Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

he always pretends he is doing it to please me: as if eating in a room full of suits is a big thrill.
    But I like my father, even though he is annoying and silly. It is hard not to like him: he is so handsome and charming. He grew up in a working-class family in New Bedford, Massachusetts, and he has never grown inured to his success. He goes to London once a year to buy his suits, his shoes are made in Italy from a plaster cast of his foot, his underwear comes from Switzerland, and his shirts are custom-made by a tailor in Chinatown. He takes great delight in all these extravagances. He is happy and generous.
    He drummed on his desk and stood up. “Shall we go? I have to be back here for a conference call at two.”
    I followed him out of the office. He stopped outside the door to Myron’s closet and said, “If Dewberry calls get an address we can FedEx the papers to.” He didn’t wait for Myron to reply, but I suppose that is because Myron rarely does. He walked briskly down the long hallway, and I followed behind him.
    We were given a table along the windows, looking out at New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty, and Governors Island. There was a big empty place in the sky to the right of us, and we could see parts of New Jersey and the Hudson River that had previously been obscured. I tried not to look out that way.
    “Have you heard from Mom?” I asked.
    “No,” he said. “Why would I hear from your mother? Isn’t she on one of her honeymoons?” My father always likes to imply that my mother marries frequently and indiscriminately, although she has only married thrice.
    “No,” I said. “She came home yesterday.”
    “I thought she was away until the twenty-ninth.”
    “Supposedly. But her plans changed.”
    “Why? What happened?”
    “Mr. Rogers stole her credit cards and gambled away about three thousand dollars.”
    My father guffawed, tried to turn it into a cough, and drank from his water glass.
    “It isn’t funny,” I said.
    “I know,” he said. “Of course it isn’t funny. It’s just that—well, this is why you should never get married, James. There’s no reason for a man to get married anymore. Women will make you think so, but believe me, there’s not. No goddamn reason whatsoever.”
    “Well, I don’t plan to get married,” I said.
    “Good,” said my father. “Glad to hear it.”
    The waiter came over for our order. My father ordered steak and I ordered penne with basil and heirloom tomatoes.
    “You should have ordered a steak or something,” my father said. “You should never order pasta as a main course. It isn’t manly.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
    “No, you won’t,” said my father. “And listen, while we’re talking about this, let me ask you something.”
    “What?”
    “Are you gay?”
    “What?” I asked. “Why would you ask me that?”
    “Why? Why not? I just want to know.”
    “Why? Do you get to take an extra deduction on your taxes or something?”
    “Very funny, James. No. It’s just that we’ve never talked about your sexuality, and if you are gay I want to be properly supportive. It’s fine with me if you’re gay, I just want to know.”
    “You wouldn’t be supportive if I were straight?”
    “Of course I would. But not—well, the world supports heterosexuals. It’s the norm. Heterosexuals don’t really need support. But gays do. So I’d have to make a special effort. That’s all I want to know. Should I be making a special effort? Should I not say things about pasta being faggy?”
    “I don’t really care what you say,” I said.
    “Be that as it may, I would still like to know what is right and wrong for me to say.”
    “Dad, if you’re homophobic I don’t want you to change for my sake.”
    “I’m not homophobic! James! I just said I wouldn’t care if you were gay. It wouldn’t bother me a bit.”
    “Well then, why can’t I eat pasta as a main course?”
    “Because that’s not gay—I never said it was