by Chase Connor
“You look…nice, son.” My dad smiled.
I shrugged. “I guess it’ll do.”
“Logan’s not here yet.” He said softly. “Just thought I’d come see you first.”
I turned slowly to look at him. I was expecting a lecture about safe sex, date etiquette, or some other embarrassing topic. Instead, my dad crossed the expanse between us, and placed a hand on either of my shoulders.
“I know I try too hard sometimes.” He smiled down at me. “I try too hard. Probably because it’s just me. Probably because I feel like I have to give enough love and attention for a father and a mother.”
I looked down, ashamed.
“I try too hard to be someone you look up to and want to be proud to call your father. I try too hard to be cool.” He continued. “I’m sorry if I upset you earlier.”
“I’m really sorry, dad.” I shook my head. “You try just the right amount. You can try more if you wanted. I’m just…I’m a fucking asshole.”
“No.” He placed a hand against my face, cupping my cheek in the palm of his hand, moving my face up to look at him. “I couldn’t have wished for a better son. Even when you are a fucking asshole.”
I laughed.
“But can I give you some advice?”
I nodded warily.
“Sometimes we worry about having what we want so bad, we settle for the next best thing.” He looked me in the eyes. “As humans, sometimes we have to choose between what we really want and what’s easiest—safest. You’ve never been the safe and easy type. Don’t lose yourself. Okay, son?”
I watched him for a moment, then finally gave a nod.
“Good.” He patted my cheek, then putting both hands on my shoulders, turned me back to look in the mirror. “Let’s talk about proper first date attire.”
I laughed loudly, knowing that I looked a hot mess.
“Whether a man is gay or straight,” my dad spoke over my shoulder, looking at me in the mirror, “clothes do make him. You don’t want to show up to your first date in a t-shirt and kicks, son.”
I laughed harder.
When I finally settled down, my dad picked out a button-down for me, which I still paired with the dark blue jeans. Dad helped me put on a tie that complimented the shirt and pants. Finally, we found some shoes that were still casual and comfortable, but a few steps about sneakers. Once we were done, I had to admit that my father had good advice when it came to dressing for a date.
“There’s my handsome son.” My dad looked at me in the mirror again. “Feel a little better?”
“A lot.” I nodded.
“When did you tell me you were gay?”
I frowned. “Fourteen. Why?”
“Mm.” He nodded before moving over to my dresser to prop himself up. I turned to face him. “I knew for certain you were gay when you were probably nine or ten. I suspected it since you were seven.”
“Wish you had told me.” I laughed. “Would’ve made my coming out much less stressful for me.”
“Well, kids are kids.” He waved me off. “Sometimes you read too much into things, as parents. So, I focused on just making you feel as safe and accepted in the meantime and waited.”
I smiled.
“When you told me—confirmed that you were gay, my heart sank.” He shook his head.
I frowned this time.
“The world is so cruel.” He shook his head. “I would’ve loved you just as much if you had come out as a Republican. Probably.”
I was smiling again.
“But I knew the difficulties you’d face.” He gave a weary sigh. “I knew that people wouldn’t want you to just be you. They wouldn’t see you for who you are, how amazing you are. They wouldn’t allow themselves to just love you for the amazing man you are—like I do.”
I blushed and looked down.
“The world was going to make you jump through hoops that straight white men like me don’t have to jump through.” Dad continued. “You had an uphill battle, son. I knew that. But as you grew and got older—I had no doubt that the world wasn’t going to give you any Hell you couldn’t march through.”
I looked back up at him and smiled.
“But don’t help the world out, okay?” He squinted at me. “Stop making things harder on yourself—‘cause there are all kinds of assholes lining up to do it for you.”
I watched him.
“Do you hear me, son?” He asked. “Do you really hear me?”
Pausing for only a few moments, I finally answered.
“Yessir.” I nodded.
“Good.” He pulled away from the dresser with a smile. “I love you more than life, Cooper. You know that, right?”
“I love you, too, dad.” I grinned widely. “A lot more than I admit sometimes.”
My dad smiled and headed for the door.
“But tell me to ‘shut the hell up’ one more time and I’ll drop your ass.” He stated cheerfully as he left.
I laughed and turned back to the mirror. My dad apparently had a little of the “gay gene”.
I looked good.
Logan showed up right at six o’clock, which pleased my dad. If Logan had been late, surely there would have been another talk about date etiquette.
“You look…good.” Logan beamed as I walked down the stairs towards him. “Like really good…really, really…”
“Save any further effusive descriptors for later, Marshall.” My dad cocked an eyebrow at him.
Logan swallowed hard as I chuckled. My dad looked like a typical geeky teacher from a prep school, but he wouldn’t stand by and listen to some guy talk about my physique like I was a piece of meat. Not to say that I wasn’t enjoying it.
“You boys going to that Thai place down on Maple?” My dad asked once I reached the bottom of the stairs. “It’s supposed to be the happening place.”
I rolled my eyes at my dad.
“Um, we’re going to Montpelier for dinner and the movie.” Logan gave one of his clenched, goofy grins that only showed his bottom teeth.
My dad cocked an eyebrow.
“We’re still undercover gays, dad.” I explained.
“Oh.” He nodded as he opened the door for us. “Right. Well, be careful.”
“It’s only a forty-minute drive down the highway.” I laughed as Logan and I went to leave.
“I meant with the butt sex, son.” My dad smiled at me. Logan almost tripped over the threshold, corrected himself, smiled awkwardly and walked hurriedly towards the car.
I frowned at my father. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”
“Now we’re even for the ‘shut the hell up’ comment.” My father shrugged.
“Good night, father.” I was amused but still managed a snarl.
“Have fun storming the castle!” My father hollered after me as I practically ran and jumped into the passenger seat of Logan’s Prius.
“Just drive.” I put my head in my hands after buckling up.
Logan chuckled nervously as he obeyed my command. “I was planning on it.”
Once our initial nerves, the nerves caused by the recognition that this was a first date, lessened, the conversation was good as Logan drove. We turned on the radio and Logan’s playlist began. Songs like Sunday Morning and Pale Blue Eyes by The Velvet Underground & Nico played. Suicide Blonde by The Weepies followed. Then Warren Zevon and First Aid Kit. As we pulled up to the Thai restaurant that Logan had chosen in advance, some placed called “Orchid House”, Tangled Up In Blue” by Bob Dylan was ending.
Dinner was good. The Tom Yum Gung Nam Kohn was good. The Plah Kah Pung Neung Manow was good. The Pad Thai was good. The Kao Niew Ma Muang was good. The Cha Yen was good. The conversation was good. Logan touching my hand a lot and smiling at me and winking at me and rubbing his foot against mine was great. Not worrying about anyone seeing us was great. Having Logan pay the bill was great. I’m not rich, after all. I couldn’t help but notice that he used a credit card…which blew my mind. The day my dad gav
e me a credit card was the day he lost his mind.
After dinner, we walked to The Savoy Theater, actually holding hands, though cautiously, as we made our way. We watched some old movie that they were playing as a retrospective, though by “watched”, I mean we mostly played footsy and held hands and stole fleeting glances. It was gross, but sweet. When the movie was over, I couldn’t help but feel like the teenager that I actually was. All of my worry and anxiety was gone. When we left The Savoy Theater again, we held hands, walking back to Logan’s car, two idiot teens infatuated with each other.
As we got to the corner we’d turn at to get back to Orchid House, Logan turned to me. And right there, under the flashing neon lights of a liquor store—more romantic than it sounds—he kissed me for the second time. This time, Logan leaned in, looked me in the eyes tenderly before closing them, and slowly pressed his lips against mine. I closed my eyes and leaned in, kissing him back. Logan’s hands moved, cupping my face to his as he kissed me more passionately with each passing moment. When we finally pulled away, Logan’s eyes were still closed at first, but finally they opened and our eyes met.
“Wow.” Logan stated breathlessly. “Just. Wow.”
I laughed, this time managing to not blush.
“Was it…’wow’ for you, too?” Logan smiled, biting at his lower lip.
“Absolutely.” I nodded.
Logan beamed, grabbed my hand again, pulling me around the corner towards Orchid House. My anxiety and guilt returned with full force. This is what I had traded my integrity in for—I had betrayed my friend and had been awful to my father. I was worse than pond scum. And now I was a liar. The kiss hadn’t been “wow”. It had just been a kiss.
I awoke Saturday morning, in my own bed, of course, and rolled over onto my side to see the sun streaming through my bedroom window. It was the way heavy morning sun beamed down, lazily and thickly, not having to do more than shine, for it was the sun. Logan had dropped me off right before midnight the night before. We had kissed a lot more in the car before I went inside—and I had had to fake a lot of my passion for it. I mean, kissing a hot guy was nice, but fireworks were definitely not going off in my head when Logan kissed me. The first time, when he had kissed me in the doorway of the house, it had felt special. It had been the first kiss I’d been given. After that—they were just kisses. They weren’t…wow.
Rolling over lazily, Jumper meowed at my accidentally nudging of him as he attempted to sleep at my side. I gave him a quick pet and a few rubs and scratches before I rose fully from bed. I slipped some pajama bottoms on over my boxers, slid into a t-shirt, and left my room. I wasn’t exactly skipping down the stairs, but I walked down with a little more zeal than was normal for me. Even if the kisses hadn’t been extraordinary—I had still made out with a cute guy.
Coffee was brewed and being kept warm on the coffee maker hotplate, so I grabbed a mug and poured myself a cup. A splash of milk and a few packets of sweeteners, and I was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from my mug and wondering where my dad was. Maybe he had made the coffee and went in to shower. Of course, it was Saturday, neither of us showered before ten in the morning unless we had something to do.
Just when I thought I’d go into his room to check on him, he bounded through the kitchen doorway, two boxes cradled in his arms.
“Holy, shit, son!” He jumped when he saw me sitting there quietly. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Do I look that bad?” I laughed.
“Just didn’t think you’d be up by now.” He gave me a wriggle of his eyebrows as he walked over to the table.
“Gross.” I turned my nose up. “I was home by midnight, whackjob. You weren’t even waiting up for me.”
“Was I supposed to?” He frowned at me.
“Well…” I thought about it. “I don’t know, actually.”
“I figured you’d want some privacy when Marshall dropped you off.” Dad shrugged, setting the boxes down. “Was that the wrong ‘dad thing’ to do?”
“I think you were supposed to wait up to make sure I made it back by curfew.” I shrugged, too.
“You have a curfew?”
I made a guttural “I don’t know” sound with my throat.
“Well, I’m forty-two years old, son.” He snorted. “I was out by ten o’clock. I don’t have the energy for shit like waiting up until midnight.”
“Fair enough.” I nodded. “Jumper and I went right to bed anyway.”
Dad looked down at me skeptically.
“Seriously.” I stated defensively.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that you’re telling the truth.” He replied. “Just figured you’d take the opportunity to get laid is all. God, Cooper, you really are a nerd.”
I held my head back to look up at the ceiling in exasperation.
“Regardless,” he changed subjects, “I went and got donuts and bagels. I wasn’t sure which one you’d want after your first date. And I wasn’t sure if you would need the calories or not.”
“Stawwwwp.” I groaned as I pointed at the donut box.
Dad flipped the box open for me and I snagged a chocolate glazed donut from the best donut shop in town. As I took a bite, dad headed over to the coffee maker. As he walked by, he stopped, bent down and planted a kiss on top of my head.
“I’m proud of you.” He stated quietly before finishing the journey to the coffee maker.
“For being home at a reasonable hour or showing restraint?” I teased.
Dad poured his plain cup of coffee and sat down across from me.
“For staying true to you, son.” He winked.
I blushed and went back to eating my donut. It didn’t taste as good as the first bite. Dad picked up the paper and started reading. This was our Saturday ritual. It didn’t always involve donuts and bagels, but there was always food, coffee, and dad reading the paper. Yeah. We still got an honest to goodness hardcopy of the local newspaper. My dad is one of those guys.
When I finished my donut, I went to the counter and grabbed a banana off of the pile of fruit in the designated bowl and sat back down at the table. Dad looked over the top of his paper to see what I was eating and gave a pleased grin. This was why he wasn’t a truly overbearing father. I was pretty reliable in the “good decisions” department. Well, for the most part.
“Dad.” I sighed as I peeled the banana.
“Yes?” He spoke from behind the paper.
“What was your first…real…kiss from mom like?” I couldn’t believe I was asking this of my own father.
“Well,” He folded the paper once and set it down before reaching into the donut box to grab an old-fashioned, “my first kiss wasn’t your mother.”
I just peeled my banana and listened.
“It was Sarah Davidson.” He sighed. “My God, she was something to look at. Dark, velvety skin, the shiniest curly black hair, button nose, deep chocolate brown eyes, the sweetest smile you’d ever see.”
I cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t mean to tarnish your mom’s memory, Cooper.” He held a hand up defensively with a smile. “But Sarah was regal and beautiful…and so warm and kind. She was a special girl. Well, I’m sure she’s a special woman now.”
“So?” I urged him on before taking a bite of my banana.
“Well, Sarah gave me my first kiss.” He sighed nostalgically. “I was…twelve, I think? Yeah. Twelve-years-old. I thought I was hot shit. And I was so excited for the kiss.”
I spun a hand in the air.
“It was nice.” He gave a single nod.
“But no fireworks?”
“I really adored that girl.” He sighed. “But, no, no fireworks. It was just a kiss. Sure, it was special, because it was my first kiss. But that’s all.”
I swallowed the bite and looked at him for a moment.
“What was it like with mom?” I asked, then took another bite.
“My, gosh.” He smiled so wide I thought his face would split. “Every kiss before your m
other paled in comparison. I already knew—first time that I laid eyes on your mother—that I loved her. She’d be the woman I’d marry. And if she refused, I’d wither away and die. She was my everything from the moment that I knew her name. Even her name felt religious as I spoke it.”
“Mom’s name was Margaret.” I snorted. “How religious can that sound coming out of a mouth?”
Dad ignored me. “My days began and ended with your mother. She was the first thing that I thought of when I woke up and the last thing that I thought of when I went to sleep. She still is. That’s probably why I haven’t dated much since she passed. No woman has compared since. Sure, there are a lot of great women out there—astounding women—but none of them are her.”
Dad’s eyes got a little watery as he remembered my mother. I had to force them to obey, but I got my eyes to keep from getting watery as well.
“When your mother kissed me the first time—it was fireworks. All I could think was ‘wow’, son. Her kiss was like her love. Deep, passionate, kind, soft, infinitely understanding…it was like the fairytales.” He sighed, finally levelling his eyes on me. “It wasn’t just ‘something fun to do’.”
My dad always seemed to know what was troubling me, what I was thinking. It was unsettling at times. I swallowed the last of the banana, deciding to change the subject quickly.
“What do you think when I was born?”
“Eh.” He shrugged.
We both laughed loudly.
“Being your father is like kissing your mother, Cooper.” He smiled once we finally settled down. “I knew you were my son—the biggest love of my life—for the rest of my life. Your name became my religion. And I would die before I let something happen to you. Now…kissing your mother, being her husband, those were things I was incredibly proud of and loved. But being your father has always felt like an honor—a bestowment from some…thing…I’ll never understand.”