CHAPTER TWENTY
MEET THE PARENTS (AGAIN)
—
Dmitri was eating a slice of cake when his entire day took a turn.
The cake was good, definitely not his favourite, that was lemon. This was a plain chocolate cake that Trinh had forced him to eat when she was supposedly told by Eden that he hadn't eaten any breakfast before coming to work that morning.
So, after getting his head chewed off by Trinh for "not eating enough", and being "so fucking annoying", he was eating cake.
And typically, he would have liked it, or at least, he wouldn't have hated it. Now, however? It was poison on his tongue.
Because Tariq's parents were in the coffee shop, seated at one of the tables ahead of him.
They looked exactly the same as they always did, aside from the fact that the number of grey hairs on Tariq's dad's head had increased, and the wrinkles on his mom's forehead had become more prominent.
Still, they were the same. The same warm laughs that he could hear from all the way over at his table, the same smile lines on Tariq's mom's cheeks, the same polite nods that his father gave everyone who passed by him.
And the same comfort that they radiated, the one that reminded Dmitri of all the times he had stayed over at Tariq's place and they had cooked him lunch.
Of Tariq's dad telling him that his grades didn't matter as much as he thought they did, that he always failed his classes and now, he was a successful businessman.
Of when Tariq's mom had comforted him on a particularly bad day with his parents, even though she didn't know that the reason for his tears was because his parents had called him a sin.
God, Dmitri wanted to go up to them and talk to them, because holy fuck, he missed them so much. They were so easy to talk to, always treated Dmitri like their own, even when they had probably just assumed that Tariq was his best friend and nothing else.
I can't. I can't talk to them.
There was no telling what Tariq had told them, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out.
"Dmitri," Trinh called from her side of the table they were seated at, kicking him under it, or at least trying to. "You've had that piece of cake on your fork for five minutes now. I might just eat it," she threatened, shovelling her cake into her mouth.
Exhaling deeply, he nodded, forking the cake into his mouth, his eyes still focused on Tariq's parents, their own eyes constantly flitting towards the steps, most probably waiting for Tariq to come down.
"Just— turn around. Subtly," he muttered.
Of course, Trinh whipped her head around, before letting out the loudest fucking gasp that she could let out.
Eyes still wide, she smiled at Dmitri, her entire demeanor changing, more enthusiastic now. He couldn't even blame her, Tariq's parents were definitely something to be excited about.
Still grinning, she said, "It's Tariq's parents! I've only met them like— once, but they were so nice to me. They had stayed for the week, so I had to explain that I was genderfluid to them, and they were so nice about it. I mean, they were confused, but they always tried their best with my pronouns and everything. I know that that's the bare minimum, but the fact that they tried meant so much to me. They're so sweet." Sighing, she sat back in her chair, forking the last of her cake into her mouth. "God, I fucking love them. I should go say hello."
Trinh's monologue did nothing but make Dmitri feel worse.
Tariq's parents were the only adults he ever sought approval from. And now, they knew that Tariq was gay. Meaning that they knew that he and Tariq dated, and more importantly, they knew that they weren't together anymore.
They're going to hate me. Fuck, they're literally going to hate me.
"Oh, there's Tariq," Trinh said, Dmitri's head instantly turning to look at him, his small frame bounding down the stairs, a small smile dancing on his lips. "Imagine having parents like Tariq's. Couldn't be me."
"Yeah," Dmitri echoed, watching as Tariq hugged his mom, and then his dad, planting a light kiss on both their cheeks and sitting down in the chair opposite them. Oh fuck, he can see me. "Couldn't be me, either."
Trinh sighed, and before Dmitri knew it, she was kicking his leg again, her tiny ass feet digging into his shin. "The fuck do you want?" he hissed, finishing off his cake which tasted blander than usual, chalk scraping against his tongue.
"Go talk to them!" she chirped. "You knew them, right? Tariq told me that you were close to them?"
"Tariq told you?" Lips pulling downward into a slight frown, Dmitri shrugged, his mind reeling. How the fuck did I even come up in their conversation? Do they talk about me? That's so fucking—
"You have to stop overthinking it," Trinh laughed out, like it was that easy. Overthinking was practically his middle name, first name and his last name. "Yes, we talk about you. Tariq's my best friend. Just like you had your little meltdown when you first saw him, he did, too," she explained, her words practically reverberating through Dmitri's skull— Yes, we talk about you— and sending him into a whole new spiral of overthinking.
What else had Tariq said to her? To everyone?
Taking in a deep breath, Dmitri shook his head, that simple act enough to rid himself of the thoughts that would most likely end with him having to leave because of his own overthinking.
Sometimes, he really was his worst enemy.
"Does he hate me?" Dmitri blurted, the words leaving his mouth before he could even think about them. "Actually, don't answer that. I don't think—"
At once, he was cut off by a short laugh from Trinh, as she said, "You want me to be completely honest?"
Oh my fuck. "Yes?"
Trinh hummed, taking a sip of her still steaming coffee and hissing immediately after. "Fuck, that's hot." That's why we wait before drinking it. "Anyway, at first, he was really mad." Pausing, she looked over her shoulder, glancing at Tariq again. "Now, as you know, Tariq's my best friend, so I won't break our code by spilling his secrets to you. But I promise you, he doesn't hate you. Anymore."
Frankly, Dmitri didn't expect himself to be as relieved as he was at that moment.
But stil, he wasn't sure if he believed her. So, softly, he asked, "Are you sure?"
Rolling her eyes, Trinh took another sip of her coffee, not bothering to wipe the moustache that the milk had formed on her upper lip. "Didn't y'all already go over this? He said that y'all had a conversation, y'all are chill— all that. What the fuck is the matter?"
The matter is that I'm an overthinker.
There was no logical explanation for him to be overthinking, especially after the time four days ago, when the two of them had watched their stupid fucking Netflix shows together, and the time two days ago, when they had shared a stupid fucking slice of cake, vanilla, a flavour that neither of them liked but were forced to eat because Eden had made it as a taste test for her gathering in two days.
Unfortunately, he wasn't logical when it came to his own mind.
"Maybe I should—"
However, before he could continue, he was interrupted by a bold, "Hey."
Fuck. Turning around, Dmitri raised his head up, only to make eye contact with Tariq. "Hey."
Tariq just gave him a bright smile, his eyes glowing with happiness, or were those tears? Dmitri wasn't sure. What he was sure of was that Tariq's eyes were quite literally sparkling, and fuck, were they gorgeous.
He had never realised just how brown his eyes were until then.
"My parents are here." Shooting a quick glance at his parents and smiling again, Tariq breathed out a soft laugh and said, "Do you want to meet them? This time we won't have to lie about us being friends and nothing more."
Ignoring the raging fire that was burning away at his chest and the almost painful to look at smile that Tariq's mom gave him, he forced out a tight, "I'm good." I don't know what to do.
Tariq raised his eyebrows, the confusion clear in his voice when he said, "Why the fuck not?"
If Dmitri was being honest, he didn't know either.
Words were leaving his mouth before he could even think about them. "I mean— you've told them about me. Right? That we dated?" he asked, shooting Trinh a pleading look, one that he hoped said, Help me or Save me from this situation.
Somehow, somehow, she interpreted it as, Leave, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone, back to her position behind the counter.
God, he was fucked. "Sorry," Dmitri muttered under his breath, still having to look up at Tariq. It was an odd change, looking up at him, for once, instead of down. "I just— I don't think I can see your parents," he breathed, the pressing guilt travelling all the way up from his chest to his brain.
Guilt was the one emotion that Dmitri never fucking understood. He could understand all his other emotions— anger, frustration, sadness, even numbness. Because those had reasons. Reasons that he could understand.
His guilt rarely ever had a reason, at least, not one that he knew of. And it was practically imprinted on him, a scar that wouldn't go away, no matter how much he tried to get rid of it.
"Why?" was all Tariq said, that one word enough to set Dmitri off.
"I don't know," he stressed, and holy shit, did he hate himself for making Tariq leave his parents just to ask him if he wanted to meet them, only to get a No.
Tariq hummed. Then, suddenly, he reached out and yanked Dmitri up from the chair, dragging him all the way to his parents, and saying, "Baba, I told you about—"
"Dmitri," Tariq's dad said, his voice sounding exactly like it always did. Firm, but warm. Like pure comfort. Except, at that moment, it was fucking terrifying, because Dmitri had no idea what Tariq had said to his dad. "How are you?"
"I— uh, I-I'm good," Dmitri stuttered out, unsure of what the fuck to do. Was he supposed to shake his hand? Was he supposed to sit down or keep standing? It had been so fucking long since he'd spoken to them. "Um, how are— uh, fuck, I'm sorry, uh—"
Out of nowhere, Tariq's mom was standing up and hugging him, her five foot, three inches frame just reaching above his shoulder, her arms wrapping around his body.
It was as easy as routine as giving Tariq his coffee every morning for Dmitri's arms to wrap around her body and hug her back.
He was vaguely aware of the piercing heat stinging behind his eyes, the tightening up of his throat and the ache in his chest, but he didn't do anything other than close his eyes and inhale, inhale in the jasmine perfume that she always wore, inhale in the familiarity of her hugs, inhale in the warmth that she radiated.
Unfortunately, she was the first to let go of him, his body almost instantly feeling colder. But still, he gave her a meek smile, adding a small, "Hi." Voice crack. Nice.
"How is everything, Dmitri?" she asked, honey coating her tone. "Are you doing well?"
That was a weighted question. If it had come from anyone else, he would have given them a firm, 'Yes, and you?'
But this wasn't anyone else.
This was Tariq's mom, the person who had watched him fall apart in her house at least once a month, watched Tariq comfort him and somehow, hadn't realised that they were dating, watched him spend over two weeks in Tariq's bed because one: he couldn't go back home to his parents and siblings without wanting to cry, and two: he was too depressed to move, and he didn't even know it.
So, all he said was, "Better than before."
Tariq's dad smiled, gesturing for him to sit down, so he took a seat next to Tariq, directly opposite his mom. Five years and a failed relationship later, he still didn't know how to act around them.
They know that we broke up. Tariq's probably told them so much fucking shit about me. I can't even blame him.
"Taking care of yourself? Eating well?" Tariq's dad questioned, scanning him up and down. "You look healthy. Less skinny, more weight. Good. That's good."
Again, if it was anyone else, he would have snapped at them for making comments about a person's body without them asking.
But again, this wasn't anyone else.
"It's the anti-depressants," he explained, an involuntary smile breaking on his face when he saw the look of pride on Tariq's parents faces. There wasn't a single person who had been... proud of him for taking anti-depressants, even though he was proud of himself. "They make me gain weight. Sometimes. It's great."
His weight was the one thing that he was genuinely happy about. The weight gain always reminded him that he was making progress, that his meds weren't all that bad, that he was doing okay.
Weight gain was a sign that he was still okay. That he hadn't fallen off the wagon.
"Very good, Dmitri," Tariq's mom said, sounding so much more like a mother than his own mother ever did. Then, turning to face Tariq, she said something in Urdu to him, Tariq replying just as fluently.
People who spoke more than one language were so fucking cool.
Shooting her a weak but genuine smile, Dmitri nodded, about to say something, he didn't even know what he was going to say, when a hand was placed on his shaking leg.
"What's wrong?" Tariq murmured, his voice barely audible above the music in the coffee shop and the conversation that his parents were having. "Why are you so nervous?"
If I knew the answer to that, I'd tell you.
"Tariq," his dad began before Dmitri could even say anything in response to his question. "You wanted to show us everything upstairs? All the changes that you made?"
Face lighting up, Tariq nodded, his eyes flitting towards Dmitri, just for a brief second, before he nodded again. "Yeah. I'll just—"
"Sorry," Dmitri blurted, pushing the chair back and nearly falling over in the process, tripping over his feet. "Sorry. I— I think I need t-to—" Gesturing towards the back room, the place he always went when he was panicked, overwhelmed or just wanted some peace and quiet while he worked, he just turned around and left.
Once he got to the back room, he sat down on the shaky stool, feet guiding the rest of his body.
It was too much. It was overwhelming— not knowing what Tariq had told his parents about him, not knowing if his parents even liked him anymore, if the hug that his mom had given him was a pity hug.
But more than that, it was painful.
Tariq's parents only reminded him of his own parents, on what he had fucked up, and more importantly, on what he had missed out on. And that wasn't a memory that he ever wanted to bring up.
"Fuck," he whispered to himself, shoving his hands into his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. "God, please let me be normal for one fucking second."
"I don't know if God can hear you or not, but regardless, you're perfectly normal, Dmitri."
Head snapping up, Dmitri blinked once, then twice, tears blurring his vision as he tried to see who it was, even though he could recognise that voice anywhere.
Tariq. It was always Tariq.
He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob, and before he knew it, he was muffling sobs with his hand, tears streaming down from his eyes as he tried to get his thoughts together, stifle his sobs, just breathe.
He didn't know why or how, but Tariq was sitting down on the stool beside him, and a hand was placed on his back.
Tariq always did that when he was crying because Dmitri had once said that it was comforting, but only when it was Tariq's hand.
"Why are you crying?" Tariq questioned, his voice so soft and so rough and so warm. Just like his parents. "I'm sorry. I didn't know my parents would overwhelm you that much," he murmured, but Dmitri could barely hear him over his sobs, ones that he just knew sounded so fucking hideous.
"I-I don't—" Breath hitching in his throat, Dmitri shook his head as he inhaled shakily, a weak sob ripping from his chest anyway. "Your parents are s-so nice. I love them so much," he whispered, voice cracking in the process. Fuck.
At that, Tariq just breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Is that why you're crying?" he asked, hand still not leaving his back. "My parents literally adore you, Dmitri. They always have."
"I wish I had parents like them, they're just— they're so nice, and I've just missed them so much," he managed to say, choking on another sob. "It's been literal years, and they probably hate me after what happened with us, and—"
"Hey, hey," Tariq interrupted softly, frowning now. "Who said that they hate you? They don't hate you. Yes, I told them that we were together, and yes, I told them that we broke up. I told them the reason, too. None of that changes the fact that you were like a fucking son to them. They know what you're like, and I promise, they don't hate you."
And almost instantly, Dmitri was okay.
Still, he had to ask, "Are you sure?"
Tariq just laughed, nodding. "Yes, Tri. I'm sure."
It never got easier— hearing Tariq call him that.
"Okay," Dmitri breathed out, sitting back and closing his eyes, repeating the word, softer this time. "Sorry I'm so fucking—"
"No apologising."
A soft sigh left Dmitri's mouth. "I'm really proud of you for coming out to your parents. I know that I'm like— three, four years too late, but I am. Proud of you, I mean."
If there was one thing that Dmitri was sure he was, it was proud. Of Tariq, and sometimes of himself, too. Sometimes.
Tariq smiled. "Yeah, I'm proud of me, too." Then, he added a small, "If you're feeling okay, you can go back out and talk to my parents. I know that they want to like— catch up and everything."
"Yeah," Dmitri breathed out, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, I'd like that."
"Are you sure? That you're okay with it?"
Dmitri just nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay," he said, and for once, he actually meant it.
—
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AN: i don't have much to say other than. my spotify wrapped exposed the FUCK out of me.🤪
thank u all for reading🥰🥰 have a good day today💓