I shifted to a more upright position so I could take the tray. The scent of fried food made my mouth water as I eyed the plate. “I love you, you know that, right?” I said with a grin on my face as I glanced up.
“Nah, ya love that I feed your habit of fried foods and all things sweet,” she argued, her face never losing the cheeky smile that seemed to live on it.
“You say pot-ay-to and I say pot-ar-to,” I joked back, lifting the knife and fork to get stuck in as my stomach grumbled in complaint at the slight delay.
“Whatever! Eat before the sound of your hangry stomach drowns out the telly.”
When she sat down next to me and didn’t go back to get herself a tray, I stopped inhaling the food for a second. “Why aren’t you eating?”
She slapped my arm. “How many times do I have to tell you not to talk with your mouth full? You’re a heathen, you know that.”
I didn’t answer, seeing as my mouth was still stuffed full. Instead, I rolled my eyes at her as she continued.
“I’m not eating because your dad is taking me out for a meal tonight. With you here and able to look after Nanna, we thought we’d take full advantage of a night off.” The genuine excitement in her voice had guilt roil around in my gut. The enjoyment I’d been getting from the food fled.
When I’d arrived the day before, I’d gone to see Nanna and I’d been shocked by how much she’d deteriorated since I’d last seen her.
It’s been a year, what do you expect?
Unable to change the fact that I’d not been home in a long time, I pushed it out of my mind and gave a half-smile. “I’m here for two whole weeks. I’ll do all the evenings so that you and Dad can have some downtime.”
Her eyes widened for a second. “You don’t have any plans to go out and catch up with friends during your time at home?”
“Nah, nobody is interested in hanging with the gay boy, remember? The minute I came out the guys I’d hung about with stopped returning my calls. After you get the door slammed in your face several times and called a fag, a homo, a cock sucker… though the last is true”—I shrugged as she nudged my arm, her mouth pinching—“you have to give up at some point.”
I dismissed the sliver of hurt that lingered from the rejection. I’d learned the hard way that not everyone was accepting of differences. The friends I had now were the ones I’d made in Brighton, where it seemed like half the population of the town was gay and no one seemed to care what my sexual orientation was.
“I just thought as you got older that they might have come around and realised they were acting silly.” All the excitement she’d expressed earlier was gone and replaced by concern. She had always seen the best in others and it was a credit to her. Whereas me, I was no longer the naïve fourteen-year-old boy who’d thought his friends would stand by him when he came out as gay. No, life wasn’t all sunshine and roses.
I patted her leg, working on a smile that would stop her from worrying. “I’ve got lots of friends in Brighton and one or two in the modelling business too. So stop worrying about me. I came home for a breather, Mum. To spend time with you, Dad and Nanna, not to go out and party, okay? I need some downtime. Vegging in front of the box and eating junk sounds blissful after the last twelve months.”
The groan she gave as an answer said I’d averted the crisis. “You and your bloody programmes and binging on sweets. I’m sure it’s not good for you.”
“Yeah, yeah I know. But isn’t it you that sits with me and watches Say Yes to the Dress, eating the same crap?” I asked, my brows rising.
Her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink.
“You calling your mother out, son?” My dad’s deep Scottish burr was full of amusement as he stopped in the doorway still wearing his coat. His dark eyes, which were nothing like mine, gazed lovingly at my mother for a few moments before he gave me a wink.
“Always Dad. You know she’s delusional, right?” The tray still on my lap was tugged away from me. I dropped the cutlery I was holding and made a grab for it before my mum could take it away completely. “Hey, where do you think you’re takin’ that?” I screeched in alarm.
She kept a firm grip on the tray as her brows rose in a look that would have made a lesser man beg for mercy. “If I’m delusional then how would I know what I’m doing?” she quipped back.
“She’s got you there, son,” my father answered, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to hide his mirth.
“You two should take your double act on stage. The pair of you are so comical,” I griped, not letting go of the tray. My mother chuckled but I got the impression as her eyes narrowed on me that she was still contemplating taking the food away from me.
Seeing how badly this could go, I changed tack and fluttered my eyelashes, giving her a winning smile. “You wouldn’t see your only son wilt away to nothing, would you?” I gave my best impersonation of Oliver Twist while holding back the laughter as she let go of the tray with a huff.
“How am I supposed to resist him… how?” she demanded of my dad, who was no longer trying to hide how funny he was finding our antics.
“Please, you haven’t been able to resist him since the moment they lay him in your arms and he looked at you,” Dad stated as he shrugged off his coat. My mother raised a brow and looked back at the door as he was about to throw it on the chair. He took the hint and spun around, muttering under his breath as he walked out of the room.
The normalcy caused my chest to ache and a ball gathered in my throat as I watched him do as he was told without words being exchanged. They’d always been like this. I could hardly recall a time where there’d been raised voices between them. They seemed to have some sort of unspoken communication that allowed them to muddle along without getting angry or upset with each other. I was sure they probably had their moments, but if they did, they kept them from me. The love I’d always felt in this home had never wavered, even when I’d been a challenging teenager. While I’d struggled to find my place in the world, they’d been nothing but patient and supportive.
From talking to other gay friends, I’d realised that they were a pair of diamonds in the rough. They’d never given me a hard time when I’d recognised that I was attracted to boys. Recalling how quiet my dad had been through my confession, I’d doubted him. It was only later that I realised he’d needed time to go away and digest the information, to figure out how to talk to me about what it meant for me.
He’d come back with statistics and facts about being gay—things like where I could go to mix with other people who were gay so that I didn’t feel isolated. That support, that love, had been a life-altering moment for me. My father was the man I measured all other men against and was probably the reason why I’d never had a boyfriend last longer than a few weeks.
The food on my plate congealed as I continued to stare at the empty doorway. “Was Dad always like this?” The question just popped out, and my mother, who’d been about to stand, paused and glanced at me with a questioning expression.
“What do you mean?” There was confusion in her voice as she held my gaze.
“Understanding, loving, caring.” I muttered, heat riding up my neck at the dreamy look my mother now wore.