Page 54 of Matlock
“Simon.” My mother’s voice was gentle but firm.
“He’s my lawyer,” I said, the words automatic, defensive. “Itold you; the judge made him responsible for—”
“Your hair’s a mess,” my mother added, not unkindly. “His was too. And you both looked like we caught you doing something you shouldn’t. Which, technically, you were.”
“We weren’t—” I started, then stopped, because what the fuck was I supposed to say? We weren’t doing anything? We were just kissing in the kitchen like teenagers? “It’s not what you think.”
“What do we think?” my father asked, leaning back in his chair.
I stared down at my coffee, my mind racing. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Tony and I were careful. We only met in Denver, at the club where nobody knew us.
“Simon, look at me.”
I raised my eyes to meet my mother’s, and the loving, concerned, completely free of judgment expression on her face made something crack open in my chest.
“He’s...” My voice caught. “It’s complicated.”
“Is he married?” my father asked sharply.
“No. Jesus, no. He’s just...” I ran a hand through my hair, the same hair that had apparently given us away. “He’s not out. To anyone. And he’s not planning to be.”
My parents exchanged a look, one of those wordless conversations that came from thirty years of marriage.
“That must be hard,” my mother said. “For both of you.”
“It’s fine,” I lied. “We’re not... it’s not serious. We just—”
“Simon.” My father’s voice was quiet but cut through my bullshit like a knife.
My throat tightened, cutting off whatever excuse I wanted to offer.
“You know,” my father said, picking up his coffee, “you weren’t fooling Alex either.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
“Uncle Alex,” my mother clarified. “He’s known you since you were in diapers, Simon. I think that whole ‘babysitter’ arrangement in the court order was his way of giving you two alegitimate reason to be seen together.”
I sat back in my chair, my mind reeling. Judge Markham, Uncle Alex, who’d been at every birthday party, every graduation, who’d taught me to play poker and let me win until I was twelve, had looked at the situation and decided to help.
I closed my eyes as King’s words ran through my head.“Give him time, Simon. He’ll come around.”
“So everyone knows,” I said flatly.
“We know,” my mother corrected. “And Alex suspects. That’s not everyone. That’s family.”
Except I was now sure that King knew. The one person Tony was adamant could never find out.
“And we’re not going to say anything,” my father added. “To anyone. That’s Tony’s choice to make, when and if he’s ready. But Simon...” He leaned forward, his expression serious. “You deserve better than being someone’s secret. You deserve someone who’s proud to be with you.”
“He is,” I said, the words coming out fiercer than I intended. “When we’re alone, when it’s just us, he—” I stopped, not sure how to explain what Tony and I had. “He’s just scared. And I get it. I do. So I don’t push.”
“Maybe you should,” my mother said quietly.
“And maybe I should mind my own fucking business and let him live his life the way he needs to,” I shot back, then immediately felt like shit. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I just—”
“You love him,” my mother said. Not a question.
I opened my mouth to deny it, to say it wasn’t like that, that we were just fucking around, that it didn’t mean anything. But I was so fucking tired of lying, and these were my parents, and apparently, they already knew anyway.
