42. The Revelation

Hunter

As Hunter walked out of the Valley Creek Inn, his body stopped involuntarily when noticing a familiar face. Upon recognition, he continued his way outside as quickly as he could.

“Hunter.” The voice made his skin crawl. “Hunter!”

Hunter turned around with an exasperated look on his face. His shoulders hunched over for a moment before he straightened his posture.

“Hi, how are you?” His father looked back at him, his eyes softer than Hunter remembered.

“Look, Dad, I’ve gotta go,” Hunter said, pointing behind him as he half-turned toward the lobby door. The last time he saw his father was the day of his graduation. His parents had gotten in a bad fight, something about missing funds. His father moved out of the house the very next day. When Hunter came home from his last day at college that weekend, his mother was having one of the living room windows replaced, the carpets cleaned, and the locks changed all at once.

“No, stay. Let’s grab some food—catch up. I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“I have a flight to catch. I’m calling a cab so—”

His father tried to reach for his rolling luggage. “Let me drive you, then.”

Hunter pulled back sharply. “No, it’s fine. I’ll see you around.” He whipped around and headed toward the door.

“Please, Hunter.”

Hunter stopped dead in his tracks and sighed, his heart heavy, never having heard his father sound so desperate.

“It’s so great to see you,” his father said, crossing his legs, ankle to knee, after sitting down in the large leather chair of the inn. Hunter noticed the tailored gray suit pants exposing the black trouser socks adorned with a small, gray fleur-de-lis print. “How are things? How is work?”

A bartender came over to take their order.

“Rum and Coke, please,” Mr. Richardson said, with a quick glance, running his hands through his hair. Hunter hated that his father ordered his drink, almost as if to annoy him.

“Your usual.” She winked at him and then looked at Hunter.

“I’ll take a beer.”

His father scoffed and shook his head. “Beer? This early? Holy bloat.”

Hunter shook his head. “You always have something to say,” he muttered.

“Look, I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Then don’t,” Hunter snapped back.

The two were quiet for a moment while the bartender left their drinks on the small coffee table in front of them.

“You look really good. Strong. Chad told me you got a promotion. That’s great,” his father said, taking a drink and then leaning in.

It was hard for Hunter to hold steady eye contact with his father. After all the years, he still made him feel like a kid. “Thanks.”

“I’ve tried calling and texting you on your birthday the last couple of years. Maybe you can unblock me?”

Hunter took a swig of his beer and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not blocked.”

His father looked down at his glass. “Oh.”

“What do you want, Dad?”

“Shit, Hunter, I don’t know. I’m trying to connect with you here. How are you? How are you feeling? What’s your life like? Who do you love? I just—I don’t know.” Mr. Richardson covered his face with his hand and exhaled into his palm in frustration. “Just tell me this. Are you happy?”

Hunter’s first reaction was to wince, and then took a moment to reflect on his life. Grayson made him happy. There was no guessing, no hesitation, no mind games. He felt like himself, he felt free—well, almost. “Yeah, I’m happy,” he said.

“Good. That’s great to hear. I’m sorry for your loss. I know how close you are to the Parkers. How’s Logan handling it?”

Hunter wondered if his father had seen Logan leave the lobby just fifteen minutes before Hunter did. “He’ll be okay.”

“Are you still—you know, close?”

Hunter took another sip of beer, nervous about the direction the conversation was headed in. “Friends? Not really.”

“You were never really just friends anyway.”

Hunter”s heart tightened, swallowing a giant lump in his throat. “What are you talking about?” he scoffed, nearly choking on another chug of beer.

“Come on, I’m your father. I should know you better than anyone.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you know?”

His father put his drink down and adjusted himself in his seat. He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together as if preparing for something major. “Mrs. Roland, your kindergarten teacher, told me that you were a very special little boy. You didn’t speak, and you were very sensitive. You’d cry extremely easily. High-strung.”

Hunter’s eyebrows perked up. “I didn’t know that.”

“‘Make sure he can catch a ball,’ she said. ‘Kids can be cruel.’ That’s why we started sending you to sessions with Dr. Goodman—for anxiety.”

Hunter tried to recall anything before the third grade, but couldn’t. He could speak, he remembered. He just never felt the need to. Chad did most of the speaking for the both of them. Hunter would easily go along with anything Chad suggested or said.

“Your mother and I fought about it all the time.”

Surprised his parents even cared, he cocked his head to the side. “You fought about me?”

“Yeah, man. ‘Asperger’s,’ he told us.” His father shook his head and tossed his drink back. “Little kids shouldn’t be on medication. It just made you tired. You just needed to play some sports, scrape up your knee, climb a tree like a normal little boy, ya know? When Chad went off to middle school, we worried you’d have no one to look out for you. But then Logan started coming by more and more.”

Hunter smiled at the thought of Logan, listening intently.

“You thrived with Logan around. If it were up to the two of you, you’d be together day and night. We worried about that, too—the obsession with Logan. But it didn’t seem to cause any harm, and you started talking more. You became more social and made better grades. You came alive.”

“He was my best friend.”

“He was your security blanket. Long periods away from him would give you terrible anxiety and depression, so we started taking him on trips and vacations with us. We had to fund you both to camp because you’d refuse to go without him. We thought that during college, you’d get a break from each other and grow apart, but you somehow ended up at the same school and in the same dorm room.”

“Logan pulled that off,” Hunter said, almost smiling but not wanting to give his father the satisfaction.

“You know, I still remember your first crush,” his father said, signaling the bartender for another drink. “You were twelve, and it was a friend of Chadley’s named Lucas.”

Hunter felt his heart beating rapidly once more. How would his father know anything about him or who he crushed on? Lucas? He hardly remembered the name. “What are you talking about? That’s ridiculous.” He threw in with a nervous laugh, nearly choking on his drink.

“God, Logan hated that kid.” Mr. Richardson chuckled and then looked at Hunter, who was visibly uncomfortable. “Look, I’ve always known. It may have escaped your mother but—”

Hunter hung onto hope that his secret was still in the dark. “You’ve known what?”

“That you—”

Hunter figured he’d beat his father to it. “Are a fag?”

“… Like what you like,” his father said, with caution in his tone. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. At least, not anymore with the way liberals are running everything.”

“But we’re Democrats,” Hunter reminded his father with the small semblance of a smile starting to grow across his face.

“I’m a Libertarian. Besides, there isn’t much we can do about what we want and who we love. It’s hard-wired.”

Hunter noticed Stacy walk into the lounge and poke her head around as if looking for someone. He excused himself from his father and headed her way.

“Stacy, hey.”

“Hunter, hi,” she said, surprised to see him.

“Logan’s not here. He just left.”

“Right. Great. I’ll see him when I get home then.” She looked as if she were caught off guard, not her usual composed self. She’s in mourning, Hunter thought. “Take care, Hunter.”

Hunter watched as she turned around and walked toward the lobby doors.

“Hun,” his father said, with a sudden hand on his shoulder from behind. “Isn’t that what your mother calls you? Hun.” His father placed an arm around his shoulders awkwardly, as if they were having their picture taken. “I’ll be in New York next month; we should get together.”

“Sure.” So many thoughts raced through Hunter’s mind. So many questions to ask. So many more stories to hear.

Mr. Richardson pulled Hunter in for a hug and Hunter gave him a one-handed pat on the back before pulling away. “You should answer your phone.”