Page 83 of The Prodigal Son

“Shit, sorry.” Sage laughs, but I just shake my head.

“Don’t be sorry. She’s adorable.” Grinning, I hand the cup back to the baby. “What’s her name?”

“Faith,” Adam replies, looking like a proud dad.

Just then, Faith latches her tiny hand around my pinkie finger and brings it to her mouth. I laugh as she bites on it like some harmless little predator.

“She’s teething,” Sage says as she hands Faith a soft toy. “Careful, you could lose a finger.” When she releases my hand, I wipe it on my napkin with a laugh.

Isaac is missing this. He should be here, sitting next to me. He’d adore every minute of this, playing with Faith, eating with his family. I told him once that I’d help him come home to his family and the one time we tried, I bailed on him. It wasn’t fair, even if I was blindsided.

But I won’t fail him again. If he’s ready to come home, I will be here to help him.

“Do you want kids someday, Jensen?” Sage asks as she rests her chin on her open hand. She’s a cute little thing. Pink hair, tattoos, and piercings. She looks nothing like the womanI normally see attached to men like Adam, and I like her even more for that.

“I…never thought about it,” I mumble in response. It might sound odd, but it’s the truth. I’ve spent the whole of my adulthood trying to live two different lives, avoiding relationships and running from my sexuality. I never once gave a second thought to starting a family. I was just trying to survive.

But now…I have someone I could imagine raising a child with. I could see Isaac as a father. I could see us five or ten years down the road with a life like this, eating breakfast together, cleaning up after a messy and chaotic toddler, building something greater than ourselves.

But that nagging voice in my head shreds the vision to pieces before I have a moment to grasp it. Those hardwired mantras placed there over twenty years ago still have the ability to destroy any semblance of peace in my life.

Because I’m a sinner. I’m broken and unworthy. And wishing for anything more is futile.

Faith smiles up at me bashfully before banging her tiny cup against the table.

“Choosing not to have kids is totally valid,” Sage says with a sympathetic expression. Then, she leans over and strokes the baby’s soft black hair. “But as someone who honestly never saw it in the cards for myself, I have to say that it is kind of amazing. Having her sort of puts everything into perspective, you know? Like…all the things we used to worry about don’t matter as much as we thought they did.”

Adam kisses the side of Sage’s head. He looks so content and at peace. I envy him for that. He and Sage might be opposites and look like an odd couple, but they’ll never know the struggle that people like me and Isaac have.

Their daughter won’t be subjected to cruel stares and harsh words. She won’t see posters and signs from protesters andwonder if her parents are going to hell or are hated by God. They don’t have to worry about the government stripping away their right to be a family.

Obviously, Sage and Adam have no clue about my sexuality or about me at all. But I’m willing to bet Sage doesn’t realize that the things she has to worry about and the things I have to worry about are very different.

I don’t respond as I sit back in my seat, lost in thought.

“I have to tell you something,” I say in the car on my way home from breakfast with Adam.

“I’m listening,” Isaac replies sleepily. His voice plays in the speaker of my car through the Bluetooth connection. I can’t see him, but I imagine him lying in his plush hotel bed with his messy bedhead and those puffy circles he has under his eyes when he first wakes up.

“I had breakfast with your brother,” I say bluntly. I don’t want any more secrets between me and Isaac, and I’m aware that I’m not always the most forthcoming with information. I like to hold things close to my chest. Call it an old habit with a side of self-preservation.

“I have three. You’ll have to be more specific,” Isaac mumbles.

“Adam.”

I hear the ruffling of the sheets, and I imagine Isaac has just bolted upright in response.

“Why? You didn’t talk about me…”

“No, of course not. He has no idea about us,” I reply.

“And Lucas isn’t going to tell him,” he says. “So, let me guess…this meeting was church-related, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Does he hate you?” he asks with humor in his voice.

“You mean he doesn’t hate everyone?” I ask, matching his tone.

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