“Honestly, I’m fine either way,” Zach says. “I’m just worried about all that stuff David said … I … if we screw everything up for Jon and Angel, I’ll never forgive myself. It’s not just about us. We should involve them.”
I shake my head in wonderment. “In case you haven’t noticed, they’re not exactly thriving right now, either. I think if we push back against Chorus it’ll help those two see we don’t have to just take everything they throw at us. And, hold on, what do you mean you’re fine either way?”
“I just don’t want to let you down. But I don’t want to let the band down, either.”
“Me?” I repeat. “It’s not just about me. And you coming out publicly or not is definitely not about me. What do you want?”
“For everyone to be happy.”
I try to process this. “So … you don’t want to come out?”
“Do you want me to?”
“No, no. You can’t do it for me. That’s too big a decision to make for someone else’s sake.”
“But you being happy will make me happy. So, I’ll do it.”
“Zach!”
“I’m telling you what I want!”
“No, you’re telling me what everyone else wants.” I’m trying to stay calm, but the fury from the meeting has simmered into a swamp of fear. It’s settled into the pit of my gut, and it’s pulling on me like quicksand. I feel like everything is about to collapse down and in. Because I know Zach is a people-pleaser. Sometimes, his kindness and thoughtfulness, the way he can read you and find just the right thing to say, is my favorite part about him.
But there’s a dark truth behind that. It’s not always easy to pinpoint exactly what matters to Zach, other than keeping the peace. And right now, that’s not good enough. He can’t just sit there and shrug and say “whatever.” Not about this. Not about us.
Us. A sudden thought hits me like a speeding train. Does Zach … want to be with me?
I insisted we talk after the kiss.
I asked him to be my boyfriend.
I suggested we tell the band about us.
It was all me.
Could it be possible he’s only with me because he thinks I want to be with him, and he feels swept along by the tide?
That’s a ridiculous thought, right? Total paranoia territory, now. Right?
But it’s possible.
This can’t go on. I need him to give his honest opinion, even if it’s contrary to mine, because at least then I’d know where we stand. It’s better than me making decisions for us that are quietly hurting him. The thought that maybe I somehow talked him into doing this with me, into being with me, and that he’s gone along with it this whole time because it was easier than saying no, is paralyzing.
But saying all of that is too terrifying. So, instead, I say, “I don’t understand why you’re being so passive about this. Be really clear with me, Zach. Do you want to come out now? Do you want to wait? Do you want to never come out?”
“It depends. This decision doesn’t just impact me. I want everyone to be happy, I guess.”
“That’s not an option.” I don’t mean for it to come out so harshly, but I’m starting to feel panicky. “Why can’t you ever think about yourself? Why does it always have to be about everyone else?”
“Well, maybe you should start thinking about everyone,” he snaps.
It’s the last thing I expect to hear. “What?”
“We’re a band. We make sacrifices for each other. Look at Jon and Angel. Like you said, they aren’t happy, either. But they’ve been putting up with it all for us.”
“And that’s wrong.”
“Is it?” Zach asks. “Or are they just the sacrifices we need to make?”
“Sacrifices are supposed to be things like missing out on parties, and being away from your family for longer than you want to be. Not losing yourself.”
“Well, maybe that’s too optimistic,” Zach says. “I’ve been making sacrifices, too. This? Is not my kind of music. I grew up writing my songs, and listening to my music. I didn’t ask to be in a boy band. Our performance at camp was just meant to be for fun. Then everything started happening so fast, and we had a band name, and Geoff had all these plans for us, and the rest of you were so excited, and I realized, hey. This isn’t what I wanted for myself, but I’m part of a whole, now. If I focus on what I want, we all lose. So I sucked it up. I asked Geoff if I could write some songs, and I even tried to write stuff I thought he’d like, and I still didn’t get the one thing I wanted. I just get to put my name on a song I had no hand in that I barely even like, and that’s my consolation prize.”
I play his words over and over in my head, to be sure I’ve heard him right. “Wait, you … don’t want to be in the band?”
“That’s beside the point.”
“No, it’s the whole point,” I argue. “If you don’t want to be in this band, you shouldn’t be.”
He looks wounded. “You want me out?”
“No. I don’t want you giving up your entire life to do a thing that’s making you miserable because you think the rest of us need you to.”
“It doesn’t make me miserable. I just wish I could be a songwriter. And that I could write my style of music.”
“Okay, but ‘not miserable’ is a low bar.”
“I’m fine.”
“So, you want to stay in the band? You’re happy?”
He shrugs.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”
Holy shit, getting a simple answer out of Zach is agony. “I want. You to tell me. What you want.”
“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what I want. I haven’t thought about it.”
“Well, I need you to go and think about it,” I say. “Because I am terrified I’m going to make the wrong decision on your behalf one day. And also, it’s actually important to me that you care, like, deeply care about our relationship and what happens next. We need to be in this together, even if it gets messy. If you tell me right this second that you never want to come out to the public, that is fine, and we’ll figure it out. Together.”
“I do care about you,” he says. “And I care about our relationship.”
“Okay, but, honestly, if we’re going to work, you have to learn how to care about you as well. Because I don’t want to be in a relationship with someone who sees it as something that’s happening to him.”