Chapter 5
The moment seemed to go on forever, Gerald’s words hanging in the air.
And then Jem couldn’t help it. A short laugh burst out of him. He glanced over at Tean, but Tean wasn’t laughing. Brigitte wasn’t laughing. Gerald for sure wasn’t laughing.
“I’m sorry,” Jem said as the laugh dried up. “What?”
“You struggle with same-sex attraction,” Gerald said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Brigitte told me all about it. God tests each of us according to our measure. There’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
“You mean I’m gay?” Jem turned to Tean. “Does he mean I’m gay?”
Tean’s mouth tightened. Then he nodded.
“Well, yeah,” Jem said. “I mean, I introduced you to my boyfriend.”
“That’s not a helpful way of thinking about it,” Gerald said.
“I’m this. I’m that. It’s a label. It puts you in a box.
You’re a child of God, son. You’re more than the temptations you struggle with.
” He leaned back like he’d made a point and said, “That’s one of the things we’ll work on, learning how to talk about these struggles more productively.
We call it reframing. You don’t say, ‘I’m gay.
’ You say, ‘I struggle with same-sex attraction.’ That puts you on the Lord’s side, because you’re struggling, and He is a faithful helper. ”
“Uh huh,” Jem said. And he looked at Tean again, then back at Brigitte and Gerald. “I’m kind of confused. I already know I’m gay. It’s not a problem. Not to get too into it, but I like being gay. Like, it’s kind of my thing.”
“Jem,” Tean said softly. But then he stopped and turned his face down.
“What am I missing?” Jem said. “What’s going on?”
“We want to be a family,” Brigitte said. The words had a metallic brightness, and she didn’t quite look at anybody; she seemed to be studying a breadbasket. “A forever family. And that means keeping the commandments.”
“Okay, well, I’m not Mormon, so that doesn’t really apply.”
“Gerald has helped a lot of young men,” Brigitte said. “It’s one of his spiritual gifts. He heals them of these urges. They go on to live happy, normal, healthy lives.”
“I have a happy, normal, healthy life. I mean, not if we’re going to get into the cholesterol stuff, not if you get Tean going about how many sausage-egg-and-cheese biscuits I can eat in one sitting.
” But no one laughed. Brigitte was still staring at the breadbasket.
Tean was fixed on his napkin. Gerald, still leaning back in his seat, was giving him a frown like he was a nice guy in a bad spot, like he was a dad who had to be tough and stern but he didn’t always like it.
“I’m sorry,” Jem said, “but what the fuck is going on?”
“Excuse me,” Gerald said stiffly, “but I find that kind of language offensive. Now, I work with a select group of young men. I’m inviting you to let me help you experience the healing power of Christ’s Atonement.
” Gerald leaned forward, and his voice softened.
“You don’t have to live this half-life. You don’t have to be a victim of your addictions and desires. ”
“He’s not addicted to anything,” Tean said.
Jem had to glance over, because he barely recognized Tean’s voice.
Tean gripped his napkin so tightly it looked like he was trying to tear it in half.
“He doesn’t need any help. He doesn’t need to be cured.
There are decades’ worth of research on the ineffectiveness—the counter-effectiveness—of conversion therapy.
It’s barbaric. It’s cruel. And it doesn’t work. ”
“There is no one who hates God’s work,” Gerald said with a dark glance at him, “as much as someone who once was blessed with the light of Christ and then denied the Holy Ghost.”
“Hey,” Jem said, “you don’t get to talk to him like that.”
“Jeremiah—” Brigitte said.
“How are we doing?” The waiter began refolding Maeve’s napkin, which had fallen onto her chair. “Are we ready to order?”
“We’re changing the subject now,” Jem said, voice low.
“The whole point is to help you,” Gerald said as though he hadn’t heard him. “But first, son, you have to help yourself.”
“I’m not your son.”
“Jem,” Tean whispered. His hand wrapped around Jem’s wrist. “Let’s go.”
The waiter had frozen mid-fold and was staring at them.
Jem shoved his chair back and headed for the lobby.
Tean was a step behind him; Jem was vaguely aware of the doc murmuring something, but even though Jem could hear the words, he couldn’t understand them.
Everything was tight. Everything was hot, closing in, crushing him.
When he finally cleared the restaurant and reached the lobby’s high ceiling and cooler temperature, he took a deep breath. Then another.
A moment later, Tean was standing next to him. Worried eyes peered out at him from behind the dark glasses.
“I’m fine,” Jem said, working to loosen his collar. He laughed. It had a falling-down-the-stairs quality. And then he wasn’t laughing, and a second ticked, and another, and then more. Finally, he said in as normal a voice as he could manage, “God, that was fucked up, wasn’t it?”
The dark eyes looked even more worried.
“Jeremiah!” Brigitte emerged from the restaurant at a trot, probably as close to a run as she could manage in the heels. She glanced around the lobby, and her gaze settled on them. “Jeremiah, wait!”
Jem tried not to groan. Tean’s hand slipped into his, and he clamped down on it.
When Brigitte reached them, she said, “Jeremiah, I’m so sorry. That was Gerald’s idea; he insisted. I don’t care if you’re gay. I really don’t.”
Tean shifted his weight, but the doc didn’t say anything.
“Look,” Jem said, “this isn’t working. I appreciate that you included us. I don’t think it’s a good fit. Thanks for, you know, inviting us.”
“No,” Brigitte said. “Please don’t leave. I want to talk to you. I do. Let me get Gerald settled with his dinner, and we can talk.”
“I don’t think—”
“You can wait in the bar. Have something to eat. You can charge it to our room, twenty-seven. You have to eat something.” When Jem didn’t say anything, she added, “Please, it’s the least I can do.”
Jem glanced at Tean; the doc’s dark expression gave nothing away except a familiar layer of concern.
“We can only stay for a few minutes,” Jem said. “We’ve got a long drive home.”
“That’s okay,” Brigitte said. She blinked tears away, but she was smiling. “That’s wonderful. I won’t be long; let me just make sure Gerald has everything he needs.”
She hesitated, and for a moment, Jem was sure she was going to hug him or kiss his cheek or something. Her hand opened, turned toward him, like she might press his fingers in hers. And then her smile quickened with something like embarrassment, and she hurried back into The Fjall Club.
Once she was gone, Jem rubbed his eyes. Tean was still clutching his hand.
“You think I made a mistake,” Jem said.
“No.”
“You think I should have told her no. You think we should leave.”
“Jem, I don’t think anything except that I want you to be okay. I’m sorry that happened in there.”
“You’re sorry? God, Tean, I’m sorry. That guy doesn’t like that I’m gay, but he hates you.”
“I don’t think it was personal. A lot of people in the church find it…difficult to interact with people who have left.”
Jem grunted. “I need a drink.”
Tean nodded.
“And cheesy fries.”
“I’m not sure—”
“And I’m ordering every dessert they have. And a steak. And chicken tenders.”
“Okay, well, maybe we can look at the menu first.”
“It’s a bar, babe. They’re going to have chicken tenders.”
The name of the bar was Afterski, and it was located on the opposite side of the lobby.
When they stepped inside, the roar of voices was deafening, competing with unidentifiable music blasting from speakers overhead.
Men and women crowded the bar, filled the floor, and mobbed every table.
Some of them were still in their ski gear, red-cheeked and fresh from the slopes.
Others were dressed in casual-but-expensive clothes—the kind of people you’d expect in a commercial for a ski lodge: attractive, wealthy, and annoying.
Jem towed Tean by the hand into the crowd.
Like most crowds, it was worse than it looked, and Jem navigated his way through the press of bodies.
It got trickier near the bar—a drunk twentysomething in athleisure gear stepped backward onto Jem’s foot, and then she burst into racking sobs; a man with a lantern jaw elbowed past Jem in a rush; a woman with what Jem could only think of as sad mom eyes bumped into him as she was carrying drinks, and she mouthed an apology—but it was more about timing than anything else, and once a spot cleared, Jem slipped into it, with Tean pressed up against his side.
Both bartenders were at the other end of the bar, one of them mixing a drink, the other working the register.
Propping himself on one arm—ready to signal as soon as they glanced his way—Jem said, “Did you hear her? That stuff about making sure he eats?”
Tean cupped a hand to his ear.
“It’s weird she has to get his dinner!” Jem shouted.
Tean made a face and nodded.
One of the bartenders—a young woman, Black, her hair short—glanced over, and Jem held up his hand. But the woman moved over to an older couple and started chatting with them.
She had to make sure he got his dinner. That’s what she’d said. He was, what? Seventy? Seventy years old, and he needed her to get him his fucking dinner. And she did it. That was the nut-buster. She was probably in there right now, cutting up his vegetables so he’d eat them like a good boy.
He remembered a microwave dinner, the plastic tray, cheese enchiladas cut into neat little rounds.
Had that been her? A foster parent he didn’t remember? It was hard to tell sometimes.
The other bartender was an older woman, White, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a bun. Jem tried again, and she ignored him too.