Letters to Nowhere(78)

“Battling them about what?”

“Catholic boy likes boys…”

The reality sank in slowly, and finally Tony made sense. A lot of sense. “Oh. Wow.”

“Please don’t try to talk to him about it or anything like that,” Jordan said. “He’s only managed to say it out loud once to me and I doubt he’s told anyone else, and every time he tries to talk to his parents about it, he hits a brick wall and then he starts going on about how there’s something wrong with him, and then he rationalizes it by saying he hasn’t actually done anything wrong yet.”

“Man…”

“It’s like he thinks if he doesn’t ever act on his feelings, he won’t actually be gay,” Jordan said. “I keep telling him I don’t think it works like that.”

“What do you think his parents will do if he tells them?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. They’re fighting so much because they’ve probably already guessed. I guessed it freshman year.” Jordan ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing the bump on his head. “At some point, though, it really doesn’t matter what they think. He is who he is and they either have to accept that, or not. And he’s got to accept the fact that they might not accept it.”

I leaned back against my seat, feeling heavier all of sudden. “Sometimes I hate reality.”

“And sometimes the right breast is bigger than the left, and you just have to accept it,” Jordan said.

I laughed really hard and punched him in the shoulder. “I’m totally not letting you look now.”


March 31

Jordan,




It’s totally possibly that I might totally be in love with you.




Love, (99.9% sure) Karen




When we got back home, Coach Bentley was the living room with his laptop. Jordan must have either sensed my need to talk to his dad or he was still avoiding serious conversation after last night, because he headed right for the stairs after seeing me take a seat in the recliner across from the couch.

“Today I told Coach Cordes that I wanted to compete at Nationals,” I said before he even glanced up from his laptop. When he did look up at me, I furiously rubbed at my mouth. Could he tell I’d been making out with his son? Was there physical evidence of it?

“He mentioned that to me,” Bentley said, giving me no indication of his feelings on the subject.

“I should have asked you first, though. I shouldn’t assume that I can stay—”

Bentley raised a hand to stop me and shook his head. “Of course you can stay, and I think you made the right choice. Let’s see how things go in Chicago, and then we’ll decide if we need to make plans beyond August. Until then, you’re still eligible to compete at UCLA next season. I reminded Coach Cordes of this today. The rules are very clear.”

I exhaled. “Okay.”

There. A very big–girl move on my part, and it hadn’t been as difficult as I’d built it up in my head all these months. Maybe because I’d imagined convincing my mom and dad of this and not my coach, whose job it was to train elite gymnasts.

I stood up and hesitated before walking upstairs. Bentley lifted an eyebrow and said, “Anything else on your mind?”

Yes, my routines, your picky hard–ass coaching. But Jordan had said to give it more time. I forced a smile. “Nope, that’s it.”

***

After two hours of attempting to fall back to sleep after another horrible car–jumping nightmare, I decided to go downstairs and get a snack or watch TV.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with this idea. Tony was sprawled out on the couch watching The Simpsons in his boxers and a T–shirt. It was a tribute to the months I’d now spent inside a man–house that I didn’t blush or giggle at the sight of Tony’s boxers. Instead, I grabbed a container of fruit and a jar of peanut butter from the kitchen before sitting down on the far end of the couch.

“Which episode is this?” I asked.

He glanced at me and smiled like he hadn’t seen me come down the stairs. “The one where Homer gambles all the Christmas money away and brings Santa’s Little Helper home from the racetrack.” He sat up and leaned closer to look at my snack. “You’re putting peanut butter on cantaloupe?”

“Don’t knock it until you try it.”

He sighed and grabbed a piece of melon, sticking it in the peanut butter, wrinkling his nose before tossing it into his mouth. “That’s terrible!”

“Maybe it’s different for me.” I shrugged. “I can put peanut butter on almost everything.”

Tony picked at the fruit in the container, pulling out a red grape and popping it in his mouth without peanut butter. “What’s your excuse for being up at two in the morning? Or is this when you and Jordy usually—”

I tossed another grape at him, hitting him in the cheek. “That is none of your business, but no, that’s not why I’m up.”

I pulled my knees to my chest and curled up in the corner of the couch. Maybe telling Tony would help me, maybe it would help him tell me his secret. Not that I wanted to have an awkward conversation about his sexuality, but if it helped him to practice telling people…

“I have nightmares,” I said finally. “I think it’s because I don’t know what happened that night with my parents.”