Stars in Your Eyes(72)

He sits straighter in his seat, raising his chin. I’m afraid. I shouldn’t have to be. Not of him—not anymore.

“But I want you to know that I’ve let go of that shame.” I pause. “I’m working on letting it go, anyway. I deserve to love myself and who I am. I deserve to be respected and loved and to feel free to be me. I deserve better from you.”

I stand there, waiting. It feels like an eternity. I’m just starting to think he’s refusing to speak when he opens his mouth. “You—being gay was never right when I was young,” he tells me. “It was always a sin. I still think it’s a sin now.”

“If you don’t accept this part of me, then you don’t love me.”

He looks away. “You’re my son,” he says. “I love you because you’re my son. I don’t love this part of you.”

I’m going to cry. I’d feel embarrassed, I think, of my emotion once—especially here, in front of my dad as he rejects me. But maybe it’s a little act of rebellion that I let my eyes well up. “No. You can’t love me if you don’t love that I’m gay. And if you can’t love me, then I can’t have a relationship with you.”

We never had much of a relationship to begin with, but saying it out loud—it feels like I’ve taken some power back from him. He’s made his hatred and disgust obvious. Now, I’ve made my love for myself just as clear.

He’s never liked losing power. “Fine. This is my house. You can leave.”

I watch him for a second, before I decide that there isn’t any point in arguing. There isn’t any point in trying to change his mind—in convincing him that I’m worth more than this. I deserve a safe space, and right now, this house isn’t it. I leave the office for my bedroom without another word and begin to pack, grabbing my backpack and opening my drawers. My mom is confused when she looks up at me as I walk into the kitchen, pulling her reading glasses off.

“Where’re you going?”

“Dad told me to get out.” I lean in to kiss her cheek goodbye, but she pulls away.

“What?”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Well—it’s not okay that he’s doing this, but I want to leave now, too.”

“No, no,” she says, hand on my arm. “Wait. Let me speak to him.”

I sit down at the counter, but only because she asked me to. I can hear the argument escalating in the office, until finally my mom comes back. “You can stay, Mattie,” she says.

“Has he told you that he accepts me?”

She hesitates. “No, but—”

“Then I have to leave,” I say, standing up from the counter. “I deserve better.” I might’ve felt guilty, once. I might’ve been afraid that I was tearing the family apart. But my dad is the one who has decided not to love me. I can’t take responsibility for what he does.

“Where’re you going to go?” she asks, exasperated.

“I’ll just stay in a hotel in the city.” My flight back to LA is in a couple of days anyway.

She looks like she’s considering arguing. A part of me is annoyed with her. I’m not the one who needs to be convinced to put my energy into making peace. My dad is the one she should be focusing on. Maybe she figures out the same thing.

“All right,” she says. She’s getting teary-eyed. This is a stressful way to end our visit. “Call me when you’re settled in the hotel, okay?”

I hug her goodbye. It’s only when I’m back in the car I rented, engine on, that I sit for a second. My adrenaline is pumping, so I don’t think I’m even aware of my emotions. I let myself feel the anger and the fear and the broken heart. I’m heartbroken that my dad doesn’t love me. One thing that’s not there, though? Shame.

I turn my music on, roll down the windows, and start singing as I pull out of the drive.





Logan




Not sure how much time has passed. Maybe a couple of days. I don’t have enough energy to do anything but lie on the couch. When depression hits, it’s too late to realize I’m caught in it.

There’s no hope for me. No chance I’m going to change. I’m just going to be the same miserable fuck for the rest of my life, caught in the same repetitive cycles, this hell I’ve created.

Last night, I wondered what the least painful way would be to die. I thought I could give the housekeeper a call so my body wouldn’t rot too much before I was found. Sorry, Sandra. I drank myself to sleep. But by the time I woke up again, something shifted inside me. Daring to have some hope, I guess, that things could be different. I just don’t know how. I don’t know how to change.

There’s a knock on the door. Who the hell is that? My dad only leaves voicemails. He never comes to visit. Another knock, and then a jingling of keys. My heart beats harder when I think of the possibility. Mattie, walking in through the door. I want to see him, even though I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t want him to be anywhere near me.

Audrey calls my name. “Logan?”

I manage to force myself up from the couch enough that she sees me. Disgust is smeared across her face as she looks around the apartment. I must smell like shit, too. It’s kind of sad, maybe, that I’m not even embarrassed. She’s seen far worse.