Chapter 32 Gabriel
GAbrIEL
The next day, Taylor drove us to my volleyball tournament. We were in his Honda Civic, with the windows rolled down and his hand on my thigh.
“Yesss,” I shouted as the next song came on.
Taylor must have added it to the playlist we were working on for my birthday party. I could always count on Britney Spears to get me hyped up for game day. I started singing along, catching Taylor’s fond glances in my direction whenever I opened my eyes.
“You know, that day I saw you singing in your car, I thought there was no way you were real.” He shook his head, smiling ear-to-ear. “No one could be that happy to sit in traffic.”
“It’s not that I’m happy about it, exactly.” I shrugged and rested my hand on top of his. “More that I can’t do anything about it. Why sit and be frustrated over something I can’t control when I could be having fun instead?”
He smiled and flipped his hand over so we could interlace our fingers. “You’re choosing to keep smiling despite the problems.” He squeezed my hand. “It’s admirable.”
I sucked in a deep breath. Everyone assumed that since I was generally cheerful, even when faced with situations that stressed others out, I was delusional, avoidant, or flippant. It was hard to explain how deeply I cared about things, despite what it looked like on the surface.
Somehow, Taylor understood.
We sat in comfortable silence until Whitney Houston came on, and then neither of us could resist singing along. Even with the rose-colored glasses I was wearing, I could admit that Taylor had a terrible voice. Hearing him belt along to the radio made my chest feel funny anyway.
When we finally reached the beach, we were nearly late.
“Sorry, parking was terrible,” I said as I ran up to my teammates on the sidelines.
“I don’t even want to know what kind of smutty excuse the two of you have this time,” Alex said, rolling her eyes.
Brian cut in. “Oh, but I do. All the details, please.”
“Nope, no time. We gotta get out there.” Lucas shoved us all with maybe a little more force than was strictly necessary, but he had a point. The other team was already out on the sand.
We won our first set without much effort, but it was an unseasonably warm day, so I was dripping with sweat when we took the set break and switched sides.
The crowds that gathered for our queer league’s tournaments were always rowdy and loved a little show, which most of us were happy to play into.
I lifted my crop top to wipe my forehead and laughed when Taylor catcalled me from the bleachers.
I grinned up at him before reaching into my bag to check my texts. He usually liked to send me a play-by-play of his escalating horniness to motivate me. I found his thread, which I expected, but there was also a text from my dad that made my stomach flip.
Papá
I came to watch you play.
My brows furrowed as I looked up to scan the bleachers, and my eyes widened when they landed on a familiar face.
My dad was in the stands.
I didn’t have time to respond before Brian tapped my shoulder to let me know our break was over. I tossed my phone in my bag and jogged to my starting position, shaking with nerves over the unexpected audience.
The second set was a disaster. I couldn’t get to where I needed to be. I kept colliding with my teammates. And, of course, my energy affected all of them, shot after shot going wildly out of bounds. Finally, it was time to switch sides and regroup.
Lucas slung his arm around my shoulder and went into captain mode. “What’s going on? You seem super in your head.”
“My dad is here. I wasn’t expecting him.”
Lucas frowned. “All the more reason to rally, right?”
He was right. A few hours ago, Taylor and I were talking about my unrelenting optimism. Happiness was a choice I made. Yet I was letting this text affect my mood and my safe space here on the sand.
Time to choose something else.
“No, you’re right. I’ve got this. Let’s get back out there.”
Lucas thumped my shoulder, and we got into position for the first serve. The third set was close, but we managed to win. By the fourth set, I was firmly back in the groove, and we defeated them soundly.
Our team was riding high after knocking the other team out of the tournament.
Even David had made it today. Lucas picked him up with a twirl.
I expected to find Taylor already by the sidelines, ready to join in the celebrations.
When he wasn’t in his usual spot, I scanned the bleachers again and found him talking to my dad a few rows back.
“Hey,” I called out, heading in their direction.
Papá turned toward me, but I blew right past him and threw myself into Taylor’s arms. My hands cupped his face as I kissed him, and he hugged me tightly against him.
“Great game, angel,” Taylor said with a wide grin.
“Thanks.” I smiled back before turning in Taylor’s arms to face my dad.
I wanted to believe Oscar when he said my parents were repentant, but I still wasn’t convinced. I had a feeling it was only to maintain appearances in the community. Papá was here, though, and that was something.
Oscar cut into our conversation and knocked into my shoulder. “Did you see that incredible save Gabriel pulled off at the end there? You were on your game today.”
I laughed, knowing exactly what he was up to. “Thanks.”
“Will you come to dinner, mijo?” Papá asked. “Mamá made enchiladas.”
“Is Taylor invited?” I asked, and he nodded.
I looked at Taylor—for permission or reassurance, I wasn’t sure.
He squeezed my hand and smiled. “I’m free if you’re free.”
Mamá still hadn’t called or texted since the party, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever get an apology. But when I looked at my dad, clearly out of his element but here to support me regardless, I thought this could be a new beginning.
“Ok,” I said. “We can do dinner.”
The table between us was piled high with food—rice, beans, salsa, and, of course, Mamá’s enchiladas.
“Eat, eat.” She gestured to our plates as she placed another casserole dish on the table, full of pollo placero.
Even with Taylor’s hand on my thigh, I couldn’t help bouncing it under the table, ready to crawl out of my skin. I scooped food onto Taylor’s plate for him, since I urgently needed him to keep his hand where it was.
“Gabriel used to play soccer when he was in elementary school,” Papá said. “I used to watch. Good memories. I was sad when he quit.”
I cringed. It felt like my dad was calling me flaky, and all those insecurities scratched at my skin. But I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was right that those were good memories, after all.
“Yeah, I wasn’t an athletic kid growing up at all,” I said, deflecting.
“Really?” Taylor raised his eyebrow as he glanced over my body. I could tell he was trying to be subtle for the sake of my parents, but I got the implication. I definitely looked like I worked out.
“Really. I was a science kid.” I chuckled awkwardly. “I didn’t start exercising until I joined the volleyball team. It was initially for the social aspect, to make friends, but they indoctrinated me.”
Mamá scooped more enchiladas onto both mine and Taylor’s plates. She was quiet as she left the dining room.
“It’s good your team is winning, mijo,” my dad said finally, with a decisive nod.
I smiled, letting it be what it was. “Thanks, Papá. We have a lot of fun.”
“Proud of you,” Taylor spoke low for my ears only, and I squeezed his hand.
When my mom came back to the table, she had a small photo album in her hand.
She flipped it open to a photo of me around age six in my soccer uniform, standing with my dad after one of our games.
Mamá held the album out to Taylor, and he took it in his hands.
When he looked up at me, his eyes were sparkling, crinkled at the corners in silent laughter.
My parents would never completely understand me, and I was coming to terms with that.
They’d probably never be as outwardly affectionate and supportive as Oscar’s parents.
But that didn’t mean they didn’t love me in their way.
There was a part of me that needed their affirmation and affection, but maybe I could try to accept them for who they were, too.
I could love them, and they could love me, even if we didn’t always know how to show each other.
For now, that was enough.