Gay Dads and an Orange Boy Talk Paint
Orange Autumn
“The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts” — Marcus Aurelius
Judd, seated next to his partner Sam at their kitchen table, looked up at their son. “And that’s the color you want? For the whole room?”
Luke looked down at paint chart on the table between them and he again tapped his finger on ‘Orange Autumn’. “Dad, you said I could choose. You guys said whatever I chose, I could have.”
His head came up and he looked straight into Judd’s eyes, then into Sam’s. “You said, right? Well, I choose Orange Autumn.”
Judd wanted to look at Sam but didn’t dare. Since Luke hit the terrible-twelves almost a year ago, getting more than 4 words at a time from their son him was rare, and a two-way conversation almost unheard of.
He kept his eyes on Luke. “We promised and we certainly meant it. And if orange is what you want, it is what you shall have. We can get the paint at the weekend and maybe start painting on Sunday? I was only checking, because it is a pretty bright color, but it is absolutely your choice — a promise is a promise.”
Luke visibly relaxed and his shoulders dropped slightly. “If you get me the paint, I want to paint the room myself. It’s my room, it should be my work.”
Judd felt his eyes sting slightly, but he kept his gaze steady. His little boy was turning into a young man and it was exciting and disconcerting and thrilling and scary all at once.
“Ok, son. And we will help — if you want us to.”
Luke walked around the kitchen table, until he was stood behind his parents. “Dad,” he said, sliding his arm around Judd’s neck. “When you guys brought me home from the orphanage, it was this time of year — it was fall and I remember the squash on the front porch and that big bush with the orange fruit on it and the orange flowers in the house. It was a few days before my birthday and I was 5. Next week, I’m going to be 13, but every year, I know my birthday is coming when everything goes orange. And whenever I see the orange, it reminds me that I am at home.”
He kissed Judd lightly on the back of the head and, sliding his other arm around Sam’s neck, planted another kiss.
“Dad,” he said to Judd, “And Dad,” turning to Sam, “To me, orange means birthdays and being safe in our home. If I wake up every morning and see my orange bedroom, it means the first thing I see is home.”
Without another word, Luke walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Judd felt able to look at his husband and could see that Sam, too, was fighting back tears.
“That’s beautiful, Sam,” said Judd. “What could be better than him feeling that this is his home and we are his family?”
Sam smiled back, tapping his finger on the color chart, too.
“I know,” he said. “It’s marvellous”. His finger rested on the pale green elegance of ‘Sap-green summer’.
“I just kinda wish we could’ve brought him home in June!”
This story is a response to Prism & Pen’s writing prompt Orange Autumn.