You know that moment when you can't believe how things have spiraled out of control? That's how I feel right now. I was with my parents looking at me with a "mocking" smile on their faces. What happened to social morality and good customs? I know I'm not moralistic at all, but isn't this the time when I get beaten up and kicked out of the house, or just get beaten and move to another city and keep my feelings to myself?

Would it be too much to ask for something cliché?

I was sitting and trapped in my little world when I noticed that my father was all chummy with Marxos. Both were looking at the television screen and watching the game; it seemed like they knew each other and had been friends for a long time. Could you believe that? It was something I never expected to see.

Well, who would expect a child from a gay couple to complain? Good Lord, what am I? And while I was looking incredulously at all of this, my father Joshua was looking at me with a slight smile. He raised one of his eyebrows and turned around. That signal indicated he wanted to talk to me; that had always been a code for the type of conversation that comforted me and relieved me of certain doubts about what I should be and do.

Without being noticed, I walked to the corridor that led to the stairs and the entrance hall to the kitchen. Joshua was taking a pitcher of juice from the refrigerator and grabbing a tall glass, filling it with mango juice. Then he sat at the counter and looked at me. I approached him and nestled against his body.

He placed his hands on my shoulder and caressed it. I looked vaguely at his face, and he smiled widely. For some reason, my eyes filled with tears, and they began to fall slowly. My father pulled me in and hugged me tightly. He was always good at comforting me; I had so many fears, and he always helped me with all of them from the beginning.

Contrary to what most people think, I'm not a test tube baby or from a surrogate mother. Nor was I little when I was adopted—I was fourteen. I had always been a rejected kid. But when he laid eyes on me in a lonely corner, he decided he would give me a home. Of course, before that, they approached me, always came to visit me. They would take me on holidays, and I even traveled with them to France before being finally adopted. Every time I was afraid or felt alone, he would always hug me that way. He didn't need to speak to tell me he was with me because I knew he was.

"So, are you going to explain?" he said slowly, caressing my shoulders.

"I don't know where to begin..."

"How about with your fear?" he looked at me.

I lowered my head in shame.

"What did I tell you, son?" he lifted my face.

"That I should never lower my head again out of shame for something I don't know... But this is different. I always thought you'd expect a girl in your living room and not a grown man, let alone my calculus professor from college. And much less did I expect a gossipy old woman."

He laughed.

"You know she didn't mean any harm. And this relieves me—I thought you were going to be an 'old maid,'" he said, laughing.

"Daaad!" I grumbled in protest.

"And it makes me sad to think that you thought we wouldn't accept you the way you are. You have two fathers, and we've always said that whatever you choose wouldn't be a problem for us."

"I know, Dad..."

"So don't make that face. Your father seems to like him."

"Seems? Did you notice that neither of them realized we left the room?" I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms.

"Who said that?" said Marxos, entering the kitchen with my father beside him. He approached me, and after glancing at my second father, who gave just a nod of his head, he immediately pulled me close to his body.

"Your father said I can date you," he said, smiling.

I looked at my father and widened my eyes. He looked away.

"And was I even consulted?"

"I don't think that was necessary, son. You were making out in the street," said Caleb, my second father.

Unlike my father Joshua, Caleb is dark-skinned, tanned by the sun, his hair is black and short in a spiky way. As he goes to the gym regularly, he has a good physique. He's taller than my father Joshua. His eyes are light brown.

Then abruptly, the door opens, and I see Matheus enter through the kitchen door with a bouquet of red flowers.

"Father-in-law, I'm here!" he announced with shouts.

"What the hell are you doing here, Matheus?"

Not knowing what was going on, he lowered the bouquet that covered his face and looked at everyone. Automatically, I felt Marxos pull me closer and hold me in a tight embrace; my body was moved for milliseconds to be partially behind his body.

"What is he doing here?" he screeched with narrowed eyes, throwing the flowers on the floor.

"I should be the one asking what you're doing here, you idiot!" I yelled.

"I think you shouldn't be here," said Marxos.

His voice was heavy and deep. I could feel that Matheus changed his expression and intentionally approached me.

"And are you going to make me leave, little professor?"

Then Marxos's hand raised automatically, his arm gained momentum and flexed, and in a quick movement, I moved from behind his body and stood in front of Matheus, waiting for the fingers tightly pressed against the skin of his palm coming toward my face.