“Help me move the boxes?” Jon asks Zach and me. We set about transporting the pizza from the kitchen counter to the coffee table and end tables. The dining table is only big enough for four people, so setting us up in the living room on the couches and armchairs was the best call.
“It’s good of you to squeeze us all in,” Mom’s saying to Mrs. Braxton. “If I’d thought of it, I would’ve offered our house. There’s more room for guests, and it has LAX.”
Zach’s head snaps up. He’s gripping a pizza box so tightly it’s buckling. He stays silent, though. Jon merely rolls his eyes.
“It’s no trouble,” Mrs. Braxton says. “I just wanted this done as quickly as possible. I’m so furious I could just, argh. I figured we need wine, and pizza, and an action plan.”
“Well,” Mom says, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. “I think we’re all furious. Chorus Management has no right to do this,” Mom says, repeating her heated words from last night. In her rage, she seems to have forgotten that Mrs. Braxton’s husband is our manager. “Our boys are the hardest workers I’ve ever seen, and they’re talented, and they’re good kids. And as for whether they come out or not, it was never management’s decisions to begin with.”
Exactly what she said to me last night, after I collected myself. Then she placed her hands on my shoulders. You’re my son. If they mess with you, they mess with me.
The words were meant to be supportive, but I was left feeling confused, and a little empty. Because the message received was, I’m the only one who’s allowed to hurt and limit you. And as grateful as I was to ultimately have my parents’ support, and for things to not be made worse than they were, it didn’t feel the same as real support. It didn’t feel the same as unconditional.
As she let go of my shoulders, I was reminded of the night of Angel’s accident, when I’d gotten sucked into the crowd. It was the crowd that’d almost drowned me, and then it was the crowd that saved me. It hit me that it had felt awfully familiar. It was the same sensation as receiving my mom’s version of love my whole life.
The elevator dings, and the doors open to reveal Mr. and Mrs. Phan, as well as Angel, and the noise levels in the apartment suddenly seem to quadruple. In the midst of the bustling as everyone relocates to the living room to get started, Mrs. Phan comes face-to-face with Jon, and she stops in her tracks, staring at him.
Jon cocks his head as he seems to realize she has something to say. “Hi,” he says, a question tingeing the edges of his tone.
“Hi,” she says warmly. She hesitates, then powers forward with her arms out and wraps Jon in a hug. He keeps his eyes open, wide and confused, as she squeezes him. “Reece told us you’re the reason he got help. We wouldn’t have known. Anything could’ve happened. Thank you.”
Mrs. Braxton watches with wobbling lips. When Jon’s released by Mrs. Phan, Mrs. Braxton holds her arms out from where she’s sitting in an armchair, and he sits on the armrest so she can wrap her arms around his middle.
Angel dives straight into the pizza, and Zach and I follow his lead. “I’m starving,” he proclaims, shoving a slice in his mouth as he scrolls his phone. “Hey, we’re trending.”
“Reece,” Mr. Phan admonishes. “How about you try swallowing?”
Angel ignores him. “Anjon, Zuben … Save Saturday is a hashtag now. Chorus is trending, too! Mind you, they’re probably enjoying the publicity boost…”
“Who are Anjon and Zuben?” Laura asks.
Zach turns bright red. “They’re our ship names.”
“And what’s a ship name?”
“Aren’t ship names usually female?” Mr. Phan asks.
“No, Dad, that would be a literal ship,” Angel says. “I feel like if you thought on that for more than a second, logic would tell you that Twitter is not collectively discussing a literal ship.”
“Reece, don’t talk to your father like that,” Mrs. Phan chides. “And tone down the sass, please, we adults don’t speak your nonsense Internet talk, remember?”
“It’s short for relationship, I believe,” Mrs. Braxton says sweetly. “Jonathan, would you like to tell me more about ‘Anjon’？”
“Actually, there is nothing I would like less in the world than to talk about Anjon with you, Mom,” Jon says. “All you need to know about Anjon is that it doesn’t exist.”