Three

by Chloe Lynn Ellis

Maybe it is.

  24

  Matt

  I can hear music coming from the other side of the door, and I wipe my palms on the sides of my shorts for the third time, telling myself to hurry up and knock already. I’m being ridiculous, and I know it. First, because I should have just called, and second because here I am, standing on the doorstep of the house I lived in for the first eighteen years of my life, and I’m staring at the front door like it might bite me.

  The door is turquoise, for Christ’s sake. Pretty sure nothing turquoise is allowed to be dangerous, amirite? It’s like, a law of the universe.

  Mom would have made such a fuss if Dad had painted the door this color back when I was a kid, but gotta admit, I can see how he’d love it. Looks good, too, not really my thing maybe, but it suits him. Suits the house. Makes the whole decor around the porch sort of pop.

  And okay, I’m stalling again. I man up and make myself knock, then straighten my shoulders and remind myself that Dad and I are good now.

  The music inside gets muted, and a moment later, the door swings open. It’s Nick, my dad’s… partner? Boyfriend? And to his credit, the shock on his face only lasts for a split second before it turns into a welcoming smile.

  “Mateo!” he says, the smile turning sheepish as he quickly adds, “I guess you go by Matt, actually? Sorry, your father always calls you Mateo.”

  It catches me off guard, and instead of something normal like hello, first thing out of my mouth ends up being: “Dad talk about me a lot?”

  Nick’s eyes soften, and he nods. “All the time, ever since I met him. Come in, come in! He’ll be so happy you stopped by.”

  He steps out of the doorway and motions me inside, and I have a brief twinge of resentment at this man acting like he gets to welcome me into my own home, and then I step over the threshold and realize what a jerk I am. It was my home, but I stormed out eight years ago. Nick’s making it more than clear that I’m still welcome back, but it’s his home now. His and Dad’s.

  “Thanks,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets once I make it inside.

  I immediately want to kick myself for not thinking to bring something. A bottle of wine? That scotch Dad always liked? A peace offering? Olive branch? Anything at all to keep my hands occupied?

  “Are you—” Nick starts talking at the same time I do.

  “Sorry I didn’t call first—”

  “Oh, nonsense,” Nick interrupts, waving his hand. “Let me just go get Santi. He’s in the kitchen, making—”

  “Pasteles,” I finish before he can. I can smell them, and even though the house looks hella different inside, that smell is home.

  Shit. I’m gonna do something embarrassing here, like get all choked up, aren’t I?

  I cough into my hand, trying to stave it off, and Nick reaches out and squeezes my shoulder with another warm smile. He drops the touch just as quick as he offered it, then he tells me to make myself at home and has mercy, disappearing off to the kitchen and giving me a moment to collect myself.

  Maybe I should be planning something to say, but instead, I’m just staring at the floors. Dad redid them. Used to be old carpeting that I’m embarrassed to say I don’t even remember the color of—beige or gray, something bland—but now it’s gorgeous hardwood floors as far as I can see, broken up with a few brightly colored rugs. Stylish couches, classy wood and metal for the coffee tables and end tables, a gorgeous entertainment center… every single thing looks modern and redone.

  I roll back my shoulders a few times, trying to loosen up, and as I stop looking at all the differences I realize how much still feels familiar. The decor may have been updated, but the colors haven’t changed. Everything’s still washed over in the bright, tropical colors my dad loves—oranges, limes, more turquoise—they all just live on new surfaces. And now that I’m really looking, I still see a few familiar things around the living room, too. Some of the framed photos on the wall are new—Dad and Nick and a few people I don’t know—but I recognize most of the others. Me and Johnny, of course, but Dad’s still got a bunch of him and Mom up, too. Huh. Still boggles my mind, but I’ve talked to Mom a few times since we first had Dad and Nick over for dinner, and I guess they are still friends.

  I was wrong about a lot of things, which doesn’t feel great to admit… but also kind of does, yeah?

  “Mateo!”

  My father emerges from the kitchen entryway wearing comfortable-looking light pants, a loose poet shirt, and a smile that stretches from ear to ear. It’s... very much a style I would never have pictured my father in, what with the jeans and button-down shirts he was always sporting when I grew up, but wow, he certainly looks great.

  He looks happy.

  Comfortable in his own skin comes to mind.

  He’s holding his arms out wide, and I finally get my feet to unglue themselves from those slick new hardwood floors and meet him halfway, right in the middle of the living room. He pulls me in tight, and now that I’ve seen him a few times—we met for lunch twice after that first dinner and talked on the phone a few other times—I’m almost used to him feeling just that much smaller than I remember.

  “You conning Nick into helping you make the pasteles, papá?” I ask, pulling back and suddenly feeling at ease.

  The turquoise door didn’t bite me and there’s nothing here that will, either.

  It feels good to be back here. Different, but good.

  “Pfft,” Dad says, waving a hand through the air. “He is too slow, mijo! Your mother, she packs pasteles so fast, probably better than anyone else I have ever met before. But this one,” he continues, pointing at Nick with an affectionate smile. “I do not know that he will ever get the hang of it. Maybe you will come into the kitchen and help me, no?”

  “Oh hush, Santi,” Nick says, walking over to my father and slipping an arm around his waist. He lays a chaste peck on Dad’s cheek, then brushes off a bit of masa from my father’s beard. “You’re not putting your son to work the first time he comes over. The food will wait.”

  “Yes, yes, fine then,” Dad says. “We will cook another time.”

  The smile they share is full of years of history that I missed out on, but then Dad looks my way again and steps away from Nick, a flash of hesitance coming over his face.

  Well, shit. That’s for me, isn’t it?

  Here in his own home, and Dad’s concerned about how I’m going to react to seeing the two of them together?

  I deserve it, I do, but all I can think of is how rattled Eden was the week before when the three of us got a few dirty looks on the duck tour. That sucked, not gonna lie, and the idea that that’s me—or that it was, at least—sucks even harder. No way do I want to fuck up this brand-new reconciliation with my dad by letting him think I’m still that asshole, especially now that I’ve pulled my head out of my ass and realized how much I don’t care who he’s with, as long as he’s happy.

  Wish everyone felt that way. I can’t pretend I’m totally unaffected by some of the reactions we get when Eden, Johnny, and I go out together—it made me crazy to see Eden so shook up on the duck boat—but I sure as hell don’t care enough to give up either Eden or Johnny. Still, it gives me some empathy toward Dad’s moment of hesitation, yeah?

  I wish I could say something to him now, something to make it clear that I really am okay with him and Nick being together. More importantly, something to let him know that I finally got it through my thick head that whether I’m okay with it or not, them being together doesn’t really have anything to do with me. But I’m not sure what the right words are, so I just hook my thumbs into my belt loops and rock back on my heels and smile at the two of them, trying to put all the happiness I’m feeling lately into the look to maybe get my point across non-verbally.

  Guess it works a little, because Nick gives me a smile right back, and after a moment, I see some tension let loose in Dad’s shoulders.

  “You are good, mijo?” he asks, smiling at me. “You look well. You are h
appy, no?”

  “I’m very good,” I say, meaning it one hundred percent. “Couldn’t be better.”

  “Ah, this is good. Very good,” he says, and then we all three stand there sort of smiling and nodding at each other like a gift shop bobblehead display for a minute. It’s like we’re all walking on eggshells around each other with this friendly but stilted conversation, and just when I remember that I actually stopped by for a reason, Dad and I talk over each other.

  “Hey, Dad, I came over to—”

  “So, why are you here, Mateo?”

  “Don’t be rude, Santi,” Nick says, laughing as he bumps his hip into Dad’s. “Maybe we can offer Mateo—um, Matt, something to drink before we grill him on his intentions?”

  Dad rushes over to me and has both my hands in his before Nick even finishes talking. “No, I did not mean it like that, mijo,” he says, shaking his head. “Of course I am glad to see you here. Very glad. Why ever you are here, you are welcome. I just meant—”

  “I know, papi,” I cut him off, laughing. “It’s all good. I was just, uh, in the neighborhood.”

  Dad’s eyebrows go up and his lips twitch like he’s gonna laugh, but he lets the white lie slide.

  “Oh, well, yes, I am glad you made it out this way then, mijo,” he says, not calling me on the fact that we live only twenty minutes away and yet I’ve never managed to be “in the neighborhood” even once over the past eight years. “You know you are welcome here any time. Everything is okay for you, then?”

  “Yeah, everything’s totally fine,” I say, and I can’t help but smile big as I think about just how good things actually are. “Better than fine, actually. Things are going really good, and that’s sort of related to why I’m here. I wanted to drop by and invite you both to a surprise party me and Johnny are throwing in a couple of weeks.”

  “Oh, a surprise party!” Nick exclaims, beaming at the two of us. “That sounds fun.”

  “Surprise party?” my father asks, tilting his head to the side. “Who is it a surprise for?”

  I grin, kind of loving how it’s coming together to pull this thing off. Eden has no clue, far as I can tell.

  “You remember Eden, right?” I ask Dad, getting a nod back. “Well, her birthday’s coming up.”

  I give them the details, and Dad’s just glowing. Makes me happy to see and also makes me feel a little shitty for all the years I messed this up between us, but I’ve apologized, right? And now we’re here, so time to move forward.

  “September twenty-first, that is a Friday night, no?” Dad asks.

  “I think so, yeah,” I say. “But if you guys already have plans—”

  “I’ll check our calendar,” Nick cuts in, sounding excited as he starts bustling out of the room.

  “No, no,” my father says, putting a hand on Nick’s arm to stop him. He turns to me, still beaming. “The date will be okay for us. We will work it out, no matter what. We will be there, and you will have to tell your pretty novia to save me a dance, no?”

  “I’ll definitely tell her,” I tell him, smiling.

  Dad’s grin gets even bigger. “Ah, you are not correcting me. The two of you, you are a couple then?”

  “Yeah, I mean… well, yes.”

  We’re not a couple, because a couple is only two, but I get what he’s asking.

  For some reason Nick looks surprised at my answer, though. “Oh!” he exclaims, looking from me to my father with a hint of confusion on his face.

  “What, querido?” Dad asks Nick. “What is the matter? You remember this Eden, of course. She is lovely.”

  “Of course she is,” Nick agrees quickly.

  Something’s still off with him, though, and I can tell Dad thinks so, too.

  “What?” I ask after two beats of silence, looking between the two of them.

  Dad shrugs, but guess Nick can tell I’m not gonna let it go, so after a slight hesitation he says, “I just… I guess I just misread things. When we were over, I thought you were together with… with Johnny. As a couple.”

  I start to grin, but Dad looks horrified.

  “No! No no no,” my father says, waving his hands at Nick urgently as he shoots me an apologetic look. “No, Nick, Johnny is family. He has always been around. Mateo is not… he and Johnny are not… son comos hermanos, no?”

  Like brothers. I snort back a laugh, but yeah, of course Dad would think that, and obviously he also thinks I’m gonna flip out at being labeled gay, doesn’t he? And again, can’t blame the guy. It’s almost sweet to see him so concerned about Nick scaring me off. Just goes to prove that I’m the one who screwed up the relationship between me and my dad. It’s clear as day now that my blinders are off that he wants me around, and it feels good.

  Great, actually.

  Nick’s all wide-eyed and stumbling through an apology, so I cut in before things get awkward.

  “Actually, things have kinda changed with me and Johnny, Dad. We are together now. Not like brothers, but um, you know. Also… together. Same as with Eden. Johnny, él es mi novio.”

  I grin. Never said it like that. Johnny’s my boyfriend.

  Definitely weird… and I definitely like it.

  Nick’s grinning, too, so guess his Spanish is decent, but Dad—

  I swallow, my smile starting to slip as Dad stares at me.

  “¿Qué?” he finally says. “¿Qué quieres decir?”

  What does he mean, what do I mean? Not sure how I could’ve said it any clearer, and Christ, Dad’s gay… I shouldn’t have to spell it out for him, yeah? Guess I’m gonna try, though.

  “I mean, you know, I’m saying that me and Johnny, we’re—”

  “¿Estás bromeando?” he asks, cutting me off. “This is not a funny joke, Mateo.”

  My mouth drops open, and truth? I’m a little offended. But okay, okay. He’s just had eight years of me mad at him for being gay, guess I can cut him a little slack for not congratulating me right out of the gate. I rub the back of my neck, taking a breath, then try again to explain, pretty proud that I’m keeping an even tone.

  “It’s not a joke,” I say. “Why would I joke about something like that, huh? I’m… I’m in love with him. In love with Johnny.”

  My face flushes with heat as I put it out there like that, but I’m not hiding this, not from my dad of all people… and Jesus, not when I can still hear Johnny’s voice telling Eden that hiding it felt like cancer.

  Like motherfucking cancer?

  It still kills me.

  I won’t ever be the one to make either one of them feel like that, even if it takes some getting used to, just flat-out saying shit this way. I wanna take care of them, though. Both of them. And part of that is being able to do this whole out and proud thing, amirite? To make sure I’m never the one who makes them feel like there’s something to hide here.

  Right now, though? The way Dad’s staring at me is really putting that to the test. And guess I’m slow on the uptake, because for the life of me, I don’t actually get why. I’m still thinking he’s being a hypocrite about me and Johnny, at least, until he finally speaks and I realize his flavor of bullshit is the same one we ran into on the duck tour.

  “No,” Dad says, shaking his head as his hand slashes through the air. “No, Mateo. You say you are with Eden, and now you say you are with Johnny. Which is it, mijo? It cannot be both. I raised you better than to be doing this.”

  “Doing what?” I ask, rearing back as if he’d slapped me. “I am with them. Both of them. And I’m happy, Dad, we all are. Johnny and Eden are into each other, too. We love each other, why are you being like this? Are you just trying to get back at me for how I treated you, back when you came out?”

  “Of course I am not! But you all three cannot be… this… this way with each other,” my father sputters, looking flustered. “Tres es un problema. Three is a problem, it is not a relationship. It cannot last.”

  “Santi,” Nick says, putting a hand on my father’s arm and shaking his hea
d. “Maybe this isn’t our place to—”

  Dad ignores him, on a roll. “No puedes amar a dos personas. No es posible. No estás en una relación real. Solo dos personas pueden amarse el uno al otro románticamente. Tres personas no pueden. Eso está mal.”

  Those words feel like a gut-punch, coming from him.

  It’s impossible to be in love with three people.

  It’s not a real relationship.

  Only two people, not three, can have romantic love for one another.

  It’s wrong.

  It’s one thing to blow off some stranger’s dirty looks, but gotta be honest, I wasn’t even worried about this, not from my father of all people. It blindsides me. He’s still going, getting red in the face, but it’s getting hard to hear him over the rushing in my ears. I’m hurt, but I’m getting mad, too. Who the hell is he to judge who I’m in love with?

  “Santi, knock it off,” Nick finally interjects sharply. “Stop.”

  Dad’s mouth snaps closed at that, and he and I stand there glaring at each other. I’m gonna say something ugly if I open my mouth right now, I know it, and I’m really, really trying not to.

  I’ve said too many ugly things to him already.

  A lot of the same ugly things he’s just said to me, with a slightly different twist.

  He’s being bullheaded about something he doesn’t understand, and when I come here hoping for some kind of open-armed welcome—a little support, maybe—he hits me with this bullshit. It’s so unfair that I want to shout, maybe hit something, but the shittiest part?

  I can’t say a word.

  I want to—badly—but as mad as I am right now, I’m also just too fucking aware that his ignorance and this whole fight is like looking in the mirror at my own damn self, eight years ago.

  Telling him he couldn’t love a man, not like that.

  That it wouldn’t be real.

  That it was wrong.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, taking a slow breath, but it doesn’t help how fucking tight my chest is right now.

  “Dad,” I start. “Let me just explain—”