A Royal Christmas Cruise (Stonewall Investigations Miami 2.50)

“Hola, Papa,” I said as the call connected. My heart beat terribly hard. Shy wasn’t that far from me. I looked to him in an attempt to calm myself down.

“Hola, hijo.” It didn’t work. My heart beat even harder if that were possible. His expression was hard to read and slightly pixelated. I could see a seriousness in his blue-gray eyes and the barest ghost of a smile on his lips.

He still called me son.

“Listen, about earlier,” I started, wanting to end this tension once and for all.

“No. Let me speak.”

Oh shit. Okay.

I quieted down, like I was a seven-year-old boy again being scolded by his father for shouting at the fancy fund-raising dinner.

“Nicholas, your news shocked me. It came from nowhere and took me by complete surprise. I’m not used to that. I know about everything that goes on around me, at all times. I have eyes and ears behind every door. And yet, somehow, I missed this. I missed the fact that my son was hurting.”

Behind my father, I could see the painting of Sierra Blanca he had hanging in his office. It was a painting I had commissioned for him as a fiftieth birthday gift by his favorite artist of the stunning mountain range, its limestone facade depicted in beautiful bold strokes of paint.

“I should have known,” he continued. “Should have sensed something was going on with you.”

“You couldn’t have known. I worked hard to keep it a secret.”

“Which makes me even sadder for you, son. And the way I reacted. It came from my own fears and prejudices, not from your news itself. I’m sorry for that, Nicholas.”

“It’s okay,” I said, swallowing a sudden lump in my throat. This was the first time I’d ever heard my dad apologize about anything. He never said sorry, not to anyone. Even when he sorely needed to, he had never said it.

He cleared his throat. “I still have a lot to digest. It will be a process for me, I can’t say it will be the easiest thing in the world. But, what I can say, Nick, is that I love you unconditionally. Nothing will change that.”

That was it. What I’d been needing to hear from my father. The words that soothed my soul like an aloe vera balm applied to a fresh burn.

“Thank you, Dad. I know it’s a lot to take in, but—” I couldn’t keep speaking. My voice cracked and emotion welled up, threatening to take complete control.

“But I’ll manage,” he said, picking up where I left off. “So long as my family is still whole, that’s all that matters. I spoke to your mother, and we’ve already come up with a plan on how to handle the press. The church will be a different matter entirely, but we’ll tackle that, too. I won’t disappoint you, son.”

That struck deep. I nodded, knowing I couldn’t get any words out without turning into a sobbing mess.

“The blood that flows through you hasn’t changed, Nicholas. Nothing about you has changed. Except for your glow. That smile. I haven’t seen you smile like that in what feels like years. How can I ever do anything to compromise that kind of happiness for my own son? I would be a heartless coward, not a worthy king. I won’t abandon you, Nicholas. Te amo, mi niño. And I will always love you. Gay, straight, bi, or whatever color of the rainbow you fall on.”

That was it—all I needed for the tears to spill over like a flooded riverbank. I nodded and wiped at the flow but couldn’t stop it. It was so intense, I had to wave Shy over and hand him the phone for a moment while I collected myself.

This went beyond everything I thought I needed. It went back to being a child and just wanting my dad’s approval, knowing deep down that there would always be something stopping him from giving it to me in its entirety. And yet, that assumption had been proven wrong. So, so fucking wrong. My dad was giving me his approval, the real me. He knew the real me, and he accepted me. Loved me.

I pulled it together and grabbed the phone back, thanking Shy, who gave me a reassuring back rub before stepping to the side.

“Dad, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Shy’s eyes opened wide, a small shake in his head telling me “no, no, that’s okay,” but I grabbed him anyway and pulled him into the shot. He smiled at the camera and gave a friendly wave.

“Hi there.”

“And this is?”

“This is Shy—he’s my boyfriend.”

My father’s ghost of a smile solidified, his face transforming completely when he wore a smile. He had one of the kindest faces ever, so long as his eyes crinkled and his dimples appeared.

“Please to meet you, Shy. I’m Ricardo.”