"How is Brady?", my grandmother asked while pouring, what I thought was a disgusting amount of sugar in her tea. I frowned at the concoction but remained silent, since voicing my opinion never lead to anything but a fight between the two of us, as I took a seat at the old couch that I was sure had been there since the time my mother was a child herself.

"He is good, although you could ask him that yourself, you know."

The old woman glared at me for a moment, and I honestly thought that she was going to start up a fight, not even five minutes into our monthly get-together which would be a record, but she just shook her head after a second and took a deep breath.

"Well if he had bothered to call me at all this week I would have, but he didn't, so I am asking you. Now stop being so difficult, child, and just tell me."

I huffed and looked down at the old coffee table, my fingers tracing an old water stain as I tried to calm myself. I knew what would come if I told her off, I knew that we would start a fight until we ended up at each other's throats.

It was always like that with my grandmother, ever since that day twenty plus years ago, when I had come to spend a weekend at her place and made a crucial mistake of informing her of my new-found sexuality.

The lovely woman I knew, that would make me chocolate chip cookies and make every wish possible come through, the one that loved me more than her own daughter was gone in a blink of an eye, with three simple words; I am Gay.

In her place stood a horrible, spitting monster, that began yelling and cursing, the words such as 'burn in hell' and 'faggot' spilling out of her mouth until I found myself on the porch as the front door shut in my face.

After that, we didn't speak for a few years; she even refused to come to my wedding, not that I was broken-hearted about it much, and it wasn't until Brady came into the family that she slowly started to reach out.

My mother called me one day and told me that granny had expressed a desire to meet Brady. I had refused at first, the pain of her rejection still fresh in my mind, but after some urging from my mother and my husband I've finally relented and allowed her to come.

It had been love at first sight for both my grandmother and Brady, so much so that I've occasionally felt a spike of jealousy every time I saw them in those first few years.

When she was with Brady, I could see that kind-hearted woman again, the one that loved you with all her heart and it hurt me to know that I would never feel that again.

When it came to myself and her, we never got back to what we were before, I too hurt to ever fully forgive her, and her still holding onto her prejudices even though she never spoke of them again, too afraid of losing Brady to do it.

"He just had his first successful date, actually.", I said once I managed to get a hold on my emotions.

"Oh, that's nice."

We were quiet for a moment before she blurted out,

"With a girl, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?", I asked quietly, as my jaw started to tense.

"You know what it means George, so just answer the question.", the woman said, before taking a sip of her tea, as I tried and this time failed to get a hold of my temper.

"No. I think you need to explain it a bit better.", I said through clenched teeth.

"Is Brady normal?", came the words making me almost drop the cup in my hands, as they start to shake.

I felt like I had been slapped while simultaneously punched in the stomach.

Normal?

Really!?

I looked at her and it felt like being transported back to that evening, sitting on this same couch as she spewed words of hatred at my crying self.

"Yes, my son is normal. But I don't think that's what you were asking, right?", I said and glared at her, barely restraining myself from slapping the woman, old or not, be damned.

"I don't know if he is straight and I don't care. If you want to know ask him yourself, but if I hear that you had said one bad word if he happens not to be, you'll never see him again!"

"You cannot do that! I am his great grandmother!", she started to shout while rising up from her seat as I did the same.

"Yes, I can. And you won't be able to do anything to stop me. Brady is my child and I will be damned before I let him go through the same thing I did. I will not allow you to make him feel ashamed and wrong, the way you did with me. It's 21. Century, for fuck's sake! Get on the program and stop being a bigot.", I yelled at her, as she clutched her chest with one hand with a look of outrage on her face.

"Well, I've never...", she started to say, but by that point, I've already heard enough, so I quickly turned away and left the house, not caring to hear another word that would come out of her hateful mouth.

~

"Brady?", I yelled out from the bottom of the stairs as I took off my shoes.

I had been working late for the last few days, trying to finish everything in time because the gallery opening was just two days away, so I had decided to come home earlier than usual and spend some time with my son.

The house was quiet and all the lights were off, which strike me as strange since it was pretty early for Brady to be in bed already. The teen was a night owl, much like myself, which was pretty bad for both me and my husband when Brady was younger.

I remember us trying to put him to bed at night, and when coming back to check on him, Brady would always be on the floor playing or drawing.

It used to drive my husband insane. He would yell and threaten to ground him if he did it again, but I secretly thought it was funny. Brady was like a mini-me in so many ways, even though we didn't share the same blood, and it made me oddly proud.

"Brady, are you there?", I asked again, making my way up the stairs. There was still no answer, which made me anxious, but as I slowly approached Brady's room, I heard quiet sniffling.

Once I entered the room, I saw him wrapped up in his blanket, his face hidden in the shadows since the only light in the room came from a small lamp on his bedside table.

"Bee? What's wrong honey? Are you hurt?"

I hurried over to him, my mind going crazy with countless possibilities of what could have happened.

Brady looked down at his hands and shook his head in answer, refusing to talk.

"Please talk to me. You know you can tell me anything.", I said as I took a seat on the side of Brady's bed.

The teen sighed and looked up with his eyes brimming with tears.

"I went to dinner with grandma."

And just those few words were enough to make all the blood drain from my face.

That bitch.

I mentally cursed, already knowing where this was going.

I felt anger rising in my blood, as every fiber of my being urged me to go over to her house and let her get an earful, but I stomped it down. Brady needed me calm and collected, not throwing a temper tantrum.

"Okay? Did something happen?"

Brady shook his head 'no' while refusing to make eye contact, which told him that something did.

"So why were you crying then?", I asked him and watched as Brady's body grew tense at the question, his eyes, once again, brimming with tears, before he let out a broken sigh.

"She asked me about my date, and if it was with a girl. I told her, yes, and she said 'Thank God'. It made me feel confused so I asked her why she said that.

She then told me that it would've been wrong if I weren't straight and when I objected she started screaming about you and papa being sick and corrupting me and stuff. That's when I told her to never talk to me again and left."

I watched him struggle to finish his story, my heart hurting for my son. Brady was obviously in pain caused by his grandma of all people, and I felt utterly helpless. I couldn't change her mind as much as I wanted to; all I could do was try to console him.

"It's going to be alright Bee, your papa and I will always be there for you. And I want you to know that I have never been more proud of you than I am today.

You stood your ground, even against your family, and defended those who weren't there to defend themselves.

I have done a lot of things in my life that I am not proud of but when I see the kind of man I raised you to be, I know I did something well.", I said before pulling him into my arms. Brady's long arms wrapped around my shoulders as he snuggled his head into the crook of my neck much as he used to when he was little.

"I love you, dad."

"I love you too, Bee. I love you, too."