Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Sean!” My dad summoned me before I had much time to make small talk with the new mother. Dad would usually be in his office at this time, finishing up his day before heading home to my mom. Instead, he sat in a wooden chair near the head of the table, bouncing the baby, totally content. “Look at this little boyo!” He held the baby up for me. He was a chubby, happy baby, full of gurgles and smiles, and I smiled back. “Your mom sent his wee little overalls.”
“He’s a cutie.” I held out a finger for the baby to grab.
“I was just saying how we need more grandchildren.”
I promptly pulled my finger back and blinked. “You have eight. My two, then Denise and Agnes each have three. I think you’re good.”
“Always room for one more. Or two.” He winked at me like I might have a pair of twins in my back pocket.
“Dad, can we talk?” I jerked my head in the direction of his office. A calm resolve descended over me. Saying the words to Caleb had felt so good. I couldn’t put up with my dad’s teasing and matchmaking a second longer.
Dad passed the baby to Caleb, who started dancing with him, much to the delight of everyone in the room, giving Dad and me a decent escape route. I sent Caleb a grateful smile.
“What is it?” Dad asked as soon as we were in his office. “If you’re worried about the job now that Rodriguez is coming back—”
“No, it’s not that.” I waited for him to take a seat at his desk. Already feeling far younger than forty-three, I opted to sit in one of the side chairs rather than continue to stand like I was making a request or had been summoned for a dressing down. “I mean, I like working here. Like being on the line again. Like working with you. But let me tell you what I have to say before you go figuring out if you want to keep me around the firehouse.”
“Of course I want—”
“I’m gay.” The words popped out, perhaps even more forcefully than with Caleb.
“What?” Dad frowned, thick whiteish-red hair falling forward out of his usual neat slicked-back style. Apparently, his hair was as skeptical as the rest of him. “No, you’re not. You were married to Maxine for what? Over twenty years?”
“Yeah, well, it was kind of a shocker to me too.” I gave a rusty laugh, not expecting Dad to join me.
“So this is a recent…revelation?” He leaned forward, forearms on the desk. A spot of baby spit-up decorated one of his uniform lapels. “Maybe you’re…confused? Grieving the divorce? Experimenting? I hear when some people get divorced, they dabble—”
I held up a hand before he could make this any more uncomfortable. “Dad, I’m gay, not trying party drugs.”
“What about being bisexual?” Dad’s voice was so earnest that an ill-timed laugh bubbled up in my throat. “Isn’t that an option these days?”
“It doesn’t work like that. I’m not attracted to women.” Simply saying the words aloud was a relief I’d never realized I needed. Felt like removing two hundred and fifty pounds of gear after an hours-long fire call. I felt free. Buoyant. “I never once looked at another woman other than Maxine. Never tempted.”
“You took your vows seriously.”
“I did.” I rolled my shoulders forward and back, flexing my newly freed muscles. “But I also lied to myself. For decades. And if I’m honest, I kind of did know. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise. I simply never let myself consider the possibility.”
“It’s the cook, isn’t it?” Dad’s eyes narrowed, but I wasn’t about to let him pin this on anyone else, look for blame rather than genetics.
“No, it’s me. It’s who I am, who I’ve always been.” As Wren would say, science and facts mattered here, and I needed my father to accept the fact that being gay was simply a fact, like my blue eyes and Murphy spark-plug build.
“I meant—”
“I do want to date Denver. I want to bring him to dinner with Denise’s and Agnes’s crews. I want him and Mom to swap recipes. I want you both to be happy for me.”
“I…” My dad’s lower lip quivered. He sounded as close to tears as I was. Us Murphy men always did wear our hearts on our sleeve. He cared and cared deeply, but his voice remained hesitant. “This is a lot.”
“I know. But this isn’t a phase.” I waited until he glanced up from studying the top of his desk to continue, willing him to understand. “The perfect woman isn’t out there, no matter how hard you and Mom try to matchmake.”
“We just want you to be happy.”
“I am.” My chest ached, so full it clogged my throat and made my voice husky. We might be an emotional family, but I still didn’t want to cry in front of my dad. “Be happy for me?”