I nod, and I feel tears prickling.
“You do know I go to Pride every year, right?”
“Yeah, but…”
“And you do know that some of my best friends are queer?”
“Yep.”
“And have I not always told you I’m going to support you wherever you fall on the gender and sexuality spectrum?”
“Well, yeah. But then why were you weird when I came out?”
That catches her off guard. “I didn’t mean to be weird. I was just surprised, that’s all. And for a second, just a second, I started to question our whole relationship. Like, I always thought you told me everything.”
“That’s what I was trying to do.”
She starts smiling.
“What?”
“Nothing?”
“No, what?”
“Oh, it’s just you’re being such a teenager right now. It’s adorable. Okay, back to our serious talk. All right. Mm-hmm, yes, queer teen angst, go on.”
I shake my head and laugh. For the first time in weeks, this feels right. “You’re the worst.”
“I know. But, just so it’s obvious, I think you being into guys is both wonderful and a non-event at the same time. All right?”
“Fine. And, like, you should know I haven’t known for that long, so I did tell you pretty early. I only really figured it out for sure on tour.”
“You must’ve had an inkling, though, right? Being bi isn’t something that comes out of nowhere.”
“Yeah, but I thought it was just a phase, I guess. Like it might go away at some point.”
“I think that’s problematic.”
“Am I going to get canceled?”
“Now you definitely are.”
“Damn it.” I scrub the back of my head. “Seriously, though, I do tell you pretty much everything, the other guys think it’s weird. I just wanted some time to figure this out before I told you. I’m sorry, I just convinced myself you were upset and honestly, it scared the crap out of me.”
“Oh, Zach,” she says, giving me a hug. “I had no idea, and I’m so sorry for fucking up so badly.”
“Let’s just agree we both messed up and move on. Deal?”
“Done.”
We take the coffees, and go over to the coffee table. Cleo hops up and sits between us. I scratch the top of her head, and she stretches out.
“So,” my mom says, sipping her coffee. “Have any boys visited you backstage?”
I almost choke on my coffee. “Mom!”
“Come on, fill me in. What made you figure it out for sure? Or, should I say who?”
I drum my fingers on my legs. “Er, so you know how Ruben is gay?”
Her mouth drops open. “No.”
I grin. “Uh-huh.”
“Shut up. Zach, he’s hot.”
My mom calling my boyfriend hot is kinda weird, and I hope it never happens again. But this time, I’ll let it pass.
“I know.”
She nestles down, getting comfortable. “Go on, tell me ever-e-thing.”
I wasn’t expecting to do this now.
But you know what?
I think I’m going to.
TWENTY-THREE
RUBEN
I pounce on Dad the second he gets back from work.
“They finally told us something,” I say as he removes his coat by the front door. “Apparently it’s the Armstrong Center they checked Angel into. They said it’s too early to know if he’ll be back up and running when he’s out, but he is having daily physical therapy there, so, that’s something, right?”
It’s not much information, but compared to the vague updates we’ve gotten from Chorus over the past two weeks since arriving home, it’s practically a gold mine. Much more helpful than “Angel’s doing well,” and, “we can confirm narcotics rehab will be going ahead,” and “we’ll be back up and running as soon as possible.”
As for Angel, we all FaceTimed him a couple of times from his hospital bed, but the last time we spoke, right before he was discharged, he was almost as in the dark as us about how long his recovery would take. Then, once he left the hospital, we stopped hearing from him altogether. Logically, I know it was because he was checked into rehab somewhere, but without knowing exactly where he was or how long he’d be there, it’s felt a little like he’s been “disappeared” by Chorus.
Dad quirks a bushy eyebrow at me. “Hi to you, too. My day was great, thanks for asking.”
“Sorry. Hi.” I walk with him through the spacious, clean-lined hallway to the living room. “I got excited. What do you think?”