He could probably get away with not telling them.
Paul was a few blocks away from the Gaf, where he was meeting his parents and Steven and Holly for lunch. For the entire drive from Lawrence, he’d been debating with himself — well, arguing, really — whether to tell Helen and Jack McDonnell his big secret.
His bruised, cowardly angel said: They’ve lived their whole lives just fine without this little bomb being dropped on them. And it’s not like they live in town or that you see them very much.
His also bruised, angel-knows-best side said: You’re lying to them. There is no excuse for that. The lie compounds the pain.
Coward: It will probably hurt them worse to know the truth about you. Their son is a fag! Think they’re going to be proud of that? You can spare them that pain.
Better angel: Tell them. Mom’s going to keep pushing for you to get a wife and give her grandchildren. Stop lying to your mother.
Coward: Do you really want your dad to look at you that way? Like he’s tasted something awful? Do you know how much that will hurt? Look at us! At these bruises we already have! Nobody is going to shield you from this. You can’t take much more.
Better angel: You’ve come this far. You are strong. You can do this.
He pulled into the small parking lot and gathered his nerve. He hated feeling like this — uncertain and nervous. The confident mask he wore for the world didn’t fit so well anymore, especially around the people who had known him the longest.
He didn’t have long to sit in his car before he saw Steven find a spot near his. Their parents were staying with Steven while they were in town, which meant he was also their duly appointed chauffeur.
An older version of Paul unfolded himself from the back seat of Steven’s car. At age 60, Jack McDonnell’s hair was a little grayer and his face more lined, but apart from that, he and his son could be mistaken for brothers. They shared the same grey blue eyes, the same wide smile, even the same long-fingered hands.
Jack gripped Paul’s hand in a firm handshake, and Paul pulled him into a hug. He hadn’t seen them since Christmas, a fact his mother was sure to mention.
“Hey, Dad,” he said. “How was your flight?”
His mom beat her husband to the answer. “Oh, I just hate flying, don’t you just hate flying, Jack? So exhausting, aren’t you exhausted? Traveling just takes it out of me.”
A short, stout woman with mostly silver hair and large glasses squeezed in between her husband and son to claim her hug. Paul leaned down to hug her back.
“You look tired, sweetie, doesn’t he look tired, Jack? He works too much. That’s it, isn’t it? You always work too much. You should get some rest. Visit us in South Carolina. We’re right by the beach, but you never come to see us and we miss you.”
The McDonnell men stood back and absorbed Helen’s speech with long-practiced patience. Paul leaned back down and kissed his mother’s cheek. “It’s good to see you, too, Mom,” he said with a smile.
“Hey, let’s get inside you guys,” Steven said. “I’m starting to melt, and it’s barely noon.”
Jack took his wife’s arm and followed after Steven into the restaurant. Holly tugged on Paul’s arm. Her eyes were wide and alarmed.
“Oh my God, Paul,” she whispered. “I mean, oh my God.”
“That bad?” Paul grinned.
“Well, not that bad, but oh my God.”
Paul laughed. He knew his mom was an acquired taste on a normal day, but the reason they were in town was to help with wedding plans. Which meant Holly was catching the brunt of his mother’s daughterless enthusiasm for the event.
“I’m trying very, very hard to keep an open mind about her suggestions,” she said carefully, “but I don’t think your mother ever met a wedding cliche she didn’t love.”
Paul winced and chuckled. “I’ll run interference for you,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I owe you.” Regardless of how that particular scenario was currently playing out.
“I’m starting to think about a little chapel in Vegas,” Holly muttered.
He hugged Holly’s shoulders in support and steered them both inside.
“So this is what they did with Romanelli’s,” Jack said, looking around the Irish pub from the foyer. “I tell you what, I loved that Romanelli’s.”
“Well, sure and who didn’t?” John swept around the corner with menus in hand. “There’s not a day goes by that I don’t hear someone mourning the old place. And with good reason. Yes, with good reason. But we still serve Romanelli’s marinara, if that’s what you’ll be needing.”
Steven introduced his parents to the owner, who immediately welcomed them as extended family of the Gaf.
He lifted Helen’s hand to his lips. “And it’s plain where your strapping boys get their good looks,” he smiled. “Why it’s right there in your lovely eyes, isn’t it?”
Helen giggled. “Oh, I haven’t been flirted with in years,” she said.
Jack reclaimed her arm. “I’ll have to rectify that, then,” he said with a low voice and a twinkle in his eye.
“Well, let this be the place to do it then,” John trumpeted. He led them to Steven and Holly’s usual table and took their drink orders, half of which he knew already.
Jack looked around with approval. “Well, if this place had to change, I suppose it could have been worse.”
“High praise, Pop,” Paul smiled. And it was, Paul knew, high praise coming from his dad. The man did not approve of much change, and his inflexibility had gotten worse as he’d gotten older. Maybe that was a function of age, but age plus a stubborn Irish temper didn’t make for the most open-minded of men.
Which didn’t bode well for Paul’s announcement.
“Oh, I just love planning a wedding!” Helen gushed as the waiter arrived to distribute their pints. “I should have had a daughter. I was born to be the mother of a bride. If only we still lived in town. I could be there with you every step of the way!
Holly shot Paul a quick, alarmed look.
“Paul, sweetie, you need to find a nice girl like Holly,” Helen continued, squeezing Holly’s hand. “I want another daughter-in-law like her. It’s high time you settle down, you know.”
“Your mother’s right, son,” Jack said.
That was unusual. Usually his dad let Helen have the floor almost exclusively — and always when it came to Paul’s love life.
Holly poked Paul in the side from her seat at his right. It was time. This was as good an opening as any. Paul cleared his throat and took a long, fortifying drink.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you both about that.”
“You’re seeing someone?” Helen chirped. “I knew it. That’s why you’re getting no sleep, right, am I right? Not that I want all the details, of course, but am I right?”
Paul fought a groan. “Not exactly, no.”