“How’s your father?” she asked me.
“He’s okay, I guess,” I said.
“When’s the last time you talked to him?”
I shrugged. “A few weeks ago.”
“He’s not comfortable with you being gay, right?” Jared asked.
“No.”
“You came out to him when you were, what, fifteen or sixteen?” Carmen asked. “Hasn’t he gotten over it yet?”
“Apparently not.”
When I came out to my father, I did it by accident. I hadn’t planned on telling him I was gay that hot July day, three weeks before my sixteenth birthday, but felt I had to when he accused me of doing something awful. I was spending the weekend with him at his house in Bucks County and while he and I were in the garage pulling stuff out for the bulk garbage pickup Monday, he suddenly turned to me and asked, “What’s going on with you and Carmen?”
I looked at him. “What are you talking about?”
He sighed and shot me a frustrated look before asking, “Are you screwing her?”