Page 46 of Don’t Let Me Go
“Do you mind if I take off a little early today?” I ask my dad as I power down my laptop. It’s only three o’clock, but it’s
Friday, and I’m eager to get a head start on the weekend.
Dad looks up from his desk, where he’s reading over some depositions. “Got some exciting plans?”
“Duy, Tala, Audrey, and I are throwing Jackson a coming-out/belated-birthday party, since we weren’t able to celebrate it
properly last weekend.”
“That’s nice of you.” Then, with a sly smile, he adds, “Should I expect to see you at home at all this weekend? Or will you
be otherwise engaged?”
“I plead the Fifth.”
I’ve gone over to Jackson’s house every day after work and stayed until it was time for bed. Dad has a strict no-sleepovers
policy during the workweek, but with the weekend coming, there’s nothing to prevent me from spending the next forty-eight
hours in uninterrupted bliss with Jackson.
Also, it’s been a full five days with no nightmares or fainting spells, so I’m feeling cautiously optimistic that all that weirdness, whatever it was, is a thing of the past. Of course, I’ll feel even better if we manage to get through the weekend without any incidents.
Saturdays and Sundays, I’ve noticed, tend to be when things go sideways for Jackson and me.
But if the next forty-eight hours are nightmare-and-fainting-free, I might finally be able to put all this past-life paranoia behind me.
“Well, have fun with your friends,” Dad says with a chuckle as I get up to leave. “And tell Jackson hello for me. Maybe someday
you’ll bring him by the house so I can actually meet the boy my son is dating. Assuming, of course, it wouldn’t be too mortifying
for you to introduce your boyfriend to your tragically uncool and very put-upon father?”
In the doorway, I turn back to my dad, preparing a clever parting shot. But when I see the genuine smile on his face, my sarcastic
comeback dies in my throat. As smothering as my father’s love can be, I know I’m incredibly lucky to have it.
Not only do I have a parent who loves and accepts me as I am, but that same parent actively wants to meet my boyfriend. On
top of that, Dad spends sixty-plus hours a week fighting for queer rights. If there was ever a son who won the parental lottery,
it’s me. And standing here in his office, I can’t help feeling overcome with gratitude.
“What’s this for?” Dad asks with a surprised laugh after I march over to his desk and throw my arms around him. “I already
said you could leave early.”
“You’re a good dad,” I tell him.
My sudden and very out-of-character display of affection must throw him because he doesn’t say anything back. He just returns
the hug in silence.
“Sorry,” I say, wiping a tear from my cheek as I pull away.
“You never have to apologize for being nice to me,” Dad jokes. “And for the record, Ri, you’re a good son.”
I shake my head. We both know that’s not true.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty intern. I know you were really excited for me to come work with you, and I’ve been totally half-assing it. But I’m going to do better. From now on, I’m going to buckle down and work twice as hard. I promise.”
Dad takes off his glasses and massages the bridge of his nose.
“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about that,” he says. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been a bit low-energy around the
office. A bit distracted. In fact, most days I’ve been getting the distinct impression that you’d rather be anywhere but here.
So I wanted to check in and see how you were feeling about, well, everything.”
With a pang of guilt, I feel my entire body deflate in my cobalt-blue suit. I should’ve known this conversation was coming.
You can’t show up for work every day acting like a depressed narcoleptic without people noticing. It’s honestly a testament
to Dad’s patience that he didn’t say anything sooner.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, too ashamed to look him in the eye. “I’ll do better. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”
“It’s not about disappointing me,” Dad says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “It’s about making sure that you’re somewhere
you want to be doing something that you want to do. Now, me, I love being a lawyer. I love the work I do, and I love sharing
that work with you. But if that’s not what you want to do with your life, if there’s something else you’d rather pursue, I
hope you know you can tell me. I’m not trying to turn you into a mini version of me. I want you to be your own person. You
know that, right?”
I literally don’t know what to say. Dad always seemed so eager for me to follow in his footsteps. It never occurred to me
that he’d be okay with me veering off on my own path. Especially when I don’t even know where that path would lead.
Maybe that’s why, even now when I’m being presented with this chance for freedom, it feels selfish to take it.
“The work you do is so important,” I say as shame washes over me.
“It is,” Dad agrees. “But it’s work I choose to do.”
“It feels wrong for me not to choose it too.”
Dad’s brow furrows in confusion. “Why?”
“Seriously? What kind of person would I be if I was like, ‘Yeah, I know the world is full of suffering and injustice, but
I’m going to let my dad fight all those battles for me. Later!’?”
Dad puts on his glasses and shakes his head. “Ri, I knew the world was a mess when your mother and I chose to bring you into
it. If anything, I’m the one with the responsibility to fight those battles and fix this country precisely so that you don’t
have to grow up in the same mess that my generation did. That’s my job as a parent—to make the world a better and safer place
for you . Your only job is to live your life however you want and with whomever you want. That’s what I’m fighting for. For you to
be the man you want to be. For you to be happy .”
I don’t have words to express everything in my heart right now. I pull Dad into another hug as a fresh round of tears stream
down my face.
“Thank you,” I manage to whisper between sniffles.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Dad says. “You just have to live your life. I’ll be proud of you whatever you do.”