Luckily I didn’t have too much time during the weekend to dwell on my impending sorta-date (at least in my mind) with James because Gabe’s parents had come to town and it was time for a Dr. Phil–style sit-down. I was nauseous for him, but I was also nauseous for myself and Teagan because Gabe insisted that we be there to serve as cheerleaders. It seemed totally inappropriate for me to be caught in the middle of a major family revelation, but Gabe said he really needed our strength and support to get through it.
It’s funny, because the way I had envisioned his parents was nothing like the reality. Yes, okay, I subscribe to stereotypes (guilty!), but instead of a plump, frosted-blonde, matronly midwestern woman clad in Talbots, Gabe’s mother was petite and totally chic with her Sally Hershberger–style tousled haircut, Bottega Veneta handbag, and miniskirt. I suppose due to Gabe’s description I had expected his father to come into the apartment toting a football and clad in all sorts of University of Wisconsin paraphernalia, but instead the guy was wearing a fairly innocuous Lacoste shirt and jeans.
And they were nice. I mean, super nice. Which makes sense because Gabe was super nice. But I had pictured characters from Desperate Housewives ready to do all sorts of evil deeds from Gabe’s description. It’s not like he bashed them—I guess his giant fear about telling them he was gay made me think they’d be satanic.
“It is so nice to finally meet you,” said Gabe’s mom (“Call me Meg!”), who greeted me with a kiss.
Gabe’s father, Mitch, was less affectionate but pumped my hand several times with enthusiasm.
“Can we get you anything to drink?” asked Teagan.
“We bought champagne at that cute store on the corner!” said Meg. “We wanted to have a celebration.”
“Thanks for looking after our boy,” said Mitch. “His mother was so worried sending him off to the big bad city.”
“You’re embarrassing him,” said Meg, tousling Gabe’s hair. He indeed looked embarrassed.
“Shall I open it?” asked Mitch, pulling the champagne out of a paper bag.
After pouring the drinks and chitchatting for a while, Gabe’s parents started to throw out a few feelers about going back to their hotel to shower before dinner. Teagan and I nervously glanced at Gabe, wondering if he would go through with it. It was starting to look like he might bail out, but we knew that we couldn’t let him.
“So, Mitch, Meg, are your other children living close to home?” asked Teagan, giving Gabe a look.
“Yes, we’re so lucky. Mary-Elizabeth is married with two children, lives just down the street, and Patricia teaches second grade at Sacred Heart; Chad is a senior at Madison. He wants to be a physical therapist, or maybe do something with sports medicine, that’s his passion, and J.P. will be a sophomore, as obsessed with football as the rest of my boys. Well, except Gabe.”
“We were surprised Gabe even worked at Sports Today,” said Mitch.
“I don’t,” Gabe blurted out.
He had been so silent that his words took everyone by surprise.
“What do you mean?” asked Meg, confused.
Teagan and I watched as he shot us a look before taking a slow, deep breath. “I told you I was working there but I’m not. I work at Skirt magazine. You know, the fashion magazine.”
His parents paused. “Why wouldn’t you tell us that?” asked Mitch, perplexed.
“Maybe we should go,” I said, rising.
“Please stay,” pleaded Gabe.
I felt so awkward in the middle of the Jerry Springer moment but I had to honor my friend’s wishes.
“Mom, Dad, I’m gay,” said Gabe, finally looking at his parents.
I stared at them, waiting for the screams and the cries, but they didn’t say anything. Gabe spoke again.
“And I’m going to the Parsons School of Design, which is a fashion school, because I want to be a designer, not a football player.”
Meg seemed to inhale slowly, and then she looked at Mitch, whose face I couldn’t read.
You could cut the tension with a seam ripper.
“Sweetie, we’re so happy for you,” said Meg.
I was stunned. What? Did she just say, “happy for him”?
Gabe looked up at her. “You are?”
“Sweetie, your father and I had sort of thought for a long time that you might be, you know, gay, but we didn’t think you knew it, so we didn’t want to say anything.”
“We went to a therapist, you know, at, what’s it called, Meggie?”
“Gay and Lesbian Support Network,” said Meg, nodding.
“Right,” said Mitch. “And we asked them what to do—you know, we think our son is gay and he doesn’t know it….”
“And they said not to do anything, that you’ll figure it out in your own time,” interjected Meg.
“But we were worried that you had your heart set on football at Madison, wanted to follow in your big brother’s footsteps, and maybe that wouldn’t be the right place for you and you’d get frustrated,” said Mitch softly.
Suddenly Gabe burst into tears. Heaving, sobbing tears. His mother went to him and gave him a big giant hug.
“So you’re not mad at me?” asked Gabe.
“Of course not, sweetie,” said Meg. “We want you to be happy.”
“What about you, Dad?” asked Gabe.
“I’m not used to it, I admit. But I know it’s genetic, it can’t be helped, and it’s who you are, and I love who you are. Jesus tells us to love everyone without judgment,” said Mitch.
“Oh my God! I should have told you years ago!” said Gabe, still crying but also laughing.
Tears were streaming down my cheeks also. And I stole a glance at the impenetrable Teagan, who was also sobbing.
“But honey, I think you need to apply to Parsons,” said Meg gently.
“I did. I’m in!” said Gabe.
“Well, then this calls for a celebration!” said his father, pouring more champagne.
We spent the next hour laughing and crying while Gabe filled in his parents on his summer at Skirt and how nervous he was about telling them and everything else. Finally Gabe and his parents left for dinner, and Teagan and I, emotionally wrecked from the day’s events, rented The Princess Bride and ordered in Chinese before retiring to bed at ten o’clock. If only everything had happy endings like that.