Tell Me It's Real(109)

“No tentacle monster,” she assured me. “Just… different. He said you say whatever’s in your head and you can’t hide how you feel.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. And even though you’re nervous, I can tell you’re also a little bit angry with me.”

“Ah. No. No, ma’am. Ah, you see—”

“Lori,” she said. “Or you can still call me ‘your majesty’, if you like. I think I quite enjoy the sound of that.”

“Lori—er, your majesty, I just… I don’t even… I’m not mad… I just don’t….”

“Oh! He said you sputtered, as well. He seemed to like it when you do that. I can see why.”

I sighed. “Why aren’t you evil? You are supposed to be evil and I’m supposed to come in here and tell you to renounce your ways before you die so that there are no regrets. Everything about you should be evil, and you’re not and I don’t like that. I had this whole… thing planned—okay, well, not really planned; more like I was going to wing it—but you’re sort of ruining it right now.”

She smiled, though it looked forced. “Is that so? Now who’s the tentacle monster? I should wonder what Vince has told you about us. About me. If it would make you feel better, you can still wing it and I’ll listen.”

I shook my head. “It kind of takes the bite out of a scolding when you ask for one. And he hasn’t told me about you. At all. He thinks I don’t know who his parents are.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Here I am,” I agreed.

“How? Or maybe why is the better question.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know that it matters, really. Does it? I mean, it wouldn’t change the fact that I’m still here. It wouldn’t change the fact that I overheard Vince talking with my mom after she found out who he was, telling her that he didn’t want to put all this on me because he wanted to keep it separate. It wouldn’t change the fact that Darren thought he’d need me more than anyone after you go. It won’t change anything.”

She watched me for a moment without speaking. Then: “You’re certainly an odd fellow, aren’t you?”

“I guess, your grace. Do you hate your son?”

Her answer was instant. “No. Never. I never have.”

“Does his dad?”

This time she hesitated. “Hate is a strong word,” she said slowly. “I don’t think my husband is capable of hate in any form.”

“From someone on the opposite side of his argument,” I said bitterly, “I see that differently than you do, I guess.”

“Isn’t that the way for the opposite of every argument?” she asked with no trace of sarcasm.

“That’s not fair. Most arguments aren’t about lesser rights for certain parts of the population. I’m not here to try and change your mind about that, no matter what you believe.”

“And yet, I never said what I believe in.” She had me there. “But if not that, then what are you here to try and change my mind about?”

“Vince.”

“What about Vince?”

“He needs to know you love him. He needs to know you care. I don’t care if you have to lie through your teeth to do it, you need to tell him everything is okay, that it doesn’t matter in the end because you love him just the way he is.” My voice wanted to crack, but I wouldn’t let it. I pushed away the burn in my eyes.

Lori looked away from me, toward the flowers that were starting to get some sun. “Doesn’t he know that?” she asked me quietly.

“How could he!” I exploded. “You and your husband all but disowned him publicly! I didn’t even know him then, but I remember it. I remember how angry I was at the two of you, how awful that must have been for him. To know that your parents didn’t think you deserved to be treated like everyone else? For God’s sake, Mrs. Taylor, your husband voted against hate-crime legislation, knowing it would protect his son. How fucked up is that? Don’t you know what that could do to a person?”

“Do you know?” she asked. “What that could do to a person? I’m not trying to be facetious, Paul. I’m asking for my own peace of mind.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not as bad as others. Yeah, I got made fun of a lot in school, and maybe I got beat up a couple of times, but you know what I was able to do? I was able to come home to my family that didn’t give a shit who I would grow up loving. I was able to have my dad teach me how to fight back, and not because he thought his son was a pansy, but because his son was a pansy who wanted to fight back. I was able to come home and sit on a chair while my mother kneeled before me, wiping the blood from a cut on my forehead where Donnie Craig’s fist had hit me. I got to see the anger in their eyes, but it was never directed toward me. It was directed at everyone who thought they could hurt me. It was directed at anyone who thought I was something less than what I was. My parents never made me feel like I was something I wasn’t. They never tried to change me or break me down. They loved me for who I was, and I never questioned that.” By the time I finished, I was breathing heavily, curling my hands tightly at my sides, trying to keep my voice soft so as not to yell at a woman who was dying in the bed in front of me. But even so, it was a battle I almost lost.