We sat down on the love seat, Mom on the recliner adjacent.
“So, how was your day?”
“Really great. Yours?”
“The same. Yours, Nick?”
His reply was natural, not the slightest bit of fear that I was feeling. He was confident that this would work out.
“That’s good, dear.”
I take a deep breath. “Mom…I need to tell you something.”

“Nicholas is my boyfriend.”

She didn’t comprehend for a few moments. I guess I wouldn’t either, if I were in her place, my son telling me he was in love with a boy. I’d like to think I’d accept it, but still.

Her face broke into a radiant smile, and one tear rolled down her face. She got up, walked the few steps to our seat, and hugged us both. I started crying then.

Why is it that some days can have both pure, dusky-goldshine sun, and then, in a few hours, have the morbid feel that comes along with the kind of murky-darkish overcast? That’s what I’m wondering right now. Right now, with that very same dusky-goldshine sunlight that was nonexistent a few hours ago, when he and I kissed right there on the sidewalk in the pouring rain, underneath the red umbrella that gave his lips a ruby cast that were murmuring that which he was too busy to say: I love you, I love you, only you, you, you, you.
                And now, standing and staring out the window at this beautiful day, the sun trying to persuade me into coming outside and nourish me with its caring rays. But the tear tracks were still fresh on my face from when I finally brought Nicholas home with me. When we were happy, mere minutes before now.

I guess I’m conflicted right now. Because I’m not crying because things are going wrong. They’re going mind-numbingly perfect. But a part of me is still sad, because of my father.

My father, who was  my best friend. Who still is, and will be as long as I live.
My father, who taught me everything I know.
My father, who lay in his coffin and has no way of telling me whether or not he approves of my being who I am today.