With Love, from Cold World(47)
His father had given him the chance to deny it, even with the photographic evidence. Sometimes, late at night if Asa couldn’t sleep, he still wondered how things might have gone differently if he’d just done that. Said that he didn’t know what the parishioner was talking about, he hadn’t even been near that Burger King, much less sucking face with some random dude. He had a feeling his father would’ve accepted it—not because he believed the explanation, deep down, but because it was easier to sweep the truth under the rug and move on as if nothing had happened.
Instead, he’d owned up to it. The worst part—the part he never let himself think about, no matter how late it was—had been the rush of exhilaration and power he’d felt at finally getting the words out. He’d told his dad to his face that he was bi, that his boyfriend’s name was Mark, and that he’d love to bring Mark home for dinner to introduce him to the family.
Any confidence had been woefully naive, and short-lived. Asa’s father had said a lot of ugly things that Asa tried not to let take up space in his head anymore, although the general refrain of no son of mine was always there, pulsing like a heartbeat. Asa’s mother had been there, lingering in the kitchen. He’d cried, she’d cried, but she hadn’t intervened. An hour later, Asa had two bags packed and was on Mark’s doorstep. That relationship hadn’t lasted long—he and Mark were never destined to be anything more than a fun couple of months, and he could tell Mark’s parents were sick of having him in the house—but luckily by then Asa had landed the job at Cold World and could rent his own place.
“I’m sorry,” Lauren said now, her soft voice pulling him back up from the memories. “That must’ve been really hard, to hear that from your own father. You deserved to be treated with love and support, not kicked out.”
“It’s funny,” he said, “because I say the same thing all the time to these teens I counsel through a crisis text line once a week. They’re twelve, thirteen, sixteen years old, and wondering how to come out or how to ask their parents about transitioning or what to do about bullying at school. And I try to listen to their problems, validate their experiences, remind them that they’re worthy. But sometimes I wish I could get on a direct line with their parents or their peers or whoever, and just say, do you have any idea how much this kid cares? How much they internalize your words, how much they want to please you, how much thought they’ve given to trying to figure out who they are and how they fit into the world? Can’t you just for one fucking second listen to them, and tell them that they’re worthy, so that they hear it from you?”
His eyes were burning, and he scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to unclench his jaw. “Obviously, there are also lots of people out there who have beautiful stories of support and acceptance. We don’t tend to see as many of them through the crisis line, so my data set is a little skewed here. Elliot’s parents have a cake delivered to the house every year on the anniversary of when Elliot came out to them. And it’s Publix buttercream, so you know that shit’s real love.”
Lauren smiled. “You’re really fortunate to have found Elliot, and Kiki, and John. They seem like great friends.”
“The best,” Asa said. “Whose turn is it? I’ve lost track.”
“Yours,” she said. “But we can stop, if you want. It’s late.”
He’d already tapped the button for a new randomly generated number, and he held up his phone to show her the six on the screen. “And miss a chance to get a compliment? No way. Tell me something good about myself.”
She compressed her bottom lip with her teeth, as if thinking. He didn’t know if she even realized how close she was sitting to him by now. If he turned at all they’d be practically nose to nose.
“Don’t be so quick with it,” he said dryly. “I’ll get a big head.”
“You smell really good,” she blurted, then covered her face with her hands, like she needed to physically retreat from the words. But he wasn’t about to let her off that easily. He lifted his arm, giving it a sniff.
“Do I?”
“It’s your soap or something,” she said. “It’s not even really a compliment to you. More like a compliment to the products you use. Tell me what kind of soap it is and I’ll leave the company a really nice online review.”
“I know that trick. You want the name so you can buy it for yourself and smell me all the time.”
“I’m not going to buy it—”
“You want to carve a little soap doll of me. It’s sick. I refuse to feed this obsession.”
“More like a voodoo doll, and I know right where I’d stick the first pin.”
Her eyes widened, her mouth in an O, like she only just heard what she’d said and was shocked by her own words. He mirrored the expression right back at her, although he was laughing.
“Damn,” he said. “Okay. I’ll behave my good-smelling self.”
She rolled her eyes, although a smile tugged at her own mouth. “I knew I should’ve just told you I admired your ice skating skills.”
“Whoa.” He turned toward her, holding his hands up in a gesture of wait just a minute there. “Is that a slam on my earlier compliment? Because that was genuine, I’ll have you know. I thought it was really cool that you took the time to give that family a perfect memory. Very un-robot-like.”