My today is worlds apart from my yesterday.
Sometime later, Mom calls me for dinner. The exchange from earlier seems to be forgotten, but I’m quiet and watchful. This happens whenever the talk of me dating girls comes up. Lying to those closest to me is exhausting, but at any hint at my possible sexuality, I become a knight protecting his kingdom—armed and ready to defend my secret until the very end, or at least until I’m away at college.
Even now when I close my eyes, I can perfectly recall the way Lee Davis started treating me after I told him that I thought I was gay. And every gay kid has heard the stories and watched the movies. We’ve been told we aren’t normal for so long, been punished and ridiculed, that hiding who we are is second nature to us. Sometimes hiding is the difference between life and death. It’s why the closet still exists. It keeps us hidden and, more important, it keeps us safe. Living your truth is important, but sometimes living the lie is what keeps you warm, fed, looked after…breathing. Which is something a lot of people looking in from the outside don’t get.
Oh, times have changed.
No one cares anymore.
Being gay isn’t a big deal.
But it is.
For me, right now, at this dinner table, it is the thing I am most scared of anyone learning. I know that my family loves me, but I’m a puzzle that’s incomplete. If they ever see the full picture, will they feel the same way?
Mom holds out her hand to me. This is a family tradition. We always eat dinner at the table and we always say grace before eating. I put my hand in hers, and Mom closes her eyes and starts to pray.
Saying grace has become a thing that I am conflicted about. I do it more out of habit now than belief. I’m still trying to figure out just where and how I fit into the religion I’ve grown up with.
“Amen,” we all say before we dig in.
I pick at my food with no real appetite.
“Ag man, I promise I cooked, Kai,” Dad says with a chuckle. “So it’s safe to eat.”
Dad was taught to cook by his mother from a very young age. He is the designated chef in the Sheridan household, and if he can’t perform his sacred duty, then a stranger is chosen, and we order takeout.
“It’s good, Dad.” It’s true. Somehow Dad has managed to rescue the casserole—and us—from certain death.
“Any news from Tisch?” Dad asks me. The impending arrival of my letter has become a daily topic. For me, though, it feels like I’m waiting for my very own letter to my very own Hogwarts. Magic and adventure await me, too, in a city where no one knows me, and where I can be my true self. It’s a powerful fantasy.
“Not yet,” I say. “I think I’ll hear any day now.”
“Even if it’s a no, you can still achieve your dreams,” Dad says. “You’re talented and we believe in you.”
“Ew,” Yazz says. “Can we save the kumbaya stuff until after dinner?”
“You’re too young to be this cynical,” Mom says to Yazz. “Life is still meant to be about unicorns and rainbows for you.”
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, Mom. Don’t you read the news?”
“She has a point there, honey,” Dad says with a dry chuckle.
“Why did we have to raise such smart children?” Mom asks no one in particular. “Oh, Kai, the concert is this Friday, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “But I don’t think I need the car anymore. I have a ride.”
Mom and Dad share a look. It’s Mom who asks the question they both want to know the answer to. “With who?”
“A friend.”
“Who exactly is this friend?” Dad asks, just as Mom says, “We’ll have to meet them before we agree to let you travel with them.”
“No, but seriously, who is it? It’s not Priya or Donny, so who?” Dad asks.
Sometimes it’s as clear as day that my parents’ favorite television shows are the ones about detectives. Their third-degree interrogations are expected. It’s almost as if they’re Sherlock and Watson.
“I have other friends, Dad,” I say as I spoon some casserole into my mouth. “And I’ll ask him to come in and say hi.”
“Oh, it’s a him,” Mom says. “That’s disappointing. I hoped it was a date.”
I hold my breath. I don’t want to show any reaction.
“Me too,” Dad says. “I was about ready to give him some dating advice.”
Mom meets my gaze. “If your father ever tries to advise you on how to date, please do the opposite of everything he says. He was truly terrible at it.”
“It worked on you, didn’t it? So it couldn’t have been all bad,” Dad quips.
“I was charmed by how bad and awkward you were.”
“Then Kai won’t have any problems,” Yazz says. “We can all imagine just how bad and awkward he’ll be at dating.”
I force myself to join in on the laughter. For the rest of dinner, I just go through the motions. I analyze everything my parents say to me, looking for any hint that they suspect anything.
After dinner, with a mumbled excuse about homework, I retreat to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. Between these four walls is the only place in my world where I can let my truth fly free.
Are you there, Loneliness? It’s me, Kai.
7
Bryson does text me.
I’m lying on my bed, reading the next few scenes of Romeo and Juliet. It’s a habit of mine to read ahead. I always want to be prepared for the inevitability of being selected to perform. I’m still a bumbling mess whenever I’m assigned a role, but I am certain I’d be one hundred times worse without having done this preparation.
I spot a message from an unknown number and reach for my phone. Another one comes through. I swipe to unlock my phone and open the messages.
Sorry, I meant to message you earlier, but I had to cook.
It’s Bryson btw.
Another message: Keller, that is.
I smile. As if anyone at Fairvale Academy would need the clarification.
I reply: I know. You cook? Color me surprised.
I take this opportunity to save his number. I start entering his name but stop midway before deleting it. Instead, I save him as Kelly. The CIA should seriously recruit teens living in the closet.
Bryson responds: Yes. I am a man of many talents.