Read Online Marie Sexton - Coda 04 - Strawberries for Dessert by Marie Sexton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marie Sexton
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grabbed the closest thing I could find, which happened to be that morning’s folded up newspaper, and threw it across the table at my father. “Dad!”
It smacked into the back of his head, and he jumped about a foot. But it did the trick. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I’m George Kechter.” He held out his hand, rather belatedly. Cole stood there eyeing him suspiciously for a moment, but then shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you, George,” he repeated. He eyed the bag of donuts on the table with obvious distaste before turning to me. “I was going to make breakfast, but I think it might be best if I was on my way.”
“Cole, I’m sorry—” I started to say, but he smiled at me. “No worries, lovey. Give me a minute.”
My father and I sat down on opposite sides of the table, not looking at each other. He was staring resolutely at the tabletop. I watched Cole as he went into the bedroom, came back out, found his shoes and his keys. All I could think about was how much I wished my father had waited another ten or fifteen minutes before ringing my doorbell. I was fairly certain, given the amount of urgency Cole and I had both been feeling, that would have been enough time.
He stopped at the door and held his hand up to his ear, thumb and little finger extended, in the universal sign for “call me.” Or knowing him, it meant, “I’ll call.” I nodded, and then he was gone.
Once the front door closed, my father finally looked up at me, his cheeks red with embarrassment.
“What was he doing here?”
I couldn’t help but grin at him. “Do you really want the details, Dad?”
His blush deepened and he looked away. “No!”
“I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable.”
“I didn’t expect you to have company.”
59
“I didn’t expect you to show up on my porch unannounced at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning.”
He was quiet for a minute, fidgeting with the donut bag. I knew he wanted to say something, and I waited. Finally he sighed. “He’s not really your type, is he, Jon?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, challenging him. Of course I knew exactly what he meant, but I had no intention of making this easy for him.
“Well,” he said defensively, “he’s a little….”
He let his sentence trail away. “ Yes ?” I prompted. “A little what ?”
“A little… fruity.” I felt myself bristle at that, but said nothing. “Is he your boyfriend?”
I debated how to answer that. “Not exactly.”
“So it was a one night stand?” he asked, and there was no mistaking the disgust in his voice.
“Which would offend you least, Dad?” I asked, fighting to keep my irritation in check. “Hearing that he was a one-night hook-up or hearing that I was in a relationship with him?”
He looked down at the table, and I could see the shame on his face. He wasn’t ashamed of me. He was ashamed of himself. He tried very hard to be understanding of my homosexuality. Sometimes he succeeded. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. He looked back up at me. “Why don’t you just tell me the truth?”
“The truth,” I told him, “is somewhere in between.”
He sighed. “I suppose it usually is.” He didn’t seem to have anything else to say, so I went in the kitchen and started the coffee brewing, then came back out with napkins. He took a donut out and handed the bag to me across the table. “Are you seeing anybody else?” he asked. He was once again avoiding my gaze, looking only at the tabletop.
“No. There’s only him right now.”
“Jon, I know you’re an adult—”
60
“I’m glad you noticed.”
“—and it’s none of my business—”
“You’re right about that.”
“—but I just hope you’re being careful.”
That wasn’t what I was expecting, and it quelled my anger in a hurry. It took me a moment to respond. “Don’t worry, Dad,” I finally said, and he smiled.
“Okay,” he said with obvious relief. “So, how about that
It smacked into the back of his head, and he jumped about a foot. But it did the trick. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I’m George Kechter.” He held out his hand, rather belatedly. Cole stood there eyeing him suspiciously for a moment, but then shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you, George,” he repeated. He eyed the bag of donuts on the table with obvious distaste before turning to me. “I was going to make breakfast, but I think it might be best if I was on my way.”
“Cole, I’m sorry—” I started to say, but he smiled at me. “No worries, lovey. Give me a minute.”
My father and I sat down on opposite sides of the table, not looking at each other. He was staring resolutely at the tabletop. I watched Cole as he went into the bedroom, came back out, found his shoes and his keys. All I could think about was how much I wished my father had waited another ten or fifteen minutes before ringing my doorbell. I was fairly certain, given the amount of urgency Cole and I had both been feeling, that would have been enough time.
He stopped at the door and held his hand up to his ear, thumb and little finger extended, in the universal sign for “call me.” Or knowing him, it meant, “I’ll call.” I nodded, and then he was gone.
Once the front door closed, my father finally looked up at me, his cheeks red with embarrassment.
“What was he doing here?”
I couldn’t help but grin at him. “Do you really want the details, Dad?”
His blush deepened and he looked away. “No!”
“I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable.”
“I didn’t expect you to have company.”
59
“I didn’t expect you to show up on my porch unannounced at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning.”
He was quiet for a minute, fidgeting with the donut bag. I knew he wanted to say something, and I waited. Finally he sighed. “He’s not really your type, is he, Jon?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, challenging him. Of course I knew exactly what he meant, but I had no intention of making this easy for him.
“Well,” he said defensively, “he’s a little….”
He let his sentence trail away. “ Yes ?” I prompted. “A little what ?”
“A little… fruity.” I felt myself bristle at that, but said nothing. “Is he your boyfriend?”
I debated how to answer that. “Not exactly.”
“So it was a one night stand?” he asked, and there was no mistaking the disgust in his voice.
“Which would offend you least, Dad?” I asked, fighting to keep my irritation in check. “Hearing that he was a one-night hook-up or hearing that I was in a relationship with him?”
He looked down at the table, and I could see the shame on his face. He wasn’t ashamed of me. He was ashamed of himself. He tried very hard to be understanding of my homosexuality. Sometimes he succeeded. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. He looked back up at me. “Why don’t you just tell me the truth?”
“The truth,” I told him, “is somewhere in between.”
He sighed. “I suppose it usually is.” He didn’t seem to have anything else to say, so I went in the kitchen and started the coffee brewing, then came back out with napkins. He took a donut out and handed the bag to me across the table. “Are you seeing anybody else?” he asked. He was once again avoiding my gaze, looking only at the tabletop.
“No. There’s only him right now.”
“Jon, I know you’re an adult—”
60
“I’m glad you noticed.”
“—and it’s none of my business—”
“You’re right about that.”
“—but I just hope you’re being careful.”
That wasn’t what I was expecting, and it quelled my anger in a hurry. It took me a moment to respond. “Don’t worry, Dad,” I finally said, and he smiled.
“Okay,” he said with obvious relief. “So, how about that
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