Chapter 2

Still, I hold my breath as he draws in his. Please tell me,I pray, my fingers beginning to ache from clenching his so tightly. Please trust me, Brian. I love you. I always will.

An eternity seems to pass before he murmurs, “Mom, I…I’m gay.”

Once the words are free, they hang in the air like soap bubbles, perfectly formed and iridescent but in danger of disappearing. One wrong word, one wrong move, and they’ll burst. I’ve had years to think about this moment, and I’ve played the script out in my own head a dozen different ways. Now that the words are out between us—now that Brian’s out—I don’t do or say any of the things I thought I would.

I just lean across the table and draw my son into a tight embrace. He’s trembling, and I hold him closer to whisper against his hair, “Thank you.”

His hands come up under my arms to grasp my shoulders. “Are you mad?” he asks in that small, childlike voice.