The One That Got Away Read Online Free

back.”
    â€œI will. Goodbye, Bambi.”

    I didn’t wear the earrings, the bandana or the labrys the following weekend when I went to visit my parents.
    At six o’clock my father was sitting in the wing chair near the front door, waiting for my mother to finish getting dressed. I was halfway down the stairs when she called to me, “Bambi, could you come here for a minute?”
    I walked into my parents’ bedroom, expecting my mother to ask me to help her with a zipper or a necklace. Instead, she said, “There’s something I want to ask you.”
    I figured either she wanted to know if I was having money problems or she wanted my opinion on how my father was doing.
    â€œYou’re not gay, are you?” my mother asked me.
    â€œAre you sure you want to discuss this right now?” I said, thinking of our dinner reservation.
    â€œJust answer me, Bambi.”
    â€œAre you going to get upset?” I asked.
    â€œNo, I just want you to answer me.”
    â€œWell, actually I am. Gay.” I used her word. Now was not the time for a discussion about terminology.
    â€œSince when?” my mother asked.
    â€œThat’s a very complicated question, Mom.” I tried to picture a time line of my life, with a bright pink thumbtack marking the moment.
    â€œWell, I’m not happy about it, but I’m not going to lose you over it.” I thought this was probably a shrewd decision, since I was her only child.
    She fussed with the bow at the neck of her floral print blouse. “Are you going to tell everyone?” she asked, turning from the mirror above the double bureau to face me.
    â€œIf anyone asks, I’m not going to lie,” I said.
    My mother sighed. “I just don’t want to have to talk to anyone about it, that’s all.” She pulled at the hem of her skirt. “Go downstairs and keep your father company. I’ll be right there.”
    As I walked back down the stairs, I heard the water running in the bathroom sink for a long time. I tried to figure out what had prompted the conversation I’d just had with my mother. I felt vaguely cheated. I’d expected that coming out to my parents would be something I’d agonize over and finally work up the nerve to do, but my mother had taken control. She had an unnerving way of knowing when something was going on in my life. Maybe God had told her. She was always saying that she talked to Him every night on my behalf.
    My parents’ friends were waiting for us at the Chinese restaurant. I didn’t pay too much attention to either my food or their conversation. I thought about what my mother had said: “I just don’t want to have to talk to anyone about it.” Presumably that included the two couples we were dining with that night. One of the women had known my mother for sixty years; the other had known her for nearly fifty. Both of them had sent me cards for every birthday I’d ever celebrated, even after I moved out of my parents’ house. I’d see them at partiesand funerals, played with their children during summers at the seashore. I kept looking at their faces, trying to imagine their reaction if my mother shared her news. Could the simple fact of my being a lesbian so alter the way they felt about me?
    Back at my parents’ house, I changed into my pajamas and robe, hoping that something good would be on Turner Classic Movies. But when I walked into the room where my father was sitting in the recliner, feet up, with the cat on his lap, my mother said, “Martin, Bambi has something she wants to tell you.” My father looked at me expectantly. My mother looked at her hands.
    For many years I’d suspected that my father had quite a lot he could say, but something held him back. I couldn’t put a name to it, but I could feel it holding me back as well. And so we faced each other across a chasm of unspoken words.
    â€œI’m a lesbian,