81. Dex

‘There's, ah, something I wanted to talk to you about,' I say, hating how thin my voice sounds. My mum, who is a stunning woman, gives me a beatific smile and I return it gratefully.

I already hate this for her.

I hate that when Belle and I tear out of here like our arses are on fire, she'll be left to pick up the pieces.

I hate that, even though I'm slowly allowing myself to believe that I will have a beautiful family in the future, including plenty of babies, that picture won't look like what she thinks she wants for her firstborn.

They say kids teach their parents as much, if not more, than parents teach their kids. But the paradigm I'm introducing mine to is such a radical departure from the image of love and morals and family units they've been raised to want that I'm really not sure if even Mum can handle it.

And I know, just as I know the earth is round, that Dad will summarily condemn me with just as much moral indignation and just as little logical footing as the Inquisition condemned Galileo for his "ridiculous" theories of heliocentricity.

Somehow, that reminder of just how much the Catholic Church abhors a philosophical threat makes me feel a little better.

When I hesitate, Dad gives me a curt nod. ‘Well, spit it out.'

You asked for it, mate.

I begin the coward's way. ‘I've met a woman.'

(I know. Pathetic.)

Dad looks faintly, pleasantly surprised. Mum gives me an excited grin. And, in my periphery, I can see my sister trying her hardest not to react.

‘That's wonderful!' Mum squeals. ‘Do we know her?'

I glance at Belle, who's watching like she's waiting to see where I go with this.

‘She's the sister of one of Rafe's… oldest friends. She's called Darcy and she's wonderful.'

‘She's seriously amazing,' Belle says. Maybe if we pack as much positivity and glee into my Darcy news, no one will react when I tell them I've finally worked out I love dick as much as my sister does.

Ahhh. Wishful thinking, eh?

Before the gushing tangent derails us too far, though, I dig my fingernails into my thigh under the table and press on.

‘That's not all. I've met a man, too.'

My parents give me what can only be described as blank looks. I notice in a haze that Belle's pressing her lips together and reach blindly for my wineglass. My fight-or-flight response has majorly kicked in, my throat is completely dry, and there's a very good chance I piss myself, such is the urgency with which my nervous system is responding to this perceived existential threat.

I force myself to clarify. ‘I'm in a relationship with Darcy, and we're very happy, but the two of us are also in a relationship with a man, too. I realise it's unorthodox, but the three of us are very deeply in love.'

If I wasn't so bloody terrified, I'd laugh at my father's face right now. It's a purple-hued mask of stunned disbelief and horror, but I suspect his blood pressure has just ratcheted up so far that his eyeballs might actually pop out of their sockets.

This is a fucking nightmare, but the knowledge that I've done the worst bit, that I'vesaid it, sends a rush of euphoria so strong I feel giddy. It's done, and everything else is on Dad now.

Move over Rafe and your butt-nakedness in Mum and Dad's kitchen.

I've just set our family on fire.

May as well toss another match onto the flames.

‘And you do know the guy,' I say directly to Dad. ‘He's Max Hunter.'

My father, one of the most articulate people I know, is completely mute, his mouth set in a grim line while those eyeballs of his wrestle against his blood pressure. I can't help but wonder if, deep down in a place he'd never admit even to himself, he's impressed that I landed Max.

Because I certainly fucking am, and Dad just spent a full fifteen minutes telling me what a high quality team Max is running. Whether he doesn't know or, for once, doesn't care that Max is queer, I'm unsure. Maybe astounding corporate success is cause to overlook loose morals in Dad's eyes.

Fuck knows.

Mum glances at him, probably looking for clarity as much as checking for possible cardiac arrest. She's always done this—always looked to him for guidance. It's a reflex so hardwired after thirty-something years of marriage that she can't help it, even when she knows he's full of shit.

When no clarity is forthcoming, she turns back to me.

‘I don't understand,' she says like she's genuinely baffled. ‘You say you're in a relationship with Max and with this girl, Darcy?'

‘I am.' Maybe I'll just talk to her while we wait for the pressure cooker next to her to explode and give us all third-degree burns. ‘Max and Darcy got together shortly before I met them. We all feel very strongly about each other, and we want to make a go of it. Max has always been openly queer, but I wanted to talk to you about it before we went public with our relationship.'

My father's jaw drops open. That's done it—if his horror at my moral transgressions wasn't enough to send him over the edge, the horrifying prospect of his son's queerness being muttered about all over the City is.

I wonder which he'll attack first—my polyamory or my queerness?

‘The Bible is very clear on this,' he says, slamming his fork down with the weight of a judge passing judgement with his mallet.

I almost laugh. ‘Yeah, the Bible's views on homosexuality tend not to be given much credence these days, Dad.'

Belle gives me a tiny, impressed smile, like who is this badass and what have you done with my brother?

‘Not just—that. On all of these… practices you speak of. A man shall have one wife and a woman one husband. St. Paul is very, very clear. To allow a third party, or anyone else, into your relationship is to tempt Satan. These are the rules that Christianity is built on—not just Christianity, but the very basis of civilised society.'

When he starts quoting the Bible, the anger flares, licking at my soul with a wrathful tongue.

‘That only matters if you care what the Bible says. What St. Paul says. I don't. It's not how I live my life. I rejected that framework a while ago, and I would have rejected it far earlier if I'd ever been given the option.'

He flinches. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?'

‘I never chose Catholicism. You chose it for me. And it was never, ever served up to me as an option, only as absolute truth. It's not for me—it's not the right framework.'

‘This is not how we raised you,' Dad says with terrifying intensity, practically spitting the words out through gritted teeth. ‘Just because you're a lapsed Catholic, it doesn't mean you can sink into moral corruption.'

Ah, here we go. Catholics love the word lapsed. It suggests that anyone who's abandoned their faith has done so out of laziness, or ethical apathy, or an inability to hack the uncompromising demands of this faith. Not because they've made a measured choice to walk away from a religious framework that doesn't serve them.

But I'm not here to eviscerate the man.

I'm here to tell my truth and set myself free.

‘It's obviously very hurtful to me that you would condemn my relationship as morally corrupt before you've bothered to understand the slightest bit about it,' I tell him, ‘but I'm afraid it's not surprising. And no, you certainly didn't raise me to find love outside of what the Church deems acceptable, but there comes a time when a man has to decide for himself what's right.'

Dad's face is twisted with disgust, and I suspect he's not even listening properly. Whatever I say, he'll tune out—he's retreating into himself before my eyes. The moral rectitude of what I've done is not up for discussion, because he's so certain of where God stands on this that he has no intention of entertaining my attempts at justification. The blinkers are well and truly on.

‘No man decides what is right,' he snaps. ‘The Church decides what is right, and we sinners plough on and try our very best, and we seek His mercy when we stumble. We do not throw away our values to embark on a relationship that is the epitome of wickedness. Because mark my words, whatever disgusting, unnatural activities you're indulging in are the epitome of wickedness. And your only option, my boy, is to walk away from this madness and repent and throw yourself on God's mercy, or you'll be lost. Utterly, utterly lost in the darkness.'

And there we have it. I stare at him, and God knows, my body and soul are churning with such a mix of disgust and hurt and pity, because only one person at this table is lost in the darkness, and it sure as fuck isn't me.

Everything he's said is an exact replica of what Belle and I anticipated. He's so predictable. So fearful, so closed-minded. He's on the verge of tearing our family apart, and it's entirely his choice—except it's not really a choice, if I think about it. There was never any choice. He'll always side with his beliefs. He did it with Belle, and he's doing it again now.

My sister is right.

Maddy is right.

This is all on him.

I'm not taking responsibility for any of his actions.

All I've done is tell him who I am.

Mum finally speaks up, sensing a natural break in this rant, I suppose. I hate having told her like this. I'd love to have given her advance warning, but I wouldn't have done that to her—she'd have stewed so badly over how Dad would take it when he finally found out. Best to have spared her the advance worry.

‘Don't be so harsh, please, Ben,' she pleads, her eyes on her husband, and I wonder for the millionth time how she puts up with him and all his pious, religious bullshit. ‘He's happy, and he's in love.'

‘He's not in love,' my dad blurts out. ‘He's in carnal lust, and I simply can't allow it. All I'm trying to do is convince him to save himself before he's damned forever.'

I roll my eyes. I thought I'd be more timid than this. I thought I'd cower before my father's fury, but he makes it easy to disrespect him when he offers so little respect—not to mention so little common sense and human decency—of his own. ‘Don't tell me what I'm feeling,' I say. ‘It's offensive. I've come to you as a grown man to do you the courtesy of sharing my news. Don't try to invalidate it.'

‘I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt here, boy,' he spits out, and his boy has every bit of the patronising, patriarchal venom he intends. ‘Because the alternative to you having lost your way is that you're a filthy, unrepentant sinner, and I simply cannot condone that.'

‘Dad!' Belle cries in horror, but he rides roughshod over her protest.

‘If you think your mother and I will engage with you or these people as long as you're with them, then you're very much mistaken. All I can say is I hope for the sake of your eternal soul that you come to your senses very soon, and the Good Lord will be waiting when you do.'

‘Leave me out if it, please, Ben,' Mum says in a voice that's quiet but not to be messed with. She's sitting ramrod straight, as if she's worried one false move will have the rest of this dinner falling to pieces, but I'm afraid she's too late.

We're done here.

It's as shitty as it is predictable, and Dad's toxic bigotry rolls over me like a grimy film. I braced myself for abuse and for his revulsion, and I got both. No need to be the man's punching bag any longer.

I pull my napkin off my knees and lay it on the table before getting to my feet. ‘You've got things completely the wrong way around, actually. If you think I'd let you go anywhere near Max and Darcy with this attitude, you're mistaken. I would never, ever give you a chance to disrespect them or tarnish them with your toxic energy.

‘And good luck explaining yourself to your entire investment team when Max zeroes you guys in the IPO allocation. Mum, if you'd like to meet them, we'd all love that. You let me know when you're ready.'

I glance at Dad. I hate leaving her with him when he's like this. A black-tarred thundercloud of prejudice has settled on him. It'll be days before it lifts, and she'll have to stomach the brunt of it.

‘Shall we go to Alchemy?' my sister asks, pushing back her chair and standing. She bends and gives Mum a hug, ignoring Dad, who's glowering at us from his seat, completely.

‘Sounds good,' I say with genuine relief. Darcy's dancing there tonight. Max will be there too, waiting for me. Worrying about me. The thought of my favourite people in the world has my wounded, sickened heart soaring. Alchemy can't come quickly enough.

‘What the hell is Alchemy?' my father barks.

Belle and I glance at each other, and I hesitate.

She turns to him. ‘It's the sex club Rafe owns, actually.'

With that, we take our leave.