“So why Lukas?” I need to know why. I mean. It’s intriguing. It’s the kind of story that would make a good script for Drama. I could probably score extra points with Simon just writing all this shit down on paper.
“He was this really cool guy. I mean, he came out during our second year. Just like that, everyone knew and he fucking owned it. This handsome cool dude, who was just who he was. No drama about it. He was a cocky little shit and the girls adored him. There was always this cluster of girls hanging around him and he had these really solid mates who defended him and loved him to bits. I mean, it was almost sickening. He had it all. People thought he was the fucking business. And hell, Max, he was so fucking cute.”
Dad stops himself and looks almost panic-stricken. Like he has said something totally wrong. Which it takes me a minute or two to compute.
“Cute?” I say. Fucking hell, Dad.
“Forget it. I am going to ICA. I’ll get meatballs. Or pizza. Or whatever.”
Yeah and a shit-ton of alcohol. Because Dad is freaking out and I almost crash my laptop onto the floor getting my feet tangled in the charging lead, following him out into the hallway.
“Dad. You were in love with him, weren’t you? That’s why you did it. You loved him. Fucking hell, Dad. After all this and you freaking loved him.”
Dad is trying to put his shoes on. The wrong shoe on the wrong foot.
“STOP!” I almost cry. Because I need to know. This is too big. This is too much.
He doesn’t, just jerks around with his shoes looking at the floor and almost falls over. I catch him. I fucking catch him, and he wails into my shoulder, sobs like some freak. Big ugly cries as I clumsily pat him on the back.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t have anything to say. It’s like I have a million questions and zero ways of asking them. Because Dad. Fucking freaking hell.
It’s not like we have anyone I can call. Grampa and Granny passed away when I was a kid. We have nobody. I have nobody. It’s me and Dad against the world.
He calms down after a while as we both sit in a messy pile on the carpet. He’s got one shoe on. My hoodie is covered in snot and tears. My hand drawing random patterns on his leg.
“So, all this time, when I was threatening to move out if you ever tried to move a girlfriend in here?” I try. I mean, now it seems funny. “I could have had two dads? Fucking awesome!”
“I would never have moved anyone in here.” Dad slobbers. “Can’t imagine anyone wanting to be with me. Just look at me.”
Yeah. No shit, Dad. He can’t even string a coherent sentence together. Let alone run a house and raise a kid.
“So, when did you know you were gay?” I need to roll with this. Get him to talk whilst I can. Before he clams up and refuses to speak to me again.
“Not gay. I was never like you. I mean, you told me when you were a little kid that you were going to marry a boy. There was never any doubt in your head. Then, you had that crush on that actor, the one you were completely obsessed with.”
“Yeah.” I still love Theo James. I want to have his babies. I fucking cried over him not being the tiniest bit gay. “So, are you bi?” I am digging here. Shovelling shit faster than my brain can keep up with.
“For a long time, I thought I was asexual. I never really crushed on anyone. I had a girlfriend for a while, but it was never right. It was nowhere near right. Because I think I fell in love with Lukas the first time I saw him at school. He was just there, smiling and messing around with his gang, and he was just. Fuck. I don’t even know. I had no idea how to do this gay thing and I was so fucking scared and frustrated and angry. And everything just went from bad to worse. I couldn’t talk to him. Couldn’t say a fucking thing, so I slammed him into a wall and hurled abuse at him. I couldn’t stop after that. It became a fucking habit. A fucking piss-take of someone I fucking loved. It scared the shit out of me for years, because if I treated someone I loved like that, then what the hell would I be like as someone’s partner? I was a fucking monster.”
Dad is sobbing again, and to be honest, I think this is the most he has said to me for weeks.
“So, do you think you are pansexual?” Because I kind of know this shit. I am all over this shit.
“Pan what?” Dad looks up. Like he has never googled in his entire life.
“Yeah when you just fall in love with someone, without the prejudice of gender.”
“There is an actual name for it?”
Fuck you, Dad. You are supposed to be the Doctor of Medicine here.
“Yes, Dad. There is a wide spectrum of sexualities. It’s just not straights and cocksuckers you know.”
“Cocksuckers,” he mutters.
“Yeah, because that is what us gay boys do. Suck cock.” Shock and awe. Works every time. Except Dad is actually laughing.
“So, you suck cock. You have done that?”
Yup, this is where I should backpedal faster than light.
“No. Haven’t found a cock I want to suck yet.” I try to sound cocky. Instead, my voice is wobbling.
“Shall we agree that cock sucking is something we can talk about another time. I don’t think I can cope with dealing with that right now.” Dad tries to get up. I pull him back down.
“This is the most we have talked in a while.” I don’t know why I say it. I don’t know why I care. But I do. I know how fucking scary this is.
“Please don’t stop talking to me, Max. I mean it. I have nobody else to talk to. Nobody else knows. Please just let me have this with you.” He pulls me in and strokes my hair as my nose is pressed against his shirt. He smells the same as he always does. Of laundry and dust and nicotine. Of us. The way we smell.
“We need to get you set up with Lukas then.” I splutter out. Laughing. Because, yeah right. Like that would work. Lukas eats guys like my Dad for breakfast.
Dad doesn’t reply. Just gets up and puts his shoes on the right feet. Grabs his coat and hands me my hoodie.
I suppose we are going out. I suppose he’s okay. I suppose we are too. Better than we have been for a while.
LUKAS
There is a footprint on his classroom door. Yeah. Mature. Not cool, Lukas. It’s like he is eighteen again. Stupid and reckless and over the top dramatic. Coming up with ideas that he should have just shelved and forgotten about. Because he has a habit of doing this.
It’s not the first time he has done this. Thought about Tom Andersson Björklund in this way. And it is definitely not a good way. Because Lukas has a type. He always had. He has never gone for the twinks with the smooth voices, or the bears who just want to take him home and hug him to death. He has no interest in men who are camp and flamboyant or feminine. He likes his men… like Tom.
Handsome and tall and confused. Yes, because it is definitely still there. The looks. The damp patches of panic-ridden sweat around his collar. The flickering of his eyes when Lukas had tried to look him in the eye. Tom is still there. He hasn’t changed a bit.
And whatever Lukas’s deepest darkest fantasies thought might happen, they would never end well. Never in a million years.
Yet here his kid is, bright and early and fucking enthusiastic about the functionality of organisms and their impact on the immune system. Thank heavens Miriam is here, his reliable wonderful colleague, with her cup of tea on the side and spreadsheets on the table, talking to the kid with big gestures and that smile of hers. Lukas is chewing on a fingernail and letting his mind wander.