Decorations cover so much of Bo’s house; statues of lions, dragons, and Buddha are everywhere. There are fans and paintings with writing I don’t understand on the walls between family portraits. I’m almost surprised to see in the pictures that both of Bo’s parents are white, even though she’d already told me they were, because of all the Chinese decorations.
Bo sees me looking at a Chinese painting, and it’s as if she just read my mind. “I know what it looks like, but my parents aren’t those white people. The orientalist kind who adopt a kid from China so they can be closer to “the culture.” Not that I was adopted from China. My birth parents were, like, second or third generation, I think.” There’s something in Bo’s voice that doesn’t quite match what she’s saying about her parents, though. Like maybe she’s a little insecure about the subject.
“Oh.” I nod, not really knowing what else to say. Her parents may not be those white people, but I wonder if Bo is cool with the way they plaster her heritage to any surface it fits.
Another dog greets us when we get up the stairs. I recognize him as a Mexican Xolo dog—gray and hairless, with big ears and a fluffy tuft on top of its head. They’re kind of known for being funny-looking. There’s another living room up here, plus Bo’s room, a guest room, and a study.
“Dante!” Amber squats down to scratch the dog’s ears. It seems Bo might be a fan of the movie Coco. That definitely gives her points in my book, since it’s one of my all-time favorites.
The vibe in Bo’s room is totally different from the rest of the house. There’s an abstract rainbow mural covering two of the walls, while the other walls are littered with drawings and paintings. Some are framed and some are just tacked up, a few of them overlapping. They all have Bo’s signature in the bottom corner, even the ones that were clearly drawn when she was, like, three. She’s really talented. The paintings she’s done more recently look like they could be straight-up photographs. Among all the images, she has portraits of Amber, David, and both her dogs. But what I can’t stop staring at is the mural. It’s not neat like the other pictures, but it somehow feels . . . happy? It’s like an army of rainbow bombs going off in front of the sun.
“Sorry for my super-gay room,” Bo says when she realizes I’m staring at the mural. “You’ll have to get used to that.”
I laugh. The things I would give to have a super-gay room. Seems like the dream.
Amber and Bo sit on the bed. Sitting on someone’s bed is at least a level-three friend privilege, so I take the desk chair.
“So, your parents are pretty supportive, huh?” I wish I didn’t say that. Gay stuff is the number one topic I should be avoiding.
“You mean about me being gay? Yeah, they’re cool.”
Amber and Bo keep talking, but I’m in my feelings. I can’t help the pang of jealousy in my gut. I couldn’t imagine ever coming out to my mom. At least not anytime soon. Maybe if I ever move out of the country, I’ll tell her then. She’s just so old-fashioned. The epitome of an Overprotective, Old-School, God-Fearing Mexican?.
Gregory interrupts the conversation when he pushes the door open with his nose and struggles to hop onto the bed. The dog has great timing, I’ll give him that.
“What kind of dog is that?” I ask.
“He’s a pit-bull–basset-hound mix. Isn’t he ugly?” Amber says while absentmindedly stretching out one of her blond curls until it’s straight.
Gregory has a big pit-bull head, but his face is a little droopier than your usual pit. And he has short but buff legs, and a long basset-hound body, complete with floppy ears.
Bo covers Gregory’s giant ears. “Shhh, he’s beautiful.”
“I guess he’s kind of cute,” I laugh. “In a so-ugly-he’s-cute kind of way.”