Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

She shakes her head slightly, and her lips are pulled in, and she’s blinking and blinking. “I mean, it’s cool. But next time you guys decide to all hang out without me,” she says, “text me some pictures or something. Just so I can pretend I still have friends.”


Then there’s this noise like an aborted sob, and she pushes past me, straight through the door. And all through rehearsal, all I can hear is that noise over and over again.



30

I GET HOME, AND ALL I want to do is walk somewhere. Anywhere. But as it stands, I’m not even allowed to walk my freaking dog. And I feel so restless and strange and unhappy.

I hate it when Leah’s mad at me. Hate it. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen a lot, because there’s this hidden emotional subtext with Leah, and I’m always missing it. But this feels different and worse than our normal. She was just so mean about everything.

Also, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Leah cry.

Dinner is grilled cheese and Oreos, because my parents are still working and Nora’s out again. And then I basically spend the evening staring at my ceiling fan. I don’t have it in me to do my homework. No one’s going to expect it from me anyway with the play opening tomorrow. I listen to music, and I’m bored and antsy and, honestly, miserable.

Then, around nine, my parents come in wanting to Talk. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any better.

“Can I sit?” asks my mom, sort of hovering over the end of the bed. I shrug, and she sits, and my dad takes my desk chair.

I tuck my hands behind my head and sigh. “Let me guess. Don’t get drunk.”

“I mean, yeah,” my dad says, “don’t get drunk.”

“Got it.”

They look at each other. My dad clears his throat.

“I owe you an apology, kid.”

I look up at him.

“What you said on Friday. About the gay jokes.”

“I was kidding,” I say. “It’s fine.”

“No,” my dad says. “It’s not really fine.”

I shrug.

“Well, I’m just going to put this out there, in case the message got lost somewhere. I love you. A lot. No matter what. And I know it’s got to be awesome having the cool dad.”

“Ahem,” says my mom.

“Excuse me. The cool parents. The hardcore, badass, hipster parents.”

“Oh, it’s awesome,” I say.

“But rein us in if you need to, okay? Rein me in,” he says. He rubs his chin. “I know I didn’t make it easy for you to come out. We’re very proud of you. You’re pretty brave, kid.”

“Thanks,” I say. I pull myself up and lean against the wall, thinking it’s a good time for hair ruffling and sleep tight, kid and don’t stay up too late.

But they don’t move. So I say, “Well, for the record, I knew you were kidding. That’s not the reason I didn’t want to come out.”

My parents look at each other again.

“Can I ask you what the reason was?” says my mom.

“I mean, there wasn’t like a specific reason,” I say. “I just didn’t want to have to talk about it. I knew it would be a big deal. I don’t know.”

“Was it a big deal?” says my mom.

“Well, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Did we make it a big deal?”

“Oh my God. Seriously? You guys make everything a big deal.”

“Really?” she says.

“When I started drinking coffee. When I started shaving. When I got a girlfriend.”

“That stuff is exciting,” she says.

“It’s not that exciting,” I say. “It’s like—I don’t even know. You guys are so freaking obsessed with everything I do. It’s like I can’t change my socks without someone mentioning it.”

“Ah,” says my dad. “So, what you’re trying to say is that we’re really creepy.”

“Yes,” I say.

My mom laughs. “See, but you’re not a parent yet, so you can’t understand. It’s like—you have this baby, and eventually, he starts doing stuff. And I used to be able to see every tiny change, and it was so fascinating.” She smiles sadly. “And now I’m missing stuff. The little things. And it’s hard to let go of that.”

“But I’m seventeen. Don’t you think I’m supposed to be changing?”

“Of course you are. And I love it. It’s the most exciting time,” she says. She squeezes the end of my foot. “I’m just saying I wish I could still watch it all unfold.”

I don’t quite know what to say.

“You guys are just so grown-up now,” she continues, “all three of you. And you’re all so different. I mean, even when you were babies. Alice was fearless, and Nora was so self-contained, and then you were this complete ham. I mean, everyone kept saying you were your father’s son.”

My dad grins, and I’m honestly a little bit speechless. I have never, ever thought of myself that way.

“I actually remember holding you for the first time. Your little mouth. You latched right onto my breast—”

“Mom.”

“Oh, it was the most incredible moment. And your dad carried your sister in, and she kept saying, ‘No baby!’” My mom laughs. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I couldn’t believe we were the parents of a boy. I guess we had gotten so used to thinking of ourselves as girl parents, so it was like this whole new thing to discover.”