two days before I left for my freshman year of college,
while I waited for my coffee to finish brewing
my father asked if I was, well if I, you know,
was interested in girls. since the only boy I’d ever dated seemed a bit
effeminate and you know, he must be gay
because he broke up with me and who wouldn’t want to date me?
and I’d spent a lot of time with older girls and when he’d picked me up
to go to church after I’d spent the night at Natalie’s
I had mussed hair, a fading hickey, and you know he’d always pictured
walking me down the aisle to a nice young man and if I wasn’t
wired that way well then he wanted to start getting used to the idea.
I sipped the coffee too hot, my tongue burnt raw,
wincing before I replied girls are hot
but frankly dad, I’m into dudes.
I didn’t tell him instead of seeing the older sister
of a friend I was making out with the musician
sleeping on the other end of the couch,
eleven years older than me, both of us too drunk to drive
my lipstick so meticulously applied now smeared
red bold on the corners of my mouth.
we were the only two single people at a party full of
couples so I lied about my age. anyway I was
on my period so even though I looked like
a crime scene, he wasn’t a criminal, and his soft
lips tasted like cocktails. I thought back
to the story of how my mom and dad met in a hair salon
when she was my age and though my dad was not a musician
he was still a frat boy artist and eleven years older than her so
I guess he shouldn’t judge.
besides, I’d kissed a girl for the first time that summer in an alley
behind the parking garage. my effeminate boyfriend
doubled over, out of breath and disappointed
he’d missed it. we were running from some guy
from high school who’d propositioned sex.
the moment his back turned, we booked it, coffee abandoned
by the bubbling fountain. when he caught us in an alley
two blocks away, I blurted, we’re lesbians.
my effeminate boyfriend chimed in with a helpful I’m gay too—
my father’s suspicions confirmed after all—
but despite this, he didn’t believe us, so the girl in the alley
met my eyes with agreement, no words but her lips
were so soft, I didn’t mind.
my father looked at me so kindly when he talked
about my imaginary wedding to a lovely girl that for a moment
I wished it were true, that the girl in the alley and I had made
a future together, if only so he
would keep trying to understand me.
the summer my father thought I was a lesbian
by Olivia Serio
About the Author
Olivia Serio earned a BA in English and Creative Writing from Washington College in 2017. Her work has appeared in or is forthcoming in THAT Literary Review and Liminal Women. She currently resides in the suburbs of Washington, D.C. with her two cats Jane and Lizzie