Page 31

Isaac

My mother dishes me a piece of lasagna with a spatula and a smile. Dad is at the end of the table, droning on and on about some drama at the church, while Adam nods obediently at his side.

Caleb is sitting across from me. I make eye contact with him briefly, each of us doing a subtle eye roll in response to Dad’s incessant complaining. Caleb got married last year and moved into his new place with his new wife, Briar. She’s at Bible study with her mom and sister tonight, which means he could come home for family dinner like he never left.

I love nights like these. When two of my three brothers are back home. I hate being the only son left. It makes me the constant target. Mom smothers me with attention, which is nice sometimes. But for an almost eighteen-year-old, it would be nice to have someone around I could actually confide in.

And Dad just keeps pushing me to be more like Adam. Come to church. Go to college. Get a girlfriend.

I am like a bomb about to explode. The spark is nearing the end of the wick, and I’m not sure how much longer I have until I lose it.

“What the hell has this world come to?” my dad complains and I glance his way with a nudge of anxiety under my skin. “What happened to good old American family values?”

“I think we should give the Millers some grace,” my mother says sweetly, looking at me with a wink. “Wouldn’t we all want the same?”

“Grace?” my dad bellows. “They don’t need grace, Melanie. What they need is a good study of the scripture. They want to have their queer son’s wedding at our church and damn us all to hell.”

“Truett,” she says in a quiet, scolding tone.

I lift my head and stare at my father. “Wait, who wants to have their wedding at our church?”

“Just a new family in town,” my mother answers for him. “They have a son about Adam’s age, and they requested to have his wedding at our church.”

My dad huffs in disgust. “Over my dead body.”

“He’s gay?” I ask quietly.

“I don’t think this is an appropriate dinner table conversation,” my mom says, trying to change the subject. “Caleb, tell us about your new car.”

But no one takes the bait. Instead, Caleb and Adam are both watching me with caution. I can see by the look in their eyes that they’re praying I won’t cause a scene. Don’t make a fuss. Don’t explode. No matter how much you want to.

Dad glances up and stares into my eyes with a challenging expression. “Your mother’s right,” he says. “We don’t need to talk about it anymore.”

No one answers my question or approaches the subject again. Caleb eventually starts talking about the new car he just got, and Adam takes a call up in Dad’s office. Dinner continues without incident, but I don’t listen to a word. In my head, I’m just having a silent argument with my dad. How could this be what God intended? How could a man who preaches love and acceptance of their neighbors be filled with such hate and bigotry?

The longer I sit and stew on it, the more worked up I get.

By the time my mom serves the dessert, I look around the table and realize I’m sitting with the four people who are supposed to have my back. They’re my family.

But they don’t. They want me to be different. To be quiet. To be so small, I disappear.

There’s a whole wide world of people out there who would love and accept me the way I am, but I’m forced to live between the same four walls as the people who would hurt me the most.

Maybe I should just disappear.

Maybe that way, they wouldn’t have to worry about the son who’s different. Or the gay wedding that would curse them all to hell. Or the mess I would make of their perfect little lives.

“You don’t like your cherry pie?” my mom asks, touching my arm.

My expression remains flat as I push the plate away. “No, I don’t.”

As I stand up and walk out of the dining room, I hear my father bellow, “Isaac Goode, you get back here right this instant.”

“Why should I?” I mutter under my breath.

“Because I told you to,” he shouts, but I ignore him. And it only makes him more angry.

“Isaac, what has gotten into you?” Mom asks as she stands from the table, looking at me with a hint of anger in her eyes. My mother is never angry with me, but I can see now that she is. Why? Because I’m disturbing the peace, and she hates that.

Well, I hate a lot of shit I put up with around here, and I’m sick of it.

“What has gotten into me ?” I argue. “You’re all such hypocrites. You sit here and discuss another family and their gay son like it’s such a fucking curse.”

My dad stands up like a rocket. There is vitriol on his face, and I honestly have no idea how I’m related to him. How did I come from him? We are nothing alike.

“Go to your room,” he barks, but I don’t move.

“I’ll go to my room,” I reply in defeat. “Because you don’t want to see me, right? You’re disgusted by me, aren’t you?”

“Stop it,” he snaps.

“No, I’m done hiding and making myself smaller and quiet for you.”

“Isaac,” my mother pleads. “Stop it, baby.”

“I don’t want to stop it anymore,” I reply, pulling at my hair in frustration. “None of you here really care about me. Not really .”

“Don’t say that,” my mother argues with a gasp. “Of course we do.”

I turn my enraged eyes on my dad. “Are you sure about that?”

“What in the hell are you going on about? What has gotten into you?” he asks with pained worry.

“I’m gay,” I say flatly.

“No, you’re not,” he says, like this is something up for debate. Like I’m saying it just to anger him.

“Yes, I am. And I’m sorry if that makes me a disappointment to you.”

“Go to your room,” he bellows again, ignoring my argument.

“I’m just like the Millers’ kid, which I guess means that my presence only curses you to hell. Isn’t that right?”

“I said go to your room, boy. I swear…” He shakes his head in anger as if losing his temper would somehow be my fault. And tonight, I’m in the mood to push him. Maybe if I make him mad enough, he’ll be the one to explode.

I’ve been tiptoeing around him for so long, I’m ready to push all of his buttons just to see how much damage I can do.

“Why should I? Because just the sight of me makes you sick? You think a good read of the scripture is going to cure me?” I hold up my hands to make air quotes.

Adam is watching us from the hall. “Isaac, stop it.”

Caleb stands up, but he’s looking at Adam. Neither of them knows which side to take or what to do. It’s stupid of me to do this without Luke here, the one brother I always know will have my back.

“Why should I be the one to stop, Adam? Why can’t I speak my truth?”

Dad takes a step toward me, and I watch him with worry. He hasn’t laid a hand on me since I was a little kid and those were disguised as spankings.

My hands are shaking as I stare at my dad, trying to understand the look in his eyes. It’s not just anger anymore. It’s fear and sadness too. I’m not just making him mad. I’m breaking his heart.

“Go ahead, Dad. Say it. Tell me to get out. Tell me to leave forever because if you’re going to be an ignorant bigot to the rest of the world, you have to be one to your own son?—”

His hand slaps hard against my cheek, and I hear a collective gasp from everyone in the room. Facing the floor, I hold my cheek and feel the adrenaline course through my body.

“That’s enough!” my mother screams as she rushes around the table and puts herself between us. She covers my hand with hers and strokes my back as a form of comfort. “You boys never know when to quit, do you? Always fighting. Always yelling at each other, and I can’t take another minute!”

My eyes and throat sting as I fight off the tears. My father storms off to the living room as I force myself to feel the burn on my cheek from my father’s hand. I want to remember this feeling. The pain, the anger, the torment. Because after tonight, when I’m gone, I’ll need to remember why I left. I never want to forget this feeling because it will drive me for the rest of my life.

After tonight, I’ll show him that I don’t need him anymore. I’ll show him just how good and amazing I can be without him, and it won’t matter that I’m gay or that his God won’t accept me this way. I will live a long, happy, successful life alone.

And I’ll never have to see Truett Goode again.