Riding With Brighton(64)
“All right. See you soon.”
As I hang up the phone, I’m smiling like an idiot, but the fear’s there too… the fear over what I’m about to walk into. And the fear that I’m willing to do just about anything for this kid.
AS I walk into Jay’s room, I can’t help but smile. “It looks exactly how I thought it would,” I tell him, looking around the clean, crisp, well-organized, preppy bedroom.
“You spend a lot of time thinking about what my bedroom looks like?” he says, wagging his eyebrows at me.
“Since you left me? Yeah, I have been. I thought I’d have to wait a little longer to actually see it, though. That shit you and your dad just told me is crazy. What’s up with that?”
I just spent over an hour getting to know Jay’s dad. Beyond cool was the correct phrase to describe him. There was absolutely zero awkwardness even when we brushed on the fact that Jay and I are more than friends. And when they told me about Jay’s mom and her dad, and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching over and grabbing on to Jay’s hand. Jay didn’t flinch and Tom didn’t even seem to notice.
But, Jesus, that story was horrendous. I don’t want to tell Jay what I’ve been thinking, which is, She’s never going to be okay with this. The good thing is my other constant thought is, At least Jay has his dad. At least he’s not alone in this house.
He plops down on a small sofa because, yes, his room is gigantic and there is a sofa facing a large screen TV that’s mounted to the wall. I join him, sitting close enough that my splayed out leg is touching his but not so close that I’m tempted to do anything besides listen to him.
“It’s crazy, Brighton. I had no idea.” He laughs and shakes his head like it’s still unbelievable to him.
“Have you talked to her?”
“Naw. She won’t even look at me.” And then I see it—for the first time since I showed up; he looks devastated.
I reach over and grab ahold of his leg. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “It’s okay. She’s gonna have to talk to me about it eventually. And I think I got somewhere with Ty. I mean, he’s totally disgusted by me, but it was the first time we’ve really talked in years. I told him about Len, and I think it kind of sunk in. I mean, I think he kind of gets that our mom is being a little irrational.
“Then he showed me his Facebook page and all the shit people are posting on there about me. I was expecting him to be all ‘you ruined my life,’ but instead he was like ‘I’m gonna kick their asses.’” He shakes his head and laughs. “I could feel the bond between us—the whole brotherhood thing, you know. And I wasn’t expecting that. I think it was good.”
“If you guys can talk about it and work it out together, that’ll be good. For all of you.”
“Yeah. I think you might be right.” He lets out a long breath and relaxes into the couch.
I relax too, and then I look around his room. I wasn’t kidding—it looks exactly how I thought it would: all cream and navy blue, shelves of trophies and medals, a brand-new computer sitting on a well-organized mahogany desk, books lined up neatly on a matching bookshelf, professionally framed pictures of stadiums and jerseys and signed balls hanging on the walls. “So how much of this is you?” I ask him.
He lets out a huffy laugh as his gaze roams the room. “Yesterday I was kind of thinking none of it, you know? But before yesterday I had myself convinced that I couldn’t be myself and also be gay… that the two things could never coexist. But I think I was wrong. I mean, I hope I was wrong because I don’t have the mental strength to change one more thing about my life right now.” He pauses, his eyes focused on the corner of his room. “Actually, most of those books on that shelf. I hate them all.”
I narrow my eyes and am able to recognize a few male thriller authors. “But you read them?”
“Yeah, I have. I don’t know. Now that I know where my mom’s coming from—the lengths she’s gone to create an environment where I would turn out straight—I guess a lot of this stuff feels like props. I mean, she’s the one who put all this stuff in my room—including the books. It all feels contrived now. I’ve accepted the fact that I really do love playing sports—that it is a huge part of who I am….” He pauses and glances around his room. “But shit… it’s seriously like a recipe for manliness in here. Even those games.” He nods at his video game setup. “I guess if I think too hard, I could start doubting every moment of my life. I guess I could pick it apart and see how everything has been planned and plotted. I guess I could go back and think about the choices I would have made if my mom wasn’t making them for me. I guess I could start feeling, again, like I’m not who I think I am.”
“Don’t do that,” I tell him.
“I’m trying really hard not to.”
I lie back and pull him into my arms. “You know who you are, Jay. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have had the courage to do the things you’ve been doing.”
“I do know who I am. And all of this is part of me, but there’s more to me. There are things inside of me that aren’t part of this room. That aren’t part of my life yet.”
“You want to get rid of some of this stuff, you know, so you can make room for the other parts?”