Where Nerves End

or wrong, do you think hell understand?”
“He will if we tell him,” he said. “He accepted the divorce, he accepted you remarrying.” He glanced at me, then back at her. “He can accept this too.”
She took a deep breath, but said nothing.
“Daina, I understand why youre concerned,” he said, his voice gentle. “But I dont want him growing up thinking something like this is unusual or wrong. The way you and I were both raised.”
Still silent, she chewed her lip.
“What if he isgay?” he said.
Dainas head snapped up her eyes wide. “What?”
He shifted a little. “If he is, hypothetically, would you want him to grow up thinking theres something wrong with him? The way Seth and I both did?”
“We havent told him its wrong, Michael,” she said. “Im only suggesting we wait until hes a little older. Until hell understand.”
“And you dont think it will make him wonder what we think of it if we waited so long to tell him?”
She sighed, looking at the table again. “Im just worried about overloading him, I…”
“Daina,” Michael said softly, “I want Dylan to know that his fathers seeing someone, and I want him to know this is okay. If by chance our son is gay, I dont want him to think its abnormal.” He pursed his lips, and for a moment I thought he was trying to decide what to say, but the tautness above his jaw suggested he was simply collecting and composing himself. “I cant be the reason my child has to be confused through high school, ashamed through college, and hating himself until hes suddenly in his mid-thirties explaining who he really is to his exspouse.”
The unsteadiness in his voice sent my heart into my feet, and the stunned expression on Dainas face mirrored my own.
She stared at him, lips parted, neither breathing nor speaking.
“I spent twenty years knowing that I was gay,” he said, barely whispering. “And pretending I wasnt because I was raised to believe its wrong. I kept it from myself, from my family, and from you.” He laced his fingers between mine. “Whether Dylan turns out to be gay or not, I want him to know its okay.” His voice cracked slightly as he added, “I need him to know.”
Daina exhaled and shook her head. “Jesus, Michael, I had no idea you went through that.”
“Most people didnt,” he said. “So do you understand why I want to do this?”
She nodded. “Can…can I at least be there when you talk to him?”
“Of course,” Michael said. “I think we should both be there.” His gaze slid toward me. “Actually, I think we should all be there.”
I ran my thumb along the side of his hand and looked at Daina. “You dont mind?”
She shook her head. “No, I think Michaels right.”
“It wont overwhelm him?” I asked. “If were outnumbering him like this?”
“No,” she said. “This was how we did it when Lee and I were dating. All three of us were there to talk to Dylan. It seemed to work all right.” She turned to Michael. “Didnt it?”
“Yeah. Hopefully it will this time too.”
Hopefully it would.
    * * *
    As much as they both wanted to get it over with, it took Michael and Daina a little time to work up the nerve to actually go through with it. Finally, on a Wednesday evening, I went with Michael when he went to pick up Dylan from his moms. He was quiet the whole way and kept his eyes focused on the road, though he occasionally glanced at me. His hand rested on my leg, and I squeezed it gently, offering what reassurance I could.
    I wished there was something I could say to ease his nerves, but Id been in Dylans shoes. I was four when my parents divorced, six when my dad remarried, and nine when my mom did. That had been a lot to take in, throwing my world off its axis every time my folks sat me down to explain some new development to my siblings and me. I tried to imagine what it would have been like to hear Mom say she had a girlfriend or Dad say he had a boyfriend, and quietly tried to convince myself I wouldnt have been as stunned, jarred, taken aback as my parents had been when I told them I had a boyfriend.
    Michael took his hand off my knee so he could steer with both hands as he pulled off the freeway.
“You all right?” I asked.
He swallowed. “Nervous.”
“Youll be fine,” I said. “Just breathe. And dont run us off the road.”
He laughed, which at least meant he was breathing, and shot me a playful glare.
A few minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of a gray twostory at the mouth of a cul de sac