years old now. Back when I was just starting to question everything, when I thought that maybe I was gay, and that would be all I had to hide.
It’s almost like someone else is controlling my hand, and I sit helpless as the cursor moves over to her name. Mom’s profile comes up, the last statuses she’s posted. Nothing too major. Mom was never huge on Facebook, but there are some new photos. Some of her and Dad at the house, out in the yard, at dinners. And after some scrolling, I get to the pictures with me.
“Day out with my baby boy!” one says.
I actually miss them.
The cursor hovers over Mom’s message again, and this time, I open it. It’s dated over three months ago. And there’s nothing before it except one telling her my phone had died at school and that I wanted to stay late for a little extra tutoring.
Ben… I don’t know what to even say to you. Your father and I… we’ve realized what we’ve done, and we’re hoping we can make it right with you. I’m not sure what else I can say besides we’re sorry, and that we were just confused about what was happening. We know you’re staying with Hannah, and we’re hoping you won’t tell her about this message. Maybe we could meet one day, in the city or something, and just talk? Please, Ben? You’re our child, and while we may not understand this part of you, your father and I would like to try and make amends.
I hate the way things were left, and I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if the last times I spoke to both my children were fights. Please, Ben, just consider it?
I read the message again, and then a third time, this numb feeling washing over me as I try to take in the words all over again. But they eventually lose their meaning, and I click on the little box to type my reply.
The words never come though, and after another half an hour, I log out of my account and close the laptop.
I can’t get Mom’s message out of my head for the rest of my break. I even download the Facebook app on my phone so I can keep reading it, which probably isn’t healthy, but I can’t help myself. I just keep rereading it and rereading it, over and over, wondering what changed.
Since it took me so long to find the message, I also decided to check my email accounts. There’s my actual, personal email that doesn’t get anything other than Michaels coupons. I doubt Mom even knows that address. Then my old email for Wayne, which I guess Mom does know because the exact same message is sitting there too.
The message that would’ve been sent almost a month after I left.
After they made me leave.
I try to fill most of the nights with some kind of noise. When Mariam can’t FaceTime or text, I go down to the living room with Hannah and Thomas. I actually think about telling Hannah, but that would probably end with disaster. Part of me wants to talk to Nathan too, but really, I feel like the only person with the right answer would be Dr. Taylor.
Maybe she can talk me through this.
Except we don’t have an appointment until next Thursday. I guess I could ask for an earlier time, but I feel like that might make Hannah suspicious. She’d definitely know something was wrong then. Besides, there’s so much to do at school now.
It’s definitely getting closer to … well, everything. So far, I’ve gotten forms about tutoring for final exams, and even a few people wanting me to tutor them in Calculus; a flyer for senior night; information on prom and graduation tickets. It’s almost hard to swallow. Just a few short weeks, and this will all be over.
“Hey, I’ve got something for you.” Nathan digs around in his backpack during homeroom.
“What is it?” I eye the monstrosity in Nathan’s hands. It’s wrapped mostly in masking tape, but I can see the cartoon faces of BB-8 and Oscar Isaac poking through in a few places.
“It’s a present,” he says slowly. “You open it.”
I take the bundle and stare at it.
“You know, you’re pretty bad at this whole opening thing.” He pulls his chair closer. “Go ahead, I want to see your face.”
I try my best to unwrap it carefully, but with the tape the wrapping paper just sort of rips