"Harley, is that you?"
"Fuck," I whispered under my breath, standing in the front door to my house which I had only manage to open halfway before my mom suddenly got super-hearing.
I heard that familiar sound of my mom's Louboutins clacking against the tile. I sighed to myself, wishing that I could be ready for the inevitable conversation that I knew was coming. I also wished that she'd stayed up in Seattle where she'd been at a conference for the last few days.
I wiped the sweat off of my forehead with the back of my arm and entered the code into the alarm on the wall so it wouldn't start blaring at me. It wasn't even that hot out today and I was only in shorts as I'd just left practice and drove home with my shirt in my gym bag, but I was sweating buckets at the idea of having to talk to my parents--even if it was just one of them.
When I turned away from the alarm panel, I saw my mom come around the corner. She had her arms crossed, her face set in both disappointment and determination. It was a scary combination on her.
"I guess you heard," I muttered, walking passed her and heading for the laundry room to wash my practice clothes.
"Uhm, excuse me," my mom said, indignant, as she spun around to follow after me. The heels kept clacking and I focused on that sound, trying not to hear anything else; however, it eventually stopped when we entered the laundry room. "Harley, please don't ignore me."
I refused to meet her gaze and busied myself with loading the washing machine. "I'm not, I just have to get these done."
I could practically feel my mom's incredulous gaze burning into my skin behind me. "Harley, just talk to me, please."
"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, putting clothes into the basin one by one.
She huffed and I watched her lean against the folding counter next to me. She ducked her head, trying to get me to look her in the eyes, but I was too stubborn for that. "For starters, how about the fact that I had to find out from someone on my committee that my son is supposedly gay?"
I accidentally dropped a pair of socks that were definitely way overdue for a cleaning. I grimaced at having to pick them up again and tried to steady my breathing and pounding heart. I seriously didn't want to be having this conversation.
When I didn't respond to her, my mom said, "Harley, honey. Please just look at me."
I let out a heavy breath, irritation blossoming inside of me. I looked at her, finally, and shrugged. "What?"
Her face softened and I hated it. Everything about this moment was wrong. My mom and I didn't talk like this; I couldn't think of a single time in my life where I had confided in her about anything and gotten solid, motherly comforting and advice back from her. We loved each other, yes, but our relationship was far removed from sentimental.
"Is it true?"
I stared at her, not able to give her an answer. I had accepted myself a long time ago, but I had never accepted that I would have to be open about it with my parents.
She tilted her head, eyebrows poised as if they were asking me to just spit it out.
I huffed and turned back to my laundry, pulling a container of detergent packs out and throwing one on top of the pile of clothes in the washer.
"I don't want to talk about this," I said, firmly.
"Why do you always do this?" she demanded.
I rolled my eyes. There's the mom I'm used to. "Do what?"
"Shut me out," she said, her voice going slightly more shrill. I knew she was getting worked up and I was kind of grateful for the semblance of normalcy. "If you're worried about what I'm going to think--"
"No, god," I groaned, turning to look at her. "I don't care what you think about it anyway." My mom looked offended and I felt guilty. I quickly added, "I don't mean it like that, mom. I just mean that I know who I am and I like it and if someone else didn't, I couldn't give less of a fuck."
"Harley!"
"I'm just saying!"
"So then it is true?" my mom asked, more hesitantly this time.
I looked away from her and shrugged, my hand rubbing at the back of my neck. "Yeah, whatever."
It was quiet for a long moment, one that made my skin crawl. My fingers nervously tapped on the counter. Then she said, "Okay. How long have you known?"
"Stop," I pleaded, crossing my arms over my chest in discomfort. "I honestly don't want to talk about this."
"I just feel like I don't even know you," my mom blurted, frustration coming through as she gestured at me. "So you're gay, that's fine! I don't have a problem, sweetie. But you could have told your father and me, you know we're accepting. You didn't have to hide it."
I bit the inside of my cheek. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?" she asked, irritation bubbling up in her tone. "Please explain to me why you can't tell me something so important yourself. Tell me why I have to be told by Leslie Adams that her daughter is writing blog posts about you being outed last weekend. Do you know how that makes me feel to sit there and not have a clue what's going on?"
I chuckled darkly. "Jesus, it's always about you! I don't care how it made you feel. Do you know how I feel having my privacy ripped away from me? It fucking sucks, mom! It wasn't supposed to be like that."
"Harl--"
"No, just listen to me for once!" I yelled. She pursed her lips and I could tell she looked hurt, but I had to keep going, or I'd never get the words out. "You never listen to me. That's why I don't tell you things. All you and dad do is talk about business and investments and conferences. You only care about how well I'm doing in lacrosse and school but you've never asked me about myself.
I've gotten used to it over the years, feeling more support from my friends' parents than you," I said, "but it's not the same. And it only made me feel worse knowing that when I'd go home, I'd just feel alone all over again because you and dad would be out with clients or colleagues." I lifted my eyes from her shoes and met her gaze again, nerves going haywire as I said, "Do you know how many times I wondered why you guys even had me if all you do is pretend like I don't exist?"
I was holding back tears now, willing myself not to cry over this, not now.
The look of pity on my mom's face didn't help. "Harley, you know we love you. We have always supported you and been here for you."
"Where? Where have you been? Sitting at your desk, writing a check while I played game after game that you guys never watched?"
Finally, as my last words pierced her, my mom seemed to understand, and she looked ashamed for the first time in my life. I felt bad for upsetting her, but at the same time I had never felt better.
"I'm sorry."
"I know," I said, believing her. "But it's been hard, feeling like I don't have you guys. That's why I never told you. I didn't think you'd ever pay attention long enough for me to even say, 'I'm gay.' "
I rubbed at my face, pissed at myself for the tears that broke out of my water line and slipped over my cheek. When my mom moved forward and wrapped her arms around me, I sank into her smaller frame, grateful for her touch.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there the way you needed me."
"I know," I said again, sniffling as the tears kept coming.
"I'm here for you now, sweetie. I know it can't make up the past, but I'm here now. Your father is too. We would do anything for you, we love you so much."
"Thanks mom," I said, breathing deeply, trying to get myself under control. Even though our conversation wasn't much, it felt like a thousand bricks had just been lifted off of my back. "I love you too."
*****************
"Whoa, whoa, wait," Nathan said, holding up a hand for me to pause my story. "So your mom actually cried?"
I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair, legs propped up on the arm of the couch. I had the guys over, my parents still at work. It had only been a day since my talk with my mom, and subsequently my dad when he had eventually come home.
"Yeah, and my dad too," I said, grimacing as I thought back on it. "It was embarrassing."
"I didn't know your mom could cry," Nathan said, earning a punch to the arm from Anthony, who said, "She's not a robot, dumbass."
Nathan punched him back and then they both shoved each other a couple times before parting, scowling at each other. I smiled at their behavior, glad to know that not everything had to change.
"Anyway," Andrew said, tossing the lacrosse ball in his hands up into the air and catching it again. "Why did your dad cry--was he cool?"
I shrugged, "He was fine, but he's been on these hormones for something lately--I have no clue why--so I guess he cries at the drop of a pin now. So when I was telling them off about how I've felt, he was practically sobbing."
"Wow," Nathan said, looking impressed. "Maybe I should try that with my parents. If they'd even stay in the country long enough to say hello."
I frowned, sympathetic to his situation. If I ever thought my parents were bad at paying attention to me, Nathan was nearly an orphan with how little he saw or spoke to his. "It actually felt really great to get all of it off of my chest."
"No kidding," Anthony said, catching the lacrosse ball that Andrew tossed to him. He rolled it around in his hands. "It was a long time coming."
"My whole life," I agreed. I looked at Nathan again who looked deep in thought. "You should try it, really. It might make you feel better."
Nathan shrugged, looking over at the television that was playing as background noise. "I'm used to them being nothing but an ATM. I don't need them."
"Still, it would probably feel good to yell at them. Just think about it," I said, keeping my tone light. "You never know."
Nathan pursed his lips. "You're starting to sound like Jason. Pushy, the lot of ya!"
Andrew snorted, "I really don't know why you like my brother so much. He's a major dickhead, dude."
Nathan grinned and I knew what was coming next from the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Yeah, but he gives great head."
Anthony and I both burst out laughing at the look of pure horror and disgust on Andrew's face. Nathan looked pleased with himself, cackling until Andrew launched himself over Anthony's lap on the couch to sucker-punch him in the thigh.
I laughed even harder at Nathan's strangled yelp, and I thought, I'm so glad I have these idiots in my life.
Then I was tempted to take back that thought when Nathan, who was now flat on the floor with Andrew's feet pressing down on his back to hold him there, said, "Speaking of head, though, what is the deal with you and Williams?"
"Dude!" Anthony exclaimed.
Andrew kicked Nathan with the heel of his foot, causing the latter to yelp and curse. "What, we all wanna know."
"Some of us just have more tact," Anthony said.
Nathan made a face and tried to get out from underneath Andrew's feet, which eventually worked. "I don't even know what "tack" means, idiot."
"Yeah, I'm the idiot," Anthony mocked.
Nathan leaned his back against the couch, sitting below our other two friends and suddenly I had three pairs of curious eyes turned on me. For the millionth time in the last week, I wanted to run--fight or flight mode kicking in strongly.
"Oh come on guys," I groaned.
"You don't have to tell us," Nathan said, sounding more innocent than he ever really could be. His eyes were wide, pleading, and I saw the way he had a slight pout to his lips. Anthony and Andrew both mirrored Nathan's expression.
"Fuck right off with the guilt tripping shit," I said, crossing my arms.
"Come on," Andrew said, drawing out the last word. "Spill the tea and give your boys the details!"
I scowled at him. "You're a moron."
"We're thirsty for info, dude!" Anthony pressed. "You gotta give us something."
"I don't gotta do shit," I said. They pouted harder. I scoffed. "You guys are pathetic. Fine."
"Yes! I love a good story time," Nathan said, grinning like a fool.
"Whatever," I said, sighing. "So I guess it all started at a lacrosse game..."