“Well, Logan’s hardly your typical boy, is he?”
“Nope,” Jason said looking past the kitchen counter and into the family room. “Both he and Maya are pretty damn special.”
“Jason,” I said, my tone more serious. “You know what I’m talking about. When are you going to listen to me about him?”
“Baby, let’s not start on that today. This is a day to celebrate.”
Trying to reintroduce the dismissed subject, I joked. “We could make this his coming-out party.”
Jason sighed, annoyed that I wouldn’t let this go. “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s too soon to tell on that sort of thing.”
“I can tell,” I said.
“He’s thirteen. Lots of boys his age are —”
“Gay, Jason,” I interrupted. “Gay, gay, gay. Get used to it already. The kid is gay and the sooner you accept it, the better off we’ll all be.”
“Has he ever told you he’s gay?”
“Don’t you remember the hat he made for Opening Day at the races?” I said, recalling his creation — the wide rim decorated as a horse track complete with plastic model thoroughbreds and jockeys. The center of the hat was made from silk red roses and blue first-place ribbons. It was the height of gaudy chic. He won the award for best hat, and a tight-faced socialite paid him a hundred dollars for it.
“He’s a businessman,” Jason dismissed. “Look, baby, you’re an artist. Of course our kids are going to be creative. There are plenty of straight —”
“Straight male hat makers?”
“I was going to say straight artists,” Jason corrected me.
He pulled me in to lean against him. “He’s not a hat maker. He made one hat, one time.”
“Trust me, Jason, there will be more hats in our future,” I said, laughing.
“Don’t be so quick to slap a label on the kid,” Jason said. “A boy doesn’t need his own mother calling him gay.”
“It’s not an insult, you know.”
“I know that,” Jason snapped. “Come on, today’s a day to celebrate. We got a new life here. A fresh start.”
I imagined Jason starring in a Windex commercial where fathers could wipe away the gay from their sons.
“Since when do you have a problem with gay people?” I asked.
“I don’t,” Jason dismissed. “Some of your best friends are gay.”
I surrendered for the moment, but felt the emptiness that came every time Jason failed to admit the reality of our son’s orientation. I needed the closure of Jason knowing, acknowledging and accepting. I needed him to say, “Of course he’s gay and that’s cool with me.” Jorge once accused me of “shoving Logan out of the closet,” a criticism that stung the way only truth could.
“Okay,” I told Jason, quietly reminding myself to relax and let life unfold on its own.
With that, Maya came running down the stairs as Logan slid down the banister next to her, sitting on the rail with his hands outstretched as if to say, ta-da! “Look what we found in your bedroom,” Maya said, handing Jason and me a booklet of swatches entitled “The Fabric of Utopia.”
About the Author
Jennifer Coburn is a USA Today bestselling author who has written six novels and contributed to several literary anthologies.
Over the past two decades, Jennifer has won numerous awards from the San Diego Press Club, and Society for Professional Journalists for articles that appeared in Mothering, Big Apple Baby, The Miami Herald, The San Diego Union-Tribune and dozens of national and regional publications. She has also written for Salon.com, Creators News Syndicate and The Huffington Post.
Jennifer lives with her husband William and their daughter Katie in San Diego, California.
Field of Schemes Page 31