A hand rests on my shoulder, and I turn to find Zach. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face tells me he knows something’s up with me.
“What happens if my mom turns on me after this?” I ask.
Zach tips his chin away from the tent entrance, and I follow him to a secluded corner. Well, at least, as secluded as we can pull off under these circumstances. No one should be able to hear us over the din, but he keeps his voice low. “If she turns on you for telling the world who you are, she’s lost the right to call herself your mom, if she didn’t lose that right a while ago already. She doesn’t get a say in this anymore, Ruben. You’re not a little kid. You’re an incredible, inspiring person, and it should be her who’s worried about losing her place in your life.”
A sad smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Logically, I know that. But this isn’t theoretical anymore. Specifically, what do I do if she calls me after this and tells me not to come home?”
“The house you paid for, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Then you get off the plane in Portland with me, and we go straight to my mom’s, or a hotel room, or wherever the hell we want, and we figure out what the next steps are together. No matter what happens, you’ll never be alone, though. You know that, right?”
“Thank you,” I whisper. I’m not afraid of losing my home. Money might not be able to buy everything, but with as much of it as I have, I can buy everything I need to live in a heartbeat. I can wake up tomorrow and put in an offer on a sprawling mansion in the Hollywood Hills, fully furnish it, and be set up in the time it takes to finalize the paperwork. I know that, in that respect at least, I’m blessed. But what I am afraid of is losing my family. For better or for worse, they’re still mine. And even if I am getting more comfortable with the idea of leaving them—or, at least Mom—behind, that doesn’t mean there won’t be a tidal wave of grief.
Zach continues, gentle but certain. “And that doesn’t just go for today, okay? If you ever decide you’re done, even if it’s four in the morning, you can come straight to me. I know she’s your mom, but that doesn’t make it a compulsory relationship. We’re your family, too.”
I sink against the wall of the tent. “I don’t think I’m ready for that, yet.”
“I know. But if you ever are, you don’t have to be afraid. That’s all.”
I nod, but don’t reply.
Zach lets his thumb brush mine, blocking the touch from sight with the angle of his body, and adds, “Plus, there’s more options than ‘living at home’ and ‘no contact.’ You can try creating some space, and see how that goes.”
“True.”
“You should hit up Jon and Angel, see if they’re ready to move out yet. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on Angel.”
I think he means it as a joke about Angel’s personality, rather than a reference to his ongoing recovery, but the words jolt me. What is going to happen with Angel when things pick up again? When we go on our next tour, for example? Will Chorus keep an eye on Angel? Will he be looked after, and supported to stay sober—a feat that’s going to be difficult enough for him to begin with, without added stressors? Or will they put him right back in the pressure cooker that triggered all of this to begin with?
I think I know the answer, and it fills me with a rage I try to shove back down. I can’t think of all the reasons I hate Chorus right now. I need a clear mind for what we’re about to do. So I focus on Zach’s suggestion. “Just the three of us living together?”
“Well, if all three of you did, I’d obviously want in on that. You’re not leaving me out of all the fun.” I raise my eyebrows meaningfully, and he scowls. “Not like a ‘move in with me’ type thing. I’d want my own room, still.”
“Right. I don’t like you that much,” he says, rolling his eyes, but his scowl is turning into a smile despite himself.
“Mm-hmm. Waking up with you every day. I’d hate that.”
“Eating meals together, sharing a shower with you. It sounds awful.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you, too.” His voice is low and thick.
A producer in jeans and a red shirt strides over to us. “Sound check in a minute, guys. Time to head on up.”
Zach looks to me, takes a deep, heavy breath, and we exhale together. We head to the lockers to deposit our phones, and as I take mine out, almost as if on cue, it starts to vibrate with a call from Mom.