Who Asked You? (25 page)

I
didn’t like having sex with women. I tried, I swear to God I did, but something was missing, and to this day I don’t quite know what it was. I mean, it was warm and cushiony and I appreciated the suction and the pushing and pulling and all, and I was able to come but the women didn’t have much to do with it. I found breasts to be more of a distraction than anything and I maneuvered them in much the same way I did when I learned how to knead dough at culinary school. I was always glad when it was over, and didn’t know what to do afterward except pretend to feel something I didn’t, which was passion and a closeness I was hoping would magically occur but never did. It wasn’t until I was at sea that I discovered who I really was.

It doesn’t matter what his name was. I’m just grateful to have met him. To have been able to talk to him, man to man, and as a result, not feel ashamed to admit how much more at ease I felt being with him, and then later, realizing what being with a man really felt like. It wasn’t just sex, it was more of a kinship, a closeness, a sense of honesty I’d never felt with anybody before. I didn’t have to put on an act, didn’t have to feel embarrassed about my body. I didn’t have to apologize for anything. It was liberating, to say the least, and after two years of going from port to port, I literally got seasick, or, I should say, sick of the sea. I started out working in the kitchen as a dishwasher, and then was allowed to help with all the chopping and slicing and dicing, and after watching the artistry and beauty that went into preparing so many types of meals, I finally understood that this is what excites me. And this is why after my contract was up, I came home and enrolled in a really good culinary arts program in Pasadena, which is also where I live.

I’ve been trying to figure out when and how to tell my mom who I am and what I’ve been doing and what I’m doing with my life now, but I don’t know if I’ve found the courage yet. Even though it may have been the cowardly thing to do, it took a lot of courage for me to be a coward. I’m afraid of my mom, though. Afraid she won’t understand. Afraid she won’t think of me as her son because I don’t fit the image she may have had of me in her mind. She has never hassled me about getting married or having grandkids because deep down inside I think she wanted to keep me all to herself. It’s also one thing to hear how open-minded people are toward homosexuals but it’s a little different when they find out their child is one.

It has taken me thirty-two years to realize I was living in a walk-in closet, and now that I’ve walked out of it, I’m not going to pretend this was an accident or a mistake.

I promised Luther I would take him to the Rose Bowl to practice driving in the parking lot, but I know this is really just another stall tactic. How do you pick the right time or day to tell your mother you’re gay? Chances are I’ll do it when I force myself to stop coming up with excuses.

Of course, Ricky insisted on coming. Not that I mind. From what Luther’s told me, Ricky’s going through something and probably needs to do something constructive. I don’t know how you stop kids from getting into trouble or from going down the wrong path. My aunt Betty has done the best she could to give her grandkids all those values on a plate but if the boys choose not to let them become part of their diet, that’s on them. So many parents put so much effort and energy into parenting, I’m sure it’s heartbreaking when their kids appear to be lost. I might be a good example of taking much longer than most to find my way. But better late than never.

I think of Luther and Ricky as the little brothers I wish I’d had. The boys haven’t had a man in their life to look up to, and although I’m certain that not having a father had absolutely no bearing on my sexuality, it would’ve been nice to know what it felt like to have someone to look up to. Someone to teach me how to be a man, show me how to do things. My cousins Quentin and Dexter don’t even register on the Richter for obvious reasons. They’re not that much older than me but my mom saw to it that we never got close. Quentin has serious issues with women I can’t put my finger on, but he can’t keep one, that’s for damn sure. On the other hand, I don’t think he really values them, because he treats them like they’re disposable and easily replaceable. From what I’ve seen, he treats Aunt Betty the same way. And what more can be said about Dexter?

The parking lot is too crowded today.

“Earth to Omar!” Luther says.

“You trying to kill us?” Ricky asks.

“I’m sorry, fellas. I’ve got a lot on my mind today.”

“Like what?” Ricky asks.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“You don’t know what I can understand,” he says.

“I’ll bet I can guess,” Luther says.

I shake my head. “You couldn’t possibly.”

“You’re gay and you’re scared to tell Auntie Arlene.”

I know I didn’t just hear him say that. I couldn’t possibly have heard him say what he just said. “What would make you say something like that?”

“Because you try to pretend like you’re not,” Luther says.

“Yeah, and it’s not a big deal,” Ricky says. “If I was gay I think I’d let everybody know it. And I wouldn’t really give a flying fuck what anybody thought.”

“Aren’t you just going into seventh grade?”

“And?”

“First of all, watch your mouth, dude.”

“My bad.”

“Anyway, how in the world can you even be thinking like this at your age?”

“You know how many kids in our school are gay?”

Luther nods in agreement.

“Times have changed, cuz. We’re cool with it. So did I guess right or what?”

“I’m afraid to tell her.”

“Aren’t you like kind of old to be coming out?” Luther asks.

“I’m thirty-two.”

“That’s old,” Ricky says.

I don’t believe these kids are saying this stuff to me. Times have obviously changed since I was in middle and high school. I can’t imagine what my life would’ve been like if things were like this. I can’t believe they aren’t tripping or freaking out or making fun of me.

“Why haven’t you guys ever said anything to me if you thought you knew this about me?”

“What were we supposed to say?” Luther asks.

Ricky nods. “Grandma knows, too.”

“What?”

“Nurse Kim told her a long time ago,” Luther says.

“But how would she know?”

“Because her brother is gay, too. And she said she could just tell. Anyway, this was right after you took us to see
Batman
, and after you left I was sitting outside on the steps and Nurse Kim was saying something to Grandma and I put my ear up to the door, hoping Nurse Kim would say something nice about me, which she didn’t, but this is what she said and I am not making any of this up. ‘Miss Betty, since I’m leaving and I been on my best behavior and tried to watch my mouth, I just wanna tell you that your nephew Omar is gay.’ And then Grandma said, ‘Why would you say that, Nurse Kim?’ And that’s when Nurse Kim told Grandma that her brother was gay and she knew how to tell. She called you a young man and said you were suffering inside.”

I am shocked that all this was going on behind my back all this time and I didn’t have a clue. I never liked Nurse Kim until now.

“Just tell her,” Luther says. “If she can’t handle it, let it be her problem.”

“Yeah, right,” Ricky says. “But everything pisses Auntie Arlene off anyway and . . . Can I just swear today, please?

“Go ahead. But just today.”

“You’re a grown-ass man, Cousin Omar, so act like one. What can she do? Beat your ass? I don’t think so.”

“I agree with Ricky. For once,” Luther says.

I really wish it were that easy.

Ricky leans over from the backseat again. “Now that we got all this settled, all I wanna know is when are you gonna let me get behind the wheel, dude?”

Aunt Betty comes out to the car when I’m dropping the boys off. They called her on the way to give her a heads-up, on more than one level.

“Get out of that car,” she says to me, and I do. And she gives me the same kind of hug she gave those boys years ago.

I
’m a nervous wreck.

Omar left me a message at the office and said he wanted to talk to me. At my convenience. That it’s important. I returned his call but got his voice mail. I asked him where would he like to meet and what time would work for him. He left me another message when I was out showing a property and said that six o’clock would work for him. That he would prefer somewhere quiet. I called him back and suggested a restaurant we used to love. He sent me an e-mail this time and said, “See you there.”

I don’t know why he didn’t just want to come to the house, since whatever it is he wants to talk about could easily be said without anyone hearing it, unless it’s going to be something that could qualify as turbulent, although I can’t imagine what that could be. If he’s married or something, I can live with that, though I would have wanted to be invited to the wedding.

Wait! It could be that he did meet his father and has had a relationship with him all this time, and is about to express his resentment to me for keeping it from him all these years.

Who the hell knows?

All of this feels surreal, especially how Omar has pretty much removed himself from my life. Sure, he’s sent me birthday cards, flowers for Mother’s Day, and gift cards from Nordstrom’s at Christmas. But I have missed my son. I have no one to talk to when I get home except my sisters, and I know I get on their nerves but not half as much as they get on mine. I can’t remember the last time I had close friends. In fact, were it not for selling houses and even making some improvements on ours to prepare it for the market, I don’t know what I’d have done all this time.

Anyway, I’m trying not to talk myself into anything negative as I pull up to valet parking at Shutters Hotel. It’s in Santa Monica. A lot of famous people stay here. I have never had a reason to sleep here, since I live less than thirty-five minutes away depending on traffic. Plus, it’s a hotel made for lovers. Not old ladies who haven’t had sex in more than twenty years and haven’t even thought about it until now. Something is wrong with this picture and I’m beginning to wonder if something might be wrong with me.

I see my son as soon as I walk inside the restaurant. He looks so different. Like his dad, thirty years ago. He’s wearing a plaid button-down shirt, and when he stands up I can’t believe how nice and slim he is. He must have lost at least a hundred pounds. I don’t know. He smiles at me and his teeth are nice and white, too. I walk into his arms like he’s my long-lost son and squeeze him so hard I can feel his rib cage.

“I am so glad to see you, Omar,” I say, not realizing I’m crying.

“It’s good to see you, too, Mom.”

He steps back.

“Please don’t cry, Mom.”

“These are happy tears.”

He doesn’t look like he’s buying it, and it’s only partially true. I’m crying because I can’t believe I just hugged my son after more than two years and because he feels more like a distant relative. Where’d my original son disappear to? And who exactly is this one? He slides the chair out for me and I sit down. This is already too formal. I look at him again as he sits. I think I liked him better fat.

“What would you like to drink?” he asks.

“What I always have, Omar.”

“You could have developed a taste for something new,” he says.

“I like the same things I always liked. Don’t you?”

“Look at me, Mom,” he says, and flings both arms up.

“Okay, I get it. I’ll have a gin and tonic. What about you?”

“I’ve already had a club soda, but I think I’ll have another one.”

When the waiter comes he orders for us both.

“So, how’ve you been?” I ask him. I can’t believe I’m talking to my son like he’s someone I used to know.

“I’ve been good.”

“Are you mad at me for something?” I blurt out.

“Not at all. What would make you ask that?”

I just give him a
look.
Then, “After thirty-two years, Omar, you decide to do something drastic to lose weight without so much as conferring with me about it and then out of nowhere you decide to move out and then get a job on a cruise ship, and now out of the blue you decide you want to talk to me about something that’s so important you have to meet me in a public place to tell me. What is it?”

“I’m gay.”

I don’t think I heard him right.

“Say it again because I don’t think I heard you right.”

“I said I’m gay, Mom.”

I look him dead in the eye and realize that he really means this. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you gay?”

“I don’t know. Because I just am.”

“Since when did you become gay? It was on that cruise ship, wasn’t it?”

“No, it wasn’t on the cruise ship, Mom.”

“Then when did you decide to become gay?”

“It wasn’t a decision.”

“Well, you weren’t gay for thirty years, why now?”

“I probably always was.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“You don’t know me better than I do, Mom.”

“I think I do.”

“That’s always been the problem, you know.”

“Oh, so are you blaming me for making you gay? Is that what this little meet-and-greet is for?”

“No.”

“I thought you were going to tell me you were married or you’d met your goddamn father after all these years and you were going to lay it on me for keeping it from you.”

“I did meet him.”

“You what?”

“I met him.”

I almost feel like I’m about to have a heart attack. I can’t handle so much bad news at one time.

“When did this happen?”

“Two years ago.”

“And you’re just telling me now?”

“I haven’t seen you, Mom.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“I don’t feel much like getting all into this. It’s not the reason I asked you here.”

“Oh, so you want to get back to the whole gay topic, then, is that it?”

“Let me say this. I met the man. I didn’t like him, and I don’t think he cared much for me. We tried to pretend like we were going to make up for lost time, but that’s impossible. I lost his number. And that’s the end of it.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Be excited and happy for you or something?”

“It would be nice if you would just accept me.”

“I do accept you. As my son. Just not as my gay son.”

And I get up and walk out.

By the time my car is brought around, I’m so pissed off I’m ready to drive right into that fucking ocean. Gay? Just the thought of him kissing another man and Lord only knows what else they do is enough to make me want to throw up. Omar should be ashamed of himself. And he should’ve kept this new disgusting habit of his to himself. I wonder if it’s because I spoiled him rotten. Turned him into a sissy. But he never acted like a sissy. I should’ve slapped him. That’s what I should’ve done. He’s got some nerve.

Without even realizing it I pick up my cell phone and call Betty Jean. “You will never in a million years guess what my son just fucking told me.”

“That he’s gay.”

I pull the phone away from my ear and just look at it because what she just said was not a good guess; it was more or less a declarative statement.