Cutting

Silence swelled between Kevin and his mother beneath the low buzz of wait staff and other customers. The smell of garlic and brussels sprouts and adulthood couldn’t stop him from feeling like a teenager again, coming out to his mother and prepared for her inevitable denial of his identity. Kevin sliced his ribeye, chewed, and wished he could cut through his shame as easily as he cut through the gristle. He’d been trying to since adolescence. 

“Does this surrogate know you live with a man?” his mother asked, her own food untouched.

Kevin nodded. He placed his utensils on his plate. 

The waiter refilled their water. Kevin noted how the waiter’s eyes kept moving toward his left wrist where the sleeves of his sweater pulled up just far enough to show the scar. He’d have to remember to donate the sweater later. For now, he looked her directly in the eyes. He hadn’t been able to do that when he first told her he was gay, but time had changed him. Jack had changed him. “She knows Jack and I are married,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re not married in the eyes of God.” 

“I thought you wanted grandchildren,” he said. Behind her, he could see the sous-chef slicing and slicing. Jack had told him dinner would go like this, but Kevin hadn’t thought his mother could be callous about a child. He and Jack had argued, and Kevin had invited her to dinner anyway.

“Grandchildren,” his mother said, “not abominations.” He’d forgotten. He’d been just a child too when her words had started cutting him. 

Kevin stood, took out his wallet, and tossed a handful of cash on the table next to his knife. Then he turned and walked out of the restaurant without a word.