When Everything Is Blue

by Laura Lascarso

  “Do you want me to leave?” Chris glances between the food and the door. Leaving barbecue on the table would be a near impossible feat for Chris.

  “No,” my uncle barks. “You stay right there, Adam.”

  Chris nods, and because he can’t control himself around food, starts digging into our lunch. I eye the two of them, trying to read the situation. Uncle Theo’s still not eating, just staring at Chris with a mixture of disbelief and suspicion.

  “Uncle Theo, what’s up?” Maybe this is something he needs to get off his chest.

  “It’s Adam,” he says plaintively and points at Chris.

  “Are you sure? He’s pretty young. Looks more like Chris, my next-door neighbor. Maybe he reminds you of someone else?”

  Uncle Theo’s mouth moves but nothing comes out. I notice he’s trembling. His eyes squeeze shut, and he shakes his head. Then he starts making the most terrible moaning noises.

  I scoot my chair over to him and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Uncle Theo, what’s wrong?”

  “Adam, Adam….” He moans the name over and over again, more pitiful each time. It hurts my heart to hear him so distraught. Chris sets down his sandwich. His eyebrows pull together, and he too looks upset by it.

  “Wait here with him,” I tell Chris and jump up to find Gloria. I ask the floor receptionist for her, and she makes a call. A minute later I see Gloria come out of another resident’s room, and I meet her halfway down the hallway.

  “I think we upset him,” I tell her. “I brought my friend with me, and he called him Adam and started crying.”

  Gloria nods. Her mouth turns downward. “He does that sometimes.”

  “Really?”

  “We think Adam is a friend who died or lost touch. Your uncle’s memories don’t always go in order. The pain is very fresh.”

  Imagine reliving your greatest heartache over and over again like it just happened yesterday. “Jesus, that’s awful,” I tell her. She nods. “I tried telling him it wasn’t him.”

  Gloria rests her hand on my arm. “I don’t think arguing with him helps. It only confuses him more.”

  “Okay. What do we do then?”

  “Just hold his hand and wait for it to pass.”

  When we get back to my uncle’s room, I’m shocked to see Uncle Theo cradled in Chris’s arms. He’s still sobbing, and Chris just holds him there gently. Uncle Theo’s cheek rests against Chris’s shoulder. Chris’s expression conveys the same warmth and compassion that made me trust him from day one. My heart blooms again for him now. Gloria smiles. Then her eyes alight on the contraband food, and she makes little clucking noises.

  “This is far too much for you, Captain.” She swoops in on his plate and portions some of the food back into their containers. “You have to think about your figure.”

  My uncle pulls himself away from Chris and blinks away his tears. He glances at the two of us, scowls at Gloria, and resumes his seat at the table. He pulls out the chair next to him a little and glances up at Chris, who takes the hint and sits down next to him. Gloria fusses over my uncle, making sure his utensils are lined up and the napkin is tucked into his collar. My uncle smoothes it down over his shirtfront, straightens up, and proceeds to eat his lunch as if nothing happened. Except, every now and again, he’ll glance over at Chris and smile warmly or reach over to pat his arm.

  We invite Gloria to eat with us, and she comments on how good the food is, and how she didn’t know about Paula’s before I introduced her to it. She says she’s developed quite a taste for it, though her hips could probably do without. We chat easily about the goings on of Saint Ann’s—there’s a talent show coming up, and we tease Uncle Theo about his talent. He glowers at us. Not Chris, though. For Chris, he’s all smiles. I tell Gloria about yesterday’s skate competition. At one point she mentions Manuel in passing, and Uncle Theo points to the calendar on the wall, which has the seven days of a week with big red X’s over the boxes under Saturday and Sunday.

  After a while, Uncle Theo announces that he’s tired and wants to take a nap. We condense the leftovers into one container for Gloria to hide in the staff fridge and throw the trash away. When we go to leave, Chris pulls Uncle Theo in for another hug.

  “I missed you,” my uncle says to him.

  “I missed you too, buddy,” Chris says and rubs his back. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

  Uncle Theo nods and turns away. I have to fight to keep my composure as we leave. The only conclusion I can draw is that Chris reminds him of someone from his past he was close with and maybe even loved. On the elevator down to the first floor, I turn to Chris, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, that was… crazy. Your uncle was so sad. Kind of broke my heart.”

  “Yeah, mine too. Old people are the worst.” He chuckles, because he knows I’m just kidding. He grabs my hand, and I squeeze him back. “I have one more favor to ask you, Chris.”

  “Anything.”

  “I want to tell my dad. Today, if possible. And I want you to come with me.”

  He pulls me in for a sweet, barbecue-flavored kiss. “Let’s do it.”

  I’d Rather Be Selling Investment Portfolios

  “THAT WAS wild,” Chris says when we’re back in his car. We’re still processing our visit with Uncle Theo. Chris can’t get over the fact that Uncle Theo is gay. “So, no one in your family knows?”

  “If they know, they’re not saying anything.”

  “That’s incredible.” He shakes his head.

  “And kind of sad that he had to hide it his whole life. Or he felt like he did. I mean, what if he had a chance to be happy with someone?”

  “Maybe he’s happy now.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I wonder how happy a person can be in Uncle Theo’s situation. I see a lot of myself in my uncle—stubborn, prone to solitude, cranky on the outside but sensitive on the inside. I’d be so miserable if Chris got sick of me and we stopped being friends. The thought of not having him in my life kind of terrifies me.

  “Are you sure you want me there?” Chris asks, bringing me back to my most immediate concern. Our plan is to drive straight to Todesta, call my dad when we’re close, and totally blow his Sunday all to hell.

  “If it goes really well, I want you there,” I tell him, “and if it goes really bad… I still want you there.”

  Chris nods and gives a little half smile. If this whole thing goes to shit, I’m going to need someone to lean on. Chris thinks I’m overreacting, but I think it’s just because his relationships with his parents are so solid. Even though he was worried about telling his dad, I don’t think he ever considered abandonment as a real possibility.

  “I don’t want to stress you out even more,” Chris says, “but I think we should have a plan.”

  A plan right now seems like a great idea, whatever will reduce the chance of screwing this up royally. “I’m listening.”

  “Okay, check this. Whenever my dad goes into a meeting with a client, he has a set agenda of what he hopes to get out of it. Goals, you know? That way, even if the meeting goes off the rails, he has in the back of his mind what he wants to accomplish, and he can work toward it. Make sense?”

  I’m not sure how coming out to my dad is like sealing the deal, but I’m interested to know more. “Go on,” I tell him.

  “For instance, other than telling him you’re gay, is there anything you want to accomplish?”

  “That’s a pretty big deal.” Let’s hope, given my track record, I can even do that.

  “I know it is, but is there anything else you want him to know?”

  That’s a good question, and one I haven’t really thought about. “I guess I’d want him to know that our relationship is important to me.”

  “That’s good. Then you should probably say it.”

  “Maybe I should see how it’s going before I unload my feelings on him.”

  “See, here I disagree,” Chris says. “I mean, you’re basically making a pitch—not an investment—but your
self. You want to come out of this meeting with your relationship intact. Why not put it all out there—how you feel, what you want from him, how you’d like your relationship to grow.”

  That seems like a lot for one conversation. “Lay it all on the table?”

  “Exactly.”

  It actually makes a lot of sense, even if the idea of making myself so vulnerable to my dad is terrifying. I’ll show him everything—total honesty—and let him decide how he’s going to take it.

  “I don’t want to get angry or emotional or blame him for not being part of my life,” I tell Chris. “I’d like to avoid getting into all that drama, you know? In a way, I’d almost be able to forgive the years of noncommunication if he could just be cool about this one thing.”

  Chris nods. “That seems pretty generous of you, but here’s the thing. You can’t really control how your dad will react. You can only do your best in any given situation. That’s why my dad says he doesn’t get mad when he doesn’t close a deal. He only gets mad if he feels he didn’t make the best possible case for the client. So, regardless of outcome, if you make a good pitch, you can be happy with the result.”

  “I guess so, but this isn’t some faceless client we’re talking about; it’s my dad.”

  “But it’s still all about relationships. Do you have some things worked out you want to say to him? Maybe you could try it out on me.”

  It seems like this conversation is all I’ve thought about lately, but I’ve mostly been imagining what my dad will say in reaction to the news and not the way in which I might present it.

  “Well, Dad, I’m gay. This hot piece of man right here is my boyfriend. I know it might come as a surprise, but I’m hoping you’re okay with it, because our relationship means a lot to me, and I’d like for us to be closer than we have been in recent years.”

  “That’s great,” Chris says with a smile. “But you might just want to call me Chris. Hot piece of man, while true, might be too much for him. I think you should lead with that and then let him have a chance to express himself. Give him, like, five minutes to say everything he wants before interrupting. You want him to feel like he’s been heard.”

  “You study psychology this summer?”

  “I checked out a lot of coming-out websites in the past couple weeks. Now, do you want me to say anything or just stand there quietly?”

  Chris has a tendency to jump in and defend me, which wouldn’t go over well with my dad. I also don’t want my dad blaming Chris or thinking he’s the reason I’m gay.

  “Just stand there. If he takes it badly, you saying something will probably only make it worse.”

  “Okay, then I think we have a plan.”

  Chris’s smile is so positive and hopeful that it almost makes me think everything’s going to be all right. I wish I had a tenth of his confidence. Chris tells me more about what we dubbed his “gaycation” with his dad, and even though he’s not trying, it does make me long for something like that with my own dad. “He wants you to come out with me this summer,” Chris says.

  “Really?” I wouldn’t want to intrude on their father-son time.

  “Yeah, my dad’s got a ton of miles from work, so you don’t have to worry about the flight. We can just hang out and surf, skate, go to Disneyland, whatever you want.”

  I smile at that. In middle school I went with Chris and his family to Orlando to do the circuit of theme parks. It was a blast, and something my mom could have never afforded on her own. Chris made me go on all the roller coasters even though I was scared shitless. Like now, his courage is infectious.

  “I’m there,” I tell him.

  Chris keeps up the conversation while my stomach gurgles and my head spins. When we reach the outskirts of Todesta, I think he realizes I’m not really paying attention, so he puts on music for the rest of the ride. I call my dad.

  “Theo?” he asks, sounding huffy in his typically impatient way.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “What is it? I’m on the golf course.”

  That smarts a little, that he skipped out on my skateboarding competition yesterday, but managed to fit in eighteen holes of golf today.

  “When do you think you’ll be done?” I ask.

  “I’m finishing up now. Twenty minutes or so.”

  I plaster a smile on my face so I’ll sound more positive than I feel. “Great. I have some big news I want to share, so if it’s all right with you, I’ll see you back at your house when you’re finished.”

  “Fine. Susan should be home if you get there before I do.”

  “All right. See you soon.”

  Chris gives me another pep talk in their driveway, telling me again it probably won’t be as bad as I think and citing his own irrational worries as evidence that everything will work out fine.

  I knock on the door, and after what seems like a long time, Susan answers. “Theo,” she says, trying to sound cheery, but she looks tired, in addition to being as big as a house, and I can hear my sister Ellie wailing in the background. “You caught us at nap time,” she says, like she’s apologizing.

  “Sorry for showing up like this,” I tell her. “I was just hoping to talk to Dad for a few minutes. He said he’d be here soon.”

  “Of course, come on in.”

  “This is my friend, Chris,” I tell her. By this time, Ellie has caught on that her mother’s distracted and waddles her way out into the foyer. She’s wearing a pink tank top with some old food crusted on the front of it and a diaper. Her eyes are still wet with tears, but she’s no longer crying.

  “What’s up, Ellie?” I lean down to mess up her hair, and she glances from me to Chris, then smiles at Chris. Chris gets all the smiles from my family.

  “Who dat?” she asks and points at Chris.

  “This is my friend, Chris. Chris, this is Ellie.”

  “Put her there, lil mama,” Chris says and presents his fist for a bump. Ellie slaps his hand. Chris’s fist explodes and rains down in front of her, poking her once in the belly. Ellie giggles at that.

  “Sorry we’re such a mess,” Susan says, scooping up Ellie and dabbing at her shirt.

  “It’s cool. Pants are optional on Sundays.”

  Susan motions to the living room. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll get you boys a drink.”

  “Don’t worry about us, Susan. We’ll just chill until Dad gets here. We’ll be quiet if you need to put Ellie down or whatever.”

  “Okay.” She smiles. “Say night-night to Theo and Chris,” Susan says to Ellie.

  “No.” Ellie crosses her arms. She looks a lot like Tabs when she does that. I hope she gives my dad hell.

  “Night-night, Ellie,” I say to her, and Chris tugs at her big toe, which brings about another little giggle from her.

  Susan and Ellie go upstairs, and Chris and I hang out in the living room. There are toys everywhere and the air feels a little stale and sour, like old milk. I wonder if my dad helps out with cleaning and childcare. I hope so.

  “You cool?” Chris asks.

  I nod as the front door opens and shuts. Chris and I stand to greet my dad. He sets his clubs by the front door and enters into the living room.

  “I didn’t realize you were bringing a friend,” Dad says. “Chris, right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Chris and my dad shake hands. Then it’s my turn. Chris and I sit back down on the couch, and my dad collapses into his recliner, just short of putting his feet up and turning on the TV.

  “You kids want something to drink?” Dad asks and glances toward the kitchen as though about to call for Susan.

  “No, Dad, we’re fine.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “Like I said on the phone, there’s something I want to tell you. Something I probably should have told you before now.”

  “That good, huh?” Dad says gruffly. He sits up straighter. His eyes widen as if hurrying me to get to the point.

  “Well, this may or may not come as a surprise but….” I swallow and the words g
et lodged in my throat like a chicken bone.

  Just say it.

  “I’m…grrray. And Chris—”

  “You’re what?” His words are sharp and loud, edged with disbelief. He leans forward and braces himself against the arms of his chair.

  “I’m… gay.” The word shouldn’t be that hard to get out. It’s one syllable, for chrissakes. I go still—fugue state—and wait for his reaction. He huffs a little, blowing his breath out through his nose.

  “Is this his influence?” Dad points to my shoulder where Chris sits rigidly, his hands folded in his lap, fingers slowly closing into fists.

  “No.” I shake my head. I’m not sure which is the better answer, so I go with honesty. “This is all me.”

  “Really?” he says skeptically, like he could argue me out of my own sexuality. “This is all you? Were you gay the last time I saw you?”

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly so that I won’t say something snotty or sarcastic. “Yeah.”

  “And the time before that?”

  I nod. “Yep, then too.”

  “And just when did you decide you were gay?” My dad narrows his eyes. It feels like he’s trying to catch me in a lie. His question is loaded. To answer would be to agree that my being gay was a choice.

  Instead of giving him some arbitrary age, I tell him, “Being gay wasn’t a decision, but coming out to you was.”

  “And what does your mother have to say about it?” His mouth twitches like Tabs’s does before she’s about to launch a barb.

  “She’s okay with it.” Even as I say it, I know it’s the wrong answer. My dad has always tried to pit us against my mom, to make it seem like she was the one who left him, even while he was the one shacking up with another woman.

  “Of course she is.” He shakes his head, disgusted. He stands and crosses the room to the entertainment system. “I bet she loves it, one more thing to blame on me.” Dad opens a cabinet and reaches behind some old VHS tapes, selects one of the cases, cracks it open, and pulls out a metal flask. It’s Winnie the Pooh, one of my old favorites. I’m pretty sure Piglet was gay for Pooh, but that’s neither here nor there. Dad twists the cap of the flask and takes a drink. Looks like I’m driving him to drink.