Page 6 of A Coffee Away

Areal date! With a man!

My whole world shifted. Something stirred within me, something I’d kept hidden for so many years. Something deep, digging its way out.

I punched in the code, and the gate to my parents’ mansion opened. My father was a well-known cardiothoracic surgeon. My mom studied law but stayed at home after I was born. Her whole life was devoted to us both. We lived in an exclusive part of Condado, a wall keeping our property in a bubble inside the lively town.

A conservative home right in the middle of one of the gayest friendly towns of Puerto Rico. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

I leaned against the white gate. The onslaught from my parents was unavoidable. I missed my own birthday dinner.

I lifted my hand to block the glare of the porch lights.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I walked ahead.

Give me strength.

“Robbie? Is that you?” Mom called from the front door.

The red stood out against the pristine white walls and the blue tiled roof.

She wore her favorite pj’s, black with tiny red wine glasses.

I put on a smile and went to her, then hugged her tight. She was small compared to me, and her hair smelled like almonds. The scent of wine hit me when she kissed my cheek. She’d probably been drinking with Dad.

She cupped my cheek. “I was worried sick. You missed dinner.” Her long, brown hair cascaded in waves down her right shoulder.

I brushed it and remembered the last time I’d seen her this worried.

Three years ago, the day I turned eighteen, I snuck out of the house and went to a gay bar. I wanted to be free. To meet other men. To be myself. But I just sat at the bar, watching them writhe on the dance floor. A pang of envy rooted inside me at being unable to get in there and let go. The guilt from what my church and parents had taught me deeply burned within me.

My body responded as the men grabbed each other’s asses, grinding together in the middle of the dance floor.

No shame. No guilt.

Their kisses were open and real.

I wanted that. I needed that.

My phone wouldn’t stop vibrating, and when I decided it was time to go home, Dad was waiting in the car out front.

I froze.

My father, Dr. Roberto Fernández, rolled down the window and fixed his gold-rimmed glasses. His lips tightened into a grimace. “Get in.” He unlocked the door.

“How did you…?” My chest squeezed to the point of pain. I couldn’t breathe. Fuck. He knows.

He huffed. “Find you? I tracked you.” His stern tone, one I’d never witnessed before, made me go still. “You got your fill of depravity. Now it’s time to go home.”

I entered the car. The silence was unbearable.

“Papi?” My voice was but a whisper.

He raised his hand, the car already in motion. “I don’t want to hear a word. Your mother is worried sick, and I don’t want you upsetting her with this. We’ll tell her you were out with some friends.”

We stopped at a red light.

He gave me a menacing look. “You will never step foot in there again. Got it?” He faced the road. “We will never speak of this. You slipped. You’re confused. Remember what we taught you. Temptation will come. Just find your way back.”

“But…” I wanted to scream. This is me, Papi. This is who I am.