Chapter 46
LACHLAN
“What would you like to talk about?” Dr. Gray asks, sitting back in her chair.
She’s a psychiatrist in Santa Barbara who was highly rated, and I was lucky there was a cancellation Wednesday afternoon, so I could get in to talk with her quickly.
I particularly like that her office is out of town, so I won’t run into anyone I know.
When I stepped inside, my immediate impression was one of comfort and professionalism.
Dr. Gray is an elegant Black woman with curly hair cut close to her scalp.
She’s wearing a silver gray pantsuit, my favorite color, which gives her bonus points.
She peers at me in a way that makes me feel seen but not dissected.
That’s reassuring, but it also scares me a little bit. I might actually open up to her.
Slumping on her couch, I grimace and cover my face with my arm. I’m wearing a heather-gray cashmere beanie that Isak made me, and it’s soft against my skin. It’s like a little part of him is here with me. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Well, why don’t you start with how you’re feeling right now?” Her voice is kind, and it makes me feel like she’s in control of this situation. Like she’s steering a ship and I can trust her to get me where I need to go.
I open my mouth and close it. Then I open it again.
Dr. Gray waits.
“I guess … I feel like I’m a total mess, even though I’m supposed to have my life all together.”
“Mm-hmm. And why do you feel you’re supposed to have everything figured out at age eighteen?”
“Because it’s the only way I can be safe.” My voice cracks.
“Where do you feel unsafe?” Dr. Gray asks kindly.
“At home.” We sit in silence for a long moment. Then I open my mouth again. “My family is horrible.”
She nods, taking notes. “How so?”
“They can’t have a civil conversation to save their lives. They’re constantly shouting at each other, and no matter how much I want us to get along, to have meals together and act like a real family, we never do.”
“Why do you want to act like a real family?”
“Because it would be safe.” I blink. “I never thought of it that way. I guess I look at other people, and they can sit down together at least once a day and talk about what they’ve been doing and enjoy being with each other.
Meanwhile, my relatives scream and huff and eat their meals in separate rooms.”
“Why do you think they do that?”
“Oh, because they’ve had to deal with so much shit.” I tell her about how my sister and dad died, how my mom dealt with it by shutting down, that my uncle is a jerk who yells at Ivy, and how Ivy yells back. And how I’ve tried to be perfect so that I could keep everyone together.
“Is your family’s behavior your responsibility?” she asks gently.
“I don’t know. But none of them seem to be able to do it. Besides, I can’t show them who I really am.”
“And who is that?”
“I’m gay,” I blurt. “My uncle told me I couldn’t be, and I tried my entire life not to be, but I am. I’m also pretty sure I’m completely in love with my neighbor. He’s my boyfriend, and he’s the best person I’ve ever met.”
She stops taking notes and sits quietly with what I’ve just said. “It’s good that you found someone like him.”
“It is.” And then a dam bursts, and I sob.
I tell her how I’m supposed to be perfect, but I can’t be perfect if I can’t meet every single one of my uncle’s requirements.
That I’m trying to make up for treating my boyfriend like shit for months after ignoring him for years.
How I’m counting down the days until I can leave home and get away from them.
That I’m one of the leads in the school musical and I feel like it’s the most important thing I’ve ever done, even though I’m singing silly songs and playing a role.
“And when I can’t deal with the pressure at home, I cut myself,” I whisper.
Dr. Gray’s warm dark brown eyes widen, and she starts asking me a series of questions about how deeply I cut myself and whether it’s ever been hard to stop the bleeding.
She asks whether I’ve had thoughts of suicide.
After I think she’s established for herself that I’m not in immediate danger, she asks, “When do you cut yourself?”
“When it all gets to be too much.”
“And what causes that?”
“I just … get panicky. I feel like I can’t escape my family when they get to yelling.”
We talk about that for a while, and then she asks, “Do you have to contend with their actions beyond raised voices? Do they ever get physical with you?”
I pause. “Not recently,” I mumble.
“But they have in the past?”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard.
“Have you ever considered a domestic violence restraining order?”
I shake my head vehemently. “No. Never. They don’t … He hasn’t hit anyone. Not since I was younger.”
“Okay. Well, I want you to know it’s an option if you feel threatened, even if you haven’t been hit recently.” She studies me. “Would it feel like you were betraying your family if you got a restraining order against your uncle?”
Shit. “I mean, kinda. I don’t know why I have any loyalty to him. But I do.”
Dr. Gray nods and asks more questions.
By the end of our session, having said all that shit out loud makes me feel … not necessarily better. But at least heard. Seen. Isak hears and sees me, but there’s something special about having a stranger do it, too—one who validates my feelings and sits with me as they pass.
Damn, she’s strong.
I book an appointment for another session in a few weeks.
When I arrive back home, my mental wounds are still open, but they’re no longer full of pus and dirt. With Grandma, Ivy, and Quinton gone, the house is oddly quiet. The rooms feel liminal, with their stuff moved out and faded rectangles on the walls where pictures used to be.
I flop down on the couch and watch a show, since no one’s using the TV. Uncle Norm walks in and huffs. “Where’ve you been?”
I’m definitely not telling him what I did today, so I tell him a different truth. “I’ve been really busy at school,” I say. “Rehearsal.”
He flaps a hand in dismissal. “Pfft. Your mom told me about that. Bunch of pussies and pansies.”
I take a deep breath. “Actually, it’s been a lot of hard work, with all the rehearsals and memorization and learning all the cues and everything. It’ll look good on my résumé.”
Not that I have a résumé. I already got into college, and it’s not like anyone is going to hire me because I’ve been in a high school musical.
“With that, plus student government and prom coming up soon, I’m busy.”
He presses his lips together and gives me a slight nod. “Well, do us proud, then.”
I’ve had my car back for a while now, but I still catch rides back and forth to school with Isak, and we usually find a place to make out before class. Or during class. Or, well, anytime we can sneak off.
And I realize I’d totally forgotten about something.
“Do you want to come to a party with me?” I blurt one morning, when I get in his truck.
Isak looks at me as if I’ve suggested surfing naked in January. “I thought you didn’t want anyone we know to see us together as friends. Carpool, okay. Lunch, fine. But a party?”
“Bringing a friend to a party doesn’t have to mean anything.” I lower my voice. “Even if it means a lot to me. So will you come?”
I feel in some ways like I’m always pursuing Isak, but I think he deserves to know he’s worth pursuing. He put up with a lot of shit from me before we got together for real.
“Um, sure. Do you want me to drive separately?”
I shake my head. “No. I can drive us.”
He gives me a long look. “Cool,” he says faintly.
When we get to school, we see a line at the window for theater tickets for the first time. My heart lurches when I recognize nearly everyone in line. Oh, shit.
Vince waves me over. “We’re going to come see your show.”
Gabe nods. “All of us.”
“Right,” Darin says. A bunch of the cheerleaders smile at me.
The performance is in two weeks. My stomach swoops.
This is just preshow jitters. People understand acting and that this is a high school production. I’m going to do fine.
Except I’m shaking, and Isak notices. He pulls me to the side, away from everyone. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve been living in such a bubble, I hadn’t thought about other students seeing me perform. Even apart from the whole gay plot, I’m singing and dancing, and they could totally make fun of me for that. Becky Hansen could write a post about me like she wrote about you, and I could go just as viral.”
Isak looks like he wants to reach out and squeeze me, but we’re in public, so he doesn’t.
Mom hasn’t mentioned the show to me again since that conversation last month.
Maybe she’s forgotten she said she wanted to come.
And Uncle Norm didn’t seem too interested when I told him I was in the cast. So it’s possible I’m in the clear as far as my family is concerned.
That would be a relief. Still, seeing all my teammates lined up to buy tickets, I feel like my world might explode.
Isak nods. “I get it. I’ve had to battle the voices of the critics in my head this whole time.
But I’m learning that you gotta shut that shit down, or you’ll never do anything.
There’s always going to be someone who wants to bring you down.
Period. Right or wrong, they’re going to find something to complain about.
So you might as well do what you want, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone. ”
I stand looking into his eyes for a long moment. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You wouldn’t be having half as much fun.”
I grin. “No, I wouldn’t.”
On Saturday, the way Isak looks in my car as I drive to the party makes my body wake up and take notice. He overwhelms me in the best way.
Tonight, he’s got on a lacy black button-down, black jeans, and platform boots.
His hair is a mass of curls, and his freckles are popping.
He looks utterly beautiful. His clothes are polished in a punk way.
Like he dressed somewhat gender-conforming so he won’t draw too much attention to us, while remaining true to himself.
He’s still going to stick out among all the jocks and cheerleaders, and I love that. I’d never ask him to change.
I’m in dark jeans and a blue plaid shirt over a white T-shirt. Not very original, but the clothes feel good on my skin.
Gabe’s home is located on a sprawling vineyard estate in the hills where his parents own a winery. The house is very large, two stories, with wings peeling off to either side. My tires crunch as I park on gravel. There have to be at least twenty cars already here.
My old Porsche’s doors squeak as Isak and I step out into the rural dark, a blaze of stars overhead. The spring leaves on the grapevines rustle in the breeze. Music spills out of the house, along with laughter and loud voices.
I want to hold Isak’s hand, but this isn’t the time or the place. Instead, I toy with the friendship bracelet he gave me. It’s very frayed, but I’m not taking it off until it disintegrates.
Isak glances at me and smiles. “I’ve never been to a popular-kids party.”
“You good with it?” I ask, ready to turn around and leave if he says the word. I love parties, but he’s more important.
He shrugs. “Sure. It’ll be fun.” He says it in a way that makes me think he’s up for anything, but he’s still wary.
I ring the doorbell, and the door is flung open a moment later.
“Lachlan!” Gabe says. “Glad you could make it, bro!”
“Hey,” I say. “Good to see you. You remember Isak? My, uh, neighbor?”
“Yeah, man.” Gabe holds out a hand and shakes Isak’s heartily. “Glad you could come.”
“Thanks for having me,” Isak says.
When Isak and I walk in, it’s not so much that the party stops as that its focus turns to us.
I want to throw my arm around him to keep him safe. Instead, I stand next to him, trying not to feel awkward.
We greet people, and I chat with friends I’ve been ignoring since rehearsals for Browser History started. I don’t let Isak get too far away from me. I don’t want him to feel like he isn’t welcome.
And, okay, yeah, I’m claiming him. Isak Hammond is mine. All the people here think he’s my friend, which, fair, he is. But he’s so much more than that, and acid is burning in my gut with not being able to tell them.
Would it really be so bad if I held his hand? If they knew I was gay and he was my boyfriend?
Could I handle the potential fallout? Would it be any worse than how it feels to be at my house on any given day?
I catch Isak’s eye, and he flashes me a private smile, telling me he’s still good. We tell people about the show, and so many people—more than I’d ever have imagined—say they’ve already bought tickets.
So, what am I worried about? All of them are going to see me kiss him. I could play it off like our friendship is just part of the performance, but that wouldn’t be fair to him.
The truth is, hiding how I feel about Isak isn’t fair to me, either.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask him, my lips brushing his ear as I get close to be heard over the music.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Sure. What are you having?”
“I drove, so I’m not going to drink too much. Do you want a beer? Something else?”
“I don’t really like beer.” He pulls out his vape, which I haven’t seen him use in a few weeks. “Does it bother you that I vape?”
I shake my head. Then I think about it and nod. Again, I speak close to his ear, and this time I rest my hand on the small of his back. He shivers. “It’s not fair for me to be harsh about your coping mechanism when I have a bad one myself. But I’ve heard that the nicotine content is super high.”
“Yeah, I think it is.” He looks at the vape and puts it back in his pocket, his cheeks faintly pink. That’s right: I care about your health, Isak. “Maybe just a Coke.”
“I’ll go get you one.”
Just then, Isak gets pulled away by a girl who’s in our English class. With a backward glance at him, I make my way to the kitchen.
When I step in, a cheer arises. “Hey! You made it!” Vince says, clapping me on the back.
“Lachlan, gorgeous!” Sophia says, wrapping her arms around me. Oh, shit, she’s very drunk. “You haven’t been at any parties in forever.”
“Um, I … I’ve been busy with the spring musical,” I say. I look at Vince, but he doesn’t seem to understand that I need a rescue here. Meanwhile, my stomach churns.
She grins, wide and sloppy. “Oh, yeah. You’re a Broadway star now, aren’t you?”
“Not quite.” I shove my hands in my pockets and look around for the drinks cooler.
“All the girls keep daring me to kiss you again.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, what?”
“Can I do it, so I can win the bet?” she asks drunkenly. Before I can say no, her lips are on mine. I try to pull back, but she moves closer, her insistent mouth suckered to mine, her fingers gripping my jaw.
And then Isak walks in. His face falls, all the color draining from it.
Shit.
I can’t have him yell at me. I think that would kill me.
But is he going to?