Page 65 of Breaking Free
“Yeah.”
“So why do you assume he’s putting on a front?”
I look away, staring at the coffee table. I remember me and Mom going to buy this one after my dad pushed me so hard that I fell into the last one and broke it.
“Dad put on a front for a while, didn’t he?”
She releases a soft sigh. “I suppose so, but not everyone is your father. I know he disappointed you, and I know he was the only male figure in your life, but not all men will be that way.”
When I don’t say anything, she continues.
“You’ve never brought anyone home.”
“You know how Dad felt about me being gay.”
“You never told me you were dating anyone.”
“I’ve never dated anyone.”
“Dominic,” she says, putting her hand on my arm and tugging until I look at her. “Why are you closing yourself off?”
I inhale deeply, my shoulders dropping as I blow it out. “If I’m in control, I can make sure things go the way I want them to. If I date someone, it opens up the door to losing that control.”
“So you’re trying to control your own feelings by keeping things casual?”
“I don’t want to become vulnerable, and he’s—” I stop myself.
“He who?” she questions.
“This guy I’m...messing around with. I don’t know.”
“He’s making you feel vulnerable?”
“He has the ability to.”
“Dominic,” she says, joy in her voice. “You really like him. I’m sure he feels the same way about you.”
I snort, a grin on my lips. “It’s a little complicated. He’s not out yet. Not to everyone. And that’s fine with me, or it was.” I shake my head, trying to get my thoughts together. “Him being closeted was fine when this was just for fun and casual, but now I don’t know what’s happening, and a few people know about us, and it’s starting to feel a little more serious.”
“And you’re panicking?”
“Internally, maybe. We haven’t talked about what we’re doing or when it’ll end. We’re just drawn to each other.”
“So he doesn’t know where you stand when it comes to relationships?” I shake my head. “Then maybe you need to talk to him.”
Feeling uncomfortable with the heaviness of the topic, I switch it. “Maybe. So tell me what you’ve been up to.”
She stares at me for a few seconds, her lips pursed. “Well, I’ve cleared out some of your father’s things—donated half, trashed some others. I redid the room a little to have it a little more to my liking, and I’m going to head out later to do some grocery shopping.”
Her bright eyes and smile lets me know she’s proud of herself.
“That’s good, Mom. I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you, honey. I think I’m gonna be okay, you know? I won’t lie, I still struggle a little, and part of me wonders if it’s because I never got the chance to really tell him how I felt. I had so many fantasies about being brave enough to stand up to him and tell him off before walking out the door, and I never got that moment. Then I feel bad for feeling sad for myself— not because he’s dead, but because I didn’t get what I wanted.”
I take her hand and squeeze. “It’s okay to feel like that.”
“I never wished him dead,” she says. “I’d never wish that on anyone. I just wanted him gone. I hoped he’d get tired of me and just choose to leave.”