Page 120 of Maybe We Can Fake It

What. The. Fuck.

“Um. No?”

“You lived with your boyfriend in Boston, didn’t you?”

Okay, I don’t know which way is up anymore. HeknewChristian was my boyfriend? I never told him, and I assumed he was clueless about it. I assumed thatheassumed I was straight.

With a long sigh, he gets out of his chair, sets his beer on the coffee table, and comes over to sit beside me, looking serious now. “I think I ruined your big coming out moment, huh? But I swear, I didn’t know that’s what this was. I only thought you were trying to tell me that you finally got your head out of your ass and realized you were tired of being alone.”

“That’s... Yeah, that’s part of what I was saying, I guess. But how did you know I was gay?”

Slapping me roughly on the back, he says, “I’m your fucking dad, aren’t I? Jeez.” Like it’s that fucking simple.

I just sit here stunned.

He knew this whole time?

And he’s acting like it’s not a big deal to him.

I didn’t entirely expect him to react awfully, but the fear was still there. So for him to have no problem with me being gay, but to also not even be surprised by it... I wasn’t at all prepared for this.

Now I’m mentally recalibrating everything I thought I knew about my dad and my relationship with him.

“I don’t understand,” I finally say. Because I really fucking don’t. “You’ve always hounded me about when I’m gonna settle down and get married.”

“Yeah. So?” He gives me a few more quick pats on the back before he gets up and goes back to his chair. “Forgive me if I didn’t want you to spend most of your life alone like me. You’re a good guy. You’d do anything for people you care about, and you’d make a great husband. I think you deserve to have someone who’d do anything for you too. I never said it had to be a woman.”

Well, fucking hell. I guess he didn’t. I just assumed that was what he pictured for me when he mentioned marriage. Have I been underestimating this man my whole damn life?

As I stare at him, I try to come to grips with this reality. One where my dad is completely accepting, just wants me to be happy, and doesn’t care if I marry a guy. I want to believe it, but something is still nagging at me, making me doubt it.

And while I never intended to bring this up with him, I think I have to. Averting my gaze, I scratch at some gunk on my jeans, probably a bit of food I dropped on myself at the diner. “But uh, when I was younger, you used to say things. Pretty shitty things.”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

I still can’t look at him when I explain. “I used to watch sports with you. I only stopped because when you got mad, you’d yell slurs at the TV. Homophobic slurs. So I assumed you didn’t like queer people. Or at least, you wouldn’t want your son to be one.”

The silence that follows my words feels as loud as a million people screaming in my ears. The couch becomes fascinating to me as I stare at it. It’s old as hell, the cushions marred with stains and rips from my childhood. Why hasn’t he ever gotten a new one?

My stomach ties itself in knots while I wait for him to say something. But he doesn’t. Finally, I risk looking up at him.

His eyes are pained and—Is he tearing up?

He rakes his fingers through the graying hair at his temples before dropping his head into his hands. And all I can do is watch as his body shakes and I hear him choke back a sob. When he looks up again, he swipes harshly at his wet eyes, then holds my stare.

“Fuck, Travis, I’m so goddamn sorry. If that’s how you thought of me... that’s what you assumed I thought ofyou, my own kid...”

He shakes his head. “I had no idea. I don’t even remember that. But it kills me that my words affected you that way. I don’t wanna make excuses for myself. I just need you to know that whatever stupid shit I said was just that. Stupid shit. Guys like me talked that way all the time back then. And that doesn’t make it okay, but I’d like to think I’ve changed with the times, and I swear I’d never use any slurs like that now.”

“I mean, yeah, I haven’t heard you say anything like that in a very long time,” I tell him. “Maybe I should’ve brought it up so much sooner and not held on to it for all these years.”

“No, don’t blame yourself,” he says, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m just sorry I ever made you question how I felt about you. You’re my fucking son, and I love you. I don’t give a crap if you’re straight, gay, bi, or any other letters of the goddamn rainbow. People should be able to love whoever they love without being judged for it. I’ve never felt any differently, but I regret that my actions didn’t make that clear.”

His eyes are watering again, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen my dad cry. He hasn’t seen me cry since I was a little kid either. Hell, I don’t even know the last time I cried. But alarmingly, I’m starting to do it now.

Because my dad just told me he loved me.

While it’s not the first time, itisthe first time I’ve heard him say it after knowing that he fully understands who I am. Maybe if either of us were any better at communicating, it wouldn’t have taken us this much time to get here.

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