“Mrs. Liu’s doing an art show at school,” I say, the excuse coming easy. It’s not a total deflection; I have been thinking a lot about the show. I just don’t think Hannah would really understand how I’m feeling about everything else.
“Oh, did she ask you to submit one of your paintings?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to do it?”
I shrug. “Not sure yet.”
Hannah scoffs. “Come on, your stuff is amazing. Why wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t know. Guess I’m just nervous.” I don’t know why. It’s just a student show. But there’s still this bundle of nerves I feel when I think about showing my stuff off to that many people.
I’m just overthinking it; I know I am. Hell, it is just a student show; I doubt there will be a lot of people there. But still.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Benji. You should submit something.” Hannah eyes the dress again before putting it back on the rack, and all I want to do is reach out and grab it. She moves closer to the stacked piles of jeans next. “So, are you excited to be out of school? Must be nice to be able to relax for a few days.”
“Yeah.”
She grabs a pair of black jeans at the bottom of the pile, checks the size, and then shows them to me for approval. I nod, and she throws them in my arms.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“You like Dr. Taylor, right?” The question takes me off guard.
“She’s fine.” Seems like an odd question since I’ve been going to Dr. Taylor for almost three months now. “Why?”
“Just wondering. I was talking with a friend, the one that referred me. She said that it can sometimes be hard to find a psychiatrist you can stick with, especially on the first try. Dr. Taylor was their fourth option.”
“I didn’t know you could switch like that.”
Hannah eyes me. “Do you want to?”
“No, no. She’s great.” Besides, I don’t think I can handle a new doctor. Start over, come out all over again, talk about Mom and Dad, and Hannah, and things I’ve already let out into the world. Even if that world only consists of two people.
“What about the medication?” she asks.
I shrug. “I think it’s working; I’m not really sure though.”
“Have you given any more thought to that support group?”
I freeze. “How do you know about that?”
“There was the pamphlet in your dresser. I promise I wasn’t snooping, just putting away some clothes and … well …”
“Oh. Not really.” Please tell me she wasn’t going through my things. That she was just putting away socks or shirts that she’d washed, and just opened the drawer by mistake.
“Can I ask a question?” She throws down the other pair of jeans she was eyeing.
“I thought that’s what you were doing?” I try to laugh, but I can feel my face heating up.
“Oh, ha-ha.” She cackles sarcastically. “But seriously, like, why don’t you want to go? Don’t you think it’d help?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you looked up their website or anything?”
“No.” I look around, we’re pretty much alone in this section of the store. “I just don’t want to come out to a bunch of strangers.” That’s part of it, but it’s also a local group, and I don’t think I could handle walking in there and seeing someone from school.
“What about trying it just once? The pamphlet said you don’t have to be out or anything. You don’t have to talk about why you’re there.”
“I just really don’t want to go.” Even if I don’t do the whole coming-out thing again, I’ll have a room full of people staring at me, wondering why I’m there. And do I really have the right to sit in on their private meetings if I’m not going to share anything?
“I just think it might help.”
“Well, I don’t think it will. Can we please drop it?”
“Okay,” she says defensively, and my heart sinks. She sounds so much like Dad right now. “Do you think you’ll ever come out to anyone else?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re only out to who? Me, Thomas, Dr. Taylor. Mom and Dad. Do you think you’ll ever come out to anyone else?”
“Why does that matter?” I don’t want to get angry, but I also don’t appreciate how she’s asking all this. Why is this so important to her?
“It was just a question,” she argues.
“Well, that’s up to me to decide, okay?”
“Ben.” She groans. “Listen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it … That wasn’t cool of me.”
I sigh. Great. “It’s fine.” I hang my head down and pretend to look at some sweaters.
“No, it’s not.” She grabs the clothes in my arms. “You want to get out of here?”
Like no tomorrow. “Only if you’re ready.”
“Yeah, sure. Mind if we still stop by the grocery store?”
“That’s fine.” I follow Hannah to the checkout line.
“So, when do I get to meet this Nathan kid?”
“What?” Dear God, let these conversations end, please.
“He picked you up last night, right?”
“We’re just friends.”
“Well, I didn’t suggest otherwise.” Hannah gives me a sly smile. Dammit. “But if you say so.”
“I do say so,” I protest, even though part of me wants to ask her what I can do about Nathan. Either how to get rid of whatever these feelings are, or how I can actually get him to maybe, possibly, like me? Because the thought of this is terrifying.
Nope.
I need to distract myself, because I cannot do this right now. I stare at the junk that decorates the shelves along the checkout line. Water bottles, ChapStick, “As Seen on TV” stuff, and other things no one really needs or wants until they realize they don’t have it.
My eyes settle on the rack of nail polish, all in these sweet-looking pastel colors. I can’t help but think about Sophie and Meleika’s nails, always flawless. And the hundreds of designs I’ve seen online, the countless tutorials I’ve watched.
It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Another thing to add to the “I’ll Never Be Able to Go Out Like That in Public” list. I wonder what Hannah would say if I just picked up a bottle and bought it. She’d probably be more interested in where I got the money to buy it in the first place.
Would she try to fight me on it? Or tell me to take it off before school starts back up? Like I don’t already know that. But at least if I did them tonight that would get me a few days, right? I can’t wear the clothes I want to wear, or that I think look good, but shouldn’t I at least be able to paint my goddamned fingernails?
“Oh, those are cute,” Hannah says. She must have caught me looking.
“Huh?” I shake myself out of my trance. “Oh yeah, they’re cool.”
“You want to try it out?” Hannah asks.
“Huh?”
“You were staring at them for like five minutes. Want to pick out a color?”