by Anna Martin
“Don’t bullshit me, Father.”
“Language.”
“Tell me.”
I sighed. “Who have you overheard? I’m not mad, Chloe. I’m just curious.”
“Mom was on the phone to Aunty Jilly and said something about a boyfriend,” she muttered.
“Ah. Um. Yeah. Well.”
“Concise,” she said sarcastically.
“I’ve been seeing him for a few months.”
“Oh.” Silence. “How come you never told me before?”
“It was never an issue. You were too young to understand, and I didn’t want to upset you by trying to explain.”
“I don’t care,” she said, screwing up her nose and frowning.
“That I’m… gay?” I asked.
“No. It’s cool.”
I nearly swerved off the road. “Are you kidding me?” I asked.
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Liza at school has two gay dads. They buy her whatever she wants.” She looked at me hopefully.
“Well, Liza—” The name caught in my throat. “—is lucky. Your gay dad is still just a poor professor.”
She sighed dramatically. “Well, I think you should marry a rich guy. Then I can be a bridesmaid at your wedding. Blake’s parents got married the other week and they had a huge wedding at the country club and loads of gifts. And cake.”
“Is Blake a boy or a girl?” I asked, teasing.
“A girl,” she said, clearly scandalized at my ignorance.
“I don’t get this name androgyny,” I said. “How are you supposed to know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“Not everyone is called John or Jane these days,” she said. “It’s cool. Mom is going to call the baby Columbus or Carter if it’s a boy or Kennedy or McKenzie if it’s a girl.”
“God help us all.”
“Dad! Be nice. You chose my name, right?”
“And you should be glad I did,” I told her. “Otherwise you might be stuck with a monstrosity of a name like McKenzie McKinnon.”
“You could have been a bit more imaginative, though. Like Khloe Kardashian. She spells her name with a K,” Chloe informed me.
“Who’s Khloe Cardigan?” I asked her. I was being a dad on purpose, and it prompted the right kind of reaction from her. My daughter sighed heavily, and I could almost hear her eyes rolling in her head.
“Dad.”
“Well,” I said. “There’s no precedent for how the letters K H should sound next to each other in the English language. It could be like ‘knife’ with a silent K.”
She muttered something about having a teacher for a parent, which I chose to ignore.
“So her name could be pronounced like….” I considered it. “Hulooo. Hulooo Cardigan.”
The snort of laughter was inelegant and sounded so much like her mother it made my heart ache. “You’re such a geek,” Chloe informed me.
“Thanks,” I said. “Tell your mom that for me, would you? It’s the risk she’s taking with all of those creative spellings.”
She smiled and tried to hide it by looking out the window.
“So, what’s his name?” she asked.
“Chris,” I told her.
“Do I get to meet him?”
“I think he’d like that,” I told her.
Chloe kicked her heels up onto the dash. I decided not to argue with her and let her do it.
“You look different,” she said suddenly, sitting up straighter.
“I do?”
“Yeah. You’ve had your hair cut. And you’re growing a beard.”
“I’m not growing a beard,” I said, laughing. “I just didn’t shave this morning.”
“And… and… you look… different,” she finished lamely.
“Better?” I teased.
“Anything is an improvement.”
“I’ll call Joan Rivers, see if she can get you a job. Your critical eye is clearly an untapped talent.”
“Ha ha,” she deadpanned. “He’s changed you,” she accused.
“Maybe,” I said lightly. “I don’t mind if he has. Like you said, it’s an improvement.”
She turned the radio on then, effectively ending the conversation with Lady Gaga. I considered calling Chris and picking him up on the way back to the flat but decided against it, thinking Chloe would probably be more comfortable meeting him in a more public, nonthreatening environment. Neutral territory. Switzerland. She would probably rejoice at a trip to Europe, actually. Although my first choice of location would be taking her back to my homeland.
But I digress.
I needed to stop back at the flat to pick up my wallet, which I’d forgotten in my haste to leave the house that morning, and Chloe wanted to see the cat. We ended up crashing in front of the TV with two mugs of coffee, leaving me wondering when my teenage daughter had started drinking the stuff. I blamed her mother.
We were tuned in to Oprah when my phone buzzed. I smiled as I answered it to Chris.
“Hi,” I said, trying not to let the goofy smile escape from my face.
“Hey. Did you pick her up okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, we’re just chilling before we go do something.”
“’Kay,” he said, and I heard him shifting about.
“Are you still in bed?” I asked incredulously. It was closing in on 11:00 a.m.
“Dad, please,” Chloe muttered.
“I didn’t get in till three,” Chris protested.
I told him to hang on and turned to Chloe. “Is it okay if we pick him up in an hour? I’ll take you out for lunch.”
“Sure,” she said, shrugging it off.
“Get your ass out of bed,” I said to Chris. “We’ll be there in an hour.”
“Fine, fine,” he muttered and rang off.
Chloe was silent, staring determinedly at the TV. I wasn’t too concerned. I was aware of the soporific, trancelike effects of television, especially on young minds.
“Where did you meet him?” she demanded after a few minutes.
“Hmm? Oh. At a pub,” I said.
“A gay bar?”
“No, Chloe,” I said gently. “Just a pub. We just got to talking.”
“Then how did he know you’re gay? You don’t look gay.”
This was the part of the coming-out-to-my-daughter process I was dreading. Explaining things. Maybe it would have been easier to tell her when she was younger.
“I was out with Alex. He sort of orchestrated our meeting.”
“Oh.”
More silence.
“Chloe,” I said, attracting her attention. “I know this is a lot to take in all at once. But I hope you’ll give Chris a chance. He’s a very nice person.”
She nodded and stood, taking both our mugs back to the kitchen. “We should go,” she called.
If possible, the drive over to Chris’s place was even more awkward. I could tell she was nervous, on edge, and strangely defiant in her own way. I couldn’t figure out why.
I beeped the horn rather than getting out of the car, and he was halfway out the door already, shouting obscenities at his housemates.
“Motherfuckers,” he yelled, laughing as he jogged down the path. He was smiling.
“Hi,” I said as he hopped into the back of the car.
“Hey, baby,” he said, leaning through the divide to plant a quick kiss on my cheek.
“Chris, this is my daughter, Chloe,” I said.
“Oh,” she squeaked.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, awkwardly angling his arm through to shake her hand. And he gave her one of those cheeky, sexy, winning smiles. She was a goner.
Chris smelled nice, not too strongly of anything but enough that his presence was announced to our olfactory senses. His hair was a mess, and he was wearing jeans and a soft, gray knitted sweater that covered his arms to the wrists. It covered nearly all of his tattoos, but not the skull on his hand.
Chloe was staring.
“I thought we could go to Bennie’s,”
I said, suggesting Chloe’s favorite Italian restaurant, one that I hadn’t had a chance to take Chris to yet.
“Oh, I love that place,” Chris interjected quickly. “They make the best NY cheesecake I’ve ever had.”
“Their cheesecake is the best,” she said breathily, physically twisted in her seat now, trying to get a better look at him.
“She likes me already,” Chris stage whispered to me.
I smiled and kept my eyes on the road.
Chloe excused herself to the bathroom once we’d been seated, and I turned to Chris, leaning forward so my forehead touched his. He kissed me quickly and sat back.
“Okay?” I asked him.
“Of course. She’s great.”
“I think she likes you,” I teased him. He rolled his eyes.
“Everyone likes me.”
The waitress came over, and I ordered Chloe a Coke, not sure if she was still on her iced-tea obsession or not. When she came back from the bathroom, Chloe had taken her sweatshirt off, and I would have sworn the tank top was dipping lower over her chest than it had when we’d left her mother’s.
She nodded her thanks at the Coke and looked up at Chris.
“How old are you?” she said frankly.
Chris nodded, as if he’d been expecting her question. “Twenty-three.”
“Bit young for you, isn’t he, Dad?” she said as she concentrated on her drink.
“Chloe,” I said, my tone issuing my warning.
“What?” she said. “He’s only nine years older than me.”
“And nine years younger than your dad,” Chris said reasonably.
“If it’s not such a big age gap between you two, then it’s not such a big age gap between your boyfriend and your daughter,” she said.
I went to speak, to chastise her, but Chris gave me a look. A look that clearly said, Shut up and let me handle this. I decided to trust him. Besides, I couldn’t figure out how best to argue with her.
“Chloe, I’m younger than your dad. There’s no use in trying to pretend that I’m not,” he said. “But it’s because of this that we get on so well. With my career, I’ve spent a long time bouncing around from place to place and partying. Since we’ve been together, I’ve brought that sweet, fun nature out of him, and he’s given me something to ground myself to.”
“I don’t see where you get the benefit from this,” she said bluntly.
Chris laughed. “I get someone who is willing to take the time to get to know me rather than having rather… brief relationships.”
“So you fuck around,” she said.
“Chloe!” I exclaimed. “That’s out of order. Apologize.”
She did, reluctantly. “But you’re safe, right? I mean, I don’t want my dad to die of AIDS.”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.
“Rob,” Chris said sharply. “She has questions. This is a lot to handle. Give her a break.” He turned back to the daughter he knew how to handle a lot better than I did. “I don’t have AIDS, Chloe. I don’t have HIV. I don’t fuck around, no, but I’m not exactly famous for having long-term, committed relationships.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said quickly, before I could get a word in. “I don’t have a problem with answering your questions.”
She seemed to soften after that, and I was happy to let Chris orchestrate the conversation about their shared interest in music and Chloe’s favorite bands. I heard the word “Bieber” and tuned out. Besides, watching them interact was far more interesting to me than actually taking part in their conversation.
For all I knew, these could well be the two most important people in my whole life.
We ordered another round of drinks and a few baskets of chips to share as awkward conversation softened into something slightly more natural. It was clear, to me at least, that Chloe’s guard was still up and she didn’t trust Chris just yet. That was okay, though. If there was one way that Chloe took after me that I was actually happy about, it was in her natural reluctance to trust people.
By the time we were ready to leave the restaurant, I was getting a bit tired of Chloe’s attempts to flirt. Apparently she didn’t need to trust the guy to flirt with him. Any confidence in her that I’d gained slowly slipped through my fingers.
Every day she got a little older, a little bit more like her mother, and suddenly the sheer loathing Lu’s parents still had for me got a little bit more understandable.
When Chloe climbed into the car after saying goodbye to Chris, I led us away a few steps for a more private conversation.
“Okay?” I asked him.
“I’m fine. Stop worrying.”
I kissed him softly.
“Why don’t you come over later?”
I considered the work I needed to do for my upcoming lectures. Dismissed it. “Yeah. I’ll let you know when I’m back.”
He shook his head. “Don’t bother. Just turn up. I’ll be there.”
“Okay.” I kissed him again. “See you later.”
Chris waved to Chloe as we pulled out of the lot. She had turned the radio on as she waited for me. I considered turning it down to talk to her. However much I wanted to ignore the repercussions of our afternoon, it wouldn’t be responsible of me to turn my back on her.
“Can we talk?” I said, raising my voice over the music.
“I’m sure we can,” she muttered. I turned the radio down.
“I’m not upset with you, Chloe,” I said, sighing. “In fact, that went a lot better than I was anticipating.”
She looked at me in shock.
I refrained from rolling my eyes.
“I promise,” I continued. “I don’t blame you for having questions. I think you could do a little bit of work on respecting your elders—”
“Chris isn’t my elder,” she interjected. “He’s practically my peer.”
“He’s my boyfriend, so I’d be grateful if you treated him with the same respect you show to your stepdad.”
“Mike has been living with me and Mom since I was five. I only just met Chris,” she said.
When had my daughter gotten to be so reasonable? That certainly wasn’t something she’d inherited from her mother.
“That’s a fair comment,” I conceded.
“He’s young, Dad,” she said, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “And hot.”
“And gay,” I said gently.
She scowled.
I parked up and escorted my daughter back into the house, determined to speak to her mother. At that point Luisa could have been in labor with her third spawn and I still would have wanted to talk to her. Probably.
Fortunately for me, she was not in labor and was out of bed.
“Come in, Robert,” she called from the living room. I kissed Chloe on the cheek, and she stomped back up to her bedroom without saying goodbye. Luisa was perched on an armchair looking like a shrine to some goddess of fertility; with her legs folded up underneath her and her large belly swelling over her knees, she once again resembled one the weebles that our daughter had never heard of.
“I thought I’d give you some advance warning,” I said, sitting when she directed me to the sofa.
“Oh?”
“Our daughter met my boyfriend today.”
“Oh.”
“Pregnancy seems to have rendered you incapable of normal speech.”
She threw a cushion at me.
“What happened?” Lu asked.
“I think she has a little crush,” I admitted sheepishly.
“On your boyfriend?” she asked, incredulous.
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“Luisa! If she hadn’t overheard you and Jilly discussing it in the first place, this never would have happened.”
“Ah. Sorry.”
“Bloody hell. Women,” I muttered.
“Tell me all about him,” she said while rubbing her hands together with glee.
“He’s a twenty-three
-year-old rock star with tattoos and a Mohawk haircut.”
She squealed with laughter and rubbed her belly with both hands, gasping for breath. “I like that one.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “He plays drums in a band. And he hasn’t shaved his head, but his hair spikes up in the middle.”
“You are serious,” she said, frowning. “He’s twenty-three?”
“And this is where I think Chloe’s problem comes from,” I said. “She was quite happy to tell us that Chris is only nine years older than she.”
“Oh dear. And he has tattoos?”
“Yes. Quite a few.”
Luisa sighed. “Teenagers.”
“She asked Chris if he had AIDS.”
“Oh lord.”
“Yeah, that was my response too.”
“Robert? I’ll talk to her.”
I stood. “Thanks. I thought I’d just give you a heads-up.”
“Thanks,” she echoed, struggling to stand. I pushed her back down into her chair.
“Sit. Stay,” I commanded. “I’ll see myself out. Call me when you have that baby.”
“I will. Thanks, Robert.”
I kissed the top of her head before I left. She was still a friend, more so since big decisions about Chloe’s life needed to be made. Luisa never made me feel left out, even when I never felt like I had a valid opinion or even a right to make the decisions between us. She was the one who had to deal with the consequences, anyway.
THE period of coming out of the closet, for me, took several years. I’d laid out the bones of the story for Chris, but the details were mine, and I kept them locked in a fairly dark part of myself. My first, tentative “Mum, Dad, I think I like boys too,” had happened aged seventeen when my whole world barely made sense to me. My parents initially blamed the stress of the move and my trouble fitting into this new environment. America was so, so different from Scotland, and I ached for the familiar feel of home.
Despite my inability—or unwillingness—to adjust, the rest of my family seemed to think the U.S. was the dream that they had all been waiting to live, and I was alone in feeling so utterly lost. In that environment it sort of made sense that these new questions about sex and my own sexuality would get buried under the aching need to fit in.
I lost myself in my schoolwork and found much of it was targeted for an intelligence below my own. With my parents’ reaction to my painful coming-out being to refer me to a psychiatrist and school counselor, I decided to take a more scientific approach to my situation and explore my other options.
