My Better Half (Sequel to My Cup of Tea)

Chapter Twenty-One

Hot take: Malcolm isn't a dick.

When Baz woke up the next morning, his father was home. He could practically feel his presence in the home. He groaned and checked his clock––eight thirty. The kids, surely, would have been up for a bit now since they were always so eager to rush downstairs and see what Father Christmas had left for them under the grandiose tree with the ancient ornaments. That means that his father was up, too, to watch the children open gifts. Normally, Baz would have made an appearance, sipped some tea, and opened whatever presents his parents (mostly Daphne) had purchased for him, but today he could do no such thing.

Today, he had to make an appearance and then somehow have a sit-down, serious conversation about his sexuality.

He'd made up his mind about it in the shower when he'd gotten back last night. The calming steam cleared his mind and made him understand that, if he wanted Simon Snow to be his boyfriend again, he would have to talk to his father. He'd also promised himself to not go back to the hospital until he'd gotten all of this over and done with. He needed to get his house in order before he could stomach the sight of Simon in his hospital bed––the sight of Simon lying in a bed with injuries that were Baz's fault.

He sighed and headed downstairs to face the inevitable.

The Christmas morning pleasantries went about as well as Baz had expected them to. Mordelia did not get a horse but Baz did get the Gucci suit he'd been eyeing in a shop window for a month or two. But then, when all of the presents were open and the floor was a mess of brightly colored papers and ribbons, Baz saw his father try to make a bee-line to his office to get away from the cheer and glamor of Christmas. Baz didn't let him get far, though. As soon as his father made his way into the office and tried to close the door behind him, Baz put his foot out, stopping him from closing it. 

"Tyrannus," his father said, raising an eyebrow and staring confoundedly at his son. "What is the meaning of this?" 

"I need to speak with you," Baz said, his foot still in the doorframe. "Can I come in?" 

His father sighed and nodded, opening the door so Baz could step into his office.

It wasn't anything––the office––and Baz was hardly allowed to enter. It was old and hadn't been redecorated since it was built ages ago. The walls were big, built-in bookcases stacked so high with old volumes that the shelves themselves sagged from the weight of them. The mahogany desk was always cluttered with documents and open books and there were two, heavy chairs that sat by the window (where the curtains were always drawn). His father gestured for him to sit in one so Baz did. 

"To what do I owe this...unusual pleasure, Tyrannus?" 

Baz had no idea where to begin so he sighed and clenched his jaw as he tried to think of how to get this out without his father yelling at him or disowning him right then and there. 

"I need to speak to you about matters that regard Miss Agatha Wellbelove," Baz said, hoping that mentioning her name would set his father in a good mood.

He raised an eyebrow. "Miss Agatha Wellbelove? What a wonderful young woman. How is that going with the two of you?"

Now or never.

"I––that's what I wanted to speak with you about, father. She is a lovely girl, but I'm afraid that she cannot be my lovely girl."

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean."

Baz wanted to bang his head against a wall.

Simon, he reminded himself, you're doing this for Simon. Pull yourself the fuck together.

"I'm in love with someone else," he explained. "And, well, they're not––look, father. This person is the best thing that's ever happened to me. For the first time in a long time, I feel happy. I feel free and more myself than I ever have before. So please just keep that in mind when I tell you who they are." 

His father was silent, waiting for Baz to speak. 

"His name is Simon Snow."

"Tyr––"

Baz was standing now, adrenaline pumping through his veins. "And I know that you have publicly announced that you do not agree with––how should I put this––homosexual relations, but I need you to understand that––"

"Stop," his father commanded, suddenly in front of Baz with a hand on Baz's shoulder. Baz looked up into his eyes––eyes that he had not really seen in what felt like forever. Eyes that held so much pain and sorrow and stress and grief. "Tyr––Baz. First and foremost, I am your father."

Baz nodded but he had no idea what that was supposed to mean. 

"If I had known that you were...well, that you were gay, I would not have dared to say, or have you say, anything regarding that sexuality for the sake of my company. And, while I may not understand you and what this means, I want you to know that I will do my best to support you."

Baz was crying, suddenly. His father pulled him into his chest and awkwardly patted his back, clearly unsure of how to handle such an outburst of emotion.

"I didn't want to tell you," Baz whispered into his shirt. "I didn't want to disappoint you."

His father pulled Baz off of him so he could look into his eyes. 

"You, my son, will never disappoint me. You are your mother's child. You are...you are everything good in this world. You are my world. And the fact that you felt that you had to hide this from me breaks my heart because I hoped you knew how much I cared for you. So, if this Simon makes you happy, then I accept him into our family."

Baz was overwhelmed by emotion. He was overwhelmed with the fact that his father didn't raise his voice or get stern with him, but that his father listened. That he wanted to understand. That he had his father's unconventional support and trust. 

"He's in hospital," Baz said. "So I hope you don't mind if I go see him now. I can't...I can't leave him."

His father nodded and gestured to the door, so Baz went. His hand was on the knob when his father called out for him again. 

"Son?"

"Yes, father?"

His father looked nervous. Unsure. It was something that Baz had never seen on him before.

"I...I know I don't say this enough, but I love you."

Baz smiled at him. "I love you too, father." 

When Baz borrowed one of his father's various cars to go Southampton General that day, he found himself smiling. He still had to work things out with Agatha and there was still a chance that Simon wouldn't be okay, but none of that seemed as unlikely as what had just happened in his father's office. Out of everything Baz could have expected or hoped for or wished for this Christmas, his father's love and support was truly unexpected and, in all honesty, it was the best gift he had ever received. 

For the first time in over fifteen years, it finally felt like Christmas.