Chapter 13 #2
I shake my head. “Please don’t apologize to me for complaining about your dad ever again,” I say. “He sucks so bad. He sucks to the nth degree, and I never make math jokes.”
“Thank you for saying that, Ben,” Tyler says, grinning. “The limit does not exist for how much he sucks.”
When we start strolling, or flaneuring, again, Tyler asks me, “How about you? I hope coming out wasn’t too traumatic?”
I grin. The day I came out to Mom is one of my best memories. “No, it was pretty anticlimactic, in a great way.”
I tell him all about that day in ninth grade.
It was on the anniversary of my dad dying, and before I left school that morning, I told Mom, “We need to have a serious discussion tonight. I’ve been thinking about something for a long time, and it may be shocking to you.
But don’t worry, it’s not about anything you did. ”
Mom looked concerned, but to her credit, she didn’t freak out or insist I tell her right away. “Okay, Ben-oonies,” she said, a serious furrow to her brow. “I look forward to speaking about it over dinner.”
That night, I was nervous. At that point, Mom was still saving up to start her own business so she wouldn’t have to work multiple jobs, so we had our favorite budget-friendly dinner: Shin ramen with an egg, scallions, and Spam chunks.
The addition of protein and a veggie really makes it a balanced meal.
Sweating over the spicy heat of the ramen, I said, “Mom—this will come as a huge shock to you, I know, but … I think I’m gay.”
Mom threw her hands in the air and shrieked, “Yay!”
And there’s been no drama between us about it ever since.
In fact, she started to research drag culture, famous queer folks throughout history, and gay civil rights, all so we could share it together.
I give her a lot of credit—she was raised by evangelical Christian Korean Americans and was sheltered from anything gay, but she’s done everything she can to educate herself and me.
“Damn,” says Tyler. “Your mom sounds like an amazing person.”
I look at him, confused all over again. He’s peering at an elaborately carved fountain on the corner.
Does he really not remember Mom? Mom definitely remembers him; she’s mentioned him often throughout the years, wondering how he’s doing.
But for some reason—even though I tell Mom practically everything—I’ve never mentioned that Tyler moved back to Sandy Springs.
“She is amazing,” I say. I feel a rush of gratitude toward Mom, missing her, mixed with intense guilt for doing something—breaking the rules, roaming around Paris at night—she would not consider safe. “Moms are the best.”
Tyler nods. “I don’t blame my mom for staying with my dad as long as she did.
She’s never had to work or support herself, and my dad is a really domineering personality—a bully, let’s just call him what he is—and my mom has been too afraid to leave him.
Until now. After she saw how Dad was treating me for being gay, she couldn’t take it anymore.
They’re not divorced yet, because it’s really complicated to divorce an asshole with tons of money, apparently, but she decided we needed some space.
That’s why we’re back in Sandy Springs.”
I can’t help myself—I stop in the middle of the Latin Quarter and give Tyler a hug. I feel his warmth, inhaling the fabric softener smell of his hoodie and a trace of boy sweat, which, coming from him, makes him smell even better.
“I’m sorry you went through that,” I say. And what I don’t say: I’m so sorry I assumed you were a privileged asshole who’s never gone through anything tough. Having the parents I have—and in Dad’s case, had—is one of the biggest privileges there is.
It occurs to me that if Tyler genuinely doesn’t remember me, it’s not his fault. With a dad like that, he probably has gone through a lot of trauma that made him forget parts of his past.
I feel Tyler’s chin rest on top of my head as he hugs me back. I’ve never felt so warm, protected, accepted—not even when I hugged Lucas.
Which is terrifying.
Am I falling for Tyler Travers like I’m falling for Paris?
No. That wasn’t the plan at all. I didn’t design my to-do list around such a twist. It’s a risky twist, too. I could be reading all the signs wrong. Maybe everyone thinks Tyler is into them, because he’s so attentive and charming.
“Wait—no way,” Tyler says, stepping back from our hug.
I tense up immediately. “What is it?” I ask.
Is he about to tell me that I came on too strong with the hug?
Or that he’s finally had a breakthrough and remembered our friendship?
Or that he’s spotted some sort of magical all-night store that sells phone chargers?
Or that he’s feeling what I’m feeling and—
“I see the guys who stole your phone!” Tyler shouts, pointing over my shoulder. “Isn’t that them?”
I turn around in shock and look across the street. That’s when I see them—London Boy and his brother with the buzz cut. They’re loping along, laughing about something. They’re each holding phones in their hand—is one of those mine?
I’m frozen.
Tyler grabs my wrist and starts pulling me across the street. “What are you standing around for?” he asks. “Let’s go get your phone back!”