Two Birds, One Stone

23. Long Lost

Nobody said anything for a long time.

     I sat heavily back down in my chair and stared at the glass of water in front of me, waiting with stiff shoulders for someone to break the silence. I hadn't looked at any of their expressions since I said it. I couldn't bear to.

     The ticking of the grandfather clock on the wall made the room thunder. A car honked somewhere outside, and I jumped.

     "Can one of you," my voice was muffled by a quivering hand over my mouth, but I didn't move it, afraid my words would shake even worse, "Any of you, say something."

     But nobody came forward. I raised my gaze to stare forward at Jacob, but the look in his eyes was blank. I turned away from him with a shudder and reached for my water, unable to hide the desperation in my grasp as I brought it to my lips. It didn't snuff the flame in my stomach; it didn't even get close. It felt as if it stopped somewhere in the middle of my throat, and I choked, the glass slipping from my fingers to the wooden floor. It shattered with a noise loud enough to make me shrink back.

    "Sorry," I said, sounding as if there was sandpaper in my throat. "Sorry, I'll--"

    I started to stand to clean up the mess, but my mother's voice tied me to my chair. "Leave it."

    I chanced a glance at her. I wasn't sure exactly what I'd been hoping to see when I looked into her eyes -- acceptance, understanding, even just tolerance.

     Whatever it was, it wasn't there.

     I'd never heard my parents so much as mention sexuality in this household. I hadn't even learned what the word "gay" meant until I was the fourth grade and one kid got in trouble for saying it as an insult to another. My mom and dad were religious, but not extremely so; we went to a non-denominational church every once in a while and prayed before meals and bed, but we'd never been the family to sit around reading the bible. They had never said anything to make me believe that they were intolerant. I'd never heard a disapproving comment from them when lgbt matters appeared on television or in movies, at least.

     Part of me had always figured they'd be pretty accepting. They hadn't ever seemed opinionated enough to be  upset by the news. I had figured I would tell them someday, and they'd be surprised and maybe a little bit uncomfortable, but overall fine with it.

     As I looked into my mom's face now, I wondered just how right Jacob was about how little anyone in this family knew about each other.

     "I need you to do something for me," she said slowly, after several moments of looking over me in silence. "Will you?"

     I nodded immediately. Anything, I'd do anything for her to stop looking at me like that. Maybe I'd let go of my hope to early -- she still sounded like my mom, like nothing had changed. Nothing had to change.

    "I need you to tell me that you aren't sure."

     That tiny little bead of hope, the one that had been resurfacing behind my rib-cage, tentative but stubborn, plummeted back down to my gut. My lips felt cold as I opened my mouth to lie to her -- I was desperate enough, I would do it if it would change the way she was looking at me. But then I felt Jacob's stare, and even though I was far from owing him anything at that point, the words to leave my mouth were, "I can't."

     My mom pinched the bridge of her nose, her ponytail swinging back and forth as she shook her head. I felt like I might throw up if I looked at her any longer, so I turned to my dad. I knew I must have looked pathetic -- I was pleading with him, silently begging him not to take the same route -- but he only shook his head and looked away.