Spaghetti (Short Story)

This year, I’m going to tell them.

The plane landed with little more than a bump and a skid. My stomach was still in my throat, though. I’ve always hated plane rides; every time I’ve take one I’ve needed hours, if not days to recover. Still, there’s no other way for me to reasonably see my parents. Moving out after college was a god-send, and there was no way I’d be going back.

I was able to retrieve my luggage with little fanfare. This was only a weekend trip for me, so I was able to pack light. After sorting out a rental car, I was on the road. The traffic reminded me of why I left LA, but at least the weather was nice. It meant I didn’t need a second suitcase, for one thing.

The drive to Orange County was uneventful. I spent most of the trip gawking at vanity plates or fiddling with the radio. As a former native, the novelty of palm trees in December had long-since been lost on me. The cramped flight and seemingly endless traffic had also done little to help my mood. It wasn’t easy to feel nostalgic for a drive with views of car dealerships and strip malls, either.

It wasn’t until I parked across the street from the house that my heart started racing. I took a deep breath, and went over the plan in my head. Rationally, I knew that there was nothing to fear. My parents were reasonable people for the most part. Even if things went wrong, I had an exit strategy. I had a car, a hotel room, and enough money to have a little fun on this excursion, with or without them.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, I got out of the car. I walked over to the front door, and gave three quick knocks. I knew that were expecting me, but I also didn’t want them to think I was a door-to-door salesperson. Dad had long had a hobby of pranking the salespeople who came to the house, and I had no desire to be his next victim. The door swung open with aplomb, and dad was standing there in his signature black track suit and bunny slippers.

“Sadie!” he practically shouted, throwing his arms around me.

“Dad!” I replied, at nowhere near his volume. For all his verbal vigor, I couldn’t help but notice the drooping of his skin, and the dark spots under his eyes. I had only been gone a year, but it may as well have been a decade if his face were telling the tale.

“Where’s your bags? I’ll help you carry them in, since I know you’ve never been one to pack light,” he said, ushering me inside.

“I left them in the car, Dad,” I said, walking into the front room. “It’ll make it easier for me to get to the hotel tonight.”

“Aww, your mother will be disappointed to hear that. She made up your old room and everything,” he said, his casual smile never leaving his lips.

“It’s fine, Dad. I wouldn’t want to impose,” I said, waving away his comment with my hand. “Speaking of which, where is mom?”

“She’s out shopping, that mad-woman,” he said, miming an imaginary shopping cart. “She wanted to make sure the pantry was stocked up for your visit.”

“What a sweetheart,” I said. “I guess I can’t take you two out for every meal while I’m here, can I?” I let out a little chuckle at the thought; between dad’s hatred of sugar and mom’s distaste for meat, I’m not sure we’d be able to find a place to eat.

“So little Sadie, any new boys in your life?” he asked with a coyness that reminded me of teenage sleepovers from what felt like a lifetime ago.

“About that,” I said, a thing of nervousness in my voice. “I may just have some news for you.” I tried to play off the question with a wink and a nod, but I was too focused on answering to gauge Dad’s response. “Anyway, I could really go for a shower. I’ve got a layer of two of travel funk on me that I’m dying to get off.”

“Sure thing, dead,” he said, his smile as unflappable as ever. “I know you know where the shower is, so I’m assuming you don’t need an escort. Just give me a holler if you need anything,” he said, as I made my way upstairs to the shower.

“Sure thing. Thanks dad,” I said, before walking upstairs to the shower. The trip was like going back in time; the pictures on the wall captured everything from my chubby adolescence, to my goth phase, and even my years in marching band. In a way, I’m touched; they could’ve easily taken these pictures down and converted my room into a guest bedroom or an office. They haven’t though; I guess I’ll never stop being their kid.

The showers did wonders for my mood, the steaming hot water cleansing me of airport smell. I even let down my almond hair to wash it; I was on vacation and had the time. After finishing my shower and changing into pajamas from my backpack, I was as relaxed as I had been on this trip. I brushed out my hair and stretched for a few minutes, then decided to take a nap. The big reveal could wait, especially since Mom wasn’t home yet.

“I’m going to take a quick nap, Dad,” I called downstairs. “If I’m not up when mom gets home, please wake me.”

“Sure thing, sweetie,” he called back, “but you know I don’t like it when you yell across the house like this.”

“Sorry, Dad,” I called back. “Old habits die hard.” With that, I slipped into my old room. Just like last year, it had been immaculately kept. Just like last year, I was hit with a gut-punch of nostalgia seeing it. Mom had kept everything from old journals to even older stuffed animals. In a way, this room was less mine than it was my mom’s shrine to my childhood. I didn’t mind, though; her willingness to hold onto my stuff meant that I didn’t have to deal with it, or pay for a storage unit, for that matter. A warm bed was a warm bed, even if the room was too dusty to stay in overnight.

I awoke to the smell of warm pasta and garlic bread. Apparently, Mom had cooked dinner while I slept. With a yawn, I was walking back downstairs. A home-cooked meal sounded great after a day’s worth of airport food. A bowl of mom’s spaghetti was just the kind of comfort food I needed for what I was about to do.

“Hi Mom,” I called as I cross through the living room and into the kitchen. “Thank you for making dinner.”

“Of course, Sadie,” she said, straining the pasta and adding a stick of butter to the noodles. “How was your trip?”

“No complaints,” I said, leaning on the tile kitchen counter-top. “The plane didn’t crash, and there were no screamers on the flight, so I’d consider that a win.”

“I see your standards are as high as ever. Would you mind setting the table while I get your father?” she said, setting the pot of spaghetti on a hot pad in the middle of the table.

“No problem, Mom,” I said with a salute. I set the table dutifully, the smell of garlic even stronger now that I was sharing space with the oven. This kind of dish was mom’s specialty: simple, but filling. As a kid, “spaghetti Saturdays,” were the highlight of my week. As an adult on a diet, I’m forced to approach with a modicum of caution; putting on weight this weekend was not on my to-do list.

Our kitchen table had always been a modest one. Hewn from simple materials, it was not unlike our family. Dad sat at the head of the table, his plate full of fresh vegetables and a spot of spaghetti. Mom sat to his right, serving everyone as large of a portion as she could get away with. I sat to his left, trying to convince mom to serve me a little less.

“How is your PhD program treating you, Sadie?” Dad asked, picking at his vegetables.

“I’m chugging along,” I said, putting a fork-full of spaghetti back in the pot. “With any luck, I’ll finish in the next year or two.”

“Is your lab-mate treating you any better? If I recall, you had a spat about petri dishes,” he said, downing a few veggies.

“It was a little more complicated than that, Dad,” I said with a smirk, surprised that he remembered. “But yes, we’ve since worked out our issues and peace has returned to the lab.”

“Any luck on the singles market, dear?” Mom asked with a smile so genuine it was almost like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on an otherwise peaceful conversation. A cold sweat ran down my back. My face must’ve gone pale, because Mom immediately had a look of concern on her face. “That bad, honey?” she asked without a hint of irony or malice.

“It’s not that,” I said, swallowing hard. “I’ve actually found someone I’m interested in.”

“Atta girl!” Dad said, looking up from his broccoli with a twinkle in his eye. “Well then, who’s the lucky fella?”

Seeing their expectant eyes on me caused something in me to snap. The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. Everything I had rehearsed, everything I said to myself in the mirror was moot. The levee had broken, and the water was crashing down.

“Mom, Dad,” I said, looking back and forth between them. “I’m gay. I’m so, so gay. The idea of being with a man is so revolting to me I’d rather jump out of my own skin.” I could see Mom’s hand raising to her mouth, and dad’s eyebrows just raising. I couldn’t stop, though. “I’ve never even been with a man. The few boys I’ve brought to the house have been covering for me. The main reason I was so adamant about moving out after college was that I was tired of pretending.”

After finishing that sentence, I took the biggest breath of my life. I won’t say that time slowed because I’m not a drama queen, but I will say that you could hear a pin drop once I finished my monologue. Both of their mouths hung open, like I had slapped them across the face and spit in their food. Maybe, in their minds, I had. Dad was the first to speak.

“This is a lot to take in,” he said, his mind still a ways behind his mouth. “Was,” he paused for a moment, “was it something we said? Something we did?”

“Rest assured, Dad, that my sexuality is not a result of bad parenting,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. Mom was next, the look of shock still evident on her features.

“My baby girl,” she said, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, “my sweet baby girl, who will love you? Who will keep you safe in this big, terrible world?”

“You don’t have to worry about that first one,” I said, the answer seeming obvious. “Do you remember Rachel? From my internship?”

“No!” Mom said with a gasp, her hand darting back to her mouth.

“Yes, actually,” I said, a smile creeping to my mouth at the thought of her, even in spite of the situation. “As for your second question,” I started, still taken aback by its frankness. “Me, I guess? Or you both, my loving and accepting parents?”

If their mouths were open before, now they were on the floor. The only explanation I could think of was that neither of them had considered that. Then again, before a few minutes ago, I guess they wouldn’t have had to. Dad’s face contorted into a frown as he picked the conversation back up.

“I hope you know that we’ll always love you, Sadie,” he began, a dash of confidence finally returning to his voice. “But this wasn’t a part of our world growing up. I hope you understand that it is going to take us some time to adjust.”

“I understand. That’s why I want to give you this,” I said, pulling an envelope out of my backpack. I slid it across the table to mom, and gestured for her to open it. When she did, she started crying in earnest. It was a picture of Rachel and I on a recent beach excursion. I was planting a kiss squarely on her cheek, and she was smiling from ear to ear. “You have so many pictures from my childhood, I figured it was time to get you something more recent.”

For the first time since the cat came out of the bag, they were both smiling. I let out a sigh of relief; I had done what I had set out to do. Even if they never displayed the picture, hell, even if they never said another word to me, I was now living my truth. That was the best present that I could have hoped for.

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Word Count: approximately 2300

Author’s Note:

• Just like the previous work of short fiction I posted, I penned this one back in 2019 as a part of a writing workshop. This piece was inspired both by my own experiences as well as those from friends who are also LGBTQ community members. A lot of my writing has included LGBTQ characters in some capacity, actually; who doesn’t want to be the protagonist in their own story, after all?