What do I really have to lose by telling them? It isn’t as if we speak; we don’t. Ever since Jace died, I’ve been nothing but an afterthought for them, and they hardly even acknowledge me.
Coming out to my parents may be just the thing I need to do to erase this gray haze I’ve been living in. The reality of being out with my parents might be my defining moment . . . my freeing moment.
As much as the thought of having that conversation with my parents terrifies me, I think it’s time that it happens.
I focus in on my sister’s eyes in the photo, and I know she’d have my back no matter what, but I fear that telling my parents could possibly be the end of my family. They are all I have, and I’m pretty sure when I get on the plane to go back to Seattle, I will be going back to the only thing I have left in the world—Candace.
My mind is in overdrive, dreading and fearing what I am about to tell my parents. I think about Mark; honestly, I can’t stop thinking about him. I want to call him. I want to explain why I did what I did.
Standing up, I walk over to the dresser and slip the album back into the drawer. I turn around and stare at her bed while I try and muster up all the strength that I feel is failing me in this moment. Jace would tell me to do this. She wouldn’t want me to hurt, and right now, that’s all I’m feeling. For many reasons.
My stomach is in knots, and I feel sick as I start walking out of the room. Making my way down the stairs, I feel like I am losing control with each step I take. What they say or do is completely out of my hands, and I’m scared. I don’t want to hurt them, but I don’t want to hurt myself more than I already have. I hate feeling the shame and embarrassment. I hate the lies. I hate that these feelings caused me to hurt a really decent guy who didn’t deserve my shit.
When I walk into the living room, my mother is reading a book on the couch next to my father, who is working on his laptop. Taking a deep breath and trying to grab on to any shred of courage I can find, I sit down in one of the chairs that’s across from where my parents are sitting.
Looking up, my mother acknowledges me and says, “Hi, dear.”
“Hey, Mom. Umm, listen . . . I need to talk to you guys about something,” I stammer out, and I can’t believe I am about to tell them this. My hands are shaking and my heart is beating at an insanely rapid rate.
“Is everything okay, son?” my father says as he closes the lid to his laptop.
“Yeah, I mean, no.” I take a second to try and compose my thoughts, but they are all over the place, and I can’t seem to find a coherent one floating around my head. “It’s just . . . something has been bothering me, and I think you should know.”
My mother sets her book down on her lap and focuses on me. “Is everything okay at school?”
“Yeah, it’s not that. School is fine.” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I know the words I need to say, so with my head down, I repeat them over and over in my mind, trying to force my mouth to actually speak them. I’m gay. I’m gay. I’m gay. Lifting my head up, I look to my mother. “I’m gay.” Fuck! I take that back. God, why did I just tell them?
“I’m sorry, what?” my mother says with her brows cinched together in confusion.
God, don’t make me say it again.
“What did you just say?” My father speaks in a tone that’s none too friendly.
Looking between them, I swallow against my dry throat and repeat, “I’m gay.”
“Is this your idea of a sick joke?” my father says with harsh intent, and I know what’s coming. I knew they wouldn’t be happy. I knew I’d most likely lose them. But the reality of it feeds the anger within me, and I can feel it boiling inside.
“No, it’s not a joke.”
“I don’t understand. You’ve always liked girls. In high school, you were always dating,” my mother says.
“I know, Mom, but I have always liked guys more.”
“Enough,” my father snaps. He stands and begins to quickly pace back and forth across the room, rubbing his head and staring at me with fury. Stopping in front of me, he seethes, “No son of mine is a faggot. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’ve heard enough.”
His words sting. “I had to tell you; I’m sick of lying about who I am. I needed you to know so that I can stop hiding.”
“But, you haven’t actually . . . well, I mean . . .” my mother can’t get her thoughts out when my dad butts in.
“God, of course not, Sharon!”
His condescending tone is fueling me to throw it all out there. Standing up, I snap. “What? Kissed a guy? Slept with a guy? Yes.”
“Get out of my house,” my father demands in a low stern voice.
I look to my mother, who is sitting there in shock. With her eyes fixed on me, she shakes her head and says, “Listen to your father.” Tears begin to fall down her cheeks as she stands next to my dad and continues, “I thought losing your sister was bad, but you . . . knowing that you’re going to hell, come in here and shame what’s left of this family . . .”
“You need to get your things and go. Until you can sort yourself out, you’re not welcome in this house. You hear me?”
“I’m your son!”
“No. You’re not. Not anymore,” he asserts sternly.
I don’t say another word. There is nothing for me to say. Why would I want to beg these people to accept me? Why should I have to? I turn around and walk back upstairs to my room to pack my bags and call a cab. Pain rips through my chest, knowing that I’ve just lost the only family I have. It’s another burden I’ll have to carry with this life that chose me. I’ve always blamed the lack of love they have for me on the agony of losing their daughter. But now I know, that regardless of whether Jace was dead or alive, they still wouldn’t accept me for who I really am.
I walk down the hall to her room and open the door. I go into her closet and take her La Jolla High cheerleading shirt she always used to wear. Closing the door, I walk over to her dresser, open the top drawer, and grab the photo album.
Taking both of these items, I walk back to my room and pack them into my bag. I just can’t walk away from here without taking pieces of her with me. I zip my bag and let my fears, my worries, my sadness rip out of me. I sit on the floor, against my bed, and the tears fall. I’m so fuckin’ lost right now. I don’t know what to do or where I belong. I feel like everything is crashing down on top of me, and the pain in my chest is almost unbearable.
With my head in my hands, I cry. Being in this house is agonizing. What once held good memories, now only holds burning ones. Knowing my cab will be here any minute, I take my bags and head downstairs. My parents are still in the living room, and they don’t even look up when I walk through and make my way to the front door. It’s as if I don’t even exist.
I’m thoroughly drained when I finally get off the plane and get to my car. As weak as it sounds, I just want to go back to the only home I know. I just want to crawl into bed with her and tell her all this shit and let it out, knowing that she loves me regardless of anything I could possibly say.
I shove my luggage into the back and slide into the driver’s seat. When I turn my phone on, I see I have a missed text from Candace.
Heading out for a few hours. Come by later. Dying to see you.
Knowing that she thought about me enough to even send this text is all I need. I breathe in a sigh of relief and head straight to her house when I see that the text was sent a couple hours ago. Even if she isn’t home yet, hopefully Kimber will be. I just need my friends right now.