It seemed last week’s “lesson” imposed by my father had been swept away by this week’s revelations. Suddenly being in the SAS Club wasn’t the first of his concerns. Seeing the various versions of my father was eye-opening. I learned he was anything but forward-thinking, and tolerant only of the things he already tolerated. But he was starting to stretch in small ways. Even the most inflexible things start to give when you bend them enough. Either that or they break.

By Friday, my phone was blowing up with media requests. As I was still seventeen, and a minor, I’m sure they weren’t legally supposed to do that, but it didn’t stop them. Because I stood for something now. I wasn’t just the center of the universe—I was the center of a controversy. That was something the media could understand. My parents, and even the school, got calls. Everyone wanted a statement, or an interview with me. No one showed up at our door though. I suppose I wasn’t newsworthy enough for that. One thing to be grateful for. Even so, we kept our curtains drawn, just in case.

On Friday night, my dad decreed that we’d all drive together to the game in one car. That was something we never did, as our busy lives were always moving in conflicting directions.

“We’re a family, let’s act like one,” he said.

“Good,” Mom said. “For once we’ll get there early enough to get good seats.” Usually when Dad made a unilateral decision without consulting with her, she’d push back, but whenever he did something truly admirable, she was happy to let him run with it. I kept wondering whether he had ulterior motives, because the recent versions of my dad were all schemers. Clearly it had rubbed off on the alternate versions of me. Hooking up with Angela behind Leo’s back. Selling dope out of the store. You might think your own personal apple has fallen far from the tree, but that tree has roots you don’t see until you trip over them.

“Last time we were all in a car together was Grandpa Duncan’s funeral,” Hunter commented as we drove to the school. Although I never heard Grandpa Duncan say anything, I’d bet he wasn’t just racist, but full-on homophobic, too. His funeral was, as all funerals were during the pandemic, weird. It was us and my aunt Denise’s family, who had to stand six feet away from us, on the other side of the grave. The pastor mumbled behind a mask, so no one could really hear him. I was never close to Grandpa Duncan. I should probably have felt bad that he was dead, but instead just felt sad that I didn’t feel worse about it.