Page 27 of Heart Strain

“You’re too smart for your own good, Holden.” Sighing, I lean back in the chair, clasping my hands behind my neck as I tilt my head toward the ceiling. Choosing my words carefully, I ask, “Did your brother say anything else to you about his partner in the last several years? Before or after he asked you about me navigating being gay?”

“No, not really that I’m aware of. That was the only time he mentioned your private life. Most of his conversations revolved around work, the especially bizarre encounters you guys had. It was more things like that.”

“Yeah, I figured. There was kind of a big case five years ago. Well after when you were gone. The local news stations and papers were all over it. The defendant was charged and later found guilty of drug distribution. It was… horrible.”

“Who was it?”

“My father.” Holden gasps in the chair next to me. “Right? My parents had divorced as soon as I graduated from high school. I guess my mom didn’t want to have to be worrying about raising her kids on her own. My brother was already roommating with Cappi, so he was gone, and he rarely came around the house, anyway. My family was your stereotypical Italian family. We all got together every Sunday for a big meal, always consisting of some form of pasta.” I snort. “I do know lots of families get together for meals once a week, by the way. But in our family it was more a directive. It wasn’t so much about catching up with each other and enjoying a lovely meal as much as it was a weekly opportunity to have the family’s expectations shoved down your throat. It was… stressful.” Holden lays his hand gently on my thigh, a comforting weight. “Anyway, I was probably in middle school when my father stopped going. I don’t blame him; he wasn’t really ever made to feel welcome.”

“We don’t have to keep talking about this if you don’t want,” Holden interjects.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to talk about the actual arrest or what followed, but I can talk about this part. Unless you don—”

“Oh no, I want to hear it. I just didn’t want you to feel obligated to continue if it’s too hard.”

Dropping my head back down and placing one hand over Holden’s, I turn in my seat so we’re facing each other. I’m not even sure when he’d angled his body toward mine, I’d been so lost in my own head. “Anyway, I don’t know how it was for my dad in the beginning, like when my parents first got married. I can’t imagine my grandparents were ever thrilled with the match considering my dad isn’t Italian and that’s a big deal in my family. Everyone except my dad’s Italian. But when you’re little you don’t really notice those things. My brother and I spent a lot of time playing with our cousins; I remember sitting on my dad’s lap a lot, but I did that at home, too, so I don’t know if he was lonely even then and happy for my company, or if that all came later. But definitely by the time he quit going it was uncomfortable for him there. My aunts and uncles were rude to him, if they acknowledged him at all. My mom treated him like her personal servant, and not only during Sunday dinner. His life wasn’t… it wasn’t good, really.”

“I’m sorry,” Holden whispers when I pause.

As I tighten my hand over the top of his, his fingers squeeze my leg reassuringly. I’ve been spending so much time fighting my attraction for Holden and how painfully hard I am by the time I go home most nights, that it sends a pleasant buzz through me when my only reaction is feeling comforted. Except for Hendrix, this is the only sympathy and warmth I’ve experienced since my dad’s arrest. “I was glad, though, when he stopped going. I missed him being there because I loved my dad. We were always close and I hated watching him sit in a room by himself if I was playing with the other kids. He was so lonely when we were there. It was… hard. Ugh, I especially hated when we all sat down at the tables to eat. My uncle would humiliate him if we had company. Tell him to go sit at the kids’ table. The first time it happened I was horrified, but Dad told me when we got home that he was thrilled. He got to sit by me and he didn’t have to listen to my uncle’s friend who’d come for dinner. He was a real windbag.”

Holden snickers with me for a moment. “Sounds like you have some beautiful memories of your dad.”

“Yeah, I do. Once he decided he didn’t want to go, my mom argued and told him he wasn’t going to disrespect her or her family by not showing up, so that’s when he took on this other job. It was his excuse to not have to go. By the time we were in high school, he only had to go around Mom’s family maybe a couple times a year.”

“How was it for you without your dad there?”

“Back then it was fine. I wasn’t as close to my cousins as my brother was, but I was the youngest by a couple years; therefore, automatically considered the pest. It didn’t get bad for me until I came out. What made it worse was at first my uncle demanded I be there. They all took turns trying to convert me,” I say, hoping Holden won’t hear the sadness in my voice.

“What’s that mean?” he asks sharply.

“How about we save that story for another day?” Weariness settles in my bones; the past is painful. “Long story short, when I came home from college it was after my father’s sentencing, so it was already bad since I didn’t exactly… agree. I resembled my father too much in a lot of ways, I think, and… well, my mom had already taken back her maiden name, Caputo, when the divorce was official. At that point though, Jovany changed his name to my mother’s. When I didn’t follow suit after my aunt offered to pay for it, then I declared I was gay and wouldn’t allow them to sway me, my mother told me she was done with me humiliating her. No man named Fox was welcome at a Caputo gathering.”

“Jesus, Jameson. I’m sorry. So obviously your brother…”

“Oh yeah, Jovany.” I sigh, the pain in my chest as fresh as if it happened yesterday. “Once I came out, he was done with me. Cousin Lou and him got even closer. My brother had already broken off all contact with my dad the minute he was arrested. He didn’t even wait for his trial. But his relationship with my dad had disintegrated when he was in high school, anyway. My dad didn’t like how he treated people like they were less than him. You remember how my brother was in high school; cocky and arrogant, rude to kids who didn’t stack up to his high standards. Dad ranted about it and Mom condoned it. She said he’d make good connections for life that way and keep out the riff-raff. It was a major point of contention in their marriage by the end. He said she’d ruined Jovany, and she said he’d made me into a sissy.”

“You’re a cop. A very muscly, ripped cop. I can assure her you’re all man,” Holden blurts.

This isn’t the first time Holden word vomits something he instantly regrets. The horror on his face when he wishes he could suck whatever sweet things he’s said back into his head, where I’m sure he meant to keep them, is adorable. Winking at him, I begin lightening the mood. “Don’t feel self-conscious. You do call me Foxy, after all.”

Taking my cue, he teases back, “Whatever. Try not to let it go to your head.”

We settle back into our usual, peaceful silence. The only thing my family’s unwelcome visit did was grant us a slight reprieve from staring at Drix’s motionless body. Usually, it’s me hearing all of the Weston boys’ stories as Holden reminds Drix why he has to come back to him, so even if the subject sucks for me, it was nice opening up to him like this. And if neither of us moves our hands until we leave for lunch, we don’t mention it.

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