Page 64 of Backward Motion

Chapter Thirty-One

“Oh my God,” Connor’s mother said, pulling out a hanger from the closet with the plastic garment bag still attached. “This was your dad’s prom outfit!” She held up the mustard-yellow suit, and Connor cringed, setting them both off laughing. His mother lifted the plastic to stroke the sleeve of the blazer beneath. “He was such a catch in this. Drove over to my house in his old pickup truck with a corsage and everything.”

Connor and his mom had been trading off stints at the hospital, and that morning, she’d called him in tears, saying she couldn’t decide what to pack in the bag she was bringing his father. They’d moved him out of the ICU, but he was still in a high-dependency unit, and it was difficult to know what he needed. Connor had come straight over, and they’d ended up taking a trip down memory lane, rummaging through his father’s side of the closet. It was nice to step back from the heaviness after the week they’d had.

He took the hanger from his mother and laid the mustard monstrosity down on his parents’ bed beside his father’s wedding tuxedo and favorite Huskers jersey. “Dad must have been a real charmer to pull this off.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” his mother said with an unfamiliar giggle. “There was a reason I broke curfew that night.”

Connor wrinkled his nose. “Okay, no thanks, we’re not going there.” He shifted the pile of sweaters they’d assembled on the bed to make room for shirts. “Never would have picked yellow for his color.Sam knows all this stuff about warm and cool tones and which colors go with which. He’s like a wizard—” Connor stopped, realizing he was gushing.

His mom studied him with a curious expression. “He looked very dashing the other night at the award ceremony,” she said, tugging absently at the collar of the shirt in her hands. “From what I’ve heard from Lily, he’s a lovely young man. And he’s been so wonderful staying with you at the hospital and helping with those meals.”

Sam and Brian had dropped off a trunk load of homemade meals the day before, filling up the fridge and freezer at his parents’ house and sending Connor home with enough to feed a small army. It was a far sight better than the toast and instant noodles he’d been subsisting on.

“Yeah, he’s been great.” Connor caught his mom’s look. “A great friend.”

“Right, of course.” She sat down on the end of the bed and smoothed the fabric of her pants. “Your father told me you two talked.”

“We did.”

Sam had made it clear there was no future for them if Connor wasn’t able to live as himself. But even that hadn’t been enough for him to come clean with his parents. Instead, it had taken his father almost dying to knock some sense into him. After they’d removed his dad’s breathing tube, Connor had waited until he found a moment to speak with him alone. He’d sat in the chair beside his bed and clenched his hands together on his lap to hide the shake.

“Well, that was a ride.” His father’s voice was husky from the intubation, and his skin remained deathly pale.

“The doctors said you were lucky to make it through.”

Despite their ordeal, Connor waited for his father’s predictably cavalier reply. But he only gave a solemn nod. He seemed shaken, older and more fragile than Connor had ever seen him.

“It got me thinking,” Connor went on. “There are a few things we haven’t talked about. Important stuff, like what you want us to do if you ever end up on life support.”

“Cut me loose.”

“And what about your funeral? What do you want for that? I don’t even know if you have life insurance.”

His dad cracked a smile. “With a disease like this? Insurers won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole. As for the funeral...” He shrugged. “Keep it simple. Save the money for your mother.”

“Okay.” Connor tapped his foot against the floor, rigid with nervous energy. “Then there’s the thing about me being gay.”

That shut him up. His father’s face crinkled into a frown, and Connor sat, completely still, his nails digging into the flesh of his palm.

“Is that right?” his dad said finally.

“I want to be clear. I’m not asking for your approval. I will do right by this family and make sure you and Mom are taken care of, but I am done worrying about what you think of me. And if who I am changes what I mean to you, that’s on you.”

The silence stretched between them. His father shifted slightly in bed. “How long have you wanted to tell me that?”

“Probably since I burned down Krazinski’s shed.” A tear slid down Connor’s cheek, and he roughly brushed it away. “Turns out committing arson is easier than talking to you.”

His dad looked at him for a long time. When he spoke, he didn’t say what Connor expected him to say—what his father had drilled into him as a kid afraid of the dark and scarecrows and the big dog across the street: “Harden up. Don’t be such a sissy.”

Instead, he reached out to grasp Connor’s wrist. “I don’t have much to show for the past fifty-six years,” he’d whispered in his rasping, raw voice. “Just you. And your mother. That’s what’s important.The rest?” His shoulders had risen in a weak half shrug, and his eyes had glittered. “I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry I didn’t see that.”

Perched on the end of the bed, his mother waited expectantly, her eyebrows raised as if to say, “And...?”

“I think we understand each other a little better now.”

“I’m glad.” She busied herself rolling several pairs of his father’s underwear and placing them in the duffel they were packing. “Do you want to tell me about what happened between you and Sam?”