Page 49 of Cuffed to my Roomies
“And?” Brett asked.
“He’s just—not going to love my lifestyle.”
“You work at a magazine. You tend bar, which you also did in college. You may get an article printed in Envy. You’re happy and healthy and living the life you want. Right?” he asked.
“Yes! But you’re missing the point. This is my dad. His opinion matters to me, so much. And he’s going to be so disappointed and ashamed of me. I can’t just say, hey, dad, good to see you. I just finished my article on orgy sex positions and I’d like you to meet my roommates. We all have sex together. I’m part of a throuple!”
“A throuple?”
“Look it up. It’s three people that are in a –”
“Couple. I got it. And I’ve seen the kind of crap you look at online. I just don’t see why you’re panicking. Is your dad going to ask you about your sex life? Probably not. So why would you offer that information?”
“I don’t think I can keep it secret. And anyway, he’ll find out what I’m writing about and know that—”
“That you’re a grown woman? Honey, you owe it to yourself to be honest about who you are and what you do. You were proud of that article when you told us about it. But we won’t make a liar of you. You can introduce us as your roommates. I’ll stand there, shake your dad’s hand and tell him you’re like a little sister to me if that’s what you need me to do.”
“Thanks, Brett. I appreciate your support. But don’t ever talk about being my brother again. Yuck.”
“Just let me know what you need,” he said, and hung up.
I went back to the bar, but I was rattled. My concentration was shot. I kept running through possible conversations with my dad. There was not one scenario I could imagine where things would go well. I wanted him to be proud of me, accept me for who I was. But I knew that my choices would make him unhappy.
After work, Derek picked me up by himself.
“Is Brett working?” I asked as I climbed in the truck.
“No, I want to know what the fuck is going on.”
“Excuse me?” I said, taken aback by his unusually harsh tone.
“Your dad’s coming to town, so we’re putting on the Just Friends Show? This is bullshit, Lynette,” he said, fuming. His voice was low. He wasn’t yelling, but his knuckles were white on the steering wheel and I could tell how angry he was.
“Derek,” I said, “My dad is old-fashioned. He’s traditional. He doesn’t go in for alternative lifestyles. He really, seriously believes that gay people are gay by choice. So he’s not going to understand and accept the fact that his daughter is having sex with two men at once.”
“Your dad sounds like a jackass. I don’t have a lot of respect for men who go around judging the lifestyles of others or who try to force their beliefs on me. And I won’t lie to get his approval.”
“I don’t expect you to care about his approval, Derek. But I do. I don’t even drink in front of him!” I said dejectedly.
“If you cared so much about his approval, why did you choose to live your life the way you do? Write about sex, hook up with your roommates and have a threesome? Those aren’t the actions of a woman who’s worried about what her family thinks. I figure it’s one of two things: Either you don’t give a shit about us and you’re just sowing some wild oats as a temporary thing before you chase after the suburban dream, or you’re ashamed of us. Either way, it really sucks,” Derek said.
Tears sprang to my eyes. I turned and looked out the window so he wouldn’t see. What he said had cut me to the heart. I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I was afraid. I didn’t want my father to look at me like some stranger, like someone he could never be proud of. I wanted to hide, and I wanted him to think the best of me. I had thought I could have it both ways, living the life I liked and hiding it from my father. It was childish, and it was hurtful to Derek whom I cared about deeply. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I felt miserable. I even thought of making an excuse and not seeing my dad at all.
As soon as we reached the firehouse, I hopped out and ran up the steps to Brett. Hectic, swiping at my tears, I collided with his chest as he stepped out the door to meet us. I buried my face in his chest and sobbed. It felt so good to be held, protected. He stroked my hair and shushed me, comforted me.
