The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(59)

She pulls me back into the hug. I love my mom. I’ll enjoy her hugs for now, before she decides she wants nothing to do with me after hearing Dad’s side of the story. He’ll probably tell her when they visit. A selfish part of me wants to convince her not to go, but I know Cesar would never forgive me if I ruined this for him. Frankly, I wouldn’t forgive myself.

I should probably warn Cesar. If he’s going to be spending time with Dad, he should know how he really feels about people like us. I follow him to his room.

“Can I help you?” he says when he realizes I’m following him.

“I came out to Dad,” I whisper as I walk in and close the door behind me.

“What? What’d he say?”

“Nothing. I texted him after the homecoming party. I still haven’t heard from him.”

“Oh . . .” He rubs his head. “Maybe he never got it?”

“He got it,” I snap.

“How do you know?”

“Because I know! I sent him a video, too. And he hasn’t said shit.”

“Seriously, you can’t convince me not to go, if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“I just want you to be careful. But why would you even want to go if you know he’s homophobic? If he finds out about you, he won’t treat you any different.” I immediately feel bad for saying it, even though it’s true.

“You’re so dramatic! He probably just didn’t see your text.”

“Then why’d he send you a video and not me? Canela was my duck just as much as yours!” I’m crying again.

“Goddamn it, Yami, not everything is about you!” He hits his fist on his desk.

I step back. Cesar raising his voice at me is enough to make the tears stop, out of surprise more than anything.

“He’s allowed to talk to me first sometimes! Dad sent me a video because he knew I was having a shit day. Can you just let me deal with my own shit for one day? I can’t talk about this with you.” He’s shaking now.

“Well I’m having a shit day too! Why won’t he talk to me?” I know I’m not being fair. It’s not Cesar’s fault that Dad hates me.

“Maybe because you don’t know how to leave people the fuck alone! Not every problem is yours to fix! You’re always in my business. With Jamal, football, and now with Dad . . . Just let me do what I want to do for once! He’s my dad too!”

“What are you talking about? If I didn’t cover for you—”

“I never asked you to cover for me! I never asked you to date Jamal or come to Slayton! You can’t keep me away from Dad just because he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

I hate that I can’t stop crying. And I hate that he’s right.

“He won’t talk to me. . . .” It finally hits me when I say it out loud. Another sob escapes.

Cesar sighs, and his voice softens. “Shit, Yami, he’s probably busy or something.”

I can’t keep talking about Dad, or I won’t be able to stop crying. I just leave.

Maybe I need to give Cesar some space. I need to deal with my own shit and let him deal with his. He’s right about that, and if he wants me to leave him alone so bad, I will. But he’s wrong about our dad.

Bo’s dad is calling me. Early. It’s Sunday and I’m not really trying to be awake yet. I know I gave Bo’s parents my number, but I never expected them to actually call. I answer because I still want to make a better impression on them—can’t leave them thinking I’m a drunken mess.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Yamilet?”

“Yeah, hi, Mr. Taylor,” I say, trying to match his upbeat tone.

“Please, call me Rick.”

“Okay, what’s up?”

“I have a problem I think you can help solve.” He sounds like an infomercial, and it’s hard not to laugh.

“Yeah?”

“I’m making some pies.”

“Okay . . .”

“And there’s no way Emma, Bo, and I will be able to eat them all on our own. We need your help, Yamilet.” His tone is urgent, like he’s dispatching me on an important mission.

“Dad! Stop calling my friends!” Bo shouts in the background.

“She’s my friend too. Right, Yamilet?” I can hear the grin on his face, and I laugh. There are sounds of a struggle on the line, and then Bo’s voice instead of her dad’s. Her voice alone gives me butterflies.

“Sorry about my dad. He’s just . . . like that. He gets bored and starts baking way too much sometimes. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. But there will be pie. A lot of it. If you do want to.”

“What kind of pie?”

Bo echoes my question to her dad, and he shouts out the answer loud enough for me to hear.

“Pumpkin, apple, cherry! You like something else, I’ll make it!”

I laugh again. “That sounds awesome. I’ll see if I can get a ride.”

“Great! Cesar can come, too, if he wants!”

“I think he’s busy.” Lie. I’ve been avoiding him since our fight.

Amber is out of town for break, so it’s just me and David going to Bo’s. I’m relieved Hunter wasn’t invited, too, because then I’d surely have to invite Cesar. Sometimes I forget Hunter isn’t as close to Bo as me, David, and Amber. Today, I’m grateful for it.