The new house had always been constricting, like the colorless walls were all closing in on me. I’d ride bike only to get out of the neighborhood and onto the Silver Comet Trail, a state-crossing bike trail that offered an escape from the cookie-cutter norms that the suburbs had to offer.
Now, though, my view shifted. I thought back to the chaos of the New York city streets, the shoulder-to-shoulder mass transit, the constant smell of car exhaust and questionable body odors.
It was a contrast that I’d come to appreciate after the last few months I’d spent at the Gold Sanctuary. The quiet life sounded better and better by the day.
Things weren’t going to be quiet, though. Not yet. Especially not today.
I parked next to a moving van, a sweaty pair of movers lifting up a delicate-looking wardrobe. I could see a figure monitoring them from the second-floor bedroom window, my stepmom’s telltale hair bun shadowed by some kind of backlight.
I didn’t bother wondering what was happening. They could remodel all they wanted. I was here to talk to my dad, and that was it.
Another pair of movers shuffled past me, holding a box of books and stacks of pamphlets. I recognized those pamphlets. They had come from Sylvia’s organization, meant to “educate” about the harms of gay marriage and the prosecution those with opposing beliefs now felt.
Give me a fucking break. When you get denied seeing your dying partner at a hospital because you’re missing a marriage license, then you can talk about prosecution.
It was almost enough for me to turn around and walk away. Anger seethed inside me. My father had supported her, and by extension her message, all those years. Whether he did it to collect votes or not, it didn’t matter, he’d still stood behind her. And he may have not known that his own son happened to be one of the very people she shat on, but that didn’t matter either. There were kids out there who could stumble on their toxic message and take it to heart.
My dad. Let me just talk to him and get it over with.
I couldn’t imagine an explanation that would suffice, but I walked into his house with as open a heart as I could have. I thought of my mom, and how she would always lead with her heart. It never failed her, and I knew she’d want me to live the same.
The foyer was a flurry of activity. There seemed to be a few assistants both on separate calls pacing around a table full of donuts and coffee boxes. A cluster of smart-looking kids sat in a corner next to the packed bookshelf, laptops open on each of their laps. They must have been my dad’s campaign team. I recognized a couple of them, from the last time my dad ran.
Only one looked my way and quickly looked back down, flustered.
They must know about the video.
I internally winced. Of course they know about the video.
The panic and dread tried grabbing the wheel, but somehow, someway, I managed to claw it back. I took a breath and walked up to the campaign staffer who’d looked my way. She had her dark hair braided in tight twists, falling down her shoulders, over her shirt that had my dad’s name across it: Gavin Madison, the first two letters of his name capitalized with a peach underneath them, symbolizing Georgia.
“Hey, sorry, do you know where my dad is?”
“Yeah, he was outside in the backyard the last time I saw him.”
“Got it, thank you.”
I turned to leave, but something came over me. A burning urge that would surely come back to bite me with the force of a scorching inferno.
“I’m assuming the tape’s already gotten to you guys.” It sounded like someone else was speaking. I barely recognized my own voice or the words that came out. “Has my dad’s chances taken a big hit?”
She adjusted her twists, throwing them over her shoulder. Her eyes told me the answer before she even spoke. “A little bit. But that’s okay. I’m so sorry this even happened to you.” Her eyebrows rose. “Oh, there he is!”
I turned, spotting my dad a few seconds before he spotted me.
Almost a year had passed since I’d last seen him. He hadn’t changed much in that time. Still had the thick head of silvery gray hair, with a tall and imposing presence, always able to soften it with a crinkly eyed smiled. We both had the same light blue eyes and a similar build.
There were a lot of things my dad and I had that were similar, but it was what was different between us that drove the wedge.
“Dad.”
“Rex.”
He came over to me, and before I could even say anything else, he hugged me.
I froze, not reacting. I didn’t expect this kind of reception right off the bat. This was the man who had potentially caused a six-year rift between me and the man of my dreams. He cut me off when the threats on the sex tape first started rolling in, arguably when I needed him the most. I’d been pushed away, left to defenses I wasn’t sure I had.
But I did have them. And I’d made it through. The sex tape leaked and I was still standing, still breathing. Everything would be okay.
Even this.
I returned the hug, feeling my dad exhale in relief.
“Thank you for coming, son.” He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. I saw so much of myself in his eyes, it almost scared me.
I also saw something else. A sadness dragged his gaze down, heavy bags under his eyes revealing an exhaustion that went past one or two nights of bad sleep.
“Come, let’s go into my office.”
I followed my dad through an emptying living room. The couch was barely visible behind the stack of cardboard boxes, all labeled with thick black marker in a hasty script on loosely taped labels.
“You guys moving out?” I asked.
“I’m not.”
I looked to him in surprise.
“Come inside, I’ll explain.”
He opened the door into his office, a room I’d always found to be a cozy and homey escape. I remembered being a little kid and sneaking into his office just so I could play my Game Boy on his big comfortable leather chair, next to the window that looked out onto the vegetable garden in the backyard.
The office remained the same as it had all those years ago, with the same leather chair propped against the corner of the wall, next to the round porthole window that had been the catalyst to so many of my daydreams as a kid.
I went straight for the chair and sat, the leather cushion feeling like memory foam as it hugged me like it had all those years ago. My dad stood, leaning on his desk, his arms crossed. He wore a simple gray T-shirt that could use a pass or two under a steamer, and a pair of equally wrinkled jeans.
That was also pretty atypical of my dad, who normally wore pressed suits and tailored polos everywhere he went.
“So,” I started. “A lot’s happened…”
“Rex, you don’t have to explain anything about that tape.”
“I know, but I feel like I need to apologize? I don’t know—”
“No, no. That’s not why I called you here. I don’t ever want to hear you apologize for being violated the way you were. You were a victim, Rex. A sorry should never come from your mouth.” He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze dropping again. “Me, on the other hand.” He lifted his eyes back to mine. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. I’m so sorry, Rex. I failed you as a father, and I’m so desperately sorry for that.”
“Dad, you didn’t fail me. Just because I’m bi—”