“Cheeky,” I tease. I can’t lie, I’m insanely curious as to what the deal is there. I’ve tossed around—completely in my head only—that Roland could be gay, but the likelihood is slim. I see how he looks at my mom. And, I’m pretty sure he would have known of his sexuality before going into seminary. Wouldn’t being gay have steered him in a different direction? Unless he was trying to somehow fix himself. Because an unfortunate portion of the CU, and evangelical, population believes such a thing can be fixed. “Are you gay?” I blurt out, my cheeks raging with the heat of potentially overstepping my bounds.
Roland doesn’t have the reaction I expect for such a personal and inappropriate question. In fact, he has no reaction at all.
“No,” he says, shaking his head and leaning across from me against the car. “But, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked that, or heard that rumor …”
“People have asked you that?”
He laughs. “You say that like you didn’t just ask yourself!”
I laugh along. “I’m allowed to! I’m your daughter.”
Suddenly the laughter is sucked away, along with any oxygen that may have been lingering near. I bite my lip and Roland bites his. The same way, every time. I’ve said it out loud before. Once, really. And in front of like three thousand people. More if you count the cameras and the Today Show …I’ve said it. Just not actually with him. To him.
“I’m your daughter,” I say again. In a whisper this time. “And this is part of my family.” I point to the house behind me. “And I have a mother who is currently fighting being angry with me, and a stepdad who says he’s supportive. A grandfather who knows more about you than I thought he did, and you. You’re so much more a part of me than I ever realized … or wanted to believe.”
Roland’s cheeks are as wet as mine as we stand in the aftermath of my surprisingly honest, out-of-nowhere monologue. Without hesitation, without asking, without all the things fathers and daughters shouldn’t have between them anyway, Roland pulls me into him, my cheek pressing against his trembling chest.
He lets out an incredible sigh, resting his chin on the top of my head. “God I love you, Kennedy.” His arms squeeze impossibly tight around me, and I can still breathe. I’m still breathing. He’s hugging me and it’s all okay. “You have absolutely no idea how much I love you. I’ve always loved you,” his voice pinches off as he lets out a soft sob, “but I spent so much time wrapped up in self-hate that I couldn’t show you that. I couldn’t show myself. I’d have gone insane if I let myself love you this much when I was the way I was.”
All I can do is nod against his chest and squeeze him back. Because sometimes that’s all there is to do when everything’s changed, yet again.
Well, I’ve been through more awkward things, I suppose. Like that one time there were pictures of me and Roland hugging printed beneath accusations of an affair. But, honestly? Sitting in the backseat of the car with a despondent Jonah in the front for the last few hours comes in a disturbingly close second.
Once Eden finished saying what she had to say to him, she and I climbed in the backseat of Roland’s Prius, and Jonah slid in the front. It turns out it was a good thing I told Roland what was going on, because he gracefully engaged Jonah in all kinds of conversations, never letting silence hang out for too long. Eden’s house is only twenty minutes from Roland, but she texted me even while we were talking about other things, to give me the brief details of their breakup. Eden told Jonah she felt like they were both in very different places emotionally and spiritually. Not as a judgment of Jonah, she said she was quick to say, but just a fact. They weren’t meshing like they had at summer camp, or like she thought they would.
The tricky part? Eden looked grumpy while texting that Jonah didn’t put up much of a fight. He said she was right and wanted to stay friends, and they hugged and that was it.
As I’ve been reporting via text to Eden from the backseat while she’s at home and I’m somewhere in Tennessee, though, that definitely is not it. Jonah has this broody look on his face that I can’t even begin to know how to acknowledge with him. Roland sees it, too, because once in a while he’ll look at Jonah, then flash me a wide-eyed glance in the rearview mirror.
Eden: What do you mean he’s weird?
Me: He’s been weirdly quiet and seriously lacking a sense of humor.
Eden: What’s his issue?
I think for a moment, beyond the mechanics of a breakup, which I know are always tricky.
Me: Whatever reasons you gave him for breaking up—I think he’s really taking them to heart.
Eden: Crap. Do you think I hurt his feelings?
Taking a deep breath, I’m honest.
Me: No. I think you held up a mirror and he’s struggling with what he sees.
Eden: That’s so deep. You should be a writer.