“We can’t predict the future.”
“No? I can. Either the band collapses and you won’t have any opinion on what we do, or the band does well. And if the band does well, there will always be something. Another international tour. Another record. Another upcoming award voted on by homophobes.”
Geoff rolls his eyes. “Don’t you think you’re being dramatic here, Ruben?”
Dramatic. He sounds like Mom.
In that moment, I hate him. But it also makes me doubt myself for a split-second, simply on the basis of being the common denominator here. If two people in my life think I have a tendency to overreact … could they be right?
Or is that just the easiest way to shut me down, and they’ve both figured this out about me over time?
It works, too. In my brief moment of self-doubt, while I reel backward in my chair with my mouth hanging open, Geoff pounces. “I have another meeting to get to now, but to wrap up. Our tentative next steps are meeting again in January to review the situation. Ruben, as much as you have doubts, you will understand the need for caution. The right time will come, and when it comes, you’ll have a united team behind you. And that’s if you two are together still, come January. And if not? No harm done!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well.” He looks directly into the camera, and it’s like he’s locking eyes with me. “You’re just going to have to.”
While David, Geoff, and Zach mumble goodbyes to one another, I remain silent, glaring at the camera. David’s face disappears. Then Geoff’s. Only Zach’s left behind, his face filling the screen.
That’s it, then? It’s over?
I’m three-quarters gone.
I’m all gone.
Zach pulls a face. “So. That went well.”
I’m suffocating with rage. It’s bubbling, a cauldron of acid sitting in my chest, pressing against the inside of my skin until I feel like I’m about to burst with the pressure. But the rage at David and Geoff can wait for a second. I need to clarify something with Zach, now. “How come you agreed with them about January?” I ask.
“Oh.” He blinks, looking taken aback. “I don’t know. They just put us on the spot, and they seemed like they were looking out for us. But then you said you didn’t believe them and, totally, you’re definitely right. I hadn’t thought of it like that until you said it. But no, I’m with you. They’re not going to let us come out.”
“Right,” I say. “And I don’t care what they say. It’s enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is—I—it’s enough. I’m not going to sit here and listen to this over and over again for the rest of my life. I have been asking to come out publicly since I was sixteen.”
Zach looks shocked. Honestly, I’m taken aback to see this look on his face. I mean, I’ve never discussed my frustrations about Chorus indefinitely closeting me with the other guys, but I figured they knew it wasn’t my choice. I’m out to everyone I possibly can be out to, after all.
And yet. “You’ve … been asking to come out all this time?”
“Yes. It’s never a good time, though. They make me lie, and lie, and lie. Every single time I get on that stage. Every interview. Every event, they force me to be someone I’m not. And it’s always temporary. It used to be ‘there’s no need to disclose until you have a boyfriend.’ Then I dated Nathaniel and I had to keep it quiet because I was nominated for that bachelor of the year thing, and then we broke up anyway. You know that magazine that got a photo of Nathaniel and me in Michigan? We saw the paparazzi, and I kissed him anyway so I could say it was an accident. When Chorus shut it down before the magazine could run the story, they made me thank them for it. Then there were those rumors about me dating Kalia, and it was all ‘even if it’s not true, let them talk, we’ve seen a sudden increase in sales.’”
Zach’s staring at me like I’ve mutated right in front of him. “Wait, so it’s … like, for sure. They’ll literally never let us come out?”
“I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt because this is different, it’s so much harder to hide us than it is to just ask me to keep my mouth shut, but it’s no different to them. They will never let us come out, Zach. Ever.”
Zach slumps. “Oh my god.”
But my mind is racing now. “I’m calling you back. Just in case they’re recording this. Hold on, let me—” I hang up, then create a meeting of my own, which Zach joins instantly. “Okay,” I say excitedly. “Hear me out. Let’s just do it. Fuck them. They don’t own us, no matter what they’d like to think. It’s easier to apologize than ask for permission, right?”
“But … what about the record sales?”
“That’s just an excuse. Do you really, really think we’ll lose that many fans if we come out? Think about them all. They’ll have our backs on this. I know they will.”
“But, the thing about the parents makes sense.”
“Sure, but that’s going to happen regardless, whenever we come out.”
Something about Zach’s face catches me off guard. “Okay, Zach,” I say. “One second you’re agreeing with David about waiting, and now you have a weird look on your face. I need to make sure we’re on the same page here before I drag you into something you don’t want to do.” Again.
“No, like I said, I’m okay with it.”
Right, but, yet again, being okay with something isn’t the same thing as wanting it. Why is it so impossible to get a handle on what Zach actually, truly wants? Why do I feel like I’m alone in making this choice, a choice that’s going to affect both of us? “Zach, if you’re not ready just yet, that’s fine. It’s one thing if Chorus is forcing us, but it’s another thing if you need time. Do you want to press pause on going public?”