“Screw them,” Finch said. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. “The two of us’ll have so much fun you won’t even realize they’re not here.”

He understood how difficult it was to celebrate a birthday without any family present. His nineteenth birthday had been spent hungover in his tub alone. He’d called his mom in tears, begging her to take care of him like she’d always done.

She asked if he was still gay. He said yes.

They hadn’t spoken since.

But that was five years ago; things had changed. Finch broke contact with his parents and his older brothers, blocked them on everything and refused to go anywhere near his childhood home. On his worst days he regretted ever coming out. Would his parents still love him if they thought he was straight? If he’d prayed longer would he be worth something again?

He couldn’t live the rest of his life as a lie, though.

"We'll do whatever you want, okay?" What would he have want said to him when he was in your place? He didn't know. At the time he'd just wanted to be left alone to cry. Maybe that was what you needed.

You'd told him you were planning on coming out to your parents as a lesbian. He had crossed his fingers and hoped it would go well. It must not have. Finch had only ever had short interactions with your parents despite knowing you since elementary school. Most of the time was spent at his house.

He was almost glad neither of you talked to his parents anymore. They would've found a way to blame you for him being gay. That you being a lesbian had rubbed off on him, confused him.

His parents weren't always so cruel. He remembered his mom letting him skip school to visit a zoo, and his dad used to take to get pizza every Sunday after church. Those were the parents he mourned, not the ones he came to know.