Like a Love Story(79)
I look at my mom, who nods her head. “Sara Massey,” she says. “She was a friend of mine, too.”
“Sara Massey,” Stephen says wistfully. “I lied to her for almost a year. What I did to her wasn’t kind, but I did it because I was scared. I did it because I thought the alternative was being called a fag, being beaten up. And on some level, I was trying to convince myself that I might be straight. I wanted to want her.”
“Fine,” I say. “I get it. But you weren’t living in New York City. And it was a totally different era. Things have changed.”
“Not much,” he says.
I shrug. “What you said explains what Reza did,” I say. “But not what Art did. Art didn’t date me because he wanted to be straight. He lied to me when I was his best friend.”
“I know he did,” Uncle Stephen says. “I think he felt ashamed of his feelings for Reza, and he didn’t know how to tell you. What he did wasn’t right, but it doesn’t make him a bad person. It just makes him a human being.”
All I can think of to say is “But Reagan and Jesse Helms are human beings, and that doesn’t mean they need to be our best friends.”
“Are they human beings?” Jimmy asks. “I always thought they were some sort of subspecies.”
We all laugh, even my dad, mostly because we just need to laugh. I don’t think my dad even hates Reagan all that much. He gives him a lot of credit for the fall of the Berlin Wall.
“There’s something that would mean a lot to me,” Uncle Stephen says. “Come to Maryland with us. Me, Jimmy, Art, Reza. We’ll all be at the NIH protest.”
“Oh Stephen,” my mom says, “that can’t be a good idea. You’ll be so far from your doctors.”
“The protests are what keep me going,” Stephen says.
“Let us take care of you,” my mom says.
“You know I’m not good at that,” Uncle Stephen says. “Besides, I’ll be protesting outside the National Institutes of Health. If something happens, who better to treat me than them?”
My mom rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible,” she says.
“Agreed,” Jimmy says. “Impossible, and impossibly hard to resist, so please say yes, Judy. We want you there. It would be very meaningful for your uncle.”
I know I’ll go. I would walk barefoot across the equator for him. But I don’t want to be the only woman in our group. I’m done with that. I know now that it’s nice to have another woman by my side, someone who sees things from my perspective and can support me in different ways than Art and even Uncle Stephen can. And so I say something that surprises even me. “I’ll go on one condition,” I say. “That you come with me, Mom.”
My mom looks at me in surprise. “Me? I’m not really much of a protester.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Uncle Stephen says. “Come on, Bonnie.”
“When is it?”
“May twenty-first,” Stephen says. “It’s on a Monday, but we’re going for the weekend, because I have a surprise planned.”
“What surprise?” my mom asks. “I hate surprises.”
“Let me take care of you,” Uncle Stephen says. “Stop worrying.”
“Judy has school on Mondays. And I have book club that Sunday. I can’t skip . . .”
“Mom, those ladies in pastel will forgive you for missing one book club. And what’s the point of reading all these self-help books about being your best self if you don’t live what they’re saying? This is important.”
My mom looks to my dad, who nods. “I’m good with my girls going on this field trip,” he says. I see my dad and Stephen make eye contact, probably because they both referred to me and my mom as their girls. They have that in common. They’ve shared us all these years.
“Okay, fine,” my mom says. “As if going to Paris wasn’t living on the edge enough, now we’re going to Maryland. Who am I?”
“You’re Bonnie Bowman,” Uncle Stephen says. “Mom and sister of the century, and the very latest member of ACT UP.”
My mom the activist. I never thought I’d see this day. For the next half hour, we reminisce about Paris, about everything we ate and saw and all the clothes we tried on but couldn’t afford to buy. Then the hot doctor comes back and says that Stephen should rest, and Stephen loudly says that the doctor is just trying to get rid of us so that the two of them can be alone. We all leave, and as we do, my mom turns to me and says, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how late you were tonight. I expect you to tell me everything.” Everything. The punch. The spin the bottle game. Saadi’s hairy, thick body on top of me. I feel myself blush.
“Risky Business,” I say.
“What?” she asks.
“That’s the movie Annabel and I were watching. It’s so good. Annabel has a total Tom Cruise thing. She’s seen that movie, like, twenty times, and she knows Cocktail by heart.”
My mom gives me a side-eye. I know she doesn’t believe me, and I know I’m lying to someone I love. But it doesn’t make me a bad person, I tell myself. It just makes me a human being.
#76 Madonna