Playlist - 14. Track 14) Superstition - Stevie Wonder

Twenty years ago

“...what the fuck, Omar!”

“‘Ey, not so loud. He’s still sleeping.”

Sebastian woke up again. What time was it? Why was he on the couch? With a big guitar in his hands… oh! Right, Dad was teaching him to play bass. Stevie Wonder.

The living room was now dark-- the celestial turquoise glow from the television snuffed and shuttered away. The only light came from the kitchen.

Sebastian rubbed his eyes, looking for the source of the voices.

Dad was nearby. He leaned-- well, slumped against the stove. The color in his face had drained, but there was still a sort of lax, dreaminess in his faint smile. He scratched at the salt-and-pepper facial hair sprawled along his neck as he hushed, “Nothing went wrong.”

Sebastian couldn’t see them, but a second person responded (much more directly), “You promised you wouldn’t bring it around them. You promised!” He knew the voice. That was Mom.

“I fuckin’ told you nothing went wrong,” Dad shrugged off.

“Were you just waiting till $&@$!% and I went out for the concert? Hm?” Mom snapped.

Dad mumbled something, head low. He slunk further down from his spot against the stove, nearly losing his balance. Was Dad just really sleepy? It was so dark out, now. Sebastian hardly got much sleep tonight, too. He totally understood.

“Come again?” Mom’s voice snipped, sharp as barbed wire.

“...was waiting for him to go to sleep. He just woke up after,” Dad indignantly muttered. His head pulled up a tad, looking over at Sebastian and shamefully made eye-contact. Sebastian looked back but didn’t dare move. Something about this felt like Jurassic Park; if he shifted an inch, he’d be done for.

“Oh, good!” Mom cried, almost laughing. A shadow moved across Dad’s face, like Mom’s hands were thrown about haphazardly. “Nothing could go wrong then, right?”

“Valerie, mì amor…”

“Oho, do not ‘mì amor’ me.” Then, Mom let out a long exhale. “Is this how it’s always going to be? I have to be the responsible parent, while you get to be the ‘fun’ one?”

Sebastian’s father was one of the coolest people he could even think of. All his friends liked him. Sometimes it felt like they were only friends with Sebastian to know Dad, and Sebastian didn’t blame them.

The carefree expression Dad had on didn’t falter when Mom asked him the question. No longer was it dreamy and light, though. It was scary. Pupils slack, mouth curled into a toothy grin… it was like his Dad was gone.

His mother’s voice cracked, but she couldn’t form any words. She sounded wounded.

Then a shape blocked Sebastian’s view of Dad. Though its face was completely shadowed out, by its position standing with arms akimbo, he knew it was Mom.

“Sebastian.” She said it not like she was addressing him but like she was pointing out his presence to his dad.

Sebastian rubbed his eyes again. He still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on.

Mom walked over to him and squatted, hands on her knees. “...did we wake you?”

“Um… yeah…”

“I’m sorry. Let me take you back to bed,” she said. But her head was turned over her shoulder, facing Dad.

Dad made a hacking noise and averted his face from Sebastian’s view.

Mom took Sebastian’s hand (a little too tightly) and they began to walk back to his bedroom.

“Are you and Dad okay?”

“...Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.”

“…”

“What were you talking about?”

“What? Oh. Nothing you need to worry about, Muppet.”

The more his mom said it, the more he worried anyway.

“Dad was teaching me how to play the bass.”

“Was he now?” but she spoke with little interest in her voice.

Wordlessly, Mom tucked Sebastian back to bed. She kissed him on the forehead. Her lips were dry.

Sebastian couldn’t help himself but pipe up one more time. “Dad didn’t mean to.”

Mom pulled back. Half of her face illuminated in soft, silver moonlight. Each polished feature looked even more clean in the glow, but her expression was unreadable. “What do you mean?” she questioned.

“I… I don’t know.” He really didn’t, but he felt bad that Dad was getting yelled at. What did he do wrong? Okay, maybe Sebastian should have been sleeping… but that wasn’t that big of a deal, was it?

The tips of Mom’s fingers ever-so-slightly brushed against Sebastian’s cheek. They were cold.

“I love you, Sebastian,” Mom assured. “I love you so much.”

March 16th, 1:25PM

Sebastian couldn’t help but wonder if there was a specific dress code to attend to for meeting his father, estranged for over fifteen years. At least, if there was an appropriate dress code that also said “Happy birthday, sis!” …maybe something floral?

When they were growing up, their father would say that it was fortunate Stef was born the day before St. Patrick’s Day, because had she been born on it, that would have totally jinxed her luck for the rest of her life. Dad wasn’t joking either; he had strange and inconsistent superstitions, insisting these rules were another item in his collection of the “facts of life.”

Sebastian stood outside Stef’s door, checking his outfit twice in the reflection of his phone. He decided on a navy blue button-up t-shirt with small white flowers; a festive shirt to compensate for the turmoil thundering inside him.

What was he going to say to his father? He practiced a million different conversations in his mind throughout the entire drive to Anaheim. Of course, Sebastian didn’t think to ask Stef what she had told Dad about him already until it was far too late, so he was fully prepared to recount everything that he’d been through since they last saw each other just in case.

Including the whole… gay thing…

In fact, Sebastian had thoroughly thought every facet of the day ahead of him, just to go into it risk-free. Outside of his regular punctuality, he was showing up twenty minutes later than requested so Dad and Stef could settle in with each other. He figured that it’d be less awkward for them, at least. Also, Sebastian brought a bottle of sparkling cider (to which he had a half-dozen jokes to make about, just to lighten the mood.)

He knocked on the door with one hand, using the free one to cradle the bottle like a child.

Stef answered, mouth already twisted in a sisterly smirk. “You’re late.”

“Had to pick up Junior here from daycare,” Sebastian chuckled, shuffling the cider in the crook of his arm.

Stef gently took the bottle from her brother and joked, “Dad’ll be so happy to know he’s got a grandkid.” The immediate alarm on Sebastian’s face must’ve been clear as Stef then stammered, “Y-You don’t have to worry, you know.”

“Have to? No. Am I going to anyway? Fuck yeah,” Sebastian woefully sighed. He rubbed at the piercings in his ear and admitted, “I have been thinking about this a lot. But I still don’t know how to feel.”

His sister then glanced back into her apartment. Her shoulders sagged. She seemed a bit unsure herself. “Thanks for coming, Sebastian.” Her words were uncomfortably candid.

“...Of course, Stef. And y’know, happy birthday.”

A small part of his brain lit up, remembering that Stef thought of this as much of a “big deal” as Sebastian did… perhaps more. At brunch last weekend, she mentioned that this was probably the most amount of family she would have had around her post-transition. Sebastian wished that was his main motivator for showing up, instead of guilt.

Since she was doing pretty well financially, Stef’s apartment was about as clean, modern, and furnished as Emile’s was. However, Stef kept a lot more colors clashing against each other to her place, instead of the mass amounts of green sprouted from Emile’s indoor garden. Several pieces of wall art, many of them styled like comic books, adorned the front hall. They reminded Sebastian of the Roy Lichtenstein artwork he saw in a museum during a school trip.

The two entered into the living room, which was dreadfully cramped. Much of the floorspace was taken up by a pastel-yellow polyester sofa. In front of the sofa was a crooked coffee table… Well, Stef’s “coffee table” was more like the size of a nightstand. Several coasters, the color of the ocean’s depths, were strewn across it, nearly covering the entirety of its surface. If that weren’t enough, a state-of-the-art 3D printer (that looked more like an old school arcade cabinet) stood in the corner of the living room, partly in the way of Stef's kitchen.

“Dad’s on the patio,” Stef said as she set the bottle of sparkling cider on her kitchen counter, next to a quaint birthday cake. She looked over to the screen door behind her. The outside was obscured by fat vertical blinds, so Sebastian couldn’t even get a peek at the man who’d been absent from his life for so long.

Since Stef lived on the ninth floor of her Anaheim apartment building, her patio was a wonderful spot to hang out. The view of Los Angeles was incredible. Sebastian had visited a few times, and they’d wind up ending their day together enjoying the skyline from the patio. Last visit, the two even passed a tiny blunt between them, watching the sunset. Now, he dreaded what was on the other side of those blinds.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“Okay… here we go,” Sebastian soothed.

“Oh boy,” Stef sighed. She put her fingers around the handle to the patio door, hesitating like she was about to reveal a wizard behind the curtain. “I’m going to stay in for this. And start on my birthday cake.”

The door slid open. A boulder plunged down his gut, like a bad omen.

There, on the patio, in the bright California sun, Omar Santos-- Dad-- sat in a red folding chair. When the door opened, his hands released their death grip around either side of his seat. “...conejito,” he meekly grunted as he pushed himself up from his chair. His voice was full of rocks and desert sand.

One of the last times Sebastian saw his father’s face (up so close as he was now) was in the hospital. Seeing him conscious, seeing him look back at him… it was strange.

Dad’s salt-and-pepper beard had a little more salt and a little less pepper in it since Sebasitan last saw him. His thick Mexican hair, though, was still metallic-black, though its unkempt curls looked a bit more wiry as he had gotten older. Shadows and spots danced in the bags under Dad’s eyes and crow's feet pinched at either side of his face, scars of his battle against age. He wore a green polo shirt, showing off the silvery hairs coloring his weathered forearms. Dad was sickly thin in the hospital, but fortunately he seemed to add a healthy amount of weight back on himself since then.

In the movies, this would be the part where the main character and his father wouldn’t have to say anything, right? His father would look at him, the main character would look back, and only through their eyes would they speak. Then tears would form in his dad’s eyes, and he’d start to tear up too, then they’d start crying and hugging, silently forgiving each other.

But Sebastian was not going to cry.

No. He wasn’t going to cry. That was so tacky. He absolutely hated when movies got too emotional like that.

No.

Stop. Get back in there, tears.

Aw, fuck.

The dam didn’t crack, hell no. It completely crumbled to rubble. They were hot tears, too, searing his cheeks like punishment for caving into theatrics.

Before Sebastian knew it, Dad took a step forward. He stood over his son, a few inches taller than him even now that Sebastian was fully grown. It was strange to consider that. Sebastian never really knew if he was going to be as tall as his father; he didn’t even know how tall his father was, at least, not in official measurements. That was something most people probably never even thought twice about.

Dad whispered something in Spanish under his breath and Sebastian wished he understood the language. Suddenly, Dad latched him into a tight hug. His father’s embrace was unfamiliar, warm and assured. He patted Sebastian’s back and spoke more indiscernible Spanish. Did Dad know Sebastian never picked up much Spanish because of his father’s departure? As he chided his son, the hairs of his coarse beard scratched against Sebastian’s temple.

Sebastian wanted to hate how sappy this moment was. He truly wanted to hate it.

But he melted into his dad’s arms.

The skyline of Los Angeles, shrouded in gray smog, stood so far from view. Sebastian couldn’t remember the last time he was this far from those skyscrapers.

The hug lasted into that uncomfortable length of time where both men slowly peeled themselves off each other. They visibly hesitated before finally disconnected; Dad even finished with one of those awkward clearing-of-the-throats fathers on television did after emotional moments such as theirs.

“It is so, so good to see you, conejito,” Dad beamed. He gestured an open palm to the empty chair next to him.

“Stef and I usually wind up out on the patio, too,” chuckled Sebastian. Though he was trying to sound as nonchalant as possible (considering the last five minutes of sobbing), sweat started to pool in his armpits.

He sat down and settled into silence. As beautiful as the cityscape before them was, all Sebastian could look at was his father. Frankly, he was peering at Dad, trying to really see the person who’d been missing from his life for so long. To see what Sebastian had missed out on, too.

Dad had been through a lot, from what little Stef had imparted onto him. Even if his father healed from it, the scars of turmoil still colored his aura.

“You’re staring,” a third voice hummed.

Both men turned over. Stef was leaning against the sliding door, wearing the proud smirk of a woman who clearly was arranging something like this.

“No seat for me?” she giggled. Dad started to pull himself up from his chair but immediately Stef brushed the notion aside with a wave of her fingers. Instead, she said, “I was just checking that things went… well, you know. Can I get anyone a glass of cider?”

Dad flicked up an eyebrow and a subtle smile, much like Stefani’s, pinched the corner of his lips. “A glass of… cider?”

“Yes, Dad,” Stef hawed, “Seb brought it.”

Sebastian’s face burned red. He stammered, “I knew I couldn’t bring wine, so…!”

Then, heat swelled into his father’s face, too. Dad knew the reason why Sebastian chose not to bring wine was because of him, but nevertheless, he quietly requested a glass for both he and Sebastian.

The honest truth?

Dad was an addict. When Stef reconnected with their father, she relayed (with Dad’s permission) that Dad had been through that twelve step program thing years ago. In that step where you “make amends,” their father never reached out to them as he had accepted that he’d never see his children again. Dad didn’t put up a fight for custody after his overdose, and Sebastian wished he could understand how he was supposed to feel about that. Was it noble? Was it just fair considering that the overdose was his dad’s fault in the first place?

“I guess an apology is due,” his father grunted.

Sebastian shifted in his seat. “...can we skip all that?”

“You… conejito, forgive me, but I think that’s the sort of thing to do. I got a lot I planned to say,” Dad stated. Of course, Dad was right. However, Sebastian just couldn’t bear any more of these dramatic emotional moments, right now. He was pretty sure he cried out every drop of water he had to spare; if he started sobbing again, he’d be weeping tears of dust.

Dad must have understood that, then, as he changed the subject. “I think it’s incredible you and your sister have reconnected, too.”

“...she told you that?”

His father clucked his tongue and, like smoke from his lungs, he exhaled, “I had to catch up on her life, too, mijo.”

“You know, ‘s cool you didn’t make a big deal about it.”

“Well,” Dad replied, “It is a big deal. Just not a big, big deal.” Then he let out a heavy chuckle, gravelly but rich. “Do you know how confused I was when someone named ‘Stefani’ came into my Facebook messages. Instead of-- ah, she taught me not to use her birth name.”

At least Stef was keeping Dad educated. Sebastian had to do a whole lot of learning on his own through his years distanced from his sister.

“Is it true you named me after ‘Belle and Sebastian,’ Dad?” Sebastian blurted. When his parents were finalizing the divorce, Mom had told Sebastian a story about a two-day-long argument between her and his dad about his name. Apparently, Dad won the argument.

“Haha! Your mother told you that, didn’t she?” Dad laughed. “I was real into their early EPs when your mother was pregnant. You knew I liked their shit, didn’t you?”

A prideful flicker tickled across Sebastian’s lips. “I did.” Of course he knew that already, and had suspected they were the inspiration for his name long before Mom ever told him. The story was amusing, even then.

“A lot has changed, conejito, but I’ll tell you one thing,” his father said, “I still know good music.” He said it like a typical Dad lecture. Wait, did Sebastian even have the life experience to know what a “typical” Dad lecture was?

“Amen,” Sebastian uttered.

Dad then leaned in over his knee and playfully quizzed, “You remember who my favorites were?”

Challenge accepted. “How many I gotta list?” he asked, crossing his arms. Truthfully, he didn’t think this as much of a challenge, as a whole slew of Dad’s music was left on the iPod Shuffle he’d given him for the last Christmas before his overdose.

Dad held up an open hand and instructed, “Five.”

“Well, I’m using Belle and Sebastian as one,” Sebastian immediately said. Most people wouldn’t suspect someone like Dad was into Scottish alt-pop. Hell, Sebastian didn’t believe it when Dad first played it for him years ago. However, his father truly had an eclectic musical taste; even stranger than Sebastian’s.

“Little shit,” Dad chuckled but dropped his pointer finger. One item off the list.

“Speaking of Mom,” Sebastian cheekily continued, “I also know you used to play her Janis Joplin when you were dating.”

The mention of Mom flecked a discomforted shadow over Dad’s eyes for a second, but it faded just as quickly. He dropped another finger.

“I know you really liked The Clash. That iPod you gave me for Christmas had I think their entire work on it,” poked Sebastian. “Same for Jimi Hendrix. ‘All Along the Watchtower’ was there three times.”

“Second-greatest guitarist to walk this earth.” Two more fingers dropped. Dad held up his thumb last, like a “thumbs up.”

Keeping a list, itemizing things for the sake of itemizing them, that was Dad’s sort of thing. He organized things simply because he could. It wasn’t a game, today being an exception, but rather as a way of keeping the order. In the first grade, Sebastian had a “crush” on one of his classmates (Olivia Joy, he still remembered) and Dad broke down all the options Sebastian could take to an almost neurotic extent-- far too complicated for a six-year-old. At that moment, Sebastian realized he did the same thing. He practically could hear the glass-shattering sound effect underscored.

Dad wiggled his finger and teased, “One more.”

Unfortunately, now Sebastian’s mind was blank. All he could think about was wondering what else he inherited from Dad and just hadn’t realized it.

“Aw come on,” his father hemmed, “You got the second-best guitarist, you gotta know my first.”

Nothing.

“Mijo… you’re killing me.”

Fuck, Sebastian got into the music business because of his dad. He always knew that, but the weight of it, all that his life was, finally hit him. Dad shaped so much of him… and he wasn’t even around by the time he turned ten.

“Carlos Santana,” answered Stef, like a genius. She reappeared in the doorway, holding two glasses of amber liquid. “And I got you your sparkling ciders. You’re welcome.”

Dad took one of the glasses and proudly smiled at his daughter. “Glad you remember, luchadora.”

Oh. That was new.

Pretty much from birth, their father had given both of his children nicknames. “Conejito” for Sebastian, which meant “rabbit.” As a kid, Stef had been dubbed “luchador,” or “fighter,” because apparently Mom had a lot of complications when she was pregnant with his sister. This was the first time Sebastian had ever heard that “-a” tagged on the end… but it sounded so correct, it was actually eerie.

“I didn’t give much of a fuck about your music,” Stef snorted, “but how could I forget the guy’s name?”

“This one did,” Dad chuckled warmly, then swigged his cider.

While taking the other tall glass from his sister, Sebastian rolled his eyes. “It just took me a minute,” he remarked. Then he squinted his eyes suspiciously. “Wait, you think Carlos Santana is a better guitarist than Jimi Hendrix?”

“Don’t you start on me, too,” Dad scoffed. “I got enough shit when I was your age for saying that.”

“You ever see a YouTube video of Jimi playing live?” countered Sebastian. “Like, I could pull one up on my phone right now.”

“It’s not about the ability, mijo. It’s about the fuckin’ art. The impact!” Dad’s impassioned tone warmed Sebastian’s insides. He felt like he’d have had this conversation a hundred times, but in reality, Sebastian had never had such a rich conversation about music.

Home.

Stef astutely changed the subject. “Did you tell Dad about your production work?”

No. Sebastian hadn’t. It seemed his sister really kept quiet about his life to Dad, per his request. Why must’ve she been so loyal and actually followed his wishes? Playing catch-up felt… embarrassing. Like he was putting up his paper hand turkey on the fridge without even asking for permission, insisting everyone gave it attention and love.

His father raised an eyebrow.

“Uh,” Sebastian stuttered, “I’m a music producer.”

Dad grinned. Not his masculine half-smile that he offered to his sister, not a detached drugged smirk but an overjoyed, toothy beam. “Chido… How did that happen?” he questioned.

A delighted tickle formed in Sebastian’s throat as he abashedly said, “Well, it’s a long story. But mostly through college.”

“Hey wait, I’d like to hear this story, too,” Stef announced, uncrossing her legs and then re-crossing them over the other side. “Because all I know is you were working with that girl with the attitude.”

Sebastian’s face burned further, thinking about Kate. “That’s not quite how I’d describe her.”

Dad coughed out a hearty cackle and exclaimed, “Hey, see that face? That right there is the face when you hit a nerve.” He leaned to his side, closer to Sebastian and pressed, “Who’s this girl?”

Sebastian tried to shoot daggers at Stef with his eyes. She only batted her’s back innocently.

“She’s no one,” Sebastian responded. “Literally just my co-worker. She’s on tour, so I’ve been working on my own, anyway… well… was working.” Fucking Miles.

Dad took another long sip of his sparkling cider. “You know, I almost went into making music,” he said, wistfully sighing. “But your abuela threatened to kick me out on my tail if I didn’t go to school.”

Though it was very fuzzy, Sebastian could recall a time when he was very young meeting his grandmother, his abuela. Dad told Stef and him that she did everything she could do to get Dad through law school, and it certainly was a good investment since Dad became some big hotshot lawyer. All he remembered about meeting Abuela, actually, was her bemoaning that their grandfather passed before meeting his grandchild. That, and her scolding Dad for considering doing something besides the law.

“Didn’t grandma, ah, abuela… isn’t she the one who tried to ‘fix’ my walk?” Stef snidely pondered. “Or was that just Mom?”

A sour look crossed Dad’s face. “Your grandmother was a complicated woman. As is your mother. You don’t speak ill about them.”

Stef crossed her arms. She didn’t seem too pleased at her father’s dismissive tone. “I would love the opportunity to find more positive language for my mother, Dad,” she grunted, “but unfortunately I’m tired of looking.”

“H-Hey!” Sebastian chimed in, breaking the tension as jovially as he could. “Let’s talk about something else. Anything else!”

Unfortunately, they both ignored him.

“Your mother had done her best,” Dad fired, volume slightly increased. “When you become a parent, you’ll understand!”

Stef scoffed, “Please. Not only is that, like, a whole world’s more complicated for me, Dad, I damn sure don’t want kids. Look who I’ve got as ref--” she stopped herself. Her eyes went completely blank, like her systems switched to emergency shut-down mode, because it was obvious how she was going to finish that. “Look who I’ve got as reference.”

Perhaps a normal, albeit unhealthy, way of handling this situation would have been to explode in anger at such a biting statement. Most fathers might not have been able to handle such a snide comment.

Dad, however, just crumpled. His attention dropped to the space between his legs. “You…” he exhaled, “I’m sorry. If… I…”

“No. No,” Stef interrupted, “Dad. Shit.” She raked her fingers through her silky curls and squeaked, “I didn’t mean that. Really.”

Intentionally, Sebastian sealed his mouth shut. This conversation was a bit too serious for him to handle. Honestly, even when his family spoke at a slightly raised volume, alarm bells rang. Perhaps Stef did get the family reunion she seemed to be interested in making, because nothing quite made a Santos family get-together like someone (if not everyone) getting upset.

A moment passed. Their father sighed, “I am not surprised. Considering you’re, er, how you are. I did my best to research on transgenders.” A confused chuckle escaped his lips as he added, “A lot of people got a lot to say about you guys. Er… luchadora, am I allowed to say ‘guys’?”

“Pfft. Yeah, Dad,” assured Stef, “And I appreciate it. But try ‘trans people’ instead of ‘transgenders.’”

There was a lot of story Sebastian didn’t know about Stef’s transition. Like his father, Sebastian did his best to learn up on trans people… but seeing as he was a product of his own generation (and also the whole “closeted homosexual” thing), he sort of accepted things at face value. Stef wasn’t exactly private about her transition, but she also had made it clear she was not a specimen to be investigated. Plus, their mother’s discomfort kept Sebastian distanced from Stef, with no opportunity to ask his sister about her journey.

His sister conclusively chided, “It’s nice to have your support.”

Sebastian felt a window opening; more sweat slicked on his skin.

His whole body shook, creaking that window open just a little more. He felt like he was moving each part of himself individually: jaw to unhinge, tongue to loosen, vocal chords to activate. Crossfit was an easier workout than trying to start this sentence. The time was now, but he wasn’t ready, regardless of how many times he practiced in the car. There was a whole build-up speech he’d run through in his head, rehearsed twice as much as was probably necessary. All Sebastian needed to do was talk.

“So…”

Sebastian heard his hoarse voice, but it didn’t feel like it was him talking. In fact, he hardly felt like he was there at all.

His sister and father swiveled their heads to Sebastian simultaneously. “What?” Stef huffed.

“U-Uh…”

Dad leaned in an inch. “You okay?”

“Mhmf…”

“Oye, mija, he needs some water,” Dad prompted Stef.

“N-No. I-I…” Oh god, this was way too dramatic. Just say it. Remember what happened with Ezra? This is nothing. This is nothing. This is nothing-- “Stef. Dad. You guys oughta know…”

Was he even speaking? Or was he just hearing his own thoughts?

“I’m gay.”

So much for the speech.

Sebastian had no idea where he was then. His soul had burst so far away from the porch, the vacuum of space froze his spirit over. Then… warmth. On his hand. What…?

His father’s weathered palm lay over Sebastian’s hand. Cosmic fog then shuddered away, but Dad said nothing.

Stef blinked so hard, Sebastian could hear it. Each open and close of her eyes groaned like rusty metal. She, however, had no difficulty in saying, “For real?”

That got a snort out of Sebastian. Then the snort grew to a snicker, the snicker to a chuckle, and finally, he broke into a stomach-panging guffaw. His sister hesitantly followed suit, and then their father joined; all three of them ripped into stitches and none of them knew why.

March 16th, 3:45PM

Oddly, neither his father nor his sister seemed to know how to actually approach the conversation. Dad seemed to think every question he asked Sebastian was nosy, so he wound up speaking very little. Stef seemed to be putting herself down any time she chimed in, saying things like “I’m so sorry I never saw it, but…”

Unfortunately, Sebastian didn’t seem to have many answers, at least none that felt concrete and assured. Yes, he’d been dating (“Sort of?”). No, he didn’t want to talk about that. Yes, he’d known for a while. No, they didn’t miss any hints or signs. His sister’s questioning was surprisingly grueling, maybe even more grueling than working up the courage to finally tell them in the first place. Despite Dad taking in Stef, Sebastian had a twinge of fear that his father would react poorly. He had done his best, in the car, to remind himself that his sister was going to be there, so at the very least, he’d have some support.

The three talked until the bottle of sparkling cider went empty. Clouds marched along the sky, turning the bright blue to a smoky periwinkle.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it,” Stef whispered aloud for maybe the third time.

“Can you please stop saying that?” begged Sebastian, combing his fingers over his hair.

His father, who’d been quiet now for the last fifteen minutes, piped up. In his gravelly tone, he wondered, “Does your mother know?”

Sebastian and his sister shared a look. It took everything in their power not to bust out into a whole new fit of laughter. Through his stifled giggles, Sebastian responded, “No way, Dad.”

“I figured.”

“Can’t believe you got two queer kids,” Stef poked. She forced on a smile. “I mean, they say it’s genetic in some regards. I used to date this one person a few years ago-- three siblings, all of them falling on at least one letter of the acronym.” Though her tone was cheery, the other two remained pensive.

No matter how long he stared, Sebastian couldn’t read his father. The wrinkles on Dad’s face were stone-etched into his skin, now, unwavering and cryptic. He was looking out over the railing, now, instead of to his son and daughter. The distance felt familiar.

He couldn’t believe he was asking this, but Sebastian pressed, “...Dad? Are you… okay?”

God, Dad’s expression was steel. Yet, he calmly (almost rigidly) stated, “I am not upset, conejito, I promise you.”

“But…?” Sebastian pushed harder.

“I just…” then his dad let out a long, long sigh. “I’m worried for you. When I was in rehab… well, I knew someone who was gay. He kept it in for a very long time. He didn’t handle it well, even after he had ‘came out,’ you know?”

What the fuck? “Dad. I’m not gonna become an addict. I mean, I smoke a little. Drink a little. But…”

Then, suddenly his father was as legible as a Little Golden Book. The low eyebrows, the stern lock in his jaw, the investigative vortex swirling in his stare; Dad was unconvinced, and further than that, he was afraid.

His worries crawled along Sebastian’s skin. Dad didn’t seem to have the same fears when he found out Stef had transitioned. Was there some sort of proper timeline that queer people were supposed to follow? Did he think Sebastian was too late? Since Stef started when she was like twenty, she was more “well-adjusted”? Was that it?

Well, in all fairness, the only stories Sebastian had ever seen about people coming out late in life were usually dismal, and ultimately they’d wind up alone. Sebastian had always thought he’d be alone in the closet, and it seemed now that, out of the closet, he’d remain that way for the rest of his life’s tale.

But Dad was talking about his drug addiction… Sebasitan couldn’t connect the dots between coming out and that. Why was that where his mind went? Was this some sort of moment of sage advice that he just wasn’t getting?

Stef cleared her throat. She waved her large hand, burning imaginary sage above them, and hummed, “It’s my birthday and so I declare we now actually celebrate it.” Under her breath, she muttered something like, “This was a failed experiment.”

The day rolled into the evening. They spilled into Stef’s apartment and out from the porch. Dad told them stories about the two of them as infants. Apparently, Sebastian’s first words were “love you” but he said it not to Dad or Mom but his stuffed bunny, which probably should have been a lot more amusing than Sebastian thought it was.

Stef showed off her latest project, through an actual PowerPoint presentation like the nerd she was. It all went right over Sebastian’s head, but apparently it was some demo for a 3D animation program that got picked up by Sony. She seemed overjoyed to tell her father… to tell Sebastian… and Sebastian hated that he wasn’t quite there anymore.

His mind kept asking himself for answers. Those few hours of comfort in reconnecting with his father had burned away, and now his tether detached into the unknown, leaving him to wonder just what the fuck did he do?