Talking with Mom about how I’m unhappy with the way she handled my coming out is invasive, almost. Maybe akin to showing her one of my late-night incognito searches. It feels like something I would never do.
I put two mugs under the nozzle. Then I get to work. The machine rattles, the entire thing shaking. I don’t remember it ever doing that. Maybe it needs to be repaired. I hate that, because I bought this in the golden days, back when things with Saturday were more fun than stressful, and now it’s breaking. Given everything going on, that feels fitting.
“How’s Angel doing?” she asks.
“He’s fine.”
She huffs. “Okay, Zach, what’s going on?”
“Huh?”
“You’ve been giving me one-word answers for weeks now. What’s up? Have I upset you, somehow?”
“I’m not upset, exactly. I just…”
Come on, Zach. Say it. Say you’re not happy with how she responded when you came out. It’s what Ruben would tell you to do.
“Ever since I came out to you, you’ve been treating me so weird, and I want you to know it’s not cool.”
“You think I’ve been treating you weird?”
“I do.”
“Zach, lately you’ve been a different person. You’ve pulled away, I can tell.”
“That’s your fault, not mine.”
Oh jeez, that was clearly the wrong thing to say, as her eyes widen. “How exactly is your behavior my fault?”
“Because I told you I’m bi and you got weird and mad, and then never talked about it again.”
“I thought that was what you wanted!”
“For you to be mad at me?”
“No, gosh, for us to treat it like it’s no big deal.”
“I only said that because I could tell you were being weird.”
She rests her hand on her hip and studies me. “Hang on, is this why you’ve been ignoring me?”
“I haven’t been ignoring you.”
She pulls out her phone, and shows me the screen. She has been messaging me almost constantly, and my responses have been sporadic at best.
“I’ve been busy,” I say.
“You’ve been busy since camp. You made time before.”
“Well, maybe that was before I came out to you and you treated me like I was betraying you.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Can you please stop telling me how I feel? I felt like you didn’t accept me, and I…”
“Oh, Zach,” she says, stepping closer. “You really felt that?”
I nod, and I feel tears prickling.
“You do know I go to Pride every year, right?”
“Yeah, but…”
“And you do know that some of my best friends are queer?”
“Yep.”
“And have I not always told you I’m going to support you wherever you fall on the gender and sexuality spectrum?”
“Well, yeah. But then why were you weird when I came out?”
That catches her off guard. “I didn’t mean to be weird. I was just surprised, that’s all. And for a second, just a second, I started to question our whole relationship. Like, I always thought you told me everything.”
“That’s what I was trying to do.”
She starts smiling.
“What?”
“Nothing?”
“No, what?”
“Oh, it’s just you’re being such a teenager right now. It’s adorable. Okay, back to our serious talk. All right. Mm-hmm, yes, queer teen angst, go on.”
I shake my head and laugh. For the first time in weeks, this feels right. “You’re the worst.”
“I know. But, just so it’s obvious, I think you being into guys is both wonderful and a non-event at the same time. All right?”
“Fine. And, like, you should know I haven’t known for that long, so I did tell you pretty early. I only really figured it out for sure on tour.”
“You must’ve had an inkling, though, right? Being bi isn’t something that comes out of nowhere.”
“Yeah, but I thought it was just a phase, I guess. Like it might go away at some point.”
“I think that’s problematic.”
“Am I going to get canceled?”
“Now you definitely are.”
“Damn it.” I scrub the back of my head. “Seriously, though, I do tell you pretty much everything, the other guys think it’s weird. I just wanted some time to figure this out before I told you. I’m sorry, I just convinced myself you were upset and honestly, it scared the crap out of me.”
“Oh, Zach,” she says, giving me a hug. “I had no idea, and I’m so sorry for fucking up so badly.”
“Let’s just agree we both messed up and move on. Deal?”
“Done.”
We take the coffees, and go over to the coffee table. Cleo hops up and sits between us. I scratch the top of her head, and she stretches out.
“So,” my mom says, sipping her coffee. “Have any boys visited you backstage?”
I almost choke on my coffee. “Mom!”
“Come on, fill me in. What made you figure it out for sure? Or, should I say who?”
I drum my fingers on my legs. “Er, so you know how Ruben is gay?”
Her mouth drops open. “No.”
I grin. “Uh-huh.”
“Shut up. Zach, he’s hot.”
My mom calling my boyfriend hot is kinda weird, and I hope it never happens again. But this time, I’ll let it pass.
“I know.”
She nestles down, getting comfortable. “Go on, tell me ever-e-thing.”
I wasn’t expecting to do this now.
But you know what?
I think I’m going to.
TWENTY-THREE
RUBEN
I pounce on Dad the second he gets back from work.
“They finally told us something,” I say as he removes his coat by the front door. “Apparently it’s the Armstrong Center they checked Angel into. They said it’s too early to know if he’ll be back up and running when he’s out, but he is having daily physical therapy there, so, that’s something, right?”