Coda Books 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (MM)

snapped.
    “Uh- huh ,” he said, smiling. It annoyed me, because it meant he thought my bad mood was funny, more than anything. “Is this about the fruitcake?”
    I bristled at that, and then was even more annoyed at myself for the fact my dad was right. It was Cole’s “fruitiness,” as my dad called it, that had caused this entire predicament.
    “Yes,” I admitted. “It’s Cole.”
    He eyed me with wary curiosity for a moment. “The two of you have a fight?”
    “I guess you could say that.”
    “Did you break up?”
    I sighed. “I don’t know, Dad. I’m not really sure we were ever together to begin with.”
    “Was it because of what happened at dinner?”
    I hesitated, not wanting to talk about it. But I knew my dad. If I didn’t start talking, he would. He’d sit there speculating and giving me his opinion, whether I cooperated or not. “That was part of it. But the next night, we went to theater, and it didn’t exactly go the way I planned.”
    “Uh- huh ,” he said again, looking amused.
    “What?” I asked defensively.
    “What exactly did you say to him?”
    “I told him he was too flamboyant. And I asked him to tone it down.”
    “And did he tell you to kiss his lily-white ass?”
    I had to fight back a smile. Partly because he was right, but also because my first instinct was to tell him that Cole’s ass was in fact not lily white. But I was pretty sure he would rather not know that. “Not in those exact words, but yes. That’s basically what he told me.”
    “Uh- huh ,” he said yet again in that annoyingly amused tone.
    “ What ?”
    He shook his head. “Nothing really. It just got me thinking.
    That’s all.”
    He let that hang there, and I finally gave in and said, “About what?”
    “Do you remember David’s wedding?” I closed my eyes, seeing exactly where he was headed, but unable to stop him. “Do you remember what happened at the reception?”
    Of course I remembered. David was my cousin. He married when I was in college, only a few months after I had come out to my family. I took a date to David’s reception—Zach. It was the first time I had ever shown up at a family function of any type with another man. “Yes,” I finally said, “I remember.”
    “You and Zach were so nervous, weren’t you? I mean, I didn’t know it at the time. I was too busy being disgusted and trying hard to not be disgusted. But I realize now. You were both being so careful not to sit too close, not to touch each other. But the fact was anybody who looked at the two of you could see it. You were both grinning like fools, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of each other.”
    He was right. I remembered with perfect clarity how Zach and I had been—trying to act casual when we both knew we were going to tear each other’s clothes off the first chance we got. We didn’t even make it out of the parking lot. I felt myself blushing as I remembered groping hands and the wonderful urgency that had overtaken us in his car after the reception.
    “So there you two were,” Dad went on, “trying not to touch each other. And there I was, trying not to think about the two of you touching each other. And in the end, I had a few too many drinks, and I pulled the two of you aside—”
    “Yes.”
    “—and I told you to stop being so obvious.”
    “I remember.”
    “And do you remember what you told me?”
    “I told you that you better get used to having a fucking faggot for a son.”
    He nodded. “Exactly. And then you told me that if I really loved you, I wouldn’t ask you to change. I would learn to accept you exactly the way you were.”
    “What’s your point, Dad?” I asked, although I thought I knew.
    “My point is you were right.” He picked up his menu and held it up so I couldn’t see his face. But I could still hear him, for better or worse. “Let’s face it, Jon: that doesn’t happen very damn often, does it?”

    EVEN after I knew he was home, it took me three days and half a bottle of wine to get up enough nerve to call him.
    “Hello?”
    “It’s Jonathan.”
    There was a pause, and then, “I know.”
    “I’m sorry, Cole. I really am.”
    “Sorry for what?”
    “For being embarrassed. For being so mad. For all the things I said, and even for the things I thought but didn’t say.”
    “You’re on a roll, darling. Keep going.”
    “I’m sorry for wanting you to change. And I’m sorry for being an uptight prick.”
    “Is that all?”
    “Did I