Tim is fifteen minutes early to his dinner reservation.
Not fifteen minutes late and sweating.
Not on time and shifty because of an emergency that might escalate beyond what the others can handle alone.
Not so late he has to send a text to cancel with some lame excuse he’s conjured far too easily.
He hasn't had to do that last one in a long time.
He’s fifteen minutes early and Bernard isn’t here yet.
It’s good, this is good.
He settles off to the side to wait and… it’s fine, great even.
It’s just-, it's that time of year again.
He tries not to think about it.
It doesn’t work.
It never does.
He’s been here before. His dad took him, during one of those attempts to do better on both their parts. One of those awkward attempts they made at having a proper relationship. One of those uncomfortable dinners that they both tried so hard to make normal.
He waits, and, against his will, thinks about his dad.
He wonders, not for the first time, how his father would have reacted to all of this. His boyfriend, his sexuality.
In his worst moments, he’s convinced he would have kicked him out, furious that Tim couldn’t be straight like he was supposed to be.
In his best moments, he imagines awkward, stumbling tries at being supportive or perhaps more realistically, attempts at being polite about it.
In all these moments, Tim knows he’ll never know.
He’s never going to be able to take that plunge.
He’s never going to sit down and tell him, “Dad, I’m bi.”
He's never going to deal with his dad meeting his boyfriend.
He’s never going to introduce Bernard to him as anything more than a friend from school.
He’s never going to get in an argument about it or light up in a relieved smile at his dad’s reaction or fidget while his dad decides how to respond.
That might be the worst part.
Tim can’t imagine it, how it would have gone, in his mind.
He knows his dad was homophobic. He just, he doesn’t…
He remembers one of those rare times, before Robin, before his mom died, when they were both home and he was back from boarding school.
It was a good day. His dad ruffled his hair and he remembers wearing his comfiest socks.
He was just old enough to have some sort of understanding that maybe he wasn’t like everyone else. He didn't know what it was that made him different. He wouldn’t figure it out for years yet but, in hindsight, he was already starting to take those first steps towards realization.
He doesn’t remember what he was doing and he doesn’t remember the story on tv, just that his parents were watching the news and he was half paying attention.
His dad made a loud scoffing noise that had him looking up and turned to his mom and said something about “back in my day we used to call it a ‘lifestyle.’ Used to be a choice you made.”
Tim hadn’t really understood and Janet had pursed her lips in that disapproving way of hers that Tim still can’t quite decipher the meaning of and they’d dropped it.
And that sucks, yeah. Tim wouldn’t realize how much it sucks for a long time but it’s not… it’s not violent. It’s not cruel, it’s ignorant, sure but… it was common back then. His dad wasn’t special for saying it, he wasn’t special for believing it either.
He remembers an evening in a restaurant, not this one, Tim isn’t even sure it’s still in business.
He remembers it was awkward and stilted but… good. It was good.
His dad remembered to ask about stuff Tim was actually interested in and there were no uncomfortable pauses where he remembered to ask about something Tim had made up entirely in an attempt to hide Robin from him.
They had walked out to the car together and it was one of those moments that Tim remembers with… not fondness exactly, but there’s a bittersweetness to the memory.
It was good.
And then one of his dad’s associates had been going in as they were coming out and stopped to chat with Jack. Tim hadn’t really minded, it was a little chilly but nothing he couldn’t ignore.
It had been a good night.
He’d tuned them out, mostly, and when he started paying attention again he found the conversation had taken a turn. His dad’s friend was ranting, slurs and everything. Tim never found out how they’d gotten onto the subject. He just wished they’d stop.
Jack had looked actually uncomfortable and whether it was because they were in public, or because it was ruining a nice night, or because he objected, or because he somehow knew Tim objected, or because he didn’t want to talk about gay people around his son, Tim will never know.
All he knows is that Jack was uncomfortable.
All he knows is that Jack shut him down, harsher than he usually did and they went home in silence.
Sometimes, he almost wishes it’d never happened, because Tim can’t help but remember that moment. Being young and still growing into the certainty that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just girls and watching his dad telling someone cruel and hateful to knock it off.
It’s moments like that that have him doubting. That have him grieving all over again because… maybe he could have changed. Maybe those casually bigoted remarks weren’t more important to him than Tim. Maybe he would have changed, for his son.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
It’s just another thing he’ll never know.