Page 16 of Six Years
He’ll love me. One day. As a friend or more, we’ll see. And once he does, he’ll never want to get rid of me ever again. In fact, Grey Davis will wonder how he used to live his life without my amazing presence in it.
Chapter 9
“and you call yourself a father”—Good Enough by Empire Cast, Jussie Smollett
July 2022
The second Luanleaves, my stomach drops. The earlier feeling of something being off still isn’t gone, instead it intensified.
When I walk up the porch to the house and my eyes land on my parent sitting on the Hollywood swing, I know what’s about to come without even having to live through it yet.
I stop in my tracks and take a deep breath, waiting until my father gets up and stands in front of me.
His eyes are filled with fury and resentment, the vein on his neck so close to popping, someone should call an ambulance in advance.
He doesn’t touch me, he wouldn’t dare to. My father may be many things, but he’d never lay a hand on anyone, so at least I don’t have to worry about that.
I look away from him, into the house where I find everyone still seated at the dinner table, chatting and being oblivious to what’s about to happen out here.
Even though I know my father is going to yell at me now, I’m not too worried about anyone hearing it because the house is so damn soundproof, sounds from outside don’t make it inside.
I’m a little surprised when he starts to talk and it’s not what I thought he would say. “I see you got a new tattoo.”
I’ve been living with this man for eighteen years. I might have not been home in four years, but I still know that this is a trap. He’s not going to say it looks good, or even start a lecture. My dad is pointing out the new tattoo because he’s about to disagree with it.
“I did.” If he were anyone but my father, I would’ve said something like; “Looks like it, huh?” or “I don’t know, does it look new?” Something stupid.
“On your neck.”
“Had one there before.” Somewhat behind my ear, I have a snowflake tattooed, the Korean word for it right underneath.
“Jal doel geoyeyo,” he reads out loud, his voice spiteful.
The tattoo starts just above my Adam’s apple, going downward. I wrote down the Korean letters myself to be sure the tattoo artist wouldn’t accidentally mess up by adding a line where there’s none. It happens. He still could’ve accidentally added a line, but thankfully, he didn’t.
“Everythingwouldbe okay if only you didn’t disgust me so much,” he speaks. I thought he would start more nicely, to be honest. Something like “What the hell was that?” or “You can bring your gay-hoes to your own house, not mine.” Any of the things he’s said in the past, but not this.
I keep quiet. I always do.
Talking back to my father would be the equivalent to signing my own death certificate.
“You are a disgrace to this family, Grey.”
To him. I am a disgrace tohim, not the family. He’s the only one not wanting to accept that I date whoever I want. I don’t care about genders. If I like someone, I like them, but he just doesn’t want to understand.
Or maybe he has a hard time understanding that I don’twantto settle for any label. It would be easy to stamp “bi” onto my forehead, or “gay” or whatever the fuck he would prefer. “Straight,” if it were up to him. But sometimes I think if I could at least tell him I’m into one group of people specifically, he would be more understanding.
Maybe not.
“You’re not a kid anymore. It’s time you put your silly activities aside.”
“Silly—”
“I am talking.” His voice raises an octave, not yet yelling but he’s close. “What are you doing,datingother men? That’s beyond you. It’s unnatural. I let you do your thing during college because I thought you’d grow out of your shenanigans, but clearly, you do not learn. I should’ve sent you to military school when I had the chance.”
Of course.
“The technicalities behind your doings are nothing like our bodies were made for.”
