My dad hands me the car keys, running his hair through his heavily gelled hair. He purses his lips, glancing at the keys in my hands before I stuff them into my coat pocket. "You sure about this?"

I nod, "Yeah, she wanted to talk to me, right? It has to be important if she wants to go to Tim's."

Yesterday, my mother gave my dad a phone call, asking if I (and only me) would go to dinner with her to "talk" about the divorce. The divorce she wants to have. The divorce that will tear the last piece of normalcy in my life to shreds.

Ironically, my dad and I are standing in the family room. A comfortable couch faces a large TV mounted to the wall, an ancient video game console waiting to be played, movies waiting to be watched. The room was built for families to have time together in, build bonds that should last forever. Only this room hasn't held a family for years.

Now it never will.

The keys suddenly grow heavy in my pocket and my throat turns into the desert. My dad gives me a smile, looking straight through me. His smile is a mere semblance of his former self, a shell of what his smiles could truly be. On the brown fabric of the couch sits old photographs of their wedding day. They used to hang above the computer desk in the far corner of the room, but my dad has taken them down. He smiles in the picture, a real, proper smile. The one he gives me now has a certain sadness about it. He knows just as well as I do that this means the end.

The end of the dance of who's right and who's wrong. The end of ignoring the dark cloud that has hung over our house for years, even before she died.

Now I'm driving straight into the den of wolves.

"I guess I'll get going now," I say quietly, scratching at my forearm.

He nods awkwardly, turning away as if I don't exist anymore. He stands over the old photos, picking on up and running a finger down it. I head up the stairs, trying not to think about what's going on.

Seems like I've dreamed of my parents separating for years. My hands slide along the railing and I let out a deep sigh, thinking back to my younger self, hiding in my room as my parents battled downstairs. I always thought that if they split, everything would get better. They seemed to hate each other (not seemed, they did), so the only solution that came to mind... Divorce. Such an ugly, far too common word. I thought it would fix things but now that it has come, now that I have to face the ugly, that little boy wishing his parents would just go away drifts into the distance.

My chest opens into a hollow void as I open the front door, refusing to look at my house as I walk along the narrow driveway to my dad's SUV, swallowing hard. I hop into the driver's seat, looking up at the building. If you look closely, which I always do, you can still see her butterfly stickers hanging to the glass of her window. Still so innocent for what happened in that room just a year ago. Only a year ago...

Shaking my head, I turn the key and listen to the engine start up. I instantly pull out my phone and blare some music. Roran Mancini's voice echoes through the car, instantly calming me as I shift into first gear and begin driving down the driveway. I hate driving. And I'm probably the only teenager in the world who would say that's but the endless possible ways to die in a car always sift through my brain when I get behind the wheel. Especially in my dad's stick shift.

Because what if I stall the car? What if someone doesn't see me and drives into the wrong lane and crushes me? What if I don't shift at the right time and slam on the gas instead of the clutch and run off a cliff?

Breathe. "Calm down," I whisper, trying to slow my breathing, focusing on Mancini's voice as I turn into the street where the restaurant lies.

My mom asked to meet at a restaurant I used to love growing up. My sister and I would beg one of our parents (never both at the same time because two parents on one outing never ended well) to take us. It's family owned, and somehow, against all the odds, is still in business. Driving down the road, nervously watching all the other cars drive by me, I think fondly on those old days. My sister and I would always swap meals. She, being two years younger, always wanted to order from the "adult" menu but couldn't. Even though I was always a "scrawny kid" (or as my dad liked to put it, "a late bloomer"), I eventually upgraded to the regular menu and found the selection not nearly as appealing as the fun colors and crayons that came with being a child. So, we would order for each other and switch plates.

That's what happens when you grow older, everything that once seemed great loses its appeal. Once I began to realize that parents shouldn't leave for long periods of time, or fight every single day, or threaten each other. Once I realized that I shouldn't feel nothing inside, it was far too late to go back to the days of kid's menus.

I finally pull into the restaurant parking lot, called Tim's. Not Tim's pub or bar or restaurant: just Tim's. Half the menu items have Tim's stuck in front of it. So they have mac and cheese, and make it Tim's mac and cheese or Tim's hamburger. Shutting down the car, unfortunately making my favorite singer's voice die away, I open the door and walk towards the main entrance.

The restaurant has redecorated since the last time I was here, with mom and...her. The bricks seem cleaner, bushes that line the pathway freshly trimmed with new speckled rocks for accents. I take a deep breath, smelling the familiar scent of Tim's famous bread. The bread is so good it gets two titles; it is both Tim's bread and Tim's famous bread. It's just that amazing.

My mom has already gotten a booth, scanning everyone that walks through the door until she sees me. Her eyes don't light up, she doesn't even acknowledge my existence besides raising her hand to get my attention. I walk over to her, watching her tight curls fly in different directions as she stands. "Hey," she greets, going in for a hug but I back away.

My lungs freeze in their endless work of pumping air in and out when her arms open. My heart gets ready to make a quick escape, but I force myself to stay calm, sliding into the booth and nodding at her. Her pale eyes search my face and I smile awkwardly. An awkward smile, I believe, is self explanatory. It's the kind of smile to get rid of tension but ends up creating more tension than before. I quickly pick up the menu to distract myself.

Ring, buzz. I glance down at my phone, seeing Ben's name appear on the screen. I quickly decline the call and l look up at my mom, flashing yet another awkward smile. "Sorry, I'll uh, I'll silence that."

"Who's calling you?" she asks, setting down the red laminated menu, eyes searching and searching like they always do.

"Just Ben, uhm, he'll give up after about three calls," I say as it starts buzzing again.

Laughing uncomfortably, I stuff my phone away, seeing Ben's contact light up the screen, grin piercing my very heart .

She tucks a few blonde curls behind her ear and nods, watching as our waiter approaches. I barely pay attention until he clears his throat, "What can I get you to drink?"

I choke. Full on stomach in mouth, lungs in stomach, heart in head. I take as deep a breath as I manage and look up at our waiter. Griffin grins at me and repeats his question. Drinking is the last thing on my mind, unless it's hard and can take this misery away.

I don't think they have poison on the menu so I get a root beer. "I didn't know you worked here," I say, swallowing.

"Dad wanted me to get a job so I work here a couple days a week. I didn't know you ate here, swee-"

"Oh yeah I've come here since I was a kid," I interrupt before he can call me one of his stupid pet names.

He nods and darts off to get my drinks after much glaring and pointing under the table at my mom. Her eyes are searching again. She's been doing that more and more since... everything. "You know him? Wait. Wasn't he at our house that one time?" she asks, searching my face for an answer.

"We go to school together, yeah."

She nods, still looking for something in my face. Griffin comes back with a Diet Coke and my root beer, winking at me and licking his lips as he sets my drink down. I hiss at him as his hand reaches over to give me a paper straw. His fingers brush mine and he leaves it there for a moment too long before getting to my mom. I watch his body move as he walks away, strong arms swinging.

"I suppose you're wondering why I wanted to have this dinner with you," she finally says, stopping her searching and going to talking. It's one of the great things my mom is good at, talking. Talking and talking until I wish I couldn't hear any longer.

Lately she's been quiet. Lately, instead of asking she stares at me as if to divine the answer.

Finally I nod at her, still gazing at Griffin out of the corner of my eye. He looks cute in an apron. I blink and focus back to my mother, "Uhm, yeah I have."

"Justin, I... Oh this is hard to say, but I, I don't want..."

She pauses. My mom never pauses, she never fumbles over her words. She opens her mouth to speak again but Griffin reappears yet again. "Are you ready to order?" he asks, whipping out a notebook and smiling far too pleasantly. I find myself staring at his dimples.

"What do you want?" my mom asks after placing her order.

"Uhm..." I barely looked at the menu. "I don't know yet."

"We have great vegetarian options," Griffin chimes in, pointing to the part of the menu with "Vegan and Meatless" written in large letters.

I know whatever I eat will just come up again so I order a veggie burger that will probably taste more like the color green than anything edible. Griffin nods and takes our menus, once again letting his hand brush against mine far too long during the exchange, earning a glare from me and a confused look from my mom. "He knows you don't eat meat?"

I nod, "We eat lunch together so..."

"You good friends?"

"I guess so."

She nods to herself, sipping her coke and searching my face again. "Well," she finally says, "I have to say this eventually so why not now. Justin, I talked with your father and Dave, the lawyer handling all this, and, and well, I've decided that I don't want custody of you. At all. Your father has agreed to it."

My heart slowly sinks down, down, down. I swallow hard, staring at my root beer, rubbing the condensation with a thin finger. It takes me a long while to finally reach her searching gaze. Only one word burns into my head, a word I've asked myself every day for years. A question that I've come used to answering with only more questions. "Why?" I finally say.

She hesitates, sipping her soda and squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't, do you really want to know?"

Do I really want to know? My mom doesn't want anything to do with me and has the audacity to say I shouldn't know why. "Yes, I want to know," I snap.

Another sigh. Her eyes begin searching my face again and she wipes at one of them, looking for something in my expression that I can't possibly guess.

"You're gay," she finally says, gaze darting around the low lit room.

I had previously been in the process of taking a rather large gulp of my soda. I splutter and choke, heart going into overdrive, lungs compressing, stomach rejecting, throat contracting. I retch, forcing myself to swallow. It goes down the wrong tube and the next thing I know, I'm holding my stomach and coughing. I expect it to calm down after a few seconds but the disgusting slime in my throat and carbonation in my lungs doesn't go away.

People have started staring. They look at me; they accuse me. My face reddens and even after I manage to stop gagging, it seems the whole restaurant has their eyes fixated on me. Even Griffin, who waits at another table, has his face turned to me, brows furrowed. I look away and tune out every human being except my mom, if I don't I will break down again. Like a car, an old tired car that has seen far too many accidents and really isn't worth the next repair. "I'm not gay," I flat out lie, trying to keep a straight face.

"Don't Justin," she says, sighing heavily, "I know, okay? I know. I think a part of me always knew, I was just hoping... I don't want to live with a gay son. I know you can't change it, since you were a little boy stealing H-, stealing her dolls, I knew. That's the worst part because it's not even your fault.

"I don't want to have to say to my friends, 'hello, here's my gay son.' I want to move on with my life, Justin, I can't be tied down in this place anymore. You don't know what it's like living with him-"

"Yes I do! He's my dad!" I intervene, throwing my hands up. I can't believe a word of this. She doesn't want me. How can she not want me? Even on the weekends, or on Holidays? Just because I'm gay? Just because of something I can't change no matter how hard I've tried to force myself feel about girls the way I feel about guys.

"You don't know what it's like sleeping in the same room as him, having to hear every little thing I've done wrong over and over and over. I can't do this anymore. I want to forget, I want to forget about everything. I want to maybe meet another guy, have an awesome relationship and one day get married again. And if I'm lucky, really lucky, I'll be blessed with another child. A child who is not gay. So I can be proud, I can say 'hello, this is my normal child.' With no death and no hurt and no horrible memories. I want something new. And I can't do that with you or your father."

She won't look me in the eyes. She hasn't since her speech began. "I'm not gay," I say again, almost trying to convince myself.

My boyfriend, as if on cue, appears with our food. He raises his eyebrow at me when he hears the dreaded lie, snorting under his breath. He finds it amusing. I glare at him but Griffin just gives me a blank look, an innocent look. "Here's your veggie burger," he says, leaning down and handing me the green circle slammed between two slices of bread, along with a napkin with something written on it. "And your real burger," he gives my mom the large burger with a blank napkin. "Enjoy," he winks at me and disappears.

I glance down at the napkin, trying to read the message without my mom noticing.

When you're done, meet me at the back of building. I'll take my break then and collect my tip ;)

Swallowing hard, I tuck the napkin into my pocket and smile at my mom, "As I was saying," my mind has already drifted to what Griffin's tip may involve, "I'm not gay."

"Justin," she shakes her head, grabbing a fry and chewing it slowly, "I know, okay! I won't tell your dad but I can't live with that. I can't! It's a sin. It's a horrible sin and I don't want it under my roof."

"I like girls," I say, fidgeting with my fork, throat closing up, "you know, hips, legs, all that stuff. Breasts. Heh heh, gotta love... all that," I gag as I bring the leaf concentrate to my mouth.

She only raises her eyebrow, searching once more, searching my face but never looking into my eyes. If she looked into my eyes she would know I'm lying. She probably already does. "I can get a girlfriend if that's what it takes," I say, unable to eat anymore, voice cracking. "I can be straight, okay? Just don't leave me with him, don't leave me with him."

Tears have slipped past my lids, falling down my cheeks. I can't even bring myself to wipe them away. She won't just leave me with my father, hiding away in his basement office, hiding away even when he stands right in front of me; she'll leave me with her. She'll leave me with the memories. "Please," I whisper, "I'll do whatever you want just don't let me go. I can make myself like girls. I promise! I can be that normal kid you want. Just please don't, don't leave me."

Everything comes to the end eventually. It's the way of life. I just didn't expect this door to close so quickly.

"It's not just that. I can't force you to be something you're not but I don't have to encourage it either. It's better this way. I don't have to live with a gay son and you don't have to live with the mother you've always hated."

"I don't hate you."

"Oh? You didn't seem to think so all those years when you'd kick and scream at me. Every day was another 'I hate you mom,' 'go away mom,' 'stop mom.' Well now I am. Now I'm going. You've gotten your wish."

Her expression is no longer sympathetic. Her jaw has set, the muscles in her neck pop out. I sniff, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, "I was a little kid! I didn't understand why you and dad kept fighting! I just wanted to be happy."

Seems like just yesterday I handed my mother my Christmas list, the first item reading "a happy family."

I never got my wish.

Now I never can.

Because once my mom leaves me, I will be alone.

My mom shakes her head again, taking a bite of her burger. I shrink in my seat, trying to calm myself. Every move she makes causes me to flinch. Every sound makes me jump. Every unwanted emotion coursing through my veins makes me long for that numbness again. I want that numbness. My hands grab Griffin's napkin and start rolling it around and around. It doesn't give me any relief. My leg jiggles violently but it doesn't make the yearning to run any less. I watch my mom swallow and take a sip of her coke. "It's not just you being gay," she finally says, "I can't look at you without seeing her. I can't live in that house without feeling her. You have the same eyes, same hair, same face. That same disappointed look, the same 'I hate you mom.' I want to be normal again. I can't do that with a faggot for a son."

She spits the word, the dreaded word.

I can't speak. My entire body shakes with ice beginning to freeze my veins. I look at the many wood chairs and the red carpet, finally spotting Griffin. "Check please," I say, forcing my voice to stay low and calm.

He nods and quickly returns with the bill. I half expect my mom to make me pay for my veggie burger but she just pulls out her credit card and hands it to my boyfriend. Not that she knows he's my boyfriend. I have half the mind to kiss him right there, just to spite her, but my body still won't move.

I stand slowly, zipping up my black jacket and staring at her. This is her own special way of disowning me without saying the words. "Well," I finally say, glancing at Griffin who watches me from the check in/out counter, "now you don't have to deal with a faggot son anymore. You got your wish."

In the background I hear Griffin yelling at someone that he's taking his break, but I can't listen. The only thing I can hear is my heart, pounding in my chest. I push on the glass door, walking out into the cold night air. The sun set already, leaving the only light coming from other shops along the street. I walk to the back of the building as Griffin directed me, leaning against the old bricks.

Cars zoom by, not one noticing that I exist. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and just listen. The rhythm of the city soon emerges, thumping of trucks on manhole covers, the roaring engines, the sound of the kitchen in the restaurant, and the noise of Griffin's footsteps as he approaches. And in the far distance, if I shut out all the other noise, I can hear her. I can hear her screaming.

"Hey," Griffin says, turning the corner and pulling me into a hug, "that was an interesting dinner."

I can't bring myself to hug him back, but lean up to kiss him, already disgusted with myself. I'm just what she says I am, a faggot.

And I still don't know why that has to be such a bad thing.

I open my mouth to respond to Griffin, but the words die in my mouth. Arms wrapping around him, I bury my face in his thick coat, finally letting my tears loose. He pulls me close after a few shocked seconds, "What's wrong?"

How can I possibly answer that? I just force myself closer to him, sticking my nose past his arm to peer out at the side of the street. My mom's sedan passes us by, pausing by the stop sign just in front of us. She doesn't look at me, but even from the distance I can see her, eyes still searching.

I wonder if she'll ever stop.

——

Unfortunately there's no actual Tim's, but the restaurant I used to love was Denny's. My sister STILL goes there. She takes all her friends there at like ten at night, before everything got shut down.

I LOVED that place.

What was  your favorite restaurant as a kid?