“And heart disease.”
“Are we going to run down the whole list?”
“Nope. Don’t really want to talk about cigarettes.”
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Ask away.”
“Why haven’t you ever had a boyfriend?”
“I have had a boyfriend. I’ve had several.”
“Before me or after me?”
“Both.”
“Yeah, but not lately.”
“Well, lately I’ve been busy.”
“That’s kinda lame, Dad.”
“Lame? Me? The place isn’t exactly crawling with your girlfriends.”
“I’m not in that space right now.”
“Maybe I’m not either.”
“How come you never talk to me about some stuff?”
“You mean my love life? Well, first of all, you’re my son. In my opinion, fathers shouldn’t be talking to their sons about their love lives.”
“But, Dad, you don’t have a love life.”
“That sounds like an accusation.”
“It is an accusation.”
“What’s this about, Salvie?”
“You know what I think? I think you don’t date because of me. I think it’s my fault that you don’t have a normal life.”
“I’m gay, Salvie. I’ve never had a normal life.”
“You know what I mean, Dad. You know exactly what I mean.”
“What do you want me to say?” He put his cigarette out. He took my hand in his and squeezed it.
“Dad,” I whispered, “was Marcos your boyfriend?”
He nodded. “Yeah, he was.”
“What happened?”
My dad was looking up at the sky. Then he said, “He told me he couldn’t handle being a stepfather.”
“So you chose me.”
“Of course I did.”
“So it is my fault.”
My father looked straight at me. And then he kissed my forehead. He let go of my hand and put a cigarette in his mouth but didn’t light it. “Don’t be an idiot, Salvador. You never were very good at doing math. Look, if Marcos couldn’t handle me being a father—?well, that was his problem. Not my fault. Nor your fault. It was him. We’re a package deal, you and I. And I can’t be with anyone who doesn’t get what you and I have.”
I nodded.
He lit his cigarette.
“Did you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still? Love him?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe that’s why Mima said you were lonely.”
“She said that?”
“Yup. You never stopped loving him?”
“I guess not. I guess a guy like me just doesn’t know how to stop loving someone.”
I could tell he wanted to cry. But he didn’t.
“Fito said the problem with being gay was that you had to date guys.”
Dad laughed. “Fito’s funny. I didn’t know he was gay.”
“I didn’t either. But now I do.”
“Is he good with that?”
“Yeah, I think so. It’s his family that sucks. It’s like he kind of raised himself.”
“That’s tough.”
It was good to talk to my dad. I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Dad,” I whispered, “you should let other people take care of you sometimes.”
“I guess I don’t know how to do that.”
“Well, you can learn, can’t you?”
“Yeah, well, maybe I can. Maybe you can help me.”
And I wanted to learn too, to learn how to take care of my dad when he needed taking care of. But I didn’t know how.
Me. Secrets.
OKAY, SO I didn’t tell my dad that I’d started going around taking swings at guys who pissed me off. And I didn’t tell my dad that I had this fantasy about beating the crap out of Eddie. And I didn’t tell my dad that I kept wondering what it would be like to get drunk. And that I didn’t even know where that thought came from. And I didn’t tell my dad that there was this strange anger living inside me. And I didn’t tell my dad that I was sort of mad that he’d given me my mother’s letter and that maybe he should have waited. And I didn’t tell my dad that I was mad at my mother for having left me a letter in the first place. And I didn’t tell my dad that I felt guilty about the fact that I’d hated Sylvia and that I didn’t know what to do about that because she was dead.
And I didn’t tell my dad that maybe I wasn’t so sure about Marcos hanging around, because even though I thought my dad should have a boyfriend in theory, I just didn’t know about that Marcos guy. And when I asked him if he still loved him and he said yes, I wasn’t sure that I liked the answer.
And I didn’t tell my dad that I was having thoughts about my bio father. I was wondering if I looked like him, if I acted like him, and that I was starting to have thoughts that maybe I should at least meet him.
Sam had met her father.
Fito had met his father.
And then there was me.
How could I tell my dad all these things I hadn’t told him?
Marcos? Hmm.
I TEXTED SAM: Asked Dad about Marcos.
Sam: Wow! Spill it
Me: When u get back
Sam: B home soon. Lina and I cleaned up house. C u in ten Me: Wftd = sacrifice
Sam: As in human sacrifice?
Me: Wrong!
Sam: Use in sentence
Me: My father knows the meaning of the word sacrifice Sam: Yup
So when Sam got home, I told her about the conversation I’d had with my father. She listened, asked questions. She loved asking questions. And of course she had a few things to say about the whole situation. “That shit Marcos broke your father’s heart. I knew there was a reason I hated him.”
“He didn’t do anything to you, Sam. It’s not your place to hate him.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“No, it isn’t. Dad doesn’t hate him. And if Dad doesn’t hate him, I won’t hate him.” God, I could be such a hypocrite.
Sam looked at me. “You know, you and your dad, not normal. Sometimes not normal is no bueno. Why do you guys always walk around being so nice? I mean, it just isn’t normal.” She kept shaking her head. “And it’s not fair. Marcos gets away with being a shit.”
“What do we know about Marcos, Sammy?”
“We know he’s a worm who came crawling back to the surface after the rain.”
Sam, she was always good for a laugh.
“Don’t laugh. It was not a joke.”
“Maybe he realized he was wrong.”
“Sally, do you always have to interpret reality with the naiveté of a ten-year-old? Really?”
“Sammy, I don’t know a damn thing about reality. And I’m not a ten-year-old.”
“So is Marcos gonna be hanging around, stinking up the place?”
I don’t know why, but I laughed again.
Sam kept yelling at me, which made me laugh even harder.
But really, I felt the same way she did. Only she was honest about it.
Cake