The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(57)

“Yeah. How long are you in town for?” I ask eagerly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Before you leave, can you come over sometime and take a video with me? To send to my dad.”

“Leave where? And, um, are you sure Cesar would be okay with that?” Jamal asks.

“Back to New Mexico? You’re staying with your cousin, right?” I say slowly, second-guessing my entire life. What is going on? “Why wouldn’t Cesar be okay with it?”

“New Mexico? Yami, I’m staying with my cousin in Phoenix. Cesar and I . . . we broke up. . . .” His voice cracks a little. “He didn’t tell you?”

I open my mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a tiny croak. He most definitely did not tell me. Jamal never even left the state. I finally manage to choke out an apology, then hang up and go to Cesar’s room. He’s doing homework on his bed. He doesn’t look up at me until I sit next to him.

“So . . . um, how are you?” I ask. I give him a look that is supposed to psychically tell him to just open up to me about what happened with Jamal.

“Good?” He squints at me. I squint back.

“What happened with you and Jamal?” I get to the point. If I don’t, I’ll grow a frickin’ beard before we’re done dancing in circles. I’m fully prepared to break our “only ask once” rule, but he actually gives me a straight answer.

“We broke up.” He says it like it’s no big deal.

“What? Why?” The whole day at the mercado and he didn’t let on once. How freaking clueless can I be?

“Don’t worry, you can still use him as your fake boyfriend.” I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic.

“Are you okay, though?”

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” He always does this. And I’m never prepared for him to turn it around on me. Let’s see how he likes it when I double-whammy him.

“I’m fine, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, are you okay?” he asks again, grinning. We could go back and forth like this for ages. Maybe if I open up a little, it’ll encourage him to open up, too?

“Have you heard from Dad?” I ask.

“Yeah, he sent me a video this morning, but I haven’t watched it yet.”

“Pull it up.” I scoot closer so I can look at his phone over his shoulder.

Cesar opens the Marco Polo app and plays the video from Dad. Seeing his face makes me want to cry, I miss him so much.

“Hola, Peke! I gotta show you something.” My dad is the only one Cesar lets call him “Peke,” short for peque?o, because Cesar has always been short for his age, and skipping a grade makes him seem even smaller. The camera moves to face a lake in the middle of a plaza. He zooms in on a brown duck with a bunch of fuzz on its head. He’s laughing. The camera goes back to his face. “Do you remember Canela? Doesn’t she look just like her? I thought you might like that.” He keeps laughing, and the video ends.

My throat contracts. Dad used to take Cesar and me to the park to feed the ducks when we were little. Canela was the only duck with a ball of fuzz perpetually stuck to her head, so she was our favorite. We “adopted” her and looked for her specifically every time we went to the park. I was there with them, but Dad only wanted to tell Cesar.

The video was sent this morning. Which confirms again that he could have responded to me but didn’t. He could have responded to me a hundred times by now. And he’s talking to Cesar about something I was involved in. I want to throw up.

There’s no avoiding it anymore. My dad, my idol, who was once upon a time the most trusted person in my life, wants nothing to do with me.

It’s such bullshit that there’s a stigma around being closeted. We get shit for “living a lie” just because we want to survive. I don’t want to keep losing everyone I’m close to. I don’t want to get disowned and kicked out of my house. It’s self-preservation, not dishonesty. I don’t owe anyone the truth, and I’ll take my damn time with talking about it. Maybe never a-fucking-gain.

It’s not like I can come out once and be done with it, either. I came out six times already. To Bianca, Cesar, Hunter, Jamal, my dad, and Bo. Maybe Bo doesn’t count, since I don’t think she got the message. But if I’m “living a lie,” then so is every straight person who’s never “come out” to every single person in their life about their sexuality. I shouldn’t have to talk about it if I don’t want to. I don’t want to have to tell everyone. Not after how Dad reacted. Or didn’t.

“You good?” Cesar asks.

I shake my head and wipe my nose.

“You mad at him or something?”

I shake my head again and leave for my room before he sees me cry. Maybe this opening-up thing can wait.

Cesar and I are both quiet during dinner.

“You haven’t mentioned Jamal lately. ?Qué pasó?” Mom asks.

“Um . . .” I glance at Cesar. He stabs his enchilada with his fork and keeps his eyes on his food. He did say I could keep fake-dating him. . . .

“Nothing, we’re fine,” I say. “He’s back in town now.”

“I thought you guys broke up,” Cesar says coldly, and I have to resist rolling my eyes at him—he’s so fickle. He takes another jab at his plate with his fork without putting any food in his mouth. What does he want from me?