Page 114 of Disarm
I stare at the floor, heart pounding.
This is it.
The lake I’ve been skating around for months, pretending the ice is solid.
I could lie.
I could tell him it’s casual, that it’s just confusion, that I’ll grow out of it when I meet the right girl and he can walk me down an aisle in a suit that matches his.
Or I can give him the truth and watch what he does with it.
My mouth feels numb.
“Yes,” I say, so quietly I almost don’t hear myself. “It’s serious.”
He breathes out like I hit him.
“For how long?” he asks, voice rough.
“In my head?” I laugh, humorless. “Since I was, like, fifteen or sixteen. In real life… since Halloween.”
There’s a little choking sound. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I thought about it every day,” I say, the words suddenly spilling out. “And every day I pictured your face when you looked at me after, and I couldn’t. Because I already feel like a disappointment most of the time, and I couldn’t risk losing… whatever version of approval I still have.”
“You are not a disappointment,” he says, low and fierce.
“Then why does it feel like everything I do is a test I’m one missed shot away from failing.” I fire back. “Why does every conversation circle back to my stats? My discipline. My composure. My progress. It’s like you only know how to love me in relation to my performance.”
“That is not?—”
“True?” I say. “Maybe not in your head. But that’s how it lands in mine.”
“I’ve made you feel that way?” he asks.
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Yeah. You have.”
Another pause. I can almost hear him reassembling himself on the other end, like a man straightening his tie after getting punched.
“I’m… sorry,” he says finally.
It’s so soft I barely catch it.
“Okay,” I say, because I don’t know what else to do with that.
He clears his throat. “As for Miguel…”
Here we go.
“… I don’t like that you kept this from me,” he says. “Either of you. I don’t like that my colleague is apparently better informed about my son’s love life than I am. That… stings.”
Guilt twists in my gut.
“I’m not… proud of that,” I say. “But I was scared.”
“I know,” he says, and this time there’s no edge, just exhaustion. “On my end, it looks like everyone knew but me. Your therapist knows?”
I wince. “Yeah.”
