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“And Rhodes made it personal!” he interjected loudly.
“It was personal!” I exclaimed.
“And that’s exactly the problem,” Dad said. “Everything has to become personal with these people.”
My stomach dropped as my irritation transformed into something more uncomfortable. This wasn’t only about Rhodes. Every opinion Dad casually threw out there wasn’t just about Rhodes.
It was about me too—at least about the things he didn’t know about me.
“Henry, please,” Mom cut in once more, but I waved her off.
“No, I want to know what he means,” I told her. I needed to know. Maybe that was stupid. Some part of me knew I wasn’t going to like where this conversation ended, but I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard it anymore.
“Your father is upset,” she replied. “Nobody is saying there’s necessarily anything wrong with—”
“I’m just saying I don’t understand why they always have to announce it,” Dad continued over her. “You don’t see straight people walking into Thanksgiving dinner and telling everyone who they sleep with.”
I stared at him. The statement was so absurd that for a second, I genuinely didn’t know how to respond.
“Being gay isn’t telling people who you sleep with,” I said.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t,” I snapped. My hands had started shaking, but I shoved them in my pockets to hide it, hoping neither of them would notice. “If I brought home a girlfriend for Thanksgiving, would you accuse me of announcing my sex life?”
“Of course not,” Dad replied.
“But if I brought home a boyfriend instead?” I demanded. “Would you accuse me then? Would you say I’m making everything about me being gay?”
The kitchen fell silent with my question. I had to know his answer—had to hear him say it out loud, even if I knew what it would be in my heart.
I needed to know his answer as my pulse raged against my throat.
“Jesus Christ, Theo,” he growled. “That’s a stupid hypothetical, and you know it. That’s not a problem you’d have.”
Something inside me broke a little. There were probably a hundred better ways to do it, and maybe one of them would have a better response than this, but at the end of the day, that didn’t matter. I couldn’t listen to all of this and keep pretending.
“But it’s not a hypothetical,” I told him. “I am gay.”
Minutes ticked by as I waited for whatever came next. Dad’s irritation disappeared, and his expression was almost unreadable. All I caught was the slight tick of his jaw as he considered me. I stood a little taller while my heart beat so goddamn fast in my chest I was certain they both had to hear it. Mom, on the other hand, stopped moving altogether and stared at me like she was trying to figure out how serious I was.
“No,” Dad said. The word was so dismissive and final.
“No?” I blurted out, surprised by his response. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, you’re not gay,” he replied. There was no confusion on his face. He wasn’t struggling to understand me. He was just outright rejecting my answer.
“But I am.”
“No, you’re not,” he snapped. “Because there’s no way in hell you’re stupid enough to choose being gay after everything I’ve done for you—after everything I’ve put into your future career. There’s no way in hell that you’re this stupid. There’s no way in hell you’d jeopardize a future with the NFL over a goddamn trend.”
Every sentence was more brutal than the last, and my chest tightened until breathing hurt. Of course, he’d gone straight to football. Years of early mornings, camps, trainers, film, diets, reps, and every other sacrifice Dad had ever made suddenly felt less like something he’d done because he loved me and more like something I owed him for.
“It’s not a—”
“Deal with him,” Dad said to Mom, ignoring me completely. He pushed away from the counter. “I refuse to deal with his naïve stupidity. When he’s got his head on straight, we can talk.”
“Dad!” I exclaimed, but he walked out of the room. He didn’t look back. I stared after him, waiting for him to turn around or come back or do literally anything that suggested I was still his son instead of a massive disappointment. “What…”
