If This Gets Out(92)

In other words, she’s advocating for the racehorse route? The horse injures a leg, so he gets shot and replaced? The words bubble up, tempting me, but I don’t dare say them. I’m offended enough to push back as far as I can get away with, though. “We wouldn’t do that to our friend.”

Mom tries to exchange an exasperated look with Dad, who has one of his really, right after I finish work? expressions on. They’ve both made multiple comments over the past couple weeks about how abrasive I’ve been since I went on tour. How much less agreeable. Well, Mom’s made comments, and Dad’s hmmed, which is close enough to count. “Don’t be so dramatic, Ruben,” she says. “It’s just business. The band matters more than the individuals.”

“He’s not replaceable.”

“Everyone’s replaceable. And if you have to choose between Angel and your career, I hope you make the right choice.”

Everyone’s replaceable. Just like Zach and me, if we dare to show ourselves to the world. Just like Jon, if he pushes against his dad’s wishes one time too many.

Good to know I can’t count on my parents for support if I lose everything I have for being a little too gay. In this house, we put up walls to block the atrocities from the eyes of the paying spectators and shoot the limping horse. Call it exhaustion. Move on with the race.

“It’s not like it’s up to me,” I say dully.

“That sounds like a convenient excuse to not have to think about your future,” Mom shoots back.

“Do you think I want to be here?” I ask. “It’s not like I’ve loved being left out of the loop like this. But if Chorus doesn’t want us to know the long-term plan yet, it either doesn’t exist, or they don’t want our feedback. Either way, it’s not up to us.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Uh-huh. And swanning around the house for two weeks is definitely doing your best.”

“It’s not a vacation.”

“But you’re treating it like one!”

“I’m not. I’m still working out, I’m rehearsing…”

“You’ve barely been on social media.”

“Chorus doesn’t want us to be on it right now.”

“Ruben, stop talking to me like I’m your enemy. I’m trying to help you bounce some ideas around! What about when Zach visits tomorrow? I’m sure you can do a livestream or something to keep the band on the radar. If you message David tonight, you’ll have approval by tomorrow. It’s called being proactive. You’re an adult now; familiarize yourself with the concept.”

I ignore the dig. “That’s the last thing they’ll ever approve. They’re terrified of the public finding out about Zach and me. They won’t even let us get photographed standing next to each other, let alone film ourselves without Jon at my house.”

It’s the first time I’ve mentioned the censorship to my parents. I say it with as much emotion as I can, so they can’t possibly miss how I feel about it. I guess, in a way, it’s a test. I want them to probe. To lean forward, and say, What do you mean? That’s not okay. Do you want to talk about it? How can we help?

Instead, Dad takes out his phone and mutters “work email,” and Mom’s face clouds. “Well … do you think it’s wise for him to come over at all, then? Maybe you should wait until the next gathering…”

I stare, aghast. “Are you serious? Mom, seeing Zach in private is all I have. He’s my boyfriend.”

“The question is, how serious are you, Ruben? You have the opportunity of a lifetime. Don’t throw it away on a high school relationship.”

I’m so hurt, so outraged, I can’t form a reply. Even Dad must think it’s gone too far, because he stretches, and gets up. “All right. I’m gonna have a shower before dinner.”

Mom and I face each other down. She chews on her bottom lip, doing her best to tell me how extremely disappointed in me she is with her face. It’s not exactly an unfamiliar expression to me. I can read her perfectly.

“We’ve already eaten,” she says to him finally, following him out. “There’s some ensalada Rusa in the fridge, and I can reheat you some tortilla from last night, if you don’t mind having that twice in a row…”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” he says, his voice fading as they leave the living room.

That’s Dad’s usual contribution when Mom and I face down. Changing the subject, distraction, or escaping. It has a pretty good success rate as a de-escalation technique. Though it’d be nice if, just once, he had my back instead of shutting the conversation down. But he does like to take the easy, nonconfrontational route wherever possible.

Holy shit, did I just describe Zach or my dad?

I pull a face and turn to my phone to distract myself. I’m not in the mood for Freudian introspection tonight, thanks all the same.

There are messages from Zach and Jon waiting, as well as a missed FaceTime call from Zach. Obviously, they’ve both read the update email from Chorus.

Jon: Dad said Angel’s not allowed to take any calls while he’s checked in, but we can send him a message if we’re happy for it to be read by the staff there first. I’m going to put something together tonight. Anything specific you want me to say from you?