I shake my head. “Not right now.”
“Okay, try to get some rest or something. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
We ride in silence, the only real noise the low volume of the radio playing Top 40 songs. I try to sleep, or to ease my mind, to relax, to not think about what I’ve done. But it’s impossible. Because I said those three little words.
“I am nonbinary.”
Mom and Dad both sat there speechless for a few seconds. Dad was the first to react, asking for an explanation. That was fair, and maybe a good sign. I wasn’t quite sure but was willing to take whatever was thrown my way at that point.
Dad used the T-word, and it came like a slap to the face. I’d never heard him use that word before. That was the moment my stomach sank. I tried to explain the differences, what being non-binary meant, but it was like every time I tried to speak, the more I wanted to cry. Then the yelling started, and everything was moving so fast. I couldn’t talk or make any sense of what they were saying.
“You need to leave.” Dad pointed right at me.
“Ben?”
I must’ve fallen asleep at some point because my eyes are heavy, my mouth groggy and gross, and my limbs tight.
“We’re here.” She puts the car in park but leaves the engine running, vents still spewing hot air.
I stare at the house. The brown bricks and the green siding. I’ve seen it before, never at night, but in Facebook photos and posts. The only way I’d been able to keep up with what was going on in Hannah’s life.
“You can sleep in the guest room, okay?”
I nod and follow her through the garage, my feet going frigid at being exposed to the cold of the pavement again. Hannah unlocks the door quickly and leads me up the steps, flipping on the light switch of the guest room. “Bathroom is across the hall, if you want to take a shower or anything.”
I stare at the bedroom: There’s a huge queen-sized bed, plenty of pillows. Definitely nicer than my room at home, but emptier too. There aren’t any pictures on the walls, or little toys on the dresser.
“Here.” Hannah folds back the mirrored doors of the closet and grabs a stack of blankets. “Get some sleep. We’ll figure things out in the morning, okay?”
I nod again and stare at the bed. Hannah looks like she wants to add something else, or hug me, or tell me it’s all going to be okay. But she doesn’t do any of those things.
Guess even she knows it won’t be.
She closes the door behind her, leaving the room even emptier.
I undress down to my boxers and pull back the sheets, crawling into the soft, unused bed. I toss and turn, but after a few minutes it’s obvious I’m not going to be sleeping tonight. Every time I close my eyes I see their faces. So vivid, right there in front of me, yelling. And when I open them, there’s nothing but the dark loneliness of the bedroom. I reach over to the remote on the nightstand and flip through a few of the channels on the TV, my eyes settling on a rerun of The Golden Girls.
Because I can’t be alone right now. Not tonight.
Thanks for being a friend, Betty White.
Yesterday actually happened.
It takes me more than a few minutes to realize it wasn’t some super vivid nightmare, or a fever dream or something. It was really real.
I came out to my parents, and they kicked me out of the house.
To think I’d been ignorant enough to believe it’d go well. I really did. I thought that we could still be this happy family, no secrets between us. I could actually be me. And I should’ve known better than that.
And now everything is over.
Everything.
I don’t know whether to cry or scream or do both. It feels like I’ve done more than enough of both. And it feels like I haven’t done enough.
And at some point, I know I’m going to have to crawl out of this bed and pick up the pieces, but right now it can be just me. Just me, these four walls, and this bed.
The universe doesn’t have to exist outside this bedroom, and that’s perfectly okay.
“I still can’t believe them.” I hear Hannah’s voice echo through the house as I make my way down the stairs, because there was only so long I could stay in my own little universe.
“He just called from a pay phone?” That voice I don’t recognize, but it’s deep and gruff. I’m guessing that’s her husband. Thomas?
There’s only so much you can learn about someone on Facebook without actually friending them. That probably sounds a little creepy, but I couldn’t risk Mom or Dad going on my profile and seeing “Hannah Waller” on my friends list.
“When it was thirty fucking degrees outside.” Hannah drops something into the sink so hard that I’m guessing she’s broken whatever it was. I rub my eyes, unsure of what time it is as I try to guess where the kitchen might be.
“Hannah?” I call out, glancing around the hallway filled with pictures. There are a few I recognize from Facebook. Some from what looks like their wedding day, others while her and Thomas are out on a boat. They look happy together.
The door at the far end of the hallway swings open, Hannah pushing through, dressed in an oversized sweater and dark jeans. “Good morning.” She smiles, crossing her arms.
“Morning.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to make the curls in the back lie down.
“We made breakfast.” She leads me through the swinging door into the kitchen. The white guy from all the photos is at the table, empty plate pushed to the side. He’s sporting a beard and a shirt with a logo for a sports team I don’t recognize.
“Good morning. Sleep okay?” is all he asks me.
“Yeah,” I lie. My body must’ve finally shut down, because one minute I remember trying to laugh at something on TV and the next the sun was shining through the thin curtains of the bedroom. I’m guessing this is what being hit by an eighteen-wheeler feels like.
“Oh, Ben, this is my husband, Thomas.” Hannah nods to the guy at the table. It’s weird to think there’s this brother-in-law I have now, one that I’ve literally only ever seen pictures of.
Thomas raises his mug to me. “Nice to finally meet you. Hannah’s told me a lot of stories.”
No doubt I was a kid in all of them. Hannah offers me a seat at their super tall bistro-style table that sits in the far corner, the windows letting in way too much light for so early in the morning. Though a quick glance at the microwave tells me it’s nearly noon.
“Ben.” Hannah takes the seat next to Thomas, her hands folded. “Can you tell us what happened?”
I suppose there really isn’t any avoiding it, and I do owe them an explanation of some kind. The problem is I don’t even know where to begin with this. I mean I know where to start, but it’s like my mouth doesn’t want to work, like it’s stuffed with cotton or something, and I know whatever I say probably won’t make much sense.
“I’m going to go upstairs. Maybe you two should talk alone.” Thomas takes his mug and pushes his chair under the table, stretching his legs. I watch the kitchen door swing on its hinges after he leaves, back and forth until it steadily slows, and the door settles into its natural place.
“Please, Benji, talk to me.”