be gay, or at least uncertain about his orientation. Apparently, Ren had said directly that he wasn’t, but in light of the eyeliner and jewelry, Nick thought Beverly was probably right. Or bisexual, maybe?
He was fifteen, and Nick remembered being fifteen. Ren should know by now which way his interest turned, and he’d said he wasn’t gay. But Nick couldn’t reconcile the way he’d felt at that age with being straight and also wearing makeup. He’d have to work all that out in his own mind, but this was his son sitting before him, and he would love him no matter who he was or how he showed it.
He was a traditional man, but he lived in the world as it was, and he saw how things changed. One could both esteem tradition and embrace progress. The trick was knowing where each had its place.
Right now, Nick prepared himself to make the right response when his son told him he was, in fact, gay.
“I …” Ren started and then closed his mouth. He fiddled with the corner of the top page of his notebook, which was half study notes and half elaborate doodles that were really tiny works of art. Both Carina and Ren had a talent for art. Lia was an excellent actor with a beautiful singing voice. Elisa was a lovely singer, too. Both older girls played the piano like masters. His children had gotten so much creative talent from their mother, certainly. Nick was all left brain.
With a jolt, he realized he’d thought of Elisa in the present tense, and his hand twitched, making the knife clatter against the plate.
“I …” Ren tried again at the same time, and flinched with his father’s flinch.
He went quiet, and Nick cursed himself for missing this chance to talk to his son.
He set the knife down and leaned on the counter. “Lorenzo, look at me. Look me in the eye.” Ren did as he was told. “I am telling you that you can tell me anything. I will not love you a jot less, no matter what it is. If it’s something you need help with, I will help you. If it’s something about who you are or what you want, I will try to understand and help you. If it’s something you did wrong, we’ll deal with it. But whatever it is, it won’t change my feelings for you. Talk to me, figlio.”
They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long stretch of gathering seconds. Nick meant to hold that look until Ren relented and gave him something he could understand.
Finally, his son said, “I … I don’t … I don’t want to be you.”
Nick took that body blow without reacting. “Okay …” he said, hoping there was more and trying to think what to say if there wasn’t.
When Ren’s eyes dropped to his notebook and he continued mangling the page, Nick said, “You aren’t me, Ren. You’re you.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then look at me, and tell me what you mean.”
Again, Ren looked up. “I don’t want … to do what you do. I don’t want it.”
There was a whole shipload of things to unpack in those few words, but Nick took hold of the crux and pulled it to the top. “What makes you think I plan that for you? Have I ever said any such thing?”
“No … but … I’m your only son. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?”
“For some. Not for me. I don’t want you to follow in my footsteps. That you don’t want it either is a relief to me. I want you to have the life you want, Ren. I’ll do everything I can for you to have the life you want.”
A frown creased his son’s brow. “For real?”
“For real.”
When Ren’s expression broke open into a huge grin, the likes of which Nick hadn’t seen on his son’s face for actual years, he caught a snap of insight. “How long has that been weighing on you, figlio?”
Ren shrugged—and caught himself in the middle of it, because Nick despised shrugging. “I don’t know. A long time, I guess.”
“My God, Ren. My God. Why didn’t you tell me?” Was he so intimidating to his own children? “Why didn’t you tell your mother?”
“Mamma tells you everything anyway. I didn’t want to let you down. And I didn’t think I had a choice—or you, either. I thought it was the way things were.”
Nick had been so intent on keeping his family innocent of his