The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(51)

The priest chuckles and welcomes me to confess.

I think about telling him I’m gay. It’s the first thing I always confess when I do this. Priests are among the few people I’ve ever uttered my secret to, since they’re sworn to secrecy. But something in me tells me not to this time. I tell him about hurting Bo’s feelings, and getting drunk. I confess all the things I feel guilty about.

But liking girls? I feel like I can be okay with that part of myself, or at least try to, even if others can’t. There’s no point in hating myself over it. Penance is to say a bunch of Hail Marys. I’m sure I’ll get to that eventually.

After school, I rush outside to meet Bo and make sure to give her the hug she deserves. She stiffens up a little, so I back off and clasp my hands behind my back. She isn’t much of a hugger, I guess.

“What was that for?” Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile.

“Um . . . just because you’re awesome.” Unlike Bo, I don’t try to hide my smile. I think we’re about to have a “moment” when Cesar walks past us without saying anything. That’s when I notice that Jamal’s car is pulled up to the curb. I sigh. Jamal puts Cesar first so much that he’s ditching the last half of school to pick us up. I already told him to stop leaving early to pick us up, but I’m not his mom, so I can’t force him. Besides, he’s got so much other shit going on right now that I can hardly blame him for not putting school first.

“I gotta go.” I reach to give Bo another hug but stop myself, since she tensed up the first time. And now I don’t know what to do with my outstretched hand. I blow her a kiss before I realize how gay that is. “Ciao!” I say, because straight Italian people blow kisses, right? God, I’m the worst.

I jog over to the car before I can embarrass myself any more.

“Things are going well with Bo, I see?” Jamal says as I climb into the back seat. He’s discreet enough to wait for the door to close before letting out a laugh.

“Shut up.”

“That’s a yes, right?” Jamal looks to Cesar, who shrugs. He’s not laughing. Not even smiling.

“Hey, you okay?” Jamal asks.

Cesar nods but doesn’t say anything. He’s usually the type to start making jokes when he’s in a bad mood so no one knows he’s upset. Quiet Cesar is new, even for me, and I don’t know how to handle it. Apparently neither does Jamal, because we go the rest of the ride home without a word. Music is blasting to substitute for conversation, but it still feels awkward.

Cesar mumbles a thank-you to Jamal when we get to the house, and walks in on his own.

“Did something happen?” Jamal turns to me.

“We had confession today. Maybe he feels bad about making me spit marshmallows in your face.” The truth is, I have no idea what’s wrong with him. He’ll probably bounce back in an hour. He always does.

Jamal laughs, but there’s no heart in it. We go inside. I would go talk to Cesar, but it looks like Jamal’s got that covered, since he goes straight for Cesar’s room. I take the opportunity to get to work. I already finished my half of the orders, but I still want to make a few more earrings and necklaces before the mercado on Saturday. Being extra prepared helps with the nerves.

When Mom gets home, she starts stringing beads together to fill her half of the orders. As cumbia plays softly in the background, she comments every now and then on how good the necklace I’m making is turning out. We make small talk about her job and the telenovela we’ve been watching. She doesn’t even ask me a single question about Cesar. I’m starting to really enjoy doing this with her. So I try to push the thought aside that this will only last as long as she doesn’t find out the truth about me.

She’s due for a phone upgrade in a month, so she’s waiting until then to get a new phone to replace the one I hid. I would feel guilty about stealing hers if it wasn’t my saving grace right now. I’m desperately trying to scrounge up enough money to move out before she finds out and makes me. That way, if Dad tells her, I won’t be caught off guard.

“So, Mami . . .” I take a breath to build up the courage to ask, “Have you talked to Papi lately?”

“Mhm.” Her rhythm doesn’t stutter. “We’ve been emailing.”

“What?” I squeeze the bead I was holding so hard it flies across the room. She tsks and gets up to grab it.

They talked. Which kills all my hopeless theories about my dad being too busy to respond to me. Did I steal her phone for nothing? Does she already know?

“What did you guys . . . um, talk about?” My heart does a few roundhouse kicks against my chest, but I hold it together.

“Oh, just catching up.”

“Did he have anything, like, interesting to say?”

“He never has anything interesting to say.” She laughs, and I let out my breath. He didn’t tell her. Not yet, at least. And if he’s talking to Mom through email, maybe he still hasn’t seen his phone? But then, if he’s casually emailing my mom, why hasn’t he emailed me? If his phone is broken and he never got my text, what’s keeping him from contacting me?

The pit in my stomach tightens as I rack my brain, searching for something to make it make sense. My dad loves me. He always has. He’s not religious like Mom. When he finally calls me, I can tell him how paranoid I was and we’ll laugh about how ridiculous I’m being.