Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I switch over to the messages from Dad. He hasn’t sent any in two weeks; I didn’t answer any of his previous texts that were in response to the one where I told him I won’t be a part of their lives just for them to judge me for Marshall, and if they can’t accept him, that means they can’t accept me.
“You miss them, huh?” Reggie says, coming up behind me as I sit at the small kitchen table.
“Yeah, even more now than in the beginning. We have such a complicated relationship. Both of them would make me so angry—Dad more than Mom—but we had fun too. I know how lucky I was to have parents who would have given me anything, and I never for one second didn’t feel their love.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure that has to be hard.” He sits beside me. “Why don’t you call them? Talk to them? They clearly want to make up with you.”
“Yeah, with me, but not Marshall. It’s not fair. I would feel terrible doing that to him.”
“I don’t know your man well, but I know him enough to know he wouldn’t blame you, that he wants you to have a relationship with your parents.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” We’ve actually gotten into a couple of small arguments about it lately, the only thing we disagree about. Marshall wants me to call them, to see them, but I won’t. Not when I know they don’t understand or accept us, not when I know they’re going to look at my relationship with the only man I’ve ever loved and tell me it’s wrong. If Marshall and I are wrong, then I’m wrong, and that’s not something you should ever say to someone you love. “He really wants me to talk to them, but I can’t, not yet. And really, for people who know me… That’s what I don’t understand about my parents. They know me. They know how strong-willed I am. They know I don’t do anything unless it’s what I want, so how can they look at me and Marshall and not see that if this is what I’m doing with him, it’s because I love it or need it and not because he brought me into some kink cult, like they seem to believe.”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Reggie reaches over and squeezes my hand. Even though we’d hooked up before, I’d wondered if it would be awkward after our threesome, but it hasn’t been. It’s been just like before, only now sex is off the table between us. “As someone who’s seen you actually receiving some of that kink-cult stuff, I can vouch that you love and crave every second of it.”
I laugh, thankful for the complete unconditional acceptance I’ve found in Reggie and Marshall. Hopefully one day I can find it with my parents too.
“I’m worried about him, though… Marshall is hurting but pretends he’s not. He doesn’t talk about it. He and Dad own this cabin in Asheville, and they have this whole dude thing out there every year. It’s coming up in a couple of weeks, and I see that weighing on Marshall.”
I’ve gone back and forth on the best way to do it. Mention it? Offer to go? It’s not me he wants to be there with, and I can’t take my dad’s place.
“It’s just really fucking shitty, and I want to make it better for him.”
“I know, but you can’t. He’s a grown man, and he chose you. He knew what he was giving up.”
True, but that doesn’t help me deal with the fact that he shouldn’t have to give anything up because he loves me. Neither of us should have to.
We hang out until it’s time for me to go to work. I get to the restaurant a few minutes early, just as Marty, the master chef, is getting off for the day. We meet in the breakroom.
“We have a new special today, something we’ve never made before.” He explains an Italian sausage dish to me that sounds delicious. “I thought about you right away. I think you’ll like it, but I want your opinion on it. I’d like to spice it up a bit.”
His words leave me speechless. He wants my opinion?
Marty laughs. “Why are you looking at me like a dying fish?”
That sparks my ability to speak into action again. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’d want my opinion. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m not a chef.”
“You’re not a chef, but you have a natural inclination for food, and you enjoy it. Your instincts are good. We’ve taken your advice before.”
“Yeah, but that’s when I just offered it. You don’t ever ask.” Most of the time, I assume they are placating me, wondering why the guy who doesn’t know what he’s talking about won’t shut up. Even then, it’s usually one of the other chefs. Not Marty.