It seemed like I was living a shadow life. I was back in the house I had left fifteen years ago, the same bed I used to sleep in as an adolescent. But Shelly and Tara were my family and they needed me, and if he ever became a single parent, I would uproot my life to help raise his child too.
So I went into a heartfelt soliloquy: how I was so thankful that I had met him that if I were not gay and he were not gay, I would have dated him and that it was going to be difficult, sure, but this was something I had to do, even though my relatives-most of whom were dead, thank God-would raise their eyebrows.
I told her to just focus on packing her and Tara’s stuff.Īt the airport, Vijay hugged me tight, asked me if I was sure about all this. She was filled with doubts, afraid her husband wouldn’t let her go. In those two weeks before my move, Shelly called me often. Shelly found my life and my principles-such as calling Tara my nibling instead of my niece -weird, but that didn’t matter. Shelly wanted to rent an apartment, but I suggested we live in my childhood home to save money. Since I was moving back to our hometown to help Shelly raise Tara, of course, it meant that I would be the second parent. I spent hours on parenting sites and Quora threads about how to be an adoptive parent, even though Shelly had not explicitly asked me to be one for Tara, her eight-month-old. My boss, surprisingly, was the most understanding, as she reduced my notice period from four weeks to two. He even found another dyke who’d sublease my apartment-in our five-star residential society-to which I was contractually bound for another nine months. Vijay, my current best friend, roommate, and colleague, was more understanding. My girlfriend said she had heard this story multiple times, and I told her to go fuck herself. She was leaving her husband of three years, for whom she’d quit college. I was dildo-deep in my girlfriend when Shelly, my childhood best friend, called me sobbing.
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