Page 84 of Catching Kyle
I turn my full body to him. “The bookstore that brought us together?”
He nods. “Maybe. I still need to interview, but it’s looking strong.”
The first thing I do is wrap my arms around him and give him a big bear hug. He wraps his arm around mine, and I kiss him on the cheek as I pull away.
“That’s awesome,” I say. “I know how worried you were.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he says, looking down at his food. Again, not at me. There’s something here he’s not telling me.
“Is there something else going on?” I ask. And then I just decide to say it. “Because you’re doing that thing where you act all distant.”
He looks at me, hurt. “Am I really?”
“Yep.”
He sighs. “I try to keep my emotions to myself, but they just spill all over my sleeve. I’m sorry about that.”
I put my hand on his thigh and squeeze it. “No unnecessary apologies,” I say. “Tell me what’s going on, babe. I want to hear it.”
He sucks on his lip, then gives me a determined look, one that tells me he’ll be completely honest.
“I read that article where you came out,” he says.
“You did?” I say, exhausted just thinking about it. “I’m hoping that Robyn doesn’t reach out to me again. I don’t want to have to answer more questions.”
He’s chewing on his lips again, like he doesn’t know what to say.
“What?” I ask. “Was there something in there you didn’t like?”
He shakes his head. “Your dad—I didn’t know he was so…”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “He wasn’t the greatest.”
I freeze for a second. I don’t think I’ve said anything negative about him so matter-of-factly before. I thought I’d feel guilty, but I don’t. I feel okay.
“I just—” he pauses and fidgets with his fingers. I rub his leg, waiting for him to get his thoughts in order.
“Growing up—” he sighs. “Sorry, this is hard. Growing up, I wasn’t close with my parents. I was sort of neglected. Mom and Dad would just come home and do their own thing, leaving me to my own devices, quite literally. So much of my childhood was spent playing my GameCube, by myself, for hours and hours. It got so lonely.”
I go from rubbing his leg to gently massaging it. His finger traces the hair along my arm.
“I sorta learned that… well,” he blows a raspberry. “As I grew up and got to know kids in other families, I learned how mine was… different. How my dad drank more than usual. How my mom would cover it up, never let me bring it up to anyone. Not even her. I started spending more and more time at friends’ houses because I felt better being away from home. And that was good for a while. But once I got to high school, I started to wonder why things were the way that they were—why my dad always drank, why my mom never let me talk about it. But being the isolated, neglected little kid I was, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I blamed myself.”
I look up, expecting tears, but his face is stoic. Not rock-like stoic, but poised. Like he’s got a handle of himself. Which impresses me. Because if I were telling this story, I’d be blubbering. Like I always do when I talk about my daddy.
He chews on his lips, then continues. “And I believed that for… years. When I finally came out, I kept letting myself fall for straight men who could never be available. And even when I got over that, I would fall for other gay men who were not ready for a relationship, David being the latest example.”
My heart still lurches when I hear his name, but I keep it cool for Michael. I know he’s going somewhere with this. His talk always makes sense; he never fails to have a point.
I lean back and start running my hand up and down his back. He’s hunched over, talking to me yet looking at the table. But I know he’s being as open as he can. I’ve told Neeti about Michael, and she thinks he’s a solid guy. I do too.
“It wasn’t until I went into Al-Anon recovery and looked at my past that I realized the pattern. I learned I was worthless because of the abandonment I received as a child, so I continued to seek out people who would abandon me as partners.”
There’s a tightening in my chest. It’s not anxiety—I don’t feel anxious talking to Michael. But something else. Something like guilt.
“Do you think I’m going to abandon you?” I ask.
He turns fully to me, a shine in his eyes. “That article—you were so deep in there. With this random reporter. But then you also had to lie about you and Amani. And that’s when I asked myself—was he lying? I couldn’t know. Because all of this is new information to me. You never told me anything about your dad, your upbringing. It hurt for me to discover this from a news article. I wish I heard it from you.”
