You always thought you’d have to force yourself to not be disappointed if your kid turned out not to be gay. Brian Kinney having a straight son was almost as unthinkable as Brian Kinney having a son at all.
Now Gus is eleven years old and has a heavy crush on a little girl named Grace. Lindsay told you and waited for your look of horror, your denial, your jokes about what being raised by lesbians will do to a boy. You gave her a bit of each. But part of your reaction you kept to yourself.
The small, shameful part that felt like possible… relief.
Every time you turn on the goddamn TV, another gay kid has killed himself. Another kid couldn’t take it anymore. Bullied to death. Jamey Rodemeyer. Jeffrey Fehr. Phillip Parker. Jacob Rogers. On and on, and it scares the shit out of you. You don’t know if it’s actually happening more now or if this is just the first time anyone’s given enough of a fuck for it to be considered newsworthy.
It’s not like Gus wouldn’t be accepted by his big queer family if he was gay, but there’s the rest of the world, there’s school, and kids are vicious shits these days, and a lot of adults are worse.
You wanted them to come back from Canada, but sometimes now you wonder if they should have stayed. Maybe it is safer there. And fuck principles, fuck not running away, fuck your fucking lifelong heterophobia, you just want Gus safe. Safe and happy.
He seems to be. His school’s a little hippie-ish for your taste, but still good on education, and they seem to listen and look out for the kids. (Which is good, because even if Gus likes girls, he still has two moms, two dads, and various relatives embarrassing for many more reasons than gayness. And a smart mouth.)
Grace apparently has pretty hair and smells like apples.
You go to tell Justin about Gus and this crisis you’re having and find him napping on the sofa in his studio. Watch him sleep for a minute. He looks impossibly young like this, like a seventeen year old little shit once again.
The little shit whose father stopped loving him when he came out. Who got regularly abused at school, threatened, hit, his locker set on fire, while teachers turned a blind eye. Who got bashed at his prom and almost died, got failed by the legal system, and kept going. He’s had more pain to get through than most and you don’t think he ever thought about ending it. (You’re another story.)
Whether it was stubbornness or romantic notions or just that he’s the bravest person you’ve ever met, you’re so fucking grateful. That no matter how much it may have felt - a lifetime ago - like he was the one to always leave, he never left forever.
“You’re staring at me.”
“Yes,” you say. “I am.”
Justin smiles sleepily. “Okay.”