Page 121 of Disarm
“What if he can’t separate it?” he asks. “What if he can’t see me outside of the stats, or the… the mental shit, or the fact that we’re… this?”
“Then we keep building a life where other people do,” I say. “We let my mom fuss over you and feed you. We let the people you call friends on your team watch you be happy and get used to it. We let my cousins give you shit at carne asadas. We let Dr. Kaur and whatever poor therapist I end up with help us figure out how to carry this without it crushing us. And we keep choosing each other.”
I squeeze his hand.
“His acceptance would be nice,” I say. “But it’s not oxygen. We can breathe without it. You have been breathing without it for a long time.”
He flinches because it’s true.
A few tears finally break free, tracking down his cheeks.
“I hate that he makes me feel like I’m twelve again,” he says. “Like I’m waiting to see if I passed his test.”
“I know,” I say, thumb brushing the tears away. “But look at you. You called him back. You told him the truth. You didn’t fold, didn’t lie, and didn’t say ‘it’s a phase’ just to make him comfortable. That’s not twelve-year-old you. That’s grown-ass, terrifyingly brave you.”
His laugh comes out watery. “Terrifyingly brave.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m scared of you a little.”
That makes him snort, the sound breaking into a sniff.
“Hey,” I murmur. “You did something huge today. Your nervous system is gonna be shook about it. That doesn’t mean you did the wrong thing.”
Caleb chews on his bottom lip, considering that.
“He really did say he wants to talk to you,” he says after a minute, quieter. “Like, both of us. Together. He said he’d prefer in person, but he’ll ‘accept’ a phone call as a start.”
“Very generous,” I mutter.
“He’s trying,” Caleb says reflexively, then winces like he hates himself for saying it.
“I know he is,” I say. “And I’ll give him that. I’m not gonna walk into a conversation with him, guns blazing, when he’s at least saying he wants to learn. But I’m also not going to play polite while he pokes you like a lab rat or if he acts disgusted.”
His eyes flick up to mine, a little startled by the steel in my tone.
“So yeah,” I continue. “When you’re ready, I’ll talk to him. On the phone, in person, whatever. I’m not hiding. I’m not ashamed of us, Caleb. I’ll be respectful, because he’s your dad and he’s done good by you in a lot of ways. But I’m not gonna pretend I’m a temporary inconvenience you’ll grow out of.”
His throat works. “You’re not scared?”
“Oh, I’m terrified,” I admit. “Your dad could out-argue God in a courtroom. But I’m more scared of you thinking you have to handle him alone. I’d rather walk into that ring with you than sit at home imagining him saying whatever he wants without me there to back you up.”
Something eases in his shoulders at that, like a knot loosening.
“I keep feeling like this is all going to implode,” he says. “Like I just pulled hard enough on a loose thread and now my whole life’s gonna unravel, and I’m gonna be left standing there holding you in one hand and nothing in the other.”
“You won’t be holding ‘nothing,’” I say. “You’ll be holding us. Which, not to brag, is pretty fucking solid.”
He makes a wounded noise that’s half laugh, half sob.
“I’m serious,” I say. “We’re not the consolation prize. We’re not the thing you get stuck with if your dad drops you. We’re the life you’re choosing.”
His breath hitches. “You really think it could… work?” he asks. “Us being… out. Not just hiding in your condo and my dorm and fucking in hotel showers?”
I smile, soft and a little sharp.
“Yeah,” I say. “I do. It’s gonna be messy as hell. People are going to have opinions. Some of them are going to suck. But we can handle that. You know why?”
Shaking his head, a little dazed.
