Page 155 of Disarm
“I know this isn’t… easy,” he says, glancing between me and Miguel. “For any of us.”
Not just the stepbrother thing. The queerness. The taboo of it all in his head.
“I want to… be honest,” he says slowly. “Without… being cruel. I’m… still struggling.”
Here we go.
Miguel’s hand tightens on my knee. Mom sets her wineglass down with a soft clink, watching my dad like she’s ready to jump in if he veers off script.
“I believe you when you say you care about each other,” Dad continues. “I see that. I saw it tonight. The way you look for him in the stands, the way you—” He gestures vaguely between us. “—move in orbit.”
“But I… keep wondering.” He exhales and looks down at his hands. “If this is… something you’ll grow out of. A… concentrated attachment, brought on by… everything Caleb’s been through. If you might… one day… find a partner who isn’t entwined with all this history. A… woman, maybe. Someone who could give you a… more straightforward path.”
“The ‘right girl,’” I say quietly.I can hear my voice go a little flat.
He winces. “I know how that sounds,” he says. “I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings. I’m trying to… ask if you’re sure this isn’t a… detour.”
Miguel’s knee presses harder against mine, his grip firm. Under the table, our fingers brush, then lace together.
He says it the same way he did on the phone.Is this real?
Say it like you’re telling the truth, not asking permission.
“I’m sure,” I say, and I am.
My heart is trying to punch its way out of my ribs and I force my shoulders down. “I’m bisexual, Dad,” I continue, my voice steadier than I feel. “That’s not a… side effect or a coping mechanism or a blip. It’s… who I am. Women are beautiful, amazing, terrifying creatures—no offense,” I add to Mom.
She snorts. “None taken.”
“But men…” I take a breath. “Men do the same thing for me. They always have. And my person—” I squeeze Miguel’s hand under the table. “—just happens to be a man. This man. It’s not a placeholder until the ‘right girl’ shows up. He is my right person.”
Dad’s jaw strains, looking between us, and I can see the muscle in his cheek twitch.
“I’m sure that’s… not what you pictured,” I say more softly. “When you thought about my life. I know. But I can’t… untangle those feelings just because it would make your version of my future neater.”
His eyes close for half a second. When he opens them, they’re bright with something I can’t fully read.
“I don’t… want you to untangle yourself,” he says quietly. “I’m trying to understand the knots.”
“Then believe me when I tell you what they are,” I say. “Please.”
Our server appears, oblivious, carrying drinks and a basket of bread. He sets everything down and asks cheerfully if we’re ready to order. We scramble through it—the salmon for Mom, burger for Miguel, steak for Dad, and pasta for me.
Once he leaves, our mom breaks the quiet.
“I’m just happy,” she says, looking between us, “that you both feel safe enough to tell us. To let us see you. That’s… not something I take for granted.” Her eyes shine, and there’s a little edge to her voice now. She glances at Dad, not subtly. “I love you both. That will never change. For me, there is no condition on that.”
Miguel huffs out a breath that might secretly be a choked laugh. “Thanks, Mamá,” he says, voice rough.
Dad’s mouth twists. “I love you both,” he says quickly, as if he’s afraid we won’t believe it if he doesn’t say it now. “That’s not… in question. I’m not… rescinding that, for the record.”
“For the record,” I echo.
He hesitates, then pushes on. “But I…” He sighs, looking down at the table like the next words are written in the wood grain. “I do still have concerns. Practical ones.”
Here we go, part two.
“What about… children?” he asks, looking at me first, then Miguel. “Don’t you want to be able to have your own someday? I would like to be a grandfather. And I’m sure your mother would like that too, Miggy.”
