Just What the Truth Is (24 page)

My father looked around the room and then glared at me. “So it’s true.” He sounded angry. “Helga from my office said her husband’s real estate firm is listing your condo. Can you imagine how embarrassed I was when she realized I didn’t even know my own son was moving?”

In the span of just a few days, I had agreed to move in with Micah and made all the necessary arrangements. Somehow, calling my parents to share the good news hadn’t made it onto my to-do list. The realization saddened me, because it highlighted just how far apart we had drifted. But there was nothing more I could do to solve that problem.

Noah and I were still having the occasional dinner with them. The get-togethers were strained and unpleasant, so in an unspoken agreement, we scheduled them further and further apart. Strangely, it wasn’t just Noah’s doing. I actually thought he would drag his ass to their house more often if I asked him to. But I didn’t ask.

The truth was I was getting tired of pretending that the most important part of my life didn’t exist. I hadn’t ever talked to my parents about Micah. They shut down any conversation related to me being gay, so mentioning my boyfriend simply hadn’t been an option. That made it impossible to talk about a baseball game I had seen with Micah, or a good restaurant we had discovered, or most things I did outside of work, because I spent my free time with him.

The fact was a life couldn’t be bifurcated that way and still shared. So I didn’t share, and as a result, my relationship with my parents now felt less like a relationship and more like an obligation. I wasn’t happy about any of that. I wished we could be close again. But there was no way for me to bridge the gap on my own.

“Yes, I’m moving. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, Dad.” I took a deep breath and prepared myself for an unpleasant reaction. “I’m moving in with my boyfriend. His name is—”

My mother covered her mouth with her hand as if this was horrifying information, and my father held his hand in front of him in a “stop right now” motion.

“That’s enough of that kind of talk, Ben. You know how your mother and I feel about your unfortunate lifestyle choice, and yet you insist on throwing it in our faces.”

I sighed and dragged my fingers through my hair. Saying I had a boyfriend constituted throwing it in their faces? “I’m sorry you’re unhappy with the way I’m living my life. But it’s my life, and there’s nothing unfortunate about it. I’m a good man. Micah, that’s my boyfriend, is a good man.”

My mother came over to me and gave me a loose hug. “Of course you’re a good man, Ben. But these things you’re doing with other men aren’t good. Please stop this, honey.”

Got any advice for me here, folks? Because I was plumb out of ideas on how to talk to my parents. No? Okay, well, if at first you don’t succeed….

“By
things
, I assume you’re referring to sex.” Those words made my mother gasp and step back. Sex was most certainly not an appropriate topic of conversation. But frankly, I thought we had left appropriate about three months back, or maybe it was three decades, but who’s counting? “I wish you wouldn’t marginalize my relationship that way. I’m in love with him, Mom. We’re building a life together, a happy life. If you decide you want to be a part of it, please let me know. We’ll have you over. And we’re living just a few blocks away from Noah and Clark, so I’m sure they can join us. But right now, I need to get some more packing done before Micah gets here with dinner. Unless you want to meet him, in which case I can call and have him bring more food.”

Needless to say my parents didn’t want to meet Micah. So they left, and I got back to packing. But I didn’t have quite the same spring in my step.

M
ICAH
called while I was packing pictures. And by packing, I mean I was looking at photos of my family back when my parents liked me, trying not to cry, and failing more frequently than I’m willing to admit.

“Hi, honey. Listen, I think I must have gone too far or something. I’m almost at the Grant Boulevard exit,” he said.

Yeah, I lived in the boonies. Well, it was the mega-chain, box store, cookie-cutter-subdivisions, suburbia version of the boonies.

“Sadly, no, that isn’t too far. In fact, our town motto here in EC North is ‘if you think you’ve gone too far, keep going a little longer and eventually you’ll get here.’ You’ve got three more exits and then you can get off the highway. I’m only about ten minutes from there.”

Micah was in full-on traffic tension mode when he finally got to my condo. “Damn, Ben, I don’t know how you’ve lived out here and made that drive every day for so long. I guess I’ve been out of LA long enough to have forgotten how much I hate being stuck in traffic. On the plus side, though, I learned a lot about people’s political affiliations, personal causes, and the number of pets and children they have. How did we ever find out random and unnecessary trivia about people we don’t know before bumper stickers? Oh, and what’s the deal with the cartoon kid pissing on the different truck brands? Is there some sort of turf war going between Ford and Chevy? And where does that leave Dodge?”

All that came out in one fast rant, and then Micah looked closely at my face and his entire demeanor changed. He set the bag of takeout on the table and walked up to me, circling one arm around my waist and the other around the back of my head, threading his fingers through my hair. “What’s the matter, honey? You don’t look so good.”

I snorted out a humorless laugh. “Thanks a lot.”

The hand on my waist dropped to my ass and stroked me gently, not trying to arouse, just to calm. “Come on. You know what I mean. You’re still my pretty boy, but I can tell you’re down and that you’ve been crying. Talk to me.”

I dropped my forehead onto his shoulder and let him hold me up, physically and otherwise. “My parents stopped by. It feels like they’ll never get past this. They can barely look at me, we can’t talk about anything. We used to be close. I mean, they didn’t really know me, so I guess we weren’t actually close, but in a lot of ways we were…. I’m not making any sense.”

Micah kissed the side of my head. “You’re making perfect sense. And you’re doing everything possible to stay available and open to them when they finally realize you’re still the same son they love and they want to have a good relationship with you again.”

I tilted my head and pressed my face into Micah’s neck, nuzzling his warm skin. “What if they never want that?” I asked.

“They will, honey, they will. It’s just taking them a long time to get there.”

“You promise?” My voice cracked and I sounded like a pathetic kid, but I so needed to know that someday I would be reconnected with my family.

“Aww, honey, I wish I could make you that promise, but I can’t. What can I promise you is that you’re not alone and you never will be. You have your brother and Clark. And you have me. I’m here, Ben, and I want to be your family too.”

I tried to blink back tears, but I’m pretty sure I failed. Again. “You’re already my family. And you’re my future.” I raised my head and kissed him, just a tender meeting of our lips to show him how much he meant to me. “I love you, Micah.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“B
EN
F
ORMAN
. With a name like that, I’m sure your ancestors must be Jewish. How much do you know about them?”

Ooookay, that one came out of left field. It was absolutely not on my list of possible introductory sentences or questions from Micah’s mother. I had been prepared for repulsion along the same lines as my parents (even though Micah had repeatedly assured me that his parents had no issue whatsoever with his sexual orientation). I had been prepared for anger that I had moved into Micah’s house without her ever having met me (even though Micah was certain all anger would be directed squarely at him). I had even been prepared for her to think I wasn’t good enough for her son just because, well, I wasn’t (Micah doesn’t know about that particular fear. It was too pathetic for me to share, so please keep it to yourself). But comments about my religious heritage right off the bat? Uh, yeah, not so much on my overly thought and stressed-about what-will-happen-when-I-meet-Micah’s-family list.

I stood paralyzed in the entryway of his parents’ house with a suitcase in my left hand and my right hand about a quarter of the way up toward a handshake. I hadn’t made it to a full extension before Micah’s mother had thrown her question at me, and after that… like I said, paralyzed.

“Mom, come on! That question has been asked and answered. Three times. I told you on the phone already, Ben’s family is Christian. Let. It. Go.”

She rolled her eyes at Micah and then took a couple of steps toward me before nudging my hand aside and giving me a tight hug. “Are your grandparents still alive, dear?” she asked while giving me a warm embrace that was completely incongruous with her debilitating interrogation.

“Mom! Seriously, stop it.”

She ignored Micah completely. “Or maybe you can ask your parents.”

That seemed to be the last straw for Micah. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around so she was facing him. “So help me, Mother, one more question about Ben’s family and we’re staying in a hotel.”

She managed to sound genuinely surprised and sincere when she said, “Did I say something wrong, Micah? I’m so sorry. I had no idea. It must be because I got so little sleep last night getting everything ready for your visit. I’ve been cooking practically nonstop for two days. I have a brisket ready for dinner, and I even made your Bubbe’s sour cream coffee cake so you’d have something to eat after your flight. Ben might be hungry too. Is it okay if I offer him some cake and coffee, or is that offensive too? I wouldn’t want to upset you, dear.”

“Dad!” Micah shouted. “Dad, we’re here!”

Was he planning to just ignore her question? The interaction was completely foreign to me. In my parents’ house, things had always been cordial and nonconfrontational. Well, not including my recent coming out debacle. Oh, and any conversation involving Noah since about the age of twelve. But other than that….

“Micah!” An older version of Micah walked into the room and smiled broadly at his son, giving him a quick hug. Then he walked over to me and opened his arms. “And you must be Ben. We’ve heard so much about you. We’re so glad you’re here.” He put his arm around my shoulders and guided me into the living room. “Micah tells me you do corporate work, a lot of M and A. I do the same thing on the real estate side. I bet we can share some good war stories.”

I knew Micah’s father was an attorney, but Micah hadn’t ever mentioned his particular practice area. I was about to respond to his greeting when I became distracted by Micah’s mother once again. She was talking to Micah in what I think was supposed to be a whisper but really wasn’t.

“So tell me this, is he circumcised?”

That’s it. I was scarred for life.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Mom? Did you seriously just ask me about my partner’s penis?”

I wasn’t sure which was more shocking, the fact that Micah’s mother had made a reference to my dick or the fact that Micah had just said “fuck” in front of his parents.

His father apparently considered both things to be nonevents, because he just kept right on talking about work. “Just last week, I closed a three-party deal that was really fascinating. We drew up a PSA, a lease-back agreement, and….”

Should I tell Micah’s mother that I was, in fact, cut? I mean, if it mattered that much to her…. Holy crap, I was actually giving serious consideration to describing my dick to a sixty-something-year-old woman. Of course, it wasn’t like I was just volunteering the information out of thin air. I mean, said woman had been asking about my dick. Wait, did that actually matter, or was it a distinction without a difference? And was I seriously having this internal debate? Yeah, sadly, I was.

Tell me the truth, nothing’s gonna be normal ever again, is it?

“
A
LL
right, so if you want, I can create a distraction and you can make a run for the rental car. Give me like two minutes, and if I don’t make it out there, just gun it and save yourself,” Micah said.

We had just walked into the guest room to unpack after spending about thirty comparatively uneventful minutes eating a delicious cake, drinking tea, and chatting with his parents. I draped my arms over Micah’s shoulders and leaned in for a kiss and a nibble on his lips.

“Are you kidding me? There’s no way we’re leaving. When else am I ever going to have the opportunity to see the unflappable Micah Trains completely unravel? Your mother is fiercely skilled. Do you think she’d mind if I videotaped this visit? We can show it to young associates as a CLE in deposing adverse witnesses.”

He chuckled. “Where do you think I picked up my greatest tricks? But lest you think my mother can undo me, just wait and see. The student has outgrown the teacher, and I’ve figured out how to beat my mother at her own game. If she wants to know so much about your dick, I’ll make sure to be extra loud tonight when I sing its praises.” He got an evil glint in his eyes. “Come to think of it, why wait until tonight? I can take care of this right now.”