by Cara Dee
I knocked on Aurora's door. "Sweetheart, can you come downstairs for a moment?"
I heard Brady announce he was home and "fucking starving," and then Aurora opened her door.
Breaking up via text message was reserved for cowards, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t understand it. Looking down at my daughter's beautiful face and curious expression made me want to hide. I didn’t want to see the hurt I was about to cause.
"What is it?" she asked.
I nodded toward the stairs and grabbed her hand, kissing the top of it.
We headed down together, and Lissa must've told Brady something. He was sitting on one of the couches already, his features set, his knee bouncing. Kelly was right. He did know.
For days, I'd had Kelly's words tumbling around inside me. Brady knew Lissa and I were getting divorced. He knew about my almost suicide attempt. He knew how far back Kelly and I went, how close we used to be. There was even hinting at Brady suspecting something about my sexuality.
I'd grown numb and detached, another haze blanketing me, though I was determined to make this one short-lived. I had to believe this was for the better. The truth was coming out, and I could begin to work with my guilt instead of constantly being pushed down by weakness and lies. Before, there was no way out, except the one I ultimately took—years too late.
My selfish moment of craving Kelly was buried once more, if only for the minute—because damn it, I wasn’t sure I could suppress it forever—and it'd been a dumbstruck friend he'd left in the cabin after telling me everything. I hadn't been able to find my words. He'd said his piece and left.
"So this is it, huh?" Brady smiled bitterly. "I knew it."
Lissa sat down next to him and put a hand on his knee.
Aurora and I took the couch on the other side of the coffee table, and her sudden worry made her shrink and hold on to my hand tighter.
I cleared my throat, having requested to speak first. My pulse went through the roof, though I managed to remain outwardly calm—a small miracle. "I've thought a lot about what to say, and I'm still not sure I've got it right. When your mother and I discussed this, she reminded me that you're not little children anymore. Brady, you're a young man I couldn’t be more proud of. Aurora, you went against my wishes this summer and became a teenager." I kissed her hand again, to which she offered a wary smile. "So. I won't treat you as if you can't understand, but know that you can always come to us when you don't want to be strong and understanding." My gaze returned to Brady, and I grew more somber. "You're right, son. Your mother and I are getting divorced."
He gnashed his teeth together and looked away.
"What?" Aurora crumpled, eyes welling up in a second. Divorce wasn’t unheard of at her age, though; she had classmates with divorced parents. The grim reality of that probably subdued her reactions.
"First of all," Lissa said, taking over in a gentle tone, "you and Brady are everything to us. While things will certainly change, we will be a family in our own way."
I inclined my head. "We're your parents first and foremost." This was what I'd argued for since I told Lissa everything. I needed to be given the chance to show our children marriage and family didn’t have to go hand in hand. She liked my idea, that we could face this as parents and not a married couple, but she had little faith in me. Even now, she was skeptical.
"But why?" Aurora cried, and I held her to me. "Is it because Dad's been sick? It goes away, doesn’t it? It did before."
I swallowed hard, ready to go with my practiced speech. Ready to say I'd made myself ill, ready to take blame, and ready to explain that adults didn’t always make good decisions. Instead, Lissa spoke up.
"Sometimes, we go through difficult things when we're young," she explained to our daughter. "It can scare you off or make you feel bad about how you feel toward something." She gave me a fleeting look, almost as if asking if this was okay. I only managed a nod. "In your father's case, it made him bury a part of himself. And sometimes, it follows you for a very long time until you can't hide it anymore. It's up to him if he wants to explain when you're older, but what I want you to know is that blame has no business in our family." She paused, and an invisible rope loosened its hold around my neck. "Whatever happened back then caused our feelings to change. We're both hurt, and it's better to process that together than to try to place blame and figure out what's right and wrong."
I looked down at my lap and pushed back my emotions. What she said was directed at me as much—or maybe even more—than at Aurora.
Lissa and I spent the past several weeks fighting, speaking calmly, avoiding one another, making plans, and trying to explain. The listening came last, and once it did, we started making progress. I told her more about my parents and how they played a role in how Kelly rejected me. She expressed her feelings of betrayal and hurt. We fought over the children until we came to a standstill and realized we were both fighting for them. She admitted the logical side of her understood me—and even Kelly to a degree—but that logic had no voice in how she felt. I wouldn’t hold that against her. I understood it too well.
Even with all this out in the open, something had changed. Today was the first time she broached blame. She'd avoided speaking about it earlier, focusing on what everything meant, hurt feelings, where to go from here, and processing.
If it was for the benefit of our children or true, I didn’t know.
"Are you selling the house?" Brady asked quietly.
"No." I shook my head. "I'm moving out next week—"
"No!" That upset Aurora more, and she hugged my arm as she cried. "I don't want you to move, Daddy."
Fuck.
"I'll be close, princess." I cupped her cheek and kissed her on the forehead. "I've found a place in the Valley, and you and Brady will have your own rooms." I'd deliberately sought out an apartment in Cedar Valley for two reasons. One, to create a bit of distance between Lis and me, and two—most importantly—Brady would be attending community college there.
It was still close. A ten-minute drive was nothing. I'd never missed a recital before, and I wouldn’t start now. I promised Aurora we would go back to having our father-daughter dates because I would be feeling better now, and I ignored Lissa's annoyed look, probably at my making promises. I knew she didn’t have faith in me; I knew she expected me to fail and lose myself in my depression, but for the first time in years, I was beginning to have faith in my abilities.
Lissa patted Brady's hand. "This is still your home, honey. We will do our best to keep the house until Aurora's off to college, as well."
I nodded. We didn’t have a mortgage on the house, we had savings, and we could both work extra to make ends meet. "We're in this together. Regardless if you're at my place or here, same rules will apply."
"But you can't cook, Dad," Aurora said with a pout.
I smiled, tickled, and hugged her to me. "I guess I'll have to learn. Will you help me?"
She nodded in response but didn’t say much else. It wasn’t the time or the place to make light of things, and we were nowhere near done. For the next hour or two, we talked as a family, as the united front I wanted us to be. From practical matters to making sure they expressed their feelings. Brady was mostly quiet, so I would speak to him in private, and Aurora was upset but not too against the idea of teaching her dad grown-up things like cooking and making the bed "just like Mom did."
*
Lissa and I were emotionally wrung out by the time Aurora and Brady wanted to go to their rooms. We were having a late dinner, so I followed Lis to the kitchen.
"I want to say thank you." I stayed out of her way while she grabbed ingredients from the fridge. "You didn’t have to stand up for me in there."
"No, I did," she argued softly. "I've been thinking a lot this week, and… William, I can't remember the last time I saw us as husband and wife. It's been years."
When she moved to peel potatoes, I joined her side and gently took the peeler from her. She looked surprised f
or a second, then smiled ruefully, understanding. I needed to do more.
"You were right," she continued, handing me a big pot for the potatoes. "I've been your caretaker, and I've viewed you as less. I kept thinking…if I could just fix this, get you out of this disorder, then you'd go back to being my husband."
I didn’t answer, wanting her to get it out. Standing by the sink, I made a mess with the potatoes, hoping for an A for effort, and I listened.
"I can't understand depression." She chopped vegetables like a professional. "But I've been by your side for twenty years. I know what it looks like. I've seen the hell you've been trapped in. And I think…" She took a breath. "I think, finding out you were intimate with Kelly hurt less because you weren't my husband anymore. You were the patient I took care of, the depressed man who was going through another round of hell, and at some point, I stopped waiting for my husband to return. Does that make sense?"
It did. I nodded pensively, phrasing my words. Because I understood the distance. We created it to protect ourselves or focus, maybe a combination of both.
"It does." I rinsed the peeler and shut off the water. "We do what we can, Lis. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking less of me, either—"
"I don’t," she interrupted with a wince. "I did, but I don’t anymore. I'm so damn angry and hurt because you lied to me for so fucking long, but I'm doing my best to consider the reasons. You're not a malicious man. Just…give me time to get past this. I have to start over, and I don’t know where I'll end up. I barely know where I'm going to begin."
Putting my hand on top of hers, I stopped her from chopping through the cutting board. Her shoulders slumped, and I was relieved she let me hug her.
"I'm sorry." I kissed the top of her head, holding her tightly. "I'm so sorry for everything, Lis."
She sniffled and hugged me back. "Me too, but maybe we shouldn’t be."
"I still am. I never wanted to hurt you."
"Maybe that's why it hurts so much," she laughed softly through her tears. "It's like when you told me it hurt you more when I took care of you. I get it."
"Maybe." I smiled sadly and cupped her face, brushing away the tears that fell. "Either way, I'll be here for you, too."
She sighed and nodded, then flashed another rueful smile. "It's good seeing you determined."
It felt good.
The fog was lifting.
*
Brady eyed the two-story brownstone as I grabbed the groceries and locked the car.
The three-bedroom apartment on the second floor was mine, and I'd only had the keys for a week, so I hoped he didn’t mind a nearly empty place for the time being.
"This is so weird," he muttered.
"No argument from me." I took the lead and climbed the steps, taking the opportunity to check my phone. Still no response from Kelly, but Adam texted and confirmed that guys' night was on for next weekend.
"Is Mom gonna help you decorate and shit?" he asked as I dug out the keys. "I can't picture you picking out drapes."
I cracked a smile and opened the door. "I was hoping you and your sister would help me."
Brady hadn't felt like talking yesterday, so I'd suggested a couple days for just the two of us at the new place. He'd agreed, and samples for paint and a furniture catalogue waited inside.
Other than that, I'd only bought beds, a couch, a coffee table, and a flat screen. We were eating on paper plates for now. Next week, Lis and I would go through the house and the garage for things I was bringing over.
"It's nice." Brady bobbed his head, surveying the opening to the living room. "Old. Doesn’t smell like home." He sent me a hesitant look. "Yet."
I held on to that last word. The apartment was forgettable with white-painted brick walls and a simple carpet, but over time I would make sure that changed.
A blue couch stood against the wall between the two large windows that faced the street, and I'd already fallen asleep there twice. With nothing left to do at Kelly's place, I came here more often.
I set down the groceries. "Your room's down the hall." I nodded straight ahead, ignoring the living room and the kitchen for now. We passed a bathroom, then the master bedroom, Aurora's room, and lastly, we got to Brady's. While my room, as well as Aurora's, faced the brownstone next door, his room had a view of the street. "If you'd prefer the middle one, we can change. This one is a bit bigger, though." He had sports gear and would need a place to study, whereas Aurora preferred to do her homework in the kitchen.
He shook his head and dropped his bag on the new bed. "This is fine." Walking over to the window, he peered down the cobblestone street. "Do you think Mom will be hurt if I spend more time here?" His forehead was creased in worry when he turned to me again. "This is literally two minutes from campus."
"She already knows, son." I hated that he felt the need to ask, and it was something Lissa and I would both work on with our children. "Aurora will undoubtedly end up at the house more often. It's closer to school, most of her friends are in Downtown… We want you to be comfortable. That’s our priority."
"All right…" The unease in him lingered, so I suggested we order pizza.
On the way to the kitchen, I grabbed the groceries in the hallway. The afternoon sun shone through the windows, and while I filled the fridge, Brady was lost in thought and looking down at the parking lot below.
"Are you ready to talk about Kelly?" I asked, extending a beer to him.
He looked at it, surprised. I'd never shared a beer with my son before, and I wanted to change that. In my stubborn attempts at remaining on Lissa's side, I'd forgotten I could be both a parent and a friend to Brady. It didn’t have to be one way or another.
"Thanks. Um, I guess."
"Don't act like it's your first beer." I smirked faintly, having seen him tipsy and trying to hide it more than once.
"Fine."
After I ordered us two pizzas, we ended up in the living room and sat down on the couch. I found a channel on the TV to provide some background noise, which he promptly changed to one that played music.
"I'm sure you know, Kelly told me you two spoke," I said, to which he nodded and fiddled with the label of his bottle. "Instead of sitting here and explaining everything from beginning to end, how about I listen to what you say? I hear you've puzzled together most of the pieces."
He cleared his throat and scooted back to get more comfortable. "At this point, I think the only thing I don’t understand is why Keep believes you and Mom aren't splitting up."
I tilted my head, confused. "All right…?" I wasn’t sure I knew that, either. "He knows I've told your mother everything, though I've kept him out of family matters for the most part." Considering how scattered I was, I couldn’t multitask and focus easily. One step at a time. It wouldn’t take much for me to crash.
Brady side-eyed me. "But you're together, aren't you?"
My eyebrows shot up, and surprise coursed through me.
"Ah. No. No…we're not together." My mind began spinning. Good lord, this wasn’t merely hinting. Brady knew I wasn’t straight. "Did you get that from the photos you found?"
"No, it's everything." He frowned. "The photos were just the beginning. When I first saw Keep, I recognized him, and his name is on the back of some of the pictures. I told him when he introduced himself that I have his middle name just to see how he reacted. Same when I asked you to come with me to Little that day and get Keep for me. You both have fucking awful poker faces, by the way."
I opened my mouth and closed it, more than once, and I felt like a damn fool. I remembered Kelly mentioned I'd talked in my sleep, too. Brady had heard me.
"Why—why didn’t you come to me sooner?" I asked, at a complete loss. I couldn’t help but think back on the last couple of months and the interactions he could've witnessed. Bad poker faces or not, there wasn’t that much to go on. Unless it was what went unsaid that said the most.
"'Cause it was kinda obvious you didn’t want me to know." He reached for his
beer, shucking the strangeness of drinking alcohol in front of me, and chugged half the bottle. Then he blew out a heavy breath and wiped his mouth. "Look, Dad. I'm eighteen years old. The show you and Mom have put on may have worked on Rory, but it doesn’t work on me. I've suspected you were gonna divorce for years. And when Keep entered the picture, I knew this was it. Especially after talking to Matt, you know?"
I didn’t know, though. I didn’t know how obvious this was, in any way.
"It bothers me," I said, concerned. "It bothers me that you act okay with me moving on behind your mother's back."
"I haven't said it doesn’t bother me," he replied with a scowl. "I just don’t think crap is that simple. Can you at least admit something happened when you were young and that you were more than friends?"
I paused, debating whether to tell him more than that or not. It wasn’t a story I'd ever thought about sharing, but maybe he should know.
"I kissed him." I ignored the anxiety spiking, and I gave him the CliffsNotes. I told him how Kelly had reacted, and I told him why. I didn’t throw my parents under the bus; however, I did explain that older, more traditional views had the ability to shame anything that was different and new.
Brady nodded slowly, staring at his lap. "Makes sense," he mumbled. "Gramps got all heated when I told him about Gray."
"Gray?" The name was familiar. "The boy you played hockey with?"
"Yeah. I was still on the team when he came out." Brady took another swig of his beer. "I hear these things, you know? How gay people are treated. Gray's lucky he's got support at home, 'cause some of the teammates…damn."
The pride I carried for my son doubled in size. Lissa and I raised them to be accepting, though that didn’t always prevent ignorance and hate from seeping into the most open-minded families.
"He still plays, so I think the idiots have cooled off," he explained, "but Gramps thought it was disgusting."
I inclined my head. Truth was, I'd never even considered telling my parents I was into men, as well. I never got that far. My one thought had been to be open with Kelly, because back then, it wasn’t a gender issue. There was one person. Kelly was it. With that said, I wasn’t blind, nor deaf. I knew my parents were traditional and feared the unfamiliar.
