Thank You Oliver || Gay Short Story

Memory Five

The day finally came.

Oliver had already come out to his friends and tested out what to do by coming out to my parents. Of course my parents already knew that I was gay and he was my boyfriend, but I thought that he needed to dip his toes into the water before diving into the ocean. Fortunately my parents were accepting, even though they knew he was coming out because I warned them in advance. They also gave him tips on what they wanted me to do when I chose to tell them, which made me feel embarrassed and guilty. Whoops, I guess I screwed up coming out to my parents. Sorry, Mom and Dad.

Oliver invited his parents to come down to New York City for two weeks from Maine, where they took their retirement. He convinced them that he severed his relationship with Charlotte, who was my disguise name, and took a room with me. The story was that we were living together as roommates, and nothing more.

It was on the tenth day of their stay when Oliver had decided to come out over dinner at a restaurant downtown. Ironically, it was the same fancy place Oliver concluded that we were boyfriend and boyfriend.

Everything went as planned, we ordered our meals and then got dessert. I tapped his leg with my hand as it was shaking violently from his nerves. Slowly and extremely cautiously, I slipped my fingers to interlock with his and gave him a firm squeeze under the table. His eyes glanced over to me and I smiled back reassuringly.

Oliver gulped and took a deep breath. “So Mom, and Dad, I kind of wanted you guys to come down here for a reason, not just to ah- explore New York City with me- something a little more personal I guess.” He was stuttering like crazy. His hands were extremely sweaty.

“Yes, what is it dear?” his mother asked politely. She set her fork down from her small slice of cake and beamed towards Oliver. She had been ignoring me most of the night, and I kind of felt offended and invaded when she was staring at Oliver. He’s my boyfriend, back off.

“Well, ah, I don’t know exactly where to start. I should probably begin at the beginning, but I don’t know when the beginning exactly is. Anyway, I’ll just… well I’ll just start off I guess. But first, I want to say that Mom, Dad, I just want to know that I love you two so much and you’re the best parents anyone could ask for.”

“Oh, thank you dear!” his mom perked and cooed cheerfully leaning over to hug Oliver. The back of my throat growled in a tone that meant ‘get-your-hands-off-my-boyfriend,’ but luckily she criticized to her husband, “Say thank you, Harold! He’s your only son, say thank you!”

“Aw thanks Oliver. Now keep going, and stop interrupting, Dorothy.”

“Shut it, Harold!” she ordered loudly. He rolled his eyes and kept chewing away at the chocolate cake. “Go on, dear.”

“Well, uhm, I’ve been wanting to kind of say this for a while, but I don’t know exactly how to phrase it. It’s been a part of me, sort of, ever since like, middle school, and that’s where it all started. You know that I never was the best with girls, Dad-”

“And that’s why we were so happy for you when you got Charlotte, but now that she’s gone, I can finally tell you she sounded like some whore-bag anyway!” his dad interjected rudely. Thanks, I said in my head, apparently I’m a whore-bag. Great.

“Uhm, yeah, thanks, but anyway, I- uhh, I should probably mention now that Charlotte isn’t a real person, she’s just some girl I made up to kind of impress you guys and live up to your dreams that I would marry some beautiful girl,” Oliver admitted. I squeezed his hand tightly again in reassurance. Luckily his shaking had toned down slightly so that it wasn’t causing an earthquake.

His mother and father simply started back at Oliver with empty smiles and exchanged fake glances with one another. “Oh,” his mother began after an awkward silence dividing the table. “Well that’s certainly interesting.” His dad just put his fork down and leaned back in his chair.

“What are you getting at here, Oliver,” he interrogated.

“Ah, well, I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that-”

Oliver looked at my in panic suddenly. My eyes catch and and a jolt ran down along my arm and squeezed his sweaty hand tightly to the point where it would almost pop. I could tell he was about to back away and sprint out of the room right now. I hoped to dear God he didn’t chicken out now. He was so close…

“-I’m not exactly who you think I am. Well, I am, I just think it’s time you learn a little more about me. Know that I’m the same person that I was yesterday, and you loved me yesterday and for the 26 years I’ve been alive.”

He gulped.

He took a deep breath.

“Jake here isn’t my roommate,” he began with his eyes floating down towards the table. “He’s my boyfriend.” Our interlocked hands lifted onto the table and rested on the white, cotton tablecloth. “I’m gay.”

Neither of his parents reacted. They just looked at him; his mom fakely smiling and his dad with an eyebrow raised. Their facial expressions didn’t change a single bit. Time was frozen for what seemed like hours.

His dad was the first to do anything. He grabbed his napkin, patted the sides of his mouth, stood up, and walked past his wife. Harold just left the restaurant without saying a word, but stopped at the door to wait for his wife. Her smile faded and she followed her husband a moment afterwards.

Before I realized it, Oliver exploded from his seat and raced towards his parents. I followed in pursuit to save him from what I knew was coming.

“Mom! Dad! Wait- Mom! Wait! Stop!” he shouted. I burst out of the restaurant doors and followed him only a block down until he caught up with his parents. Oliver placed his hand on his mother’s shoulder, but it was only there for a second until I heard his body fall to the concrete.

“Get away from my wife, faggot!” his dad roared. I finally was able to catch up to him and pull my boyfriend off the ground, but we both started chasing after his parents again. His mom was crying and his dad was concerned, constantly checking behind him to see how close we were to him. Everytime we caught up Oliver got a punch to the jaw, neck, nose, or cheek and I had to keep pulling him to his feet. His blood and tears had mixed by that point.

“No, Dad, please!” Oliver said after the seventh time.

“Get away from me!” his dad shouted back, smacking him back onto the concrete.

I ran again to pull him up, but I landed on the concrete alongside Oliver. “You caused my son to be like this, you son of a bitch! It’s your fucking fault! You’re to blame for the corruption of my son!” Harold took one look at Oliver on the ground, flicked his eyes to me, and then back at Oliver. “What am I saying,” he grumbled, staring Oliver down. “You’re not my son.”

And with that, Oliver’s parents walked away.

I picked Oliver up with a heavy heart whilst he sobbed his eyes out and dragged him back to our apartment. He limped and leaned on my shoulder even though he had no reason to because his injuries were only on his face, but I figured it was the best method since he couldn’t see where he was going.

I took care of him that night while he was crying. I got him through the door, undressed him, took a shower with him and cleaned him up, applied the necessary band-aids and disinfected the cuts. I don’t think he felt any stinging because he didn’t shout out in pain from when I applied the disinfectant, but he did cry ‘Why!’ when he was sobbing on the bed. I even prepared some ice cream for him, but he didn’t notice it.

That night lies distinct in my memory forever. I remember tucking him in and sliding under the covers myself. I slid my arms around him and held him in my arms so I could feel close to someone and he could feel my love for him.

Finally he went to sleep with the tears still spilling out of his eyes. That’s when I started crying.