“No,” I said firmly. “But they’re your parents. Don’t you think they’d want to know who you’re marrying?” Paul questioned on the way home from work one day. We were sitting in the back of the town car, our driver weaving his way slowly through the New York rush-hour traffic. “Trust me, my parents won’t give a shit. You could be Donald Trump and own half of New York and they still won’t care.” I silently begged him to drop the subject. My parents kicked me out when I opened my closet door, and before meeting Paul I had been on my own for the better part of ten years. Even as a skinny, awkward, and obviously gay man, I knew how to look after myself. I had mastered the art of shrinking into the shadows, after all. I also knew how much my parents despised me, as I had attempted to reconcile with them on a few occasions when I thought their bigotry might have subsided and they might actually miss their only child. The last time I tried was about six months prior to meeting Paul, and I couldn’t handle the rejection again if he made me contact them so soon.
What do You think about Hopelessly Devoted (2015)?
