Page 118 of Maybe We Can Fake It

“But you’re not the best at communicating,” she fills in for me. “And Dad can be a ball of anxiety. I think he doubts his own worth sometimes.” Her face softens as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You make him happy though. He’s always smiling, even if he’s not always happy. But when he’s around you, his smiles are different. It’s like he lights up inside whenever you look at him.”

A little ball of hope begins forming in my chest. That’s what happens to me whenever Brenden looks at me. And I want to be that for him too. I want to be the one who makes him the happiest, who gets to see his most genuine smiles.

But I still think he could do better than me.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re gonna do.” May slaps both hands on the counter and fixes me with a very intense stare. “Remember that fake story I told my grandparents about how you and my dad got together?”

How could I forget? She said she basically tricked me into asking him out by telling me she was going to find someone else to do it.

“Well, consider this another version of that, only for real this time,” she says. “I know you love him. I’m pretty sure you’ve loved him for years, even if you didn’t realize it.”

“I—”

She holds up a small hand to silence me. Which is more intimidating than it has any right to be, but probably also for the best, since I have no idea what I was going to say. “It’s time for you to pull your head out of your ass. Excuse my language.”

That almost makes me laugh, because she’s been swearing since she walked in here.

“If you can be brave enough to really be what he needs, then I’ll help you get him back.”

“What?” I ask dumbly.

The look she gives me has me thinking I should keep any sharp objects out of her reach. “But if you’re not ready, if you can’t do it... then I promise I’m going to make sure he gets over you. I’ll find him someone else who will love him like he deserves.”

Just like that, the tiny ball of hope she gave me evaporates. The thought of Brenden with someone else makes me sick. I might not think I’m good enough for him, but apparently, I’m selfish enough not to want him with anyone else.

“I... I don’t know,” I tell her, though I’m not even sure what I mean by that. Because Idoknow what I want.

I want Brenden. I want me and him, together, every day. I want to love him, and take care of him, and listen to him babble about drag queen competitions on TV, and fuck him so well that he whimpers and trembles for me.

But I don’t know if I should go for it. Don’t know if he’ll forgive me. I don’t know how to make the right choice.

“Hurry up and decide,” May says. “I won’t wait much longer.”

With that, she spins around and walks out, leaving me standing here dumbfounded. Andshit. I might not know what the correct choice is, but she’s right. I need to dosomething.

Istartwithmydad. Because regardless of what I decide about Brenden, my dad should know the truth about me. It’s way past time.

I think he knows I’ve been avoiding him, because when I show up on his front step and knock on his door, he looks surprised as he opens it. It might be strange that I knock on the door of my childhood home instead of using my key to let myself in, but we don’t have that kind of relationship. And I’m not sure who’s fault that is anymore. Probably mine.

“Hey,” I say. “Are you busy?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, just double-checking the books from when I was gone. Marty isn’t the most organized, but it looks like he did a good job.”

“Can I come in?”

When he steps aside for me, I walk past him and into the living room. It’s cleaner than it usually is, probably because he wasn’t living here for the last month. But there is a thick ledger spreadopen on the coffee table with a bottle of beer and bag of chips beside it.

I take a seat on the couch, and he plops down in his recliner. The silence stretches between us while I figure out how to start. Maybe I should have figured that out before I came, but honestly, once I got up the nerve to do this, I just needed to get over here before I lost it.

“I need to tell you something,” I say uneasily, scratching my jaw.

“Uh huh,” he says, already sounding unhappy. “And I’m guessing this has something to do with whatever shit was going on with you and Brenden and his family the other day, right?”

That catches me off guard, even if it shouldn’t, and anything else I might have said next flies out of my head.

Grabbing his beer off the table, he takes a long pull from the bottle, eyeing me critically the entire time. My skin feels clammy, like I’m coming down with something. Except I know that’s not what it is. It’s just me being a chicken, cowering under my dad’s stare.

This man raised me. Practically on his own. I know he loves me, just like I love him. Even if neither of us says it too often. There’s no good reason I should be so afraid of telling him I’m gay. I may have my reasons, yeah, but they’re not good enough. Not anymore.

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