Sunday Stories – And the Truth Shall Set You Free

Hey folks, once again, Facebook decided original fiction 3600 words long must be “trying to get likes in a deceptive way” and pulled it as spam. Which is a win for you folks NOT on Facebook, since this week’s story is here once again.

 

 

And the Truth Shall Set You Free

Adam

“Maybe this is a bad idea.” I froze in the doorway to the small cafe.

Mark grabbed my arm to keep from knocking me over. “Maybe worry about it out of the flow of traffic?”

“Sorry.” I couldn’t back up with his football-player-sized body blocking me, so I ducked through the door and edged along the wall to our favorite table by the windows.

Mark paused as I sat down and stopped behind my chair, massaging my shoulder. “Hey, can I get you something? We’re way early.”

“A coffee?”

“Um, do you really think more caffeine is a good idea, hon?”

I wanted to snap that yes, absolutely, I needed my coffee, but in all honesty, my eyeballs were one sip away from independently vibrating. “You’re right. Chamomile tea?”

“You got it.”

I watched Mark’s back as he crossed the cafe to the counter. Two years together and I still couldn’t believe my luck. What a guy like Mark, with his still-athletic build and brilliant mind and kind heart saw in a fifty-year-old cashier, I could never understand. All I knew was that he kept coming around until I finally believed he wasn’t going anywhere. He had my back, as well as my ass and my heart.

And that meant I couldn’t put today off any longer, but I was deeply second-guessing the location I’d chosen. When Mark returned to the table with my tea and his ubiquitous apple juice– a flavor I disliked until it became the taste of Mark’s kisses– I said, “Why don’t we take these to go, and tell Liam to meet me at my place instead?”

Mark pulled out the other chair and sat, taking a slow sip from his glass. “Has anything changed since the last time we talked about this?”

I bit my lip. “No. But a public cafe is… public.”

Out of the kindness of his heart, Mark didn’t remind me that was the entire point, that Liam had barely agreed to this meeting and wouldn’t have considered anything more. He just sipped his juice and gazed out the window. I wrapped my hands around my mug even though it was a sunny morning, barely September, and there was no way I was chilled.

A beep from Mark’s watch had him getting to his feet. He gave me a smile that almost looked genuine. “I’ll be just over there if you need me.” A wave of his hand marked the counter with tall stools. “Just…“

“Tug on my ear, I know. Or I could touch my nose, like in The Sting.” We were both big Paul Newman fans.

“Let’s not confuse ourselves at the last minute.” The twist of his smile said he knew I was babbling from nerves. Mark turned away and strode across the room, just twenty feet but it felt like the air beside me dropped twenty degrees from his absence.

I cupped my tea in my hands and took another sip, trying to warm my insides.

The bell over the cafe doors jingled a few times in the next ten minutes. Each time, my stomach clenched, but the people coming inside were all strangers. I was down to cold dregs of tea I wasn’t even that fond of before the next tinkle of the bell heralded Liam, with a U of T sweater stretched across his wide shoulders and frown on his handsome young face.

Liam.

He‘d been the sweetest toddler, so empathetic he burst into tears if someone else got hurt in preschool. I’d been torn between trying to nurture that and trying to toughen him up a bit so the world wouldn’t chew him up and spit him out. But somewhere around puberty, anger crept in. My charming boy became a bundle of raging hormones, outbursts of anger, and dark moods. The clouds had just been parting around age fifteen. The last time I saw him…

Liam spotted me, but his frown didn’t change. He strode over and stood behind the empty seat Mark had vacated. “Dad.” He clenched his fingers on the back of the chair, his knuckles white.

“Hi, Liam. It’s good to see you.”

“Is it?” He stared at my face. “You could’ve seen me any time in the last five years. My high school graduation would’ve been a good choice. My eighteenth birthday? Christmas, maybe?”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I licked my dry lips. “Could you sit down?”

Liam pressed his lips together, a muscle in his jaw jumping, and I thought he might storm out, but after a few deep breaths, he pulled out the chair and perched on the edge of it. “Okay, I’m sitting. Now what?”

“Can I get you a coffee? Something to eat?” I gestured toward the menu board, in part as an excuse to glance at Mark.

Mark gave me an encouraging nod. Not that there was much to encourage yet, but at least Liam hadn’t punched me or spat in my face and left.

“I don’t need anything from you,” Liam said. “Except answers.“

“Um.” My mouth was like the Sahara. “To what questions?”

Liam’s eyes widened. “To what…? To everything. Where did you go? Where the fuck were you when we needed you? Why didn’t you ever come see me?”

The last was the easiest. “Your mother wouldn’t let me come.”

“What?” Liam shoved his chair back. “You’re lying. Mom would never do something like that. She’s the best–“

“You’re right,” I interrupted. “Amanda‘s a wonderful woman and when she laid down the law and said I wasn’t allowed to see you, she was right.”

Liam froze, half risen, then subsided into his seat. “You’re kidding me. Right how?”

“Do you remember my friend, Reverend Torquay?”

Liam’s lip twisted in a sneer. “Yeah. I didn’t like him.”

“You were smarter than you knew. I shouldn’t have liked him either but… he told me things I wanted to hear. He…” Years of a slow slide into unhealthy dependency piled up in my brain like a flipbook of my un-finest moments. Amanda hadn’t tried to interfere at first, thinking that my growing piety was harmless, my choice, a shift she could even support, if not share. Then church on Sundays became three days a week, then five, with tithing a budget item that grew and grew. ‘Reverend Torquay says,” became a mantra. I couldn’t explain all that now. Couldn’t possibly make my son understand how stupid I’d been, how easy it had been to twist my empty soul into what Torquay wanted from me.

“He what?” Liam didn’t let me off the hook.

KISS. Keep it simple, stupid. “Torquay’s church was more a cult than a religion. I was looking for something meaningful, something to belong to. And I fell in deeper and deeper. Until the cult was all I cared about.“

“Our family wasn’t something to belong to?”

No. No, because my marriage was based on a lie that felt bigger and emptier with every passing day, a lie that shone a blinding spotlight on the thing I wanted to pretend wasn’t true about me. “Pleasing God, following Him, felt big and important.” And safe. Because if I was obeying the Lord every moment of every day, I couldn’t possibly have time to be queer. “I became obsessed. I took you along to services.”

“I remember.” Liam wrinkled his nose.

“Your mom put her foot down. She didn’t trust Torquay, didn’t like who I was when I was around him. She wouldn’t ask me to stop going, since it meant a lot to me, but I was not allowed to bring you into his orbit.”

“You took me to your church for my fifteenth birthday, though.”

I nodded and stared down at my hands. Echoes of that last fight with Amanda rang in my head.

“And then you left.”

“Your mother gave me an ultimatum. Her and you, or Torquay and my church and my faith. What I thought was my faith.”

Liam’s voice came as a thin breath. “And you picked him.”

My tea wanted to rise up in my chest, a flood of acid I swallowed back. I owed Liam the truth. “Yes.”

He shook his head, disbelieving. “People get divorced, though, and they still see their kids. You didn’t.”

“Amanda was angry, and then the Reverend–” I cut myself off. He didn’t deserve that name. “Torquay moved the church to Seattle.” I hadn’t let myself think about it at the time, but later, I wondered why we’d run all the way across the continent. Some irate parent, some financial swindle, something he’d done wrong, no doubt. “I took all of our money I could get and gave it to him, and went with him.”

“Oh.” After a long silence, Liam said, “That’s why we were poor all of a sudden. I had to give up hockey because Mom couldn’t afford it.“

“Yes.” I didn’t say I’d been even poorer than they had. I lived in the new church compound, worked at whatever Torquay assigned to me, lived on what money he doled out to me. But I’d deserved it and Liam hadn’t. “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded. “Mom cried. A lot.”

I bit my lip and said nothing.

Liam stared down at his clasped hands on the table. Eventually he raised his head. “Are you still with Reverend Fuckface?”

“No. Not for more than two years now.”

“Two years? And you never called, never said anything in all that time?“

“I couldn’t.”

“The hell you couldn’t.” He shoved back his chair and loomed over me, fists clenched at his sides. “The fuck you say! Two years, and now you waltz back and want forgiveness? Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey.” I hadn’t seen Mark move, but there he was at Liam’s shoulder. “Let’s calm things down.”

Liam whirled to face him, then eased back a little, seeing Mark’s size. Liam had been taller than me even at fifteen, but Mark had three inches and thirty pounds on him. My son settled for a sharp glare. “This doesn’t involve you.”

“I’m a friend of your father’s.”

“A friend?”

“Yes. Adam kindly let me hang out over there.” Mark gestured at the counter. “In case he needed moral support.”

“From me?” Liam stared. “Like I might hurt him?” He seemed to notice his closed fists, and opened them.

“Not physically. Especially not in a public cafe. But the people we care about are the ones who can hurt us most, emotionally.”

“Care about. Hah.”

Mark pulled over a third chair and sat beside me. He nudged Liam’s chair back with his foot. “Why don’t you sit down. We don’t need to give the whole cafe a floor show.”

Liam glanced over his shoulder. The place was pretty empty, one of the reasons I’d chosen it in this dead hour between the lunch and dinner crowds, but our raised voices had turned heads. I watched Liam hover between stomping out, and his curiosity. In the end, he lowered himself to the chair. “Okay.” He kept his voice low. “Go on. What else do you need to say that might be worth my time, Dad?”

So many things. But for now, only a couple were essential. “I left the cult almost three years ago, but I was pretty messed up.” Putting it mildly. “I came back here for distance, and because the city was familiar. It was the place the best things in my life had happened. Like when you were born. Teaching you to ride a bike. That school play where you were the lead and blew everyone away with how good you were. I loved being your dad.”

“Until you traded me for Reverend Fuckface.”

“Even then. I’d have taken you with me. Thank God your mother was smarter than me.”

“‘All the best things in your life.‘” Liam ran a hand through his dark hair, so much like my own. “What about Mom? You left her too.”

“Your mother and I were always… complicated.”

“Did you love her?”

I said carefully, “By the time I left, there wasn’t much left of our marriage.”

“And before that? When I was little? When you got married?”

I hadn’t planned to dive deep into all the things I’d done wrong with my life today. This was supposed to be a first meeting. Opening of lines of communication. But I didn’t want to lie to Liam either. “I loved your mother a lot. She’s the best woman I know. But…” I could leave it there. Not a lie, but an illusion. Instead, I made myself add, “Our marriage was a mistake.”

“Why?”

I turned to Mark. He nodded and slid his hand across the table so his pinky brushed against mine. I breathed through my nose, turned to Liam, and said the words that had driven my life to the bad and the good for so long. “I’m gay.”

“You’re what?”

“Gay.” I clutched Mark’s hand, suddenly needing the support. He squeezed back. “Mark is my boyfriend.”

“Aren’t you a bit old for a boyfriend?” Liam demanded.

Mark said steadily, “There’s not really a better term for us. At least, until we get married. The point stands.”

I tried to explain. “I didn’t want to be gay, when I was younger.“ Didn’t want. Mild words for screaming refusal. “You never met your grandfather, my dad, but he was difficult.” A fluffy euphemism for the man who terrorized my childhood. “Then, I met your mother and she was so incredible I thought maybe I could be straight for her. I tried so hard. I was struggling when Rev– when Torquay came in to my life. I couldn’t tell him why, but he latched on to my need for affirmation, for guidance, for someone to control me so I couldn’t be the bad, awful thing I wanted to be.”

“Being gay isn’t awful, it’s just normal,” Liam said, his tone almost absent as if that was the most obvious truth. As if hearing him say those words didn’t make my vision go dark around the edges.

So many nightmares where my son heard me say “gay” and hated me. And now he says “normal.” I clutched the edge of the table with one hand. Mark grunted and I realized I was squeezing his fingers too hard with the other. I eased my grip and managed an apologetic smile, which he returned with a warm one.

Mark must’ve realized I couldn’t speak, because he told Liam, “We’re delighted to hear you say that.“

“My best friend‘s bi.” Liam shrugged and eyed me. “You were queer, but you got into this Christian fundamentalist cult? Isn’t that, like, the most backward thing ever?”

I shrugged, unable to even make a start at unpacking the self-loathing that had driven me.

Liam looked Mark up and down, from blond curls touched with silver to steady gray eyes, shapely mouth, and his once-linebacker body. “How long have you been together? Did you cheat on Mom?”

I found my voice. “Two years. And no, never, I swear.” I hadn’t been willing to get that close to my demons, even without the vows I still honored. “I met Mark after I arrived back here.” In the lowest of moments, Mark had almost made me believe in guardian angels. Except his foul mouth and hot hands in bed were anything but angelic. Thank fuck.

“Oh.” After another silence, Liam pushed back his chair and stood. “Well, I better be going.” He rubbed his palms down the sides of his jeans like they were damp.

“If you like.” I couldn’t deny I felt like I’d gone ten rounds of heavyweight boxing, and I was more of a lightweight. “But can I call you again, sometime? Or text?”

“I guess. You could text me. But I’m pretty busy with classes.”

I took that as a caution he might not respond, but it was still a window opened to hope. “Thank you.”

He took a step to the door, then turned back. “Does Mom know? About you?”

“No.” Maybe someday I’d have that conversation with Amanda, but she had far more to forgive me for than Liam. I wasn’t brave enough yet. “It’s not a secret, though. You can tell her if you want to.” That would be unfair, to let Liam break the news, but a small, cowardly part of me hoped he would.

He barked a laugh, though. “Oh, no, Mom has to hear that story from you.”

I nodded slowly. Mark gave my hand a gentle squeeze and I turned to him, more grateful than ever for his presence in my life. “I’ll do that. Soon.” I could write her a letter, or maybe an email. Couldn’t guarantee she’d read it, wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t, but I’d try.

“Okay.” Another five steps took Liam halfway to the door. He paused again, and without turning said, “Bye, Dad.” Almost running, he hit the handle with one wide palm, notably bigger then the hands of the boy I’d deserted five years ago. The door swung open. Liam bolted out into the sunshine and was gone.

Mark shoved his chair up against mine with one strong push and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

I buried my face in his neck and breathed in his beloved scent. “So that went well,“ I mumbled against his skin.

“I thought so,” Mark replied with no hint of sarcasm.

I lifted my head to eye him. “Seriously?”

“Adam.” Mark raised a hand and cupped my cheek. “He said gay was normal. He listened. He didn’t punch you.”

I sucked in a shaky breath that was mostly a laugh.

Mark leaned close and brushed a soft kiss across my lips. “He said you could text him. I think it went very well.”

“I guess.” Relief made my muscles limp. I sagged into his hold and stifled a yawn. “Yeah, you’re right.” Another yawn broke through. “Man, I’m tired.”

“Ya think? Maybe because you haven’t slept for three days.” Mark balanced me back on my own chair, stood, and extended a hand down to me. “Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s go home.”

“My place or yours?” I let him pull me to my feet.

“Yours. You need all the comforts. And most of my stuff is at your place anyhow.”

“I like it that way.”

Mark led me to the door. “I do too.”

The sun outside was blinding, making my eyes water. I rubbed a hand across my face. “Yeah, where’s the car? Home, James.”

Mark chuckled, led the way to his Honda, and opened my door for me.

“Thanks, gracious boyfriend.” I stared to get in, then as my ass hit the seat, a thought hit me. I peered up at Mark. “Wait a minute. Back in there, did you say we were boyfriends until we get married?”

He looked away shiftily. “I might’ve. Slip of the tongue.”

“Interesting slip. So you didn’t mean it?”

Mark turned back to me, and his grin grew wide and cheerful. “Maybe, maybe not. But either way, I’m not going to propose to you when you’re working on three hours of sleep in the last seventy-two. It’s a miracle you remember my name right now.”

I couldn’t gather the energy to stand up out of the deep, comfortable seat, but I snagged his hand and tugged him toward me.

He resisted for a moment, then bent my way.

I touched his full lower lip with my thumb, then slid my fingers over the stubble-rough dimple in his chin. “You are Mark Augustus Walsh, and you’re the man I love.”

He turned his face into my hand, and smiled against my palm. “Close enough. I love you too. I’m still not proposing.”

“Yet?” I queried.

Mark’s laugh was everything bright and wonderful in the world. “Yet. Let me drive you home, let us both get eight hours of shut-eye, and then we’ll see.” He straightened, closed my door for me, and headed around the hood.

I stared out the windshield at the big man rounding the car. Way down the block, I could make out Liam standing at the bus stop. Luckily we’d drive the other way. I didn’t want to get in Liam’s face right now, even to the point of driving past.

But Mark was right. The moment I’d been wanting and dreading for so long couldn’t have gone much better. I had a lot of shadows in my head that my therapist would be unpacking for years, but today had shone a light into one of the darkest places.

I turned to Mark as he got in beside me and started the car. “I love the hell out of you. Marry me?”

Mark snorted and shook his head, but after a moment of panic I realized the gesture was exasperation, not a no. “Just had to get in ahead of me. Yes, Adam, I will marry you.”

“Good.” I slumped into my seat.

“And I’m still going to propose after our nap. It’s going to be much more romantic than what you just did.”

“Good.” I let my eyes drift shut and floated, knowing that Mark was there beside me, and somewhere nearby, my son didn’t hate me. Life was good. Sleep was good. Mark was amazing. “Love you so much,” I mumbled.

If Mark answered me, his words were lost in the hum of the engine and the buzz of fatigue in my ears. But I didn’t need to hear him. After a lifetime of searching and wishing and fearing the thing I wanted most, today, with Mark, I was myself at last.

 

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