pressed.
“You’re way out of my league,” I admitted. “I already knew that, but lust can make you overlook pesky little facts.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have you looked at yourself lately? Could you be more handsome? What could you possibly want with someone like me?”
“You’re not handsome?”
“Maybe in a white trash peckerwood sort of way.”
“What’s a peckerwood?”
“It’s like the N-word for white people,” I explained.
He laughed out loud.
“You see?” he said, holding out both hands and talking like an Italian, “that’s why I like you. Right there. You make me laugh. Not to mention you have the whole Kurt Cobain thing going on.”
“I thought you said I looked like that peckerwood on The Walking Dead ,” I pointed out.
“Him too,” he said. “In a scruffy sort of way. I can picture you with a crossbow.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“I mean that in the nicest way.”
“Next thing I know you’ll be asking me to wear camo.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve obviously never watched Duck Dynasty.”
He smiled.
I regarded him for a long moment.
“What?” he said.
“I’m just kidding myself,” I said. “I have a child to take care of. I can’t go out on dates with you. I can’t take you to nice places. I can’t be the sort of person you need.”
“I’m glad you know exactly what it takes to make me happy,” he said. “You might want to consult me on that, though.”
I said nothing.
“Man, what is going on with you?” he asked. “I feel like I’m getting the brush-off.”
“I’m just trying to be honest. I’m no good at relationships. It’s not you, don’t worry. I’m good at having sex, but that’s about all.”
“Why do you say that?”
“That seems to be the general consensus about me. Not much good for anything but a quick suck and a fuck.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” I said. “The last time I had sex in the bathroom at Sears, the guy gave me twenty bucks afterward.”
“Why?”
“He thought I was a hooker. Why do you think?”
“Did you give it back?”
“Of course not. I needed the money. You can buy a lot of Ramen noodles with twenty dollars.”
He laughed again.
“I’m intrinsically disordered,” I said.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Sometimes I think it’s true.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Everything I do goes to shit. All my relationships go right down the crapper. And I don’t think I’ve had a relationship that lasted longer than an ice cream cone. Everything I touch turns to complete crap.”
“Like your son?”
I glanced at Noah.
“Why don’t we keep him out of it?” I suggested.
“Seems to me he’s the most important thing you’ve ever done—and you’ve done a hell of a job.”
“You’re the only one who thinks so.”
Jackson sat back in his chair, regarding me carefully. “Are you saying you’re not a good father?”
“He could have had a much better life with a decent set of parents, people who could have loved him properly and bought him the stuff he needed and given him the help he needed.”
“And you don’t do that?”
“I did the best I could.”
“And you don’t think it was enough?”
“I don’t know what I think.”
“I’ve only been around Noah a little bit, but even I can see he loves you more than anything. You should give yourself more credit. He’s a really nice kid.”
“He certainly doesn’t get it from me,” I said.
“Why are you beating up on yourself?”
“I’m just… thinking out loud.”
“What am I not getting here?”
“Every time I turn around, there’s someone standing there telling me what a bad parent I am.”
“Like who?”
“For starters, my mom. Then there’s my brother. His wife. Her family. Her church. My own church. My priest. The whole society I live in. It’s not like there’s a lot of people down here saying, yeah, you go gay parent,
“You’re way out of my league,” I admitted. “I already knew that, but lust can make you overlook pesky little facts.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have you looked at yourself lately? Could you be more handsome? What could you possibly want with someone like me?”
“You’re not handsome?”
“Maybe in a white trash peckerwood sort of way.”
“What’s a peckerwood?”
“It’s like the N-word for white people,” I explained.
He laughed out loud.
“You see?” he said, holding out both hands and talking like an Italian, “that’s why I like you. Right there. You make me laugh. Not to mention you have the whole Kurt Cobain thing going on.”
“I thought you said I looked like that peckerwood on The Walking Dead ,” I pointed out.
“Him too,” he said. “In a scruffy sort of way. I can picture you with a crossbow.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“I mean that in the nicest way.”
“Next thing I know you’ll be asking me to wear camo.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve obviously never watched Duck Dynasty.”
He smiled.
I regarded him for a long moment.
“What?” he said.
“I’m just kidding myself,” I said. “I have a child to take care of. I can’t go out on dates with you. I can’t take you to nice places. I can’t be the sort of person you need.”
“I’m glad you know exactly what it takes to make me happy,” he said. “You might want to consult me on that, though.”
I said nothing.
“Man, what is going on with you?” he asked. “I feel like I’m getting the brush-off.”
“I’m just trying to be honest. I’m no good at relationships. It’s not you, don’t worry. I’m good at having sex, but that’s about all.”
“Why do you say that?”
“That seems to be the general consensus about me. Not much good for anything but a quick suck and a fuck.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” I said. “The last time I had sex in the bathroom at Sears, the guy gave me twenty bucks afterward.”
“Why?”
“He thought I was a hooker. Why do you think?”
“Did you give it back?”
“Of course not. I needed the money. You can buy a lot of Ramen noodles with twenty dollars.”
He laughed again.
“I’m intrinsically disordered,” I said.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Sometimes I think it’s true.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Everything I do goes to shit. All my relationships go right down the crapper. And I don’t think I’ve had a relationship that lasted longer than an ice cream cone. Everything I touch turns to complete crap.”
“Like your son?”
I glanced at Noah.
“Why don’t we keep him out of it?” I suggested.
“Seems to me he’s the most important thing you’ve ever done—and you’ve done a hell of a job.”
“You’re the only one who thinks so.”
Jackson sat back in his chair, regarding me carefully. “Are you saying you’re not a good father?”
“He could have had a much better life with a decent set of parents, people who could have loved him properly and bought him the stuff he needed and given him the help he needed.”
“And you don’t do that?”
“I did the best I could.”
“And you don’t think it was enough?”
“I don’t know what I think.”
“I’ve only been around Noah a little bit, but even I can see he loves you more than anything. You should give yourself more credit. He’s a really nice kid.”
“He certainly doesn’t get it from me,” I said.
“Why are you beating up on yourself?”
“I’m just… thinking out loud.”
“What am I not getting here?”
“Every time I turn around, there’s someone standing there telling me what a bad parent I am.”
“Like who?”
“For starters, my mom. Then there’s my brother. His wife. Her family. Her church. My own church. My priest. The whole society I live in. It’s not like there’s a lot of people down here saying, yeah, you go gay parent,
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