Mother knows best

Garber's POV

But I, of course, could never suggest therapy for her.

"Now tell me, Garber, where were you all night long?" She was by my side, and I turned stiffly because I needed to see what she was approaching with.

While her facial expressions might be scary at times, I needed to face her to follow her emotions and react accordingly.

"I was just out with friends. It's nothing to worry about, I promise," I said, trying to match the smile on her face.

She might be smiling, but I could tell from the way she toyed with her silk jacket that there was more.

Something sinister that I would definitely not like.

So I decided to give myself an escape route as I yawned and faked a stretch. "I need to go to bed, Mom," I said, but I knew better than to take a step forward until her approval came—and it never did.

"Before that, baby, I see that you've been causing some internet sensation. Care to explain what it's all about?" she asked, and I thought back to the post that made me crack my phone screen this morning.

"Oh, it's nothing, Mom. I'll ask her to delete it. It was a photo taken without consent, and I…" My palms were sweaty as I watched the deadly smile play on her lips.

She looked like she would explode any minute.

I stammered, and my mind went blank, so I just closed my eyes and waited for the impact, whether from her words or her palm. But half a minute later, even though she was right by my side, I didn't feel anything. So I gently opened my eyes, like a chicken cracking out of its shell.

She was still smiling, but it had a tinge of playfulness and amusement this time.

"Mom, you're not mad?" I asked, surprised. She shrugged.

"Mad? How could I be when I have my Rolly here?" She pointed back at the gigolo on the couch.

He smiled sheepishly. "Mama, I'm always here for you," he catcalled and licked his lips.

My mom blew him a kiss, and it took everything in me not to throw up right there at her feet.

"What about Dad? You guys aren't even divorced yet," my barely managed anger leaked as I spoke, outraged.

She picked up the emotion too, and her whole face squeezed into a frown, exposing the wrinkles of her 45-year-old face.

"Don't you dare mention that cheating faggot in front of me again, or else I'll kick you out to live with him," she spat, but the moment she mentioned cheating, my gaze shot at her Rolly. But she came in between my line of sight almost defensively.

"At least I'm not doing it with a fellow woman," she started as she dropped onto the armrest of the couch. "Your father had always gone out with other women and even got a few pregnant, but I made sure they aborted it because I didn't want anyone to contend for your inheritance.

"I let him do all this because I was convinced that he would always come back to me, but how wrong could I be?" She looked up at me, teary-eyed, and I saw nothing more than raw pain she couldn't cover.

It was so raw and intense that I came down from my high horse and reached out to her.

"Mom… I… I didn't know." I didn't know the man I idolized all my childhood had caused my mom so much pain.

It made me wonder if all his cheating and her taking on the responsibility was what got her to this stage.

But I could tell she wasn't in for that conversation.

She just wanted to rant and pass a point, and the least I could do was listen. So I did.

"But I just couldn't take it anymore. My own husband, whom I gave up my life and family for, was getting bent over by another man. Your father, Garber! That animal!" At this point, she was seething with rage like I'd forced her to peel off the scab of a wound that had barely healed.

"I could never let that thing on my bed again, and do you know what's worse? He expected me to take him back just like that!" She was back on her feet.

Pacing back and forth, cussing, swearing, seething…

"Mama, I'm here for you now. Always at your service, only at your service. I could never let someone else bend me over if it isn't you," the gigolo sprang forth and paced with her for a moment before pulling her into a hug and saying all those things.

It was a disgusting sight for me, but it worked.

My mom actually calmed down with those few words of his. She smiled and even cracked a joke.

"Oh, Rolly, you're better than my husband that I've known since birth," she said, and I didn't need to do much mathematics to understand that he was twenty-seven years old, because their 34th wedding anniversary was in two months, and my parents had known each other since high school.

My jaw dropped, but I picked it back up when my mom suddenly held my hands.

"So, my dear, promise me. Promise me that you would never be bent over by your fellow man," she had both of my hands cupped in hers and looked up at me like she was making a prayer.

It was fervent, desperate, pleading.

"Please, my baby boy, promise me. You are all I've got, and I really don't want to lose you to that vile world."

"Yes, Mommy, I promise. I would never be with a man. I would never do that to you." I felt a constriction in my throat as I said those words. My heart pinched and throbbed because I knew fully well from the freshness of my memories that I had bent one over his gaming table just last night.

I'd been with a man—one man—and I had been the one doing the bending over. But I didn't think it would give her any sense of relief to know that.

She didn't want a gay son, or it would be the final straw that broke her, and I didn't want to be the one to break my mother, who had shown me nothing but love all this while.

I didn't want to be the last straw to break her back.

I wanted the woman who fed us and smiled every time she saw her two kids. I didn't want her calculative, terrifying, or plagued with terrible mood swings.

I didn't want to follow in the path of my father.

That heartbreaker.

My mom was sobbing, but there was a happy smile on her face as Rolly wiped them with his sleeves as soon as they fell.

She looked happy in his arms, and I could barely hate what they had.

It felt like needles pricking my skin and my heart as I made that promise, knowing fully well that I had never felt as satisfied, peaceful, and happy as I did with Luis.

So yes, I wasn't gay.

It's what I'll tell myself because it's the truth. I'd been drunk the first time, and the second time was the last time.

I'd done it out of boredom.

But I would never look his way again.

I refused.