chapter thirty-four

sebastian

I spend the next couple nights in the guest bedroom at Saanvi's house. We tell them everything—it was a little hard not to, showing up with Saanvi in tears and me hauling a giant suitcase behind us. We'd never been exactly sure how they'd take it, the whole gay thing. But Saanvi's parents were chill, enough so that they were happy to offer me a place to stay for at least the night. I could hear them whispering in hushed Telugu through the vents, a conversation likely about me that I'll never understand.

I can't get the look on Dad's face out of my head. What was that expression—disgust? Hatred? I'm almost too scared to give it a name.

Mom keeps calling and texting. I end up turning my phone all the way off, because I simply cannot deal with anymore of this today. I think that day was quite possibly the worst day ever, and I don't think I can handle any of that negativity today.

Saanvi comes in at about ten a.m., in a different set of animal pajamas (penguins this time), her hair in two frizzy pigtails. "Heyyy," she says, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "Want some breakfast?"

My chest pangs, thinking of Harris asking the same question only a few days ago. I haven't had the heart to text him since. "Yeah, what's on the table?"

"Probably either Honey Nut Cheerios, or All-Bran. Choose wisely."

The Gaddam's guest bedroom is in their basement, but it's nothing like the basement in the McCammon's house. For one, there's carpet, not just an ancient shag rug thrown atop chilly concrete, and there's separation. One room is a bedroom, and the other is Saanvi's mom's office, for her remote work. Something to do with engineering, I don't know for sure. Just, something smart.

"Are you doing okay?" Saanvi whispers to me as we both tiredly trot up the staircase. I'm in a pair of PJs I'd packed for the fall semester, flannel bottoms that remind me of Harris, and a wrinkled HOSA T-shirt.

I glance back over my shoulder. I want to tell her I'm fine, but my throat constricts and tears threaten, so I just flash her a small smile and shrug.

"This week has been really intense," Saanvi says. "I'd let you stay here till Dartmouth, but we're all flying to India next week, and we'll be gone for a while.... Oh! Maybe I can talk my parents into letting you watch Honeydew? A live-in pet-sitting situation? The seven-year-old next door will not miss out on her inadequate paycheck, believe me. I—"

"It's okay, Saanvi, but thanks." I don't actually know if it will be okay, but ... she's already done enough for me. I stop and turn on the final step. "And thanks for being my best friend."

Saanvi looks up at me. I'm usually about three-fourths of a foot taller than her, but right now, it's at least a whole foot. Her eyes have a slight shine to them. She sniffs. "You're my best friend. And I'm really glad you were having a better summer than senior year, Seb, I really am."

"Me too." And I mean it. Junior and senior year felt like dragging myself through hot coals on my hands and stomach, grasping to find purchase on the next hot stone that might allow me to pull myself just a few inches closer to success, to respite, to freedom. This summer had been the perfect change of pace, from that very first night when jumping into Lake Franz felt like a much-needed (and literal) leap of faith, to the night before last, when Harris and I slept together.

But it's different now. Wrong. Dad's kicking me out isn't the reaction I'd hoped for from coming out to my parents, but if anything, I do at least feel satisfied now. Satisfied that I was right when I told Evan I couldn't come out. Like, look at that. I was right. At least I'm eighteen now. I'd be moving out in a couple months anyways.

It's okay. I'll be okay.

"Are you okay?" I ask her. "I feel like this summer has been one big existential crisis on my end. A happy one, but still. I feel like I haven't been paying a lot of attention to your needs. So I'm—"

"Shut up," Saanvi says. "You're my best friend. You're there when I need you to be, believe me."

"But you've seemed...." Different is the wrong choice of words, but I'm not sure how else I could put it. These past few days especially, Saanvi has been this less-sure version of herself, hesitant and withdrawn and prone to only small, sad smiles. I can't help but think that, even if it's not my fault, it's not not my fault for being more there for her.

Saanvi shakes her head. "It's just all ... it's all a lot, Seb. Your parents flipping out, everything with Harris.... I'm overwhelmed."

"Saanvi, I'm so—"

"No, but it's not just that. It's not you, Seb, it's seriously just me. We move out soon. We're heading off to college, and I'm not going to able to be there for you as easily, and you're not gonna be able to be there for me as much. It's just ... yeah. It's scary."

"I get it." And I do. Completely. "Knowing we're leaving soon is just, it's hard."

"Yeah." There's a slight sheen to her eyes. "I'm just, I don't even know. I'm so stressed. Everything is usually so easy. I just do it, y'know? You put it in front of me, and I do it. But now, I'm headed off to fucking Princeton, and I just know I'm not going to be exceptional there. And I'm excited? But it's also so scary. What if I can't get things done anymore? And then, I won't have you, or my parents, or Honeydew, and I'm just, I'm so scared."

Then she shakes her head. "Sorry, Seb, you're already dealing with so much. I didn't want to pile even more on your plate."

"Saanvi. Shut up." I pull her into a hug, my frame completely engulfing her. "For one, don't you ever act like you'd ever be a burden to me ever again. And two, you're exceptional everywhere. Even Princeton. You got in early admission. You're the smartest person I know. Someone puts something in front of you, and you get it done because you're such a fucking badass. Just because you're surrounded by other doers doesn't mean you're not the most badass one of them all.

"And, even if you aren't, you're still one of the most badass ones, so this just means you've found your people. You've worked so hard for this. You've worked your entire life for this, Saanvi. You deserve it. I know leaving Denton is scary—because, like, believe me, I get it—but, it's not going anywhere." I squeeze her tight, hoping she can feel just how much I truly mean this. "And neither am I."

"Seb," she whispers, then sniffs. And for the first time in a long time, Saanvi cries into my arms. I'm happy to hold her.

—

Saanvi's mom dotes on me at breakfast time, constantly asking if I want more veggie bacon, if I need another glass of OJ. Saanvi is obviously happy to have more options than All-Bran and Cheerios. Beneath the table, Honeydew weaves around my ankles. Saanvi's dad's nose is stuck in his newspaper, his cereal of choice today being Cheerios. He pays me no mind, the complete opposite of Saanvi's mom. I don't mind though. It reminds me of breakfasts at my own house, the ones where Mom has a stack of drawings to hand back to her kindergarteners, and Dad downs one last cup of coffee before he goes into the dental office.

Saanvi and I finish early, and her mom and I chat about college while I help with the dishes. It feels normal, for once. Even the best parts of this summer haven't necessarily felt normal, so I'm glad for the break in excitement.

And then the doorbell rings and ruins it.

After putting down his paper with an over-exaggerated sigh, Saanvi's dad answers it and seems a little surprised, albeit gruffly so. "Jodie," he says cordially. "Have you come to see Seb?"

"Yes." Mom heaves a sigh of relief. "He's here?"

"I don't know," Mr. Gaddam says. "Depends on why you're here to see him."

"I just want to talk. Is that okay?"

I hear the door shut, and Saanvi's dad comes to the kitchen, his button-up shirt tucked into his work pants. He's got silver hair, slightly bald on the top, and a bushy grey mustache that has been this bushy (albeit less grey) since we were little. "Seb, your mother wants to talk with you."

I set down the plate I was rinsing soap off and pat my hands dry on my flannel bottoms. This is definitely awkward. "Sure thing."

Mom is standing on the front porch, wringing her hands nervously. Her expression is a mix of happiness and concern when I come out, shutting the door behind me. "How are you doing?" she asks. "You weren't answering your phone."

"I needed some space." Remembering what she and Dad had said, I add, "To think about what to do."

"Oh, honey. Please ignore your dad," Mom pleads. "We love you. I'm so sorry that he blew up at you. It wasn't right, and I've had a talk with him, and—"

"Mom, I–I can't just forget that." And it's true. I think I safely say that yesterday was one of the worst days of my life, if not the worst. "You don't have to pretend to accept me. I'd rather drop the pretense and save everyone's time. We can just—"

"Seb, I already assumed you were gay." She smiles. It's wobbly. Unsteady. I don't think I've ever seen her so frazzled-looking. Her brown hair has been tugged back into a haphazard ponytail, and her eyes are sunken, swollen, red. "I just didn't want to push you to say anything before you were ready. And I never mentioned anything to your dad, because I thought it wasn't my place, and ... well. You know your dad. And then, with Saanvi, I thought maybe I was wrong, but just, I am so sorry, honey. All of that never should have happened."

"It's okay," I tell her. It's not okay, but maybe it's because I don't really want to fight, or because we both definitely look like we're about to start crying—I want this all to be okay. This moment. Just give me this moment.

"No, it's not." Mom shakes her head. "You didn't deserve that. And I'm so sorry that I let that happen to you. I should have been there more for you, and–and I might not ever be able to truly make up for that, Seb, but please know that I love you, and I'm never going to stop trying."

I may or may not be closer to crying now. "Mom...."

"If you want to stay with the Gaddams, if they're okay with it, then I'm okay with it. But you can come home, Seb. I'm so sorry."

I glance back behind me to the Gaddam's shut screen door. I'm not exactly sure what I should be feeling right now. I think I'm maybe emotionally overstimulated enough to the point that I'm bordering on complete apathy. But I manage to turn my gaze back to Mom and offer a tiny half-smile.

"I'll think about it," I tell her, then move to head inside.

"Your dad left this morning," she adds hastily. I stop, one foot behind the door. What? "We've been ... well. We've been arguing pretty hard over this, but I'm not backing down. He's staying with his parents to sort out his feelings, and then we're going to work things out. As a family. Seb, I ... I want you to feel safe at home."

"Why are you still with him then?" It comes out harsh. "Mom. Mom, he is ridiculous. I noticed it in the sixth grade. Didn't you?"

"Your father is entitled to his beliefs," Mom offers weakly. "He—"

"His beliefs are shit." Really hope the Gaddams didn't hear me cuss, but also, what-fucking-ever. I'm not wrong, so I press on. "And he doesn't respect either of us. And what right does he have to be on any kind of pedestal? He thought the freaking election was rigged. He's an idiot. How was I ever going to feel safe at home?"

"I should have tried to ease him into it," she says. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't enough." I'm starting to feel anger bubbling up in my veins. "Mom, if you knew I was gay, how on earth could you let him get that bad? He's entitled to opinions, not outlandish fucking hatred. I have been on edge for years." I take in a deep, shuddering breath, and try again.

Quieter this time, I repeat, "For years, Mom. While you were out there enabling him, I ... I was terrified. I have been stressed, and I've been miserable, and just so, so unhappy. You weren't being loyal or considerate to either of us. You were too focused on being non-confrontational."

"Seb," Mom tries again. "I—"

"No, I want you to listen to me. If I come back—if, Mom—you can't let him talk like that. If you know he's wrong, or, like, you even disagree with him, you've got to do something about it, I swear to god. Or I won't come back. Ever."

She doesn't try to respond, but there are tears rolling down her flushed cheeks. If I weren't so angry, I might feel bad. We must look insane to neighbors—a middle-aged woman crying on the Gaddam's porch, a strange boy in his pajamas ranting to her, fueling her tears.

"I'll come home tonight," I offer slightly. "But seriously. Our relationship is in your hands now."

Mom nods. "Okay. That–that's fair. I'm so sorry, baby. I'll be better, I promise. I—"

"I'll see you tonight." And I shut the door.