pretend (phan)

seventeen

Phil was lying to himself, and everybody knew it. Even Phil did, but he tried to ignore that. No, of course Phil's parents wouldn't suddenly be good ones- but he had high hopes and wanted to at least take a chance.

"It's just lunch. I'll be back to tell you my decision," Phil told his husband. His parents had invited him to their house for lunch for one last discussion about who he'd choose. Honestly, Phil didn't think he'd be able to eat because of how sick the situation was making him feel.

Dan didn't respond and Phil stepped forward, cautiously planting a kiss on his husband's forehead. But Dan didn't lean in like his body normally did. This time, he stood still, treating the man in front of him like dust- if he moved, he'd blow away.

So Phil left, shutting the door after him. Dan felt his eyes water as Tabs brushed herself against his leg, and he kept his eyes locked on the car Phil was leaving in before whispering,

"Please don't leave."

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"Phil! It's so nice to finally speak with you without all the paparazzi," his mother spoke when she opened the door upon his knocking. He forced a smile as she let him in and led him to the table where his father sat. He stood and they shook hands, exchanging polite expressions.

This was tense and uncomfortable already, and Phil wanted to leave. But he sat down anyway, and him and his father talked while Mrs. Lester cooked. Soon enough, the food was ready, and she set it down in front of him.

He froze up, statue-like as he stared down at the plate in front of him. He forgot what it felt like to have a parent cook for him. He felt his eyes watering as he frowned at the spaghetti, wanted it to taste like what he expected: mom's cooking.

He took a bite, and it was like all of his happy childhood hit him harder with every chew. He remembered being happy, having a family for such a short period of time and not realizing that he'd be losing them soon.

He opened his eyes and found his mother looking at him.

"I used to make that for you all the time when you were younger," she smiled gently. He missed that smile. God, he missed looking up and seeing his mother's face when he was once so short as a toddler. He missed hearing her laugh when he slipped and fell, and missed hearing her cry when they'd watch sad movies together. He missed hearing her soft voice when she sang to him after he woke up from a nightmare, and somehow missed hearing her yelling when his parents got in a fight.

Most kids were able to say "I wish my parents didn't leave each other," but Phil was forced to say, "I wish my parents didn't leave me."

Neglected all his life, he felt like he had to take this chance. He had to make himself believe that he could have the relationship he craved with them, the feeling of serenity and peacefulness. But this was still so scary and Phil's eyes were constantly watering.

He wished Dan was here. He wished Dan was here and would take him away from all this, make his anxiety disappear just by taking his hands. Because Dan made him happy. Dan made him happy, not his parents, not the food in front of him, not this house that he never got to live in.

Dan was like a walking aura of comfort. The embodiment of reassurance. Just by breathing, just by existing in Phil's life, it seemed to make the time bomb in Phil's head slow down for a little bit. Go back a few seconds. Dan made everything less scary, and right now Phil's hands were sweating so much he could barely hold his fork.

"Phil, when you come back-"

"If I come back," Phil corrected his father.

"If you come back, we want you to divorce Dan," he explained. Phil set his fork down. "That's our only rule. We'll find you a nice girl, you can settle down and have grandchildren. Our whole ancestry line would go down in history!"

His mother placed papers in front of him, reading that it was divorce papers. She handed him a pen, and he hesitantly took it. The utensil shook in his hand and the words began to blur as tears brimmed his eyes.

Everything was right. They didn't want Phil. They didn't want their son, they wanted what he had- appreciation. Admiration. Fame.

"What's the matter?" Mrs. Lester questioned, furrowing her eyebrows. "He can't mean anything to you, you just met him."

"Why exactly do you hate Dan so much? Is it because he's a boy?"

His father spoke. "Phil, it's embarrassing to see our son all over magazines with another man. This isn't how we raised you-"

"You barely raised me at all!" Phil snapped, pushing his chair back and standing suddenly. His fists clenched, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks as he continued. "Was Dan right then? Am I only here because you're ashamed to have your names mentioned poorly in interviews? Because it's scary to be dissed for being such terrible parents? You left me, you left me on the streets- I was surviving, not living," he yelled, then turned to his mother. "I cried myself to sleep, hoping I'd wake up and it'd be another nightmare and you would come in and sing to me."

"Phil-" Mrs. Lester tried, but he wasn't done.

"I'm your son. If you want me, it should be because you love me, not because you love the fame. And that's exactly how Dan and I are. We love each other, not the fame. Yes, father and mother, I love someone with a penis! But deep down, does it really matter what we carry under our pants? Because if you strip it all away, we've got the same bodies. We are all equal. Yes, I'm gay, but I am human. And I refuse to come back here just to hide who I am all over again. It's disappointing to think someone could change then they don't. And it's disappointing to hear you thought that I could."

"Please just sit back down-" Mr. Lester attempted.

"I am proud to be who I am today. I am proud to say I have a husband, with a house and a cat. I am proud to say that I have a family, something that you failed at making for me. And I know I deserve better. I deserve someone who loves me just as much as I love them, who cares for me like I care for them."

"You deserve Dan," Mrs. Lester spoke softly after a moment of silence. Her husband paused to look at her, and Phil locked eyes with his mother. "You deserve him."

Phil's mother was understanding. She was beginning to realize her mistakes.

"Phil, this is your last chance," his father cut in. "Either sign the papers and forget someone you've known for months to be with your parents, or leave us and pretend to love each other for the rest of your life."

"It's not pretending," Phil snarled. "You, of all should people, should know exactly what pretending means."

Mrs. Lester put her head in her hands, sighing. Phil spoke one last time.

"I'm Phil Howell-Lester, and I know I deserve to be happy, and I will be. With or without you guys."

And with that, he picked up the divorce papers and tore them in half. Mr. Lester stood up, fuming with anger and ready to shout, but Mrs. Lester held him back.

"Let him go," she told him, then nodded to Phil.

Then Phil was running. He ran to his car, hopped in, and drove. He drove back to his safe place, the human epitome of trust and loyalty, his treehouse that he went to when he felt alone or unimportant.

He went to his home called Daniel.