…?” She lets the question hang, but I’m not entirely sure what she’s asking.
“Annika didn’t know,” I say with a shrug.
“I actually haven’t even told her yet. But if you’re worried that I was, I dunno, using her, or leading her on…
I wasn’t.” My tone is firm, because it’s the total truth.
“I loved her, and our relationship was real to me. But there was always something…missing, I guess. Something that didn’t feel entirely right. ”
This time Dad is the one nodding. “It always felt very platonic to us,” he says grudgingly.
I eye him in surprise. “Seriously? All you did was talk about how much you wanted us to get married.”
He shrugs. “Because she’s a wonderful girl, and she’ll make a wonderful wife to some lucky man. But if we’re all being honest right now, your mother and I did notice that your relationship seemed to lack passion.”
Mom sighs. “We did notice.”
I have to smile. “And you couldn’t have filled me in on that?”
They both break into nervous laughter.
I take a gulp of coffee, then set down the mug again. “I can’t believe how cool you’re being about all this.”
Dad arches a brow. “Did you think we’d disown you?” he says dryly. “Who do I look like, your uncle Chris?”
Mom is quick to come to her brother’s defense. “Christopher didn’t disown Madeline! He just froze her trust fund until she completed her rehab program.”
My cousin Maddie broke her back a few years ago and got hooked on painkillers. Uncle Chris wasn’t thrilled. Fortunately, she’s clean now.
I guess I won’t point out that my father just compared my sexuality to a drug addiction. You have to pick your battles. “So you’re not disowning me,” I tease.
Dad rolls his eyes. “For your sexual orientation, no, Keaton. For your betrayal? I’m still considering it.”
“Keat!” Mom chides, lightly swatting his shoulder.
“What if you came to work for the finance department after this expedition docks?” he suggests hopefully.
Somehow I knew he’d ask this. “I’m back in mid-July,” I admit. “But I don’t want the internship. I just don’t want it. And we both know I don’t deserve it. But I know someone who does.”
“You want me to hire Bailey?” He hands the page back to me. “I am pretty sure they already made him an offer.”
“Really?” This is a detail I hadn’t heard. “He turned it down?”
“I’ll ask Bo.” Dad pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen .
“Is this trip dangerous?” Mom asks. She’s taking a turn with my Chile letter now.
“Not really,” I hedge. “It’s on a research boat in the ocean. But we’re not diving with sharks, Mom. We’d be looking for a new species of whale.”
“A new species?” She makes a skeptical face.
“I know, right? There’s a strange kind of killer whale that people have reported once in a while over fifty years. But it’s never been filmed or tagged. This expedition aims to prove that it exists.”
“How is that more important than curing diabetes?” my father asks.
“I never said it was. But my interests are my interests. And nobody ever told you what to study.”
“The hell they didn’t.” He snorts. “You think your grandfather was an easy man? He used to dig through my school bag for corrected tests and berate me for each missed math problem.”