Page 61 of Pride High 2: Orange

“A man who deals in antiques…” Trevor shook his head. “What’s wrong with good honest furniture?”

“That’s what this is,” Cameron explained. “They mostly stopped using solid wood in the sixties, so if you want quality—”

“That’s fine,” his father interrupted. “I’m talking about the frilly stuff. The sort of things a real man shouldn’t concern himself with. Or am I wrong? Does your friend have a wife and kids?”

“No,” Cameron said, jutting out his chin. “He’s like me.”

“Wrong. You mightthinkyou’re like him, but only because I haven’t been much of a role model the past few years. I’m sorry for that. My job is demanding. But it’s not too late. We’ll get you back on track.”

Cameron stared at him in disbelief while struggling to find a response. So he went with the most basic of facts. “I’m gay, Dad. You can’t change that. Nobody can.”

“How do you know?” Trevor shot back.

“Because I’ve been this way for my entire life! For as far back as I can remember. Girls never interested me. They still don’t!”

“So you’re a late bloomer,” Trevor said with a dismissive shrug. “I didn’t know a thing about girls when I was fifteen. When you get a little older—”

“I’m sixteen,” Cameron spat. “Not that you would know. You weren’t here for my birthday.”

Trevor bristled. “If this is a cry for attention—”

“Oh, that’s it exactly. Iloveit when my dad treats me like I’ve got a mental disorder. That’s great. Having to hide how I feel from the entire world? So cool! Or how about getting gay bashed, or called a faggot, or being told that I’m going to Hell by religious nuts? Who wouldn’t want that kind of attention? This is clearly a choice. I only wish they sold cancer at the grocery store, because that sounds almost as fun.”

His father scowled at him and shook his head. “Sometimes you remind me too much of your mother.”

Was that supposed to be an insult? Cameron looked him right in the eye and said, “Good.”

Trevor grabbed his luggage, which swung outward as he turned, a corner hitting the nightstand. Not that he seemed to care. He only stopped when reaching the door, his voice anything but warm. “We’ll talk about this later. Once you’ve calmed down.”

Cameron held his tongue, not wanting the issue to turn into an argument between his parents. He still wanted to have a nice holiday together. Which now seemed unlikely. Cameron stood there and mentally replayed the conversation, which only made him feel worse. He should have kept his cool and tried to explain how amazing Anthony was. Or attempted to describe everything Cameron felt for him in return. He turned his head toward the nightstand, feeling glum as he went to inspect it. There wasn’t any damage. Although he now felt even less certain of the gift. Maybe itwasweird to be into antiques.

Then again, Charles was one of the coolest people he’d ever met. And a better father figure. He’d like to tell his dad that, because if someone needed to change, it was him, the stupid asshole!

Cameron’s anger was fleeting. He felt horrible. And rejected. Is this how it would be from now on? His own father—the man who had helped create him—was disappointed or disgusted or maybe even worse. Did he hate Cameron? Would every hug be so stilted from now on? He tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter. Cameron had always been closer to his mother. And yet, it still hurt.

He fought against tears, not wanting his dad to see him crying if he returned to the garage. He tried to busy himself by straightening his work area, but that didn’t help. He wished Anthony wasn’t busy. Or that his father was a different person. That made him think of Charles again.

Cameron went inside, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible. He could hear the low murmur of voices but no shouting, thank goodness. He followed the sound to its source and found his parents in the kitchen.

“Hey, hon!” his mother said. “We were just talking about going out to eat.”

Cameron tried to keep his expression neutral, only making eye contact with his father long enough to confirm that Trevor hadn’t had a change of heart. “Actually, can I borrow the car?” he said. “I need to run some stuff over to the school. For the play.”

“Of course! We’re excited to see it.” Brenda looked to her husband. “Aren’t we?”

“Where are the keys?” Cameron asked, not wanting to hear his father’s response.

Brenda blinked. “They’re hanging up. Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Cameron flashed what he hoped was a convincing smile. "I just spaced on something important and need to get going.”

“He clearly inherited your work ethic instead of mine,” Brenda joked.

He risked eye contact again. Trevor turned his back on him to open a cabinet. Whatever. Cameron went upstairs to his room and called Charles, who never liked when people stopped by unannounced.

“Can I some see you?” Cameron asked after they’d greeted each other.

“As much as I adore your company,” Charles began to reply. “We were just about to—”