Homecoming (Lesbian) - Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Faye and I went back home for good after graduation. We were twenty one. I got a job working for Mr. Burton, he needed help with the bigger things of the third floor he was building. On lunch time, we sat on the stairs while eating sandwiches and singing Can't help falling in love with you. Faye dedicated herself to her art, selling a few paintings here and there with friends or local galleries. She didn't make much out of it, but she enjoyed it. We started talking about marriage. Saving for a year to get the down payment for a nice little apartment downtown, a couple of dogs named Jack and Duke and, eventually, maybe even children. We had it all figured out, everything; except for one tiny little thing.
Life doesn't give a shit about what your plans are.
I remember we talked about how our wedding would be like while we were lying down on her bed one afternoon, with our eyes on the ceiling. She didn't want to wear the classic white dress. In her words...
"Traditions are stupid. I'll wear whatever the hell I want on my wedding."
I laughed "I thought you'd say something like that. And what am I wearing?"
"Whatever you want. If you want to wear a killer clown custom... I'm marrying someone else. But a part from that, pretty much anything you want."
I laughed "Alright, everything except killer clown customs. Got it. What if I wear a suit?"
"Oh! We should both wear suits. It would be awesome!"
"And who are we going to invite?"
"Well, the guys, of course."
"Of course."
"My parents, your parents... only if they wanna go."
"My mom would, she's being great. My dad... not sure. But Connor has to be there."
"Right. What are we going to do with our last names?"
"What do you mean?"
"Riley, I'm not taking your name. I'm sorry, those women who change their names... I don't understand them. I'm Faye Burton... I can't imagine being someone else."
"It's a sign of commitment to their partner," I commented.
"No, it isn't," Faye retorted "It's a stupid tradition. If it were, guys would change their names, too. Plus, a name is not what's going to make a couple more or less committed to one another."
I sighed "Guess you're right. What if I take your name?"
"Honey, you don't have to. We can just be Mrs. and Mrs. Brenan-Burton."
I repeated that sentence in my head. Mrs. and Mrs. Brenan-Burton. I would've had no problem changing my name to Faye's, but she's right, it's a stupid tradition, and if she doesn't like the white dress, the walking down the altar and the something new, something blue and something borrowed, she was probably not going to go for 'I'm giving up my family name.' So that was it. We had all figured out.
I kissed Faye and hugged her like she would be taken away from me. It's something I always did, I hugged her like it was the last time I'd hugged her. While she held me and I felt her breathing against mine, I was complete, happy, content. Life couldn't be better. I had everything I could want, and the few things I didn't, I would.
Or at least I thought I would.
That night, with Mr. Burton's help, we started looking for apartments; cheap, cozy places we could afford. We found a couple that had nice pictures on the web, and made a mental note to call them the next day.
The next few weeks, while Faye and I looked for a place of our own, I helped Mr. Burton finish the third floor. We had just finished placing the walls and ceiling, but it looked great, so much space to fill with dreams and hopes. He showed me a few things he wanted to buy to fill up the third floor, the wooden floors he had his eye on, the windows, the tiles for the bathroom. He showed me everything... all of it...
I'm so sorry. I wish I could go back and just...
On that year's thanks giving, dad gave thanks for us, mom, gave thanks for us, and I gave thanks for my mom, my brother, Mr. and Mrs. Burton, and Faye. I didn't mean to leave him out, I was being honest and honestly speaking, thanking God, or the universe or whatever, for my father was not something that came to me.
"What about me?" he said, a bit playful, a bit hurt.
I smiled awkwardly and replied "Of course I'm thankful about you dad."
He grinned back knowing nothing I could say up to that point could make everything better. Nothing my father and I could say to each other would ever break the tension between us. It was there to stay.
Connor had just turned fifteen, I remember because he seemed more and more afraid of growing up. You can understand why. This time, it wasn't my father who brought up the topic, it was Connor when he gave thanks.
"I'm thankful for my life. I'm thankful for my friends and my family and I will be even more thankful when my dad doesn't send me to the army."
Mom and I laughed. Dad smiled but didn't go along with it "Son, it's Thanks Giving, tonight is not the night to discuss this."
"That's why it's exactly the right time, dad." He retorted "I want to be a commercial pilot. I don't wanna join the army."
"Then join the air force. Easy as that."
"You're not listening..." Connor murmured, defeated.
My father placed his knife and fork down and said "I am listening, Connor. The Brenan men have a long history of serving this country. It's an honor and a privilege. You are going to protect everything we stand for, our freedom, our independence. You are..."
"What if I don't want to do that, dad?" Connor cut him off.
Suddenly it looked like the Brenan family Thanks Giving tradition for the upcoming holidays, was fighting each other.
My mother intervened before my dad were to say anything that resembled 'what you just said is unpatriotic' or something like that. "I think we should talk about this another night. How is the turkey?"
"Great, mom." I said trying "It's really juic―"
Connor stood up, smacked his hands against the table and yelled "I'm not going to die just because you feel guilty 'cause Uncle Ron was killed at war!"
How many times had we gone through that same argument? How many times had we said the same things? How many times?
"Connor!" I called out. I turned around and followed him up the stairs.
He wouldn't open the door, he wouldn't speak to me, even though I told him I would do whatever it took to convince dad this was a stupid tradition and I wouldn't let dad do this to him.
Connor didn't leave his room for three days unless he had to go to the bathroom, or to get himself some water. Refused to eat, too. I had to work so I couldn't be home all the time and try to support him, which I think he saw as a betrayal.
That weekend, I went to eat Mexicana with Faye and told her about it.
"Since when do the Brenans do this?"
"I don't know. I think WWII. It's stupid. The first two Brenan men served because they were forced to, the next ones wanted to, but after that it became kind of... like a signature mark for them. And they always served in combat. Always."
"I understand, but your dad seems... obsessed."
I sighed "My granddad, may he rest in peace, had three boys. My dad is the eldest, he was supposed to join the army, and the other two could choose whether to do it or not. But my dad broke his leg on a biking accident and was unfit to serve in combat. So my granddad forced the next boy in line, Uncle Ron to take his place. Never met him. He died overseas. Bomb."
"I'm sorry. Your dad must feel guilty." Faye said taking a bite of the taco.
"I guess. For some reason he feels he'll make up for what happened to Uncle Ron by sending Connor."
"Then make him understand it won't. It sounds horrible, baby, but nothing your dad can do will bring your uncle back. He won't make emends for what happened to him, he will only end up carrying another life in his conscience."
"We've tried, honey. We've tried everything you can think of. I don't know how to take the idea off of his head."
That night, after speaking to Faye, I went back home and knocked on Connor's bedroom door. This time he opened.
"Hey, man. Can I come in?"
He shrugged. He was playing Call of Duty in his PS4, which only made me feel worse. I sat next to him on the bed and started the conversation.
"Connor, if you don't want to go, don't go. He can't force you."
He laughed "Yeah, right. Haven't you met dad, Sis?"
"I mean, we could be worrying about nothing. What if you prove unfit to serve? Maybe your sight or something like that..."
"Dad had me tested. Physically speaking, I'm perfect."
Goddamn it, there was really no way to make it better, right? After that, we stayed in silence for minutes, until a grenade killed his avatar and the screen turned gray. Then, all of the sudden, Connor started crying, like a little boy, like the little boy who cried when he fell from his bike the first time, when I was teaching him to get rid of his training wheels. The little boy who cried when dad went away for two weeks because of work. The little boy who cried when I went away for college.
He was sobbing, his chests going up and down like a pendulum. I hugged him, and he cried louder. Everything he could say was "I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go. Don't make me go." The intensity of his begging was so moving, I couldn't help but cry with him.
The next morning, I knocked on dad's study. He was inside, working on his laptop. "Hey, dad."
"Hey, honey." He answered without looking at me.
"I need to talk to you."
"Baby, I'm busy."
"It's important."
He closed his laptop and looked up at me "Okay, I'm all ears."
I sighed and built up courage. "Connor is not gonna join the army. I am."