Page 94 of Yard Sale

TIAGO

The radiology appointment went exactly as I predicted. Long and boring. The results would be sent to my surgeon, and I’d get a call or an email in a few days, and that would be that.

Well. Then I’d have to talk to my GM, and to Tucker, and I’d have to figure out where to go from there. But at least it was done. I wasn’t really using the brace anymore, and the walking cane was there in case my knee felt weak, but I was needing it less and less.

Maybe the beach vacation was exactly what I needed. Or maybe Aravind was.

Or it could have been telling off my family and refusing to bow to their bullshit. There were a million reasons why my healing sped up, but I didn’t want to think about it. Poking that bear felt like a good way to get cursed with a long string of bad luck.

The anxiety about my vision was bad enough, though after a few scary moments, I realized that I was just struggling to adjust to the current loss. My remaining bits of retina that still functioned weren’t flickering out and dying.

I was pretty sure I had time, and even if I didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. I was happier than I thought I could be, and the more I thought about what I wanted my life to look like, the less I saw hockey, and the more I saw jet lag and new countries and kissing Aravind in every corner of the world.

I wasn’t completely ready to tell him that. I wanted to hear the results of my scans first. I really did want the decision to be mine, but I was in a better place to accept it if it wasn’t.

And that mood followed me in the car and after the driver dropped me off in front of my parents’ beach house. There were still cars in the driveway, but I was pretty sure the one Thierry and Anne drove was missing.

It gave me a little pulse of petty joy in my chest to know that they were sticking to what Oliver wanted and prioritizing him over our parents. And I was smiling when I walked in through the front door and followed voices to the kitchen.

They all went silent when I stepped in, and I tapped the metal tip of my white cane on the tiles. “No hello?”

“What are you doing here?” my dad asked.

No. Not my dad. Fuck it, I was so tired of calling him that when he’d spent my entire life going out of his way to make me feel like I was unworthy of being his son. Edouard huffed when I didn’t say anything right away.

“Tiago,” my mom started, “if you’re just here to cause more trouble…”

I held up my free hand. “No. You don’t get to put the blame on me. You threw a child out onto the street. You’re fucking monsters.”

“That boy was⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped when Edouard started to run his mouth. To my surprise, he did. It was probably out of shock, but it felt good anyway. “Oliver is a child. A teenager. He was hurting and scared, and you decided to act like a bunch of fucking assholes about something he had no control over. And maybe,” I added, my voice going louder, “people in this family would be better prepared if you all pulled your heads out of your asses and did the genetic testing I suggested.”

“Tiago, this is probably some big coincidence,” Peter started.

I barked out a laugh. “No. It isn’t. I know you want to think that my blindness was some sort of god-given punishment because Mom decided to fuck someone else⁠—”

“Tiago!” she shouted.

I ignored her. “—but trying to make me feel like I have to carry the family shame because of the choices you all made is fucked-up. And I’m done accepting it.” I turned toward my brother and his wife. “There’s a damn good chance one or both of your kids have this gene. There’s a damn good chance that in sixteen years, you’re going to be sitting in an ophthalmologist’s office being told that by the time your kid is thirty, they’ll be completely blind.”

The room was so silent I could have heard a mouse fart.

“If you’re willing to be better parents than ours, Peter,” I said slowly, “you know what to do. Thierry’s figuring it out. Might be time for you to do the same thing.”

“Listen, son⁠—”

I turned toward Edouard. “No. You don’t get to call me that. You made the choice to accept me as yours and then spent my entire life making sure I knew I was a mistake. So fuck you.”

He sat down so hard the chair legs squeaked.

God, who knew all it would have taken was a few well-timed swear words to shut his mouth.

“I’m not here for you to tell me how you feel. All of you have made it clear over the years, and I am not interested in having a conversation or making it better. I hope you learn to accept Oliver for who he is because he’s going to do amazing things, and if you don’t, one day you’re going to be old and scared and disabled, and no one—and I mean no one—will be around to give a fuck.”

I was trembling as I spoke, but it didn’t matter. I said every word I needed to. And no one followed me out as I left. I’d get emails later, of course. And furious, three-page-long texts about what a shitty person I was.

But I wasn’t going to read them. I wouldn’t listen to a single word. Everything would be sent right to the trash, and then I’d kiss the shit out of Aravind to feel better. Which was exactly what I wanted to do right then.