I tentatively put my hand out and ran it down her ginger fur. She didn’t purr. Only met me with her bright stare. I got two full pets in before she trotted off back into the bushes. But that was enough. I was forgiven.
A weight fell off of my shoulders. I hadn’t known how much I was holding it all in, waiting for my cat to not hate me anymore. But if Avocado could forgive me after traumatizing her…maybe I could find a way to go on.
I hauled myself back to my feet and got into Bertha. I slammed my hand on the air-conditioning unit, trying to force it to turn on. Something went clunk on the inside, and I screamed at it with every horrible word I had in my vocabulary. But it was no use. Something was finally broken in Bertha, just like inside of me. We were the same now.
I rolled all of the windows down and already started to sweat in the Texas heat. I’d have to do something about the AC. There was no way I would survive the rest of July and August like this. I might have to have Blaire sell Campbell’s image to a few magazines so that I could cover the costs. Just another fucking thing.
I pulled up in front of my parents’ house. It was the same place they’d had since I was in elementary school. Cluttered with memories, a wall covered in crosses—as was so popular in Lubbock—and all the half-finished projects my father had said that he was going to get to and never did. It was a house, but it had never felt like home.
“I’m here,” I called as I entered.
Mom was seated on the couch. Chester on a chair nearby. Mom raised an eyebrow at my appearance. Chester even startled. Great.
“Hi, kiddo!” my dad called from the kitchen. He was a pancake connoisseur. Something about his short time in the Army. My parents otherwise had a pretty traditional marriage. Mom cooked and cleaned and balanced the budget, and Dad worked. Even though she’d always had a job to help make ends meet.
“Hi, Dad.”
“What happened?” my mom asked, coming to her feet.
“Nothing,” I lied.
Chester blew out a breath. “Your eyes are all puffy, sis.”
“Thanks, Chess,” I practically growled.
He looked at me in surprise, as if it was the first time he’d seen me with teeth. Which, to be fair, it probably was.
“Have you been crying?” Mom asked. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Tell me everything.”
I sank into the couch and sighed. I didn’t want to do this. And yet there, in the house that wasn’t a home, with family that felt too familiar and yet so distant, and Chester’s reassuring nod, I let loose. I shouldn’t, but it was so fresh, and I couldn’t stop.
“I broke up with Julian,” I said as I started crying again.
My mom gasped. “You broke up with him?”
“Yeah. I mean, I guess.”
“He didn’t break up with you?” she asked.
“That’s what she said, Mom,” Chester broke in. “What happened, Jen?”
“I don’t know. It just…it didn’t work out. God, I hate to tell you this, but it was fake.”
“What do you mean, dear?” Mom asked.
“When I brought Julian to graduation, we weren’t dating. I hate lying to you, and I can’t hold it in any longer. We were fake dating so that I wouldn’t have to go alone.”
They both stared at me in shock.
“Well…that’s…” my mom said.
“But it was real after,” I said quickly. “It was real, and we were together. But then he hid something from me and lied about it. I might have forgiven that, but then he saw my anxiety medication and assumed I was on drugs. Well, his ex assumed. I don’t know if I’m even explaining all of this. But I either had to tell him about my anxiety before I was ready or give it up. And I didn’t want him to be okay with me because I’d told him about my mental health.”
“Well, you shouldn’t tell him about the anxiety,” my mom said quickly.
“Why not?” Chester said. “If he had known, then you might not have even had this argument.”
“It still would have happened,” I whispered. “The lying and hiding at least.”
“You don’t discuss your mental health, Chester. You know that. There are things that you never discuss in public.”
“This wasn’t public. This was her boyfriend.”
“All these issues people keep dragging into the spotlight—race, money, mental problems, sexual orientation, religion. I don’t need to know about this, and neither does anyone else. Keep it to yourself. Let me live my life.”
Chester bristled. “What does that have to do with Jennifer and her boyfriend? Her anxiety is part of who she is. If he wanted to be with her, then he needed to love that part of her, too.”
“I just think everything needs to go back to the way it was.”
He arched an eyebrow. Mom couldn’t see that he was mad, but I could from here. “Back to the way it was for whom?” he snarled. “White, cis, hetero people? I’m sorry, but I can’t see how going back to the past, when things were worse for people who weren’t straight white dudes, is better than helping everyone.”
“Since when did you become so political?” my mom asked, her hackles raised.
“If civil rights and basic common decency are political, then fine, Mom, I’m political.”
“Y’all,” I whispered, “don’t fight.”
I could see the train running off the tracks, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. This was who our mother was. Who she had always been and raised us to be. She didn’t know that by saying things, she’d be slapping her favorite child in the face.
“For someone who is a straight white man, I don’t see how it matters to you.”
He rose to his feet. His hands were shaking, like mine did when I was going to explode. “I don’t know how to tell you that you should care about other people,” he said, lethally calm.
“I care about other people,” she gasped.
“And for the record, I’m not straight. I’m pan. And I have a boyfriend named Peter. My life isn’t political. It’s just living. And so is Jennifer’s.”
My mom’s jaw dropped. “You’re…pan? What does that mean?”
“I like everyone, Mom. I don’t care about their gender identity or their sex. I fall in love with the person.”
She nodded in shock. “And you have a…boyfriend.”
“Peter,” he said, his voice softening on the word. “Peter Medina.”
“I…well, this is a lot to take in, Chester. When did you decide?”
“I’ve always known. Jennifer knows. So, I’d appreciate it if you put your feelings about the matter on hold and listen to us. Listen to Jen when she says that she’s hurting because of her anxiety. I wasn’t ready to tell you about my sexual orientation, and she has every right to hide her mental illness, but she doesn’t have to just because you think it’s more socially acceptable.”
Dad walked out then with a plate of pancakes. “Brunch is ready. Is it too late to invite Peter over?” He’d clearly heard everything.
Mom gaped at him.
Chester just smiled at Dad. “You want him to come for brunch?”