Prompts by HB - 5. Prompt #560

“I’ll never, ever, forgive you!” Andy said under his breath, between clenched teeth. He could feel the heat of a blush spreading across his cheeks.

Marcus cocked an eyebrow that matched his wry grin. “That’s not very Christian of you.”

Andy glared back at him and forced a smile on his face as people started coming up to him to wish him a happy birthday. Marcus and his infuriating, conniving grin slipped through the crowd and Andy lost sight of him as the guests gathered closer.

Andy hadn’t wanted a party for his 40^th birthday. He just wanted a quiet little dinner with Marcus and their five-year-old daughter Sophie, maybe Marcus’ parents and a couple of their closest friends. He was sure he’d told Marcus that.

But did Marcus listen? No—because they were supposed to be on their way home and stopping by the LGBT Center just to pick up a sweater Marcus had forgotten in the youth room last week, but instead there was a giant “Happy 40^th Birthday” sign strung across the wall and a room full of people with party hats on.

Andy was never going to forgive Marcus. In fact, he may kill Marcus while he slept, never mind that Andy had once been a Catholic priest.

“Happy birthday!” Kathleen, the Center’s Executive Director, came over and gave Andy a hug.

“Thanks, Kathleen. I can’t believe you guys planned this whole thing.” Andy shook his head at the decked-out room.

“Nonsense,” Kathleen said with a smile. “It’s a milestone birthday! You’re four decades old!”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Andy said with a sigh.

“Happy birthday, Andy!” An older gentleman was next, moving slower with age, but with eyes still sharp and bright.

“John! I’m so glad you’re here!” Andy pulled his former boss and fellow Catholic priest into a long hug. They hadn’t seen each other in a while, and Andy had been meaning to call up his old friend and mentor. John had played a critical role in helping Andy come out, and there had been a time when they’d spoken every day as Andy struggled with reconciling his sexuality and his faith.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world!” John exclaimed with a laugh.

“How’s retirement treating you?” Andy asked.

“It’s wonderful!” John lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You know, I was afraid I’d be bored with nothing to do. But it’s great! Have you heard of the term, ‘Netflix and chill’?”

Andy laughed. “Yes, I’ve heard that term.”

“There’s so much on TV these days. It’s so enlightening!” John wandered off with a smile on his face and Andy made a note to himself to check in with him more often.

“Daddy!” A little girl with curly dark hair barreled toward him and Andy bent down to catch her just in time.

“Hi there, my little sweetheart.” He pulled Sophie into his arms and squeezed until she squealed.

“Daddy, I was so good! I kept the secret and didn’t say anything! Were you surprised?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I was very surprised. You did a great job.” Andy’s heart hurt with how much he loved the little girl in his arms.

He couldn’t believe it had already been five years since he and Marcus first brought her home from the hospital. She’d been so small then, a tiny little thing wrapped in blankets, fragile and helpless in a big, dangerous world. And now she was about to enter the first grade and Andy felt like time was slipping through his fingers as his little girl grew up.

Cheryl and Bill, Marcus’ parents, were right behind Sophie, both with knowing grins on their faces. “Happy birthday, Andy,” they said over one another.

“Thank you, both.” Andy shook Bill’s hand and gave Cheryl a hug.

“There’s nothing to thank,” Cheryl said.

“Well, Cheryl, if the decorations are any indication, I’m sure you had a hand in the planning.” Andy glanced around the room at the tasteful party décor.

Cheryl waved off the complement but smiled. “You know Marcus. If I had left it to him, there would be no decorations at all.”

And on it went all evening—friends from the LGBT Center, kids from the youth group Andy led, people from the church they attended—all the guests came by to wish Andy a happy birthday. A part of Andy hated the attention, but he was also grateful for the community of people he had around him.

For the first half of his life, he’d lived in constant fear of being outed. It had been a lonely life of isolation and self-hatred. But meeting and falling in love with Marcus had changed all that. Sure, in the process, Andy had lost his own family and the career in the Catholic Church that he had always thought he wanted. But he’d also gained a new family and a new career, and life was better than he had ever imagined possible.

By the end of the evening, Andy was exhausted, but happy. He felt full with love. And yet, his hand kept drifting to his phone, hoping against reason that it would ring. He’d been waiting for the call for years now—ever since he’d come out to his parents and they’d stopped talking to him—but the call never came.

***

It was a couple of days later, as Andy was letting himself into the apartment, that his phone rang.

“John Sullivan” was the name that appeared on his caller ID.

“Hello? John?” Andy answered the phone. “How are you?”

“Hi Andy.” John’s voice sounded solemn. “I’m okay. But, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Andy frowned as he shrugged out of his coat. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…”

“John?” Andy had a sinking feeling. He’d heard John use this voice before, usually when he was consoling an upset parishioner.

“I’m sorry, Andy. It’s your father. I got word through the grapevine that he had a heart attack. I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”

Andy gripped the kitchen counter as his world narrowed to a pinprick. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, and he only remembered to breathe when his lungs started to burn. But once he took that first breath, he couldn’t stop the onslaught of emotions that rolled over him in relentless waves.

Disbelief. Regret. Anger.

Grief. Sadness. Pain.

“Andy?” John’s voice was filled with concern.

Andy opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue had forgotten how to form words.

“Father Nathan Summers called me earlier. He’s the priest at your parent’s church, right? He asked me to pass on the news. He didn’t say much, but I can give you his number if you’d like to get in touch with him.”

Andy nodded before he realized that John couldn’t see him. “Sure.” He croaked and fumbled through a kitchen drawer to find pen and paper. He took down the number, promised to call John again when he had more information, and hung up.

Andy had been sitting on the couch for a while, staring at the slip of paper with Nathan Summers’ phone number, when Marcus and Sophie came home. Marcus took one look at Andy and sent Sophie to wash up for dinner.

“Babe?” Marcus sat down next to Andy, with a warm hand on his back. “What’s wrong?”

He turned into Marcus’ embrace and buried his face into Marcus’ shoulder. He held on tight and forced himself to breathe in and out, and as his senses filled with Marcus’ familiar scent of cinnamon and spice, Andy felt himself lose his tight grip on his emotions.

“Andy?” Marcus’ arms tightened around Andy and he could hear the worry in his husband’s voice. “Babe, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

As much as he tried, he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop his body from shaking, couldn’t stop the tears from falling, and he couldn’t stop the broken sobs that escaped his throat.

“Babe,” Marcus whispered as he leaned back against the couch and pulled Andy along with him.

Andy clung to Marcus, needing the strength he always found there. He didn’t want to say the words out loud, as if saying them made them true, and by avoiding them he could keep his father alive just that little bit longer.

“Papa?” Sophie’s soft voice floated past Andy’s whirlwind of emotions and for her sake, he dug deep into his soul to find the wherewithal to pull himself together.

He felt the couch dip with her slight weight and Marcus shifted to bring her into their embrace. Andy reached blindly for the tissues, not wanting Sophie to see him so disheveled. He tried to clean himself up as best he could before he turned back to his husband and daughter. The worried look on her face broke Andy’s heart and he couldn’t help the second wave of tears from sliding down his face.

“Daddy,” Sophie said as she climbed over Marcus’ lap and into Andy’s. “It’s okay, cry out the pain.”

Andy hiccupped at the words he had so often spoken to her and fresh tears rolled. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, holding her tight. “I love you.”

He shifted so that Sophie lay across his chest while he leaned against Marcus. Surrounded by his family, Andy felt like he could finally breathe again. Every breath was a little easier than the last, with the mingling scents of Marcus’ cinnamon and spice, and the baby powder smell that Sophie still carried around soothing the ache he felt inside. Slowly, the paralysis of the past few hours eased from his joints and Andy managed to string together the necessary words.

“John called,” he said softly, head turned toward Marcus. “He got word that my dad died. Heart attack.”

“Oh, baby.” Marcus’ arms tightened around him. “I’m so sorry.”

Andy fought the third wave of tears that threatened to spill. He felt Sophie shift in his arms to look up at him, but angel that she was, she didn’t ask what he meant. She just reached up and wiped the stray tears on his cheeks with her small, delicate hand.

Andy caught one of those hands, planted a kiss on it, and sent up a quick prayer to thank God for such a precious gift. He vowed at that moment, that he would never let his relationship with Sophie become as estranged as his own relationship with his father. It didn’t matter what the future held, Sophie would always be his daughter, and Andy would stand by her side, regardless.

***

Andy slipped into the dimly lit room early in the morning. It was empty inside, but someone had already set up for the wake. Beautiful white flowers filled the room, their fragrance perfuming the air of the otherwise staid funeral home. Along one wall sat the coffin, half opened.

He walked across the large room, his heart beating faster with every step. By the time he stood close enough to see inside the coffin, Andy felt like his heart was in his throat, a line of sweat was running down his back, and his hands shook. He stuffed them into his pockets.

Terrance Andrew Dylan lay in the coffin, eyes closed, skin pale, hands folded neatly across his stomach. Andy recognized the suit he wore—it was the one reserved for weddings and… funerals. The tie was a brightly patterned red and contrasted against the starchy white of the shirt.

His dad looked older than Andy remembered. But then, it had been many years since they’d last seen each other in person. His thick hair had gone almost completely white, but was still parted neatly to the side, the same way Andy always remembered him wearing it. He looked peaceful, lying there, and Andy prayed that his soul was indeed at peace.

Andy so much wanted to reach into the coffin, grab his dad by the shoulders and shake him. Stupid, stubborn man—the accusation could be applied to himself just as much as to his dad. Sure, it would be easy to blame his dad for being narrow minded, for being more concerned about the strict teachings of the Catholic Church than having a relationship with his own son. It would be easy to stay angry at his dad for all the years lost that could never be made up.

But Andy always wondered if there was more he could have done. He could have called more often; he should have visited. He should have tried to explain who he was as a gay man and why that wasn’t in direct conflict with God. He should have pressed them to come to his wedding. He should have brought Sophie to meet her grandfather. There was so much he should have done, but now it was too late. All because of stupid, stubborn men.

Andy gripped the edge of the coffin as he knees weakened. His felt the tears sting the backs of his eyelids and he tilted his head back to keep them for seeping out. He had waited so long for that phone call from his father, the one where his father would accept him for who he was, and offer to rebuild their relationship. But that call never came; and now it would never come. Stupid, stubborn men.

He took a deep and steadying breath before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a sheet of paper. Andy felt a little embarrassed that he had the print out. There had been one point in his life when he had the prayer memorized. But he didn’t trust himself to remember all the words now, and he wanted to make sure he got it right.

The paper crinkled loudly in the still, empty room. Andy cleared his throat before speaking softly.

“Into your hands, O Lord,
I humbly entrust my father.
In this life, you embraced him with your tender love;
Deliver him now from every evil
And bid him enter eternal rest.

The old order has passed away:
Welcome him then into paradise,
Where there will be no sorrow, no weeping nor pain,
But the fullness of peace and joy
With your Song and the Holy Spirit
Forever and ever.

Amen.”

He let the words steep into his heart, re-reading them silently before putting the paper away.

His father had never been perfect; no one, least of all Terrance, ever claimed that he was. But he’d been a good man. Andy could admit that much, despite the pain and hurt that persisted between them. But now, it was time to let that go.

Andy took another deep breath and closed his eyes. He could feel the ball of emotion in the middle of his chest, the same one that surfaced every time he thought about his dad. It was where he kept his anger and his resentment; it was where he buried all those un-Christian-like thoughts and feelings so that they wouldn’t grow out of control and take over his life.

Growing up as a deeply closeted Catholic, Andy was good at burying things he didn’t want others to see. He’d learned how to come to terms with his sexuality; now it was time to come to terms with his relationship with his father. It was time to forgive.

Andy pictured himself taking hold of that ball of emotion and placing it on the alter that stood before the Lord. As he drew his hands back, the ball of emotion stayed there on the alter, as if it was now physically separated from Andy.

O Lord, forgive me my sins, as I forgive those who have sinned against me.

And with that, Andy imagined the ball of emotion disintegrating into ash. When he opened his eyes again, he felt lighter, as if forgiveness had lifted a weight from his soul. He looked at his father lying in the coffin and prayed that Terrance had heard his prayer from wherever he was in heaven.

“Goodbye, Dad,” Andy whispered. “Rest in peace.”

***

The house looked basically the same as the last time he’d been there. Maybe the rose bushes were a little worse for wear, and the driveway had some cracks in it that hadn’t been there before. This was the house where Andy lived almost his entire life before he moved to New York. It was the house he grew up in, and while it contained many lonely, painful memories, Andy couldn’t help but remember the good times.

Like the time when his dad taught him to ride a bicycle in the driveway. Or the time they had tossed the baseball back and forth in the front yard. Or the time they’d shoveled snow together, working in companionable silence before heading back inside for mom’s hot chocolate. Those were the times Andy wanted to remember.

“You okay?” Marcus’ question drew Andy from his thoughts.

He sighed before answering. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

He led the way up the driveway and to the front door. The red paint had faded over the years and was now badly chipped. Bits of red littered the front porch and Andy toed at the chips before he reached to ring the doorbell.

His hand hovered half way to the doorbell, but it wouldn’t go any farther, paralyzed by all the “what ifs” that ran through Andy’s mind. What if she was still angry at him? What if she didn’t want to talk to him? Andy wanted to ring the bell, but his body wouldn’t let him.

He drew in a deep breath when Marcus’ hand closed over his own. He hadn’t even realized that he’d stop breathing.

“Babe?” Marcus asked. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Andy wasn’t sure. He hadn’t been sure since he’d gotten that phone call from John.

“Do you want me to ring it?” Marcus asked.

Andy nodded. That was about the only movement he could bring himself to make.

After a moment, there were sounds of footsteps shuffling to the door, and then it opened with a loud creak. Andy grimaced at the sound.

The lady who stood there was tall and willowy with a long, pleated braid hanging over her shoulder. She wore glasses in a bright shade of green and her multi-colored clothes flowed in layered waves around her.

Andy blinked a couple of times before his mind connected the dots. “Aunt Bee?”

“Oh my god, Andy!” She threw open the door and pulled Andy into a tight hug.

The move was so sudden that it took Andy a couple of beats to catch on and hug her back.

She drew back, holding Andy’s face between her hands as she examined him. “My goodness, you’re all grown up!”

Andy couldn’t help but smile at her exuberance. “I think the last time I saw you, I was still in college, Aunt Bee.”

“No, that can’t be!” When she cocked her head and frowned in thought, she reminded Andy so much of his dad that his heart seized in his chest. “I guess you’re right. It’s been much too long.”

Andy smiled and turned to Marcus. “This is my husband, Marcus. And this is my Aunt Bee, dad’s sister.”

“Oh, hi! I’ve heard about you!” She pulled Marcus into a similarly familiar embrace and Marcus shot Andy a bemused look as he hugged her back. “My name’s Beatrice, but you can call me Aunt Bee if you’d like.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Aunt Bee,” Marcus said.

“Come inside! Come inside!” Aunt Bee ushered them into the dim and dusty front hall before shutting the door behind them.

Andy hadn’t remembered it being so dark before. The carpet was faded, the wallpaper peeled a little in the corners and the air felt dustier than his mom ever let it get when he’d been around.

“Your mom is upstairs resting. The wake really took a lot out of her.” Aunt Bee explained as she led them toward the kitchen in the back.

As they went, Andy was bombarded with more memories of him and his dad. In the living room, watching TV together. At the dining room table, working on puzzles. In the basement, listening to old records.

The kitchen was brighter than the rest of the house, as if it was the only room that saw any activity recently. A white column of steam was billowing from a kettle and the countertop was filled with casserole dishes.

“Your parents’ friends have been so generous with food! I thought I was going to have to cook, but we have enough food to last several weeks, I think.” Aunt Bee grabbed the kettle off the stove. “You boys want some tea?”

“Sure,” Andy answered for both of them as they took seats at the banged-up table covered in scratches and water stains. He remembered the table as it was when he was a kid, glossy with a bright coat of varnish. It was the table where Andy had sat to do homework, eaten meals with his parents, played card games after dinner. It was where they had spent so much time together as a family. His fingers traced along the battle scars etched into the surface of the wood.

“When did you get in, Aunt Bee?” Marcus asked, instinctively taking the lead so Andy wouldn’t have to.

“Oh, a couple of days ago. I got here as soon as I could, but I needed to get my store settled first.”

“Your store?” Marcus asked.

“I run a yoga café! Out in California.” She placed steaming mugs of tea in front of each of them.

Andy got the “Best Dad in the World” mug—he remembered the painstaking minutes he’d spent picking it out for Father’s Day when he was just a kid. Marcus got one with a picture of Niagara Falls on it; his parents had brought it back from a weekend trip to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary. He cradled his mug between his hands, the warmth of the tea helping to sooth the ache he felt in his soul.

“It’s a yoga-themed coffee shop. I love it.” She smiled briefly before it faded. “It’s too bad you couldn’t make it to the wake earlier today.”

“Actually, we were.” Marcus caught his eye, silently asking his permission, which Andy gave with a slight smile. Marcus reached over and placed a hand on his thigh—Andy was grateful for the touch.

“We were there early, but left before too many people showed up.”

Andy reached down to clasp Marcus’ hand in his own, seeking the strength he found in Marcus, when there seemed to be none in himself. They had talked about it that morning, whether they should try to skip the crowd. Marcus—always the shit disturber in their relationship—had wanted to go when there would be lots of people around and cause a stir. But Andy didn’t want the attention; he just wanted to say goodbye to his dad in peace.

“Oh, Andy. I’m so sorry.” Aunt Bee reached a hand across the table and Andy met her halfway. She continued with a sigh, “You know I was always the black sheep in this family. I never fit in, they were too… suffocating. I’m sure you know what I mean. I left town the first chance I got and never looked back.”

Andy smiled at her. “From what my parents told me, you were gallivanting around the world, taking part in every hedonistic activity you could find.”

She smiled back. “That’s not too far from the truth!” She laughed out loud, then sobered. “But really, I’m sorry I wasn’t around for so much of your childhood. Maybe if I had been, it would have been easier for you to come out. Maybe I could have helped make things better between you and Terrance.”

“No, Aunt Bee.” Andy squeezed her hand. “Don’t think that. What happened between us isn’t your fault.”

Andy watched as tears gathered in Aunt Bee’s eyes, and he felt tears gathering in his own. It seemed as if he wasn’t the only one wondering what would have been if he had just tried a little harder.

“I never knew him well,” Marcus said, steady in the way Andy had always appreciated. “But he never seemed like someone who was easily persuaded. I mean, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead and all that. But I doubt anyone could have gotten through to him.”

Aunt Bee nodded. “You’re probably right.” She grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and dabbed at her eyes. It took her a moment to compose herself before she smiled at them again. “Enough about this. Tell me about you guys. I want to know everything!”

Everything? That was a lot. Andy looked at Marcus and remembered how they met and fell in love. He remembered all the difficult times when they hurt each other and how they learned to forgive and find a way back together. He remembered the day they got married, and the day they brought Sophie home from the hospital. There was so much, where could he possibly begin?

“We live in New York.” Marcus jumped in and gave Andy a smile. Andy sighed at how Marcus knew just how to ease the pressure from his shoulders. “And we have a little girl named Sophie.”

Aunt Bee gasped. “Do you have a picture?”

Marcus pulled out his phone and showed her his home screen. Andy smiled at the memory—he and Sophie has stolen Marcus’ phone while he was in the shower and had taken a whole bunch of silly selfies.

“She’s adorable!” Aunt Bee exclaimed and Andy had to agree. She was.

“You didn’t bring her with you?” She asked.

“No,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “She’s with my parents. We weren’t sure… what kind of reception we’d get.” He let the implication hang in the air.

Andy’s chest constricted as he remembered having to leave Sophie with Marcus’ parents. She had looked so sad and worried at the same time—not the type of look he ever wanted her to have.

Aunt Bee smiled, but didn’t say anything, as if she understood their concern.

“Can I see?”

All three of them turned at the sound of a soft, almost frail, voice. Andy’s mom, Sylvia, stood at the kitchen doorway, paler and thinner than Andy remembered her being. She looked tired, not just physically tired, but exhausted in a way that chipped away at the soul. But she also looked hopeful, maybe just a little bit eager, to hear more about her granddaughter.

“Mom.” The word came out broken as Andy tried his best to hold back the sob that lodged in his throat. “Of course.”

Marcus stood as she approached, giving her his seat at the table next to Andy. Standing behind Andy, his hands rested on Andy’s shoulders, a comforting weight, lending strength. Andy pulled out his phone and navigated to the folder filled with pictures of Sophie and handed it to his mom.

Everyone sat in silence as she scrolled through the photos one by one. Andy watched as the smile on his mother’s face grew with each passing photo and he found that he could no longer hold back the tears. They rolled quietly down his face and landed in drops on the old, scarred table. Dear Lord, please let this mean what he thinks it means, Andy prayed.

When she finally looked up, there were tears running down her cheeks as well, but she was smiling. It was one of the most beautiful things Andy had ever seen.

“Oh, Andy, my dear boy.” She leaned over and Andy let her pull him into a hug. She felt a lot smaller than before, and he was a little afraid of crushing her. But his mother had more strength in those arms than he gave her credit for and she hugged him tightly until he felt secure in her embrace.

Her scent was familiar, reminding him of all those times when he scraped his knee or bumped his head and she would hold him until he cried out the pain. Just like she was now, holding him until they both cried out the pain.

“Oh, Andy, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry we pushed you away. I knew it was wrong, but it was so hard. And it was just easier to let it go. But you’re still my son. You’re still my son. No matter what, you’re still my son. I’m so sorry I couldn’t say that sooner.”

The more she spoke, the harder the tears fell. Those were the words he’d been waiting to hear for so long. He wished he could have heard them sooner. He wished his dad could have said them, too. But he heard them now, and that was enough for him.