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It’s awkward, sitting across from his parents in the hospital cafeteria. It’s always like this, everyone picks at their food, ignoring the awkward silence. He wishes he could see his mother without having to see his father. Unlike him, she genuinely loves him. He knows that. She’s a victim of John House just as much as he is.
He used to get in fights at school, as young as seven. He’s always rubbed people the wrong way. His father would scream and put him in an ice bath, or make him sleep outside. He gave up trying to explain or justify his actions early on, even though he often didn’t understand why the other kids hated him so. Why they got so mad. All he did was point out things that were true. He’s learned since why that upsets people, but as a child he didn’t. His father never explained it to him, only yelled and accused him of playing stupid.
Things were better when his father was deployed, when it was just him and his mom. The fights still happened, but instead of punishments and screaming she’d lay in his bed with him, rub his back. He’d lament that he didn’t know what he did wrong to make the other kids so angry.
“I know.” She’d say, “It’s okay, Greg. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
He picks at the last bit of bread from his ruben as his mother recounts her last book club meeting. She’s just filling the air, trying to avoid having him and his father talk. He appreciates it, but a conversation with his father is unavoidable.
“So besides work what have you been up too?” His father asks.
“Oh not much.” He responds without looking up.
“That’s what you always say, ‘not much.’” John House scoffs.
“Bought a new motorcycle.” He says not looking up.
He can hear the disapproval in his father’s next breath. He never approved of motorcycles, even when House was able-bodied. He’s sure he finds a cripple with a motorcycle to be something of an oxymoron. House sort of agrees, he knows it’s ridiculous, but he liked motorcycles. He always has. There isn’t a whole lot he enjoys that he can still do these days.
“You know what your problem is?”
Here we go.
“Changing gears?” House quips.
“John.”
House’s father’s attention is turned from his son to his wife, who is looking at him with pleading eyes. John pulls a series of faces, but does as Blythe wishes and shuts the fuck up. At least for the moment.
“It was so nice of Wilson to set this up. He’s such a good friend too you.” Blythe says. She glosses over the fact that she only had to go through Wilson because House dodges their calls.
“Yeah. He is.”
See the thing is, his parents don’t know about him and Wilson. To be fair, he and Wilson were just friends for the first twelve years. It’s only the last year that they’ve been dating. And of course, Wilson is unendingly empathetic and patient, and he knows that House’s red-blooded, all-American, military man of a father is unlikely to take kindly to finding out his son is bisexual and in a relationship with a man. Even in all of Wilson’s pestering to stop dodging Blythe’s calls and actually see his parents, never once did he bring up telling them about their relationship.
A part of him wants too, actually. They’ve already come out at work, and to Wilson’s family. Wilson’s father didn’t say much, but House had learned over the years that Joseph Wilson was a man of few words, much happier to let his wife Rebecca do most of the talking. Rebecca Wilson, born and raised in New York City, was happy to do all the talking. When he and Jimmy had gone to the Wilson’s for Shabbat, Jimmy had, in the middle of dinner told them he had an announcement. Then Jimmy took his hand, and told his parents they were dating.
Rebecca had been out of her seat so fast, pressing kisses to Jimmy’s cheeks and then his, which truly made his skin crawl but he’d allowed it for Jimmy’s sake. She told them she thought it was so wonderful, and she wished them all the happiness in the world. Later, when they were putting on their coats to drive back to New Jersey, Rebecca had taken her son in her arms.
“Bubbeleh, I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel you had to be something you’re not. I want you to be happy. That looks different for you than for your big brother and that’s okay. After all these years, I know no one can make you as happy as Greg.”
It was sweet, but House knew had no hope of such a positive reaction from his parents, especially from John. He pushes more food around on his plate, as they’ve once again lapsed into awkward silence.
“So, any new babes you want to tell me about?” John jibes.
House grimaces, but knows this is his chance. If he’s going to do it, it should be now.
“Funny you mention babes, and we were just talking about Wilson.” He starts, looking at the floor next to his right shoe. He can’t see their faces if he’s going to say what he has to say.
“What, did Wilson set you up with someone?” John asks.
“No, not exactly.” He replies, trying to gather enough courage to do this.
“But you have a new special someone in your life?” Blythe sounds excited. He wishes she didn’t.
“Not, new, not exactly.”
“Just spit it out boy.” John says adamantly.
“It’s Wilson.”
Silence.
“I’m - I’m dating Wilson. He’s my boyfriend.”
He finally brings himself to look up, and both his parents are wearing shocked expressions.
“If this is a joke, it ain’t funny.” John says, voice laced with barely contained anger.
“It’s not a joke. Jimmy and I have been dating for a year. We live together. I love him. It, it isn’t a joke Dad.”
John House stands so abruptly, his chair nearly falls over. It draws the attention of everyone else in the cafeteria just in time to watch him storm off, muttering about his son being a german word for cigarettes. He’s sure his father doesn’t mean it in that way.
Well. That went as well as could be expected. He and his mother sit in awkward silence once more, and it becomes clear John isn’t coming back.
“Have you always… liked boys?” His mother asks softly.
“Yeah, mom. I do like girls too, in case you’re curious. But yeah, I realized I liked both when I was fourteen.” It feels kind of good to tell his mom, letting out the secret he’d been keeping from her for thirty years.
He’s back to staring at the ground. He wants the ground to swallow him whole, he wants to go to sleep, he wants Jimmy. Emotions always exhaust him, and so does his father, and now everything feels to loud and bright.
“Hey,” his mother says, sliding her hand over his, “You are perfect just the way you are.”
She’s smiling at him.
They say their goodbyes, as she has to go find where John took off to and get back to the airport. He sits alone in the cafeteria, to drained to move when someone slips in next to him on the bench.
“You’re mom called, said I should come check on my boyfriend. That you might need a little love right now.” Wilson said softly, putting an arm around his back.
“Yeah that sounds like her. I’m fine, really.” Despite his words he lets his head fall to Wilson’s shoulder, lets Wilson hold him.
“You told them.” A kiss is pressed to his forehead.
“Yeah. Went as well as you can expect.” House says sarcastically.
“I’m proud of you, Baby.” Wilson whispers it in his ear.
House closes his eyes and presses himself harder against Wilson. He’s soft and warm and smells like home. House has no idea if Wilson realizes how much those words mean to him, but he probably does. Wilson has this funny way of understanding him in way no one else does, even when he doesn’t say anything.
It’s why House loves him so much, he told him homophobic father about it.