“Figures.” Mindy wandered around my bedroom, touching the books on my bookshelf and my debate awards and picking up the framed photos, most of which contained pictures of my parents and me on trips around the country and the world. It took a supreme amount of effort to refrain from politely asking her not to touch my belongings.
“So, uh, what do you study in school?”
“Same as you, probably.”
“What do you want to study?”
“The queer agenda, how to dismantle the patriarchy, maybe Victorian literature.” Mindy pointed at a photo. “Who’s this?”
“My friend Tamal. I bet you’d like him.”
Mindy glanced over her shoulder at me. “Probably not.” She sat on my bed, giving off the impression that she was settling in. “Who are you waiting for a call from?”
“Excuse me?”
“You keep touching your phone through your pocket, so either that’s not your phone and you’re just touching yourself inappropriately or you’re waiting for a call or a message or whatever from someone important.”
I pulled my desk chair out and sat across from Mindy. “Just a friend.”
“Mm-hmmm.”
“I swear!”
“That makes me think it’s definitely not ‘just a friend.’”
There was something about the probing way Mindy was looking at me that made me want to be anywhere else at the moment. “Maybe we should go back downstairs. My dad made petits fours for dessert. One season of that baking show and now he thinks he’s star baker.”
If Mindy was interested in going downstairs, she didn’t show it. “How do you put up with all this fake shit?”
“Excuse me?”
“These people are awful,” she said. “That one guy, the one with the mustache—”
“Mr. Palmer.”
Mindy nodded. “Him. He spent ten minutes telling me how it was fine for women to work so long as they didn’t neglect their families, because it’s what God wants for them. And the whole time he was staring at my tits, which God probably would not have approved of.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t—”
“He was.” Mindy regarded me quietly for a moment, and I didn’t know what to say to her, so I kept my mouth shut. “You don’t like me much, do you?”
The question felt pointed, but also not like an accusation. “That’s not true—”
Mindy brushed my attempt to lie aside with a sweep of her hand. “You’re not my type either. Do you know why your mother invited me tonight?”
I shook my head, afraid to speak because Mindy was kind of scary.
“Because my parents asked her to,” she said. “Apparently they’re worried because I’ve never had a boyfriend, and they absolutely adore you. They never shut up about what a perfect specimen you are.” Mindy stuck her finger in her mouth and mimed puking. “But, look, I don’t need a boyfriend because I’m happy with my girlfriend.”
“You were serious about that?”
Mindy made a Duh! face at me, and I felt like a fool. “So if we could just hang out up here a little longer and let my parents get the wrong idea about what’s happening, that would be great.”
“Uh . . . sure.”
“And I’d really appreciate you not mentioning this to anyone. My parents are freaks and they’d send me to some pray-the-gay-away camp if they found out.”
I had no idea what to do. I’d never felt so awkward in my own room before. In a way, it was a relief to know I wasn’t the only person pretending to be someone I wasn’t, but it was also a little sad. “I’m sort of seeing someone,” I said. “My parents don’t know. They wouldn’t approve.”
For the first time all night, Mindy seemed like she was doing more than merely tolerating me. “No shit?”
“We had our first kiss.” The memory of kissing Dre was so strong, I could feel his soft lips and taste the espresso and milk on his tongue like it had just happened. “It was amazing.”
Mindy was nodding appreciatively. “Doesn’t it piss you off, though?”
“What?”
“Having to hide,” she said. “Shouldn’t our parents just be happy we’ve found someone who makes us happy?”
“Maybe they could be if we gave them the chance.”
Mindy snorted derisively. “Keep living in that dream world.”
My dad’s voice called from downstairs to let us know dessert was ready. Mindy stood and headed for the door. “I’ll go down first so they’ll think we’re trying to pretend we weren’t up here together.” She paused and tugged at the collar of her dress to make herself appear slightly disheveled.
As soon as Mindy was gone, I got my phone back out.
DreOfTheDead: i can forgive anything except not having an opinion on pie vs cake
DreOfTheDead: we’re talking about desserts! this is important
DreOfTheDead: and the only valid answer is pie
DreOfTheDead: lemon meringue
DreOfTheDead: im gonna bake you one and force feed it to you till you agree
DreOfTheDead: also
DreOfTheDead: i cant believe im dating a hufflepuff
DreOfTheDead: shit
DreOfTheDead: didnt mean to suggest were dating
DreOfTheDead: unless we are
DreOfTheDead: we kinda went on a date and im hoping we get to do it again
DreOfTheDead: that counts as dating right???
Watching Dre have a meltdown was adorable. I loved the way his brain worked. The lack of filter or artifice. When it came to Dre, what he put out there was who he really was. It was rare to meet someone so genuine. Most people were like Mindy. They changed based on who they were around. Even after she had admitted she had a girlfriend and that her parents had brought her to the party hoping she and I would connect, I still didn’t know if the person she was when we were alone was real. It could have been just another false front created for me. But Dre was always Dre no matter who was around.
I gave his question some thought, but I already knew the answer I wanted to give, so I quickly typed it out.
PrezMamasBoy: I suppose we are dating. That is, if you would consent to go on another date with me.
PrezMamasBoy: For the record, this is me formally asking.
PrezMamasBoy: I, Dean Arnault, would like to take you, Dre Rosario, on a date that I hope will involve kissing at some point.
PrezMamasBoy: Do you accept?
Before I could put my phone away, Dre’s response popped up on the screen.
DreOfTheDead: yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes
PrezMamasBoy: Then, I guess you are dating a Hufflepuff.
After all the guests had finally left, I was in the kitchen helping my mother with the dishes. It was late, and I would have left them for the morning, but my mother was incapable of leaving a mess sitting out overnight. She was the type of person who, when we moved, couldn’t sleep in the new house until every box had been unpacked.
“The party was a success,” I said.
My mother looked over her shoulder and smiled. She tossed me a dish towel and motioned at the dishes she’d handwashed. I began drying them and putting them away.
“I hope the debate on Monday will be equally successful.”
“You’ve got this, Mom.”
My mom smiled in my direction. “You and Mindy seemed to have quite a lot to talk about.”
“She’s . . . interesting,” I said. “Not at all who I expected her to be.”
“I’m glad you two hit it off,” she said. “I’ve invited her to sit with you and your father at the debate on Monday.”
The statement nearly flew over my head because it was the last thing I expected to hear, and it took me a moment to process it. “Why?”
“I thought you might enjoy spending time with someone your own age.”
“And?” If Dre hadn’t mentioned it and Mindy hadn’t explained her parents’ reasons for wanting her
at the party, I might not have questioned my mother’s motives, but now I couldn’t help wonder.
My mother dried her hands on her apron before turning to me. “It’ll be good for reporters to see you with a nice girl.”
“Mindy is nice,” I said. “But I’m not interested in her like that.”
“It’s about optics, Dean,” she said sweetly. “Officially, she will be there as a guest of the family. What conclusions journalists choose to draw is up to them.”
I wanted to press her on the issue. I wanted to ask her why this was so important to her now when it hadn’t been before. She didn’t care that I wasn’t interested in Mindy romantically, only that others believed I was. I wanted to tell her that I had met someone who made me happy—he also made me confused in a good way and exasperated frequently. I wanted to tell the entire world about Dre so that they could share my happiness. But the world wouldn’t have been happy for me. My mother wouldn’t have celebrated with cake or pie or any type of dessert. The truth was that I couldn’t predict how she would react, and I was scared to find out. So I remained quiet and kept drying dishes until we were done, and then I went to bed.
Dre
DEAN AND DRE.
Dre and Dean.
D&D? Nah. Too corny.
Still, Dean and I were a thing. I wasn’t sure what kind of thing. A casual thing? A serious thing? A thing we had to keep secret from the world? None of those things? All of them? It was exciting and confusing and a little exhausting. But we had a relationship, and I could barely stop grinning. I wondered if dating someone who was demi was different from dating someone who wasn’t. I’d never dated anyone before, and neither had Dean, so it wasn’t like either of us had a frame of reference. We’d just have to muddle through it the best we could.
I hadn’t told Dean about the Teen Vogue interview because I thought it might work better if his reaction to being challenged was authentic. I was proud that I’d come up with the idea on the fly, and I hoped Dean felt the same. I hoped it even worked. Dating was already complicated; dating someone in secret who didn’t live in the same state was like doing calculus without a graphing calculator. Still totally worth it.
Mom and Dad were at church, so I left them a note and took off to Mel’s for Dungeons & Dragons. We hadn’t talked since our blowup when I’d admitted I had a thing for Dean, but D&D was a solid way to work through our issues. She might not like that I was actually dating Dean now, but she’d send some monsters to murder me, I’d fight them off, we’d have a laugh, and everything would go back to normal. That was kind of the way we were.
The first thing that clued me in that something was wrong was the lack of cars in Mel’s driveway. Julian and Dhonielle both had their own cars, and at least one of them always drove. I wasn’t early, so someone should have been there.
The second clue was Mel answering the door in her Snorlax pajamas, looking at me like I’d shaken her out of a deep sleep she desperately needed.
“What’re you doing here, Dre?”
I held up my dice bag. “It’s Sunday. Game day?”
Mel’s eyes fluttered like she was going to roll them but couldn’t quite gather the energy for it. “We play on Saturdays.”
“Since when?”
“Since yesterday,” Mel said. “It’s easier for the rest of us, and with you not around, I made the decision to change the day.”
I’d walked to Mel’s on big fluffy clouds built from the happiness I felt about Dean, and Mel had just pissed all over them. “Are you serious?”
Instead of replying, Mel walked into the house. She’d left the door open, so I followed her in and into the kitchen, where she poured us each a mug of coffee.
“Like, I know you’re mad at me, but how’re you gonna play without Poppy Needles? How’re you gonna play without me?”
Mel drank her coffee black, in gulps that should’ve burned her esophagus all the way down. “It was easy, actually.”
“Fuck off.”
“Feel free to leave anytime, Dre.”
I couldn’t stand anymore. I slumped onto the stool at the kitchen counter. Really, I should’ve walked out the door since Mel obviously didn’t want me there, but I couldn’t. The others were cool and I liked hanging out with them, but I didn’t need them the way I needed Mel, and I needed Mel like I needed to breathe. I’d thought she needed me too, but I was obviously wrong.
“The world doesn’t stop because you’re busy.”
“You think I’m mad because you changed gaming days and, okay, I am, but I’m more mad that you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t think you’d even show up,” she said. “It’s not like you show up for anything else these days.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It is and you know it.”
“Whatever,” I said. “You’re right.” The truth was that I didn’t want to fight anymore, and I hoped by giving in, we could maybe skip over a few steps and start getting back to normal. I had so much I wanted to tell her, mostly about Dean. “Since we’re not gaming, do you wanna do a dressup? I’ve got this idea for a gruesome unicorn—”
Mel looked away from me. “I can’t. I have plans.”
“What?” I asked. “I’m not doing anything. I could tag along. Unless it’s a date. Is it a date?”
Mel still wasn’t looking at me, and I knew it wasn’t a date before she replied. “Me and Dhonielle and Lev are driving to Sacramento.”
“Okay?”
“Jackson McMann is having a rally,” Mel said. “We’re going to protest.”
“I could go. What’re we protesting?” There was a lot to choose from. McMann had suggested during an interview with Rolling Stone magazine that all Muslims were terrorists. He’d gone on record with the Washington Post as saying that he supported the death penalty and believed states should execute more people and speed up the process by eliminating appeals. And during a segment on The View, he’d actually had the nerve to tell Whoopi that if women wanted to be paid as much as men, then they should take better care of their bodies and dress for the pay raises they wanted. All of which barely scratched the surface of awful things Jackson McMann had said and done.
Mel scoffed. “Yeah, as if your dad or Jose would let you be caught dead at a McMann rally, even just to protest.”
“Obviously, I wouldn’t tell them.” I definitely would’ve gotten reamed if cameras caught me at the rally, but it was a price I was willing to pay.
“Why? This isn’t even your thing. You wouldn’t care about politics if your dad wasn’t running.”
I wanted to tell her that wasn’t true, but it was. So I told her something that was true. “I just want to hang out with my best friend. And if that means carrying signs with catchy slogans on them and chanting, then I’m ready.”
“What if I don’t want to hang out with you?”
“Mel . . .”
“Still crushing on the son of Governor Satan?” Mel asked.
“We’re dating, actually,” I said, like that was a good comeback when I knew it wasn’t. “And I thought we agreed to stop with the name-calling?”
Mel’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re dating him? His mom thinks women who’re raped and have abortions should be put in prison, but you’re lecturing me on calling him names?”
“Dean and I decided not to talk about that stuff.”
“How fucking convenient for you,” Mel said, her voice rising. “It must be nice to be able to ignore everything so long as it doesn’t affect you and your chances of getting a piece of ass.”
“It’s not like that, Mel.” None of this was going the way I thought it would. Blood was burning my ears, and I felt like I was going to burst. “I just wanted to play D and D and then tell my best friend that I’d had my first kiss. I thought you were that person, but it looks like I was wrong.”
I got up and left, slamming the door behind me. Mel didn’t even try to follow, which I knew because I stopped as soon as I’d turned the corner a
t the end of her street and waited to see if she would. I gave up after five minutes and walked the rest of the way home.
Mel was being so unfair! I knew she didn’t agree with everything my dad did, and she stayed my best friend, but I was an asshole because I wasn’t going to hold Dean responsible for all the shit his mom did. She was so willing to give everyone the benefit of the doubt except for Dean. She wouldn’t even do it for me, and I was supposedly her best friend.
Whatever. Fine. If that’s what Mel wanted, then we were done.
I slammed the garage door when I got home, still pissed, and I didn’t notice my parents standing in the kitchen like they were waiting for me. They were still in their church clothes, but they did not look like they were filled with God’s love.
“Weird,” I said. “Both of you in the same room at the same time. Haven’t seen that in a while.” I was trying to make a joke, but it just came out mean.
“So,” Mom said. “How was Boston?”
My fight with Mel had left me battered and bruised, and Mom’s question was the punch that knocked me out.
“I don’t know—”
“Your mother asked you a question, Andre.”
I was scrambling, and I couldn’t come up with a lie fast enough.
My mom held up a printout that I couldn’t read from where I was standing. “We’ve got eight seventy-three at Bottomless Cup, eighty-nine fourteen at Newbury Comics.” Mom stopped and stared at me over the paper. “Really, Dre? Ninety dollars on comic books?”
“We gave you that card for emergencies,” my dad said. “Did you think we just paid it and never looked at it?”
“I didn’t think—”
“Clearly,” Dad said. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at me like that, and it gutted me.
Mom set the paper down. “You snuck off to Boston without telling us. Did you even tour the school in Rhode Island?”
“I walked around campus.”
“Why?” Dad asked. “What was in Boston?”
I couldn’t tell them about Dean. Telling Mel had been one thing, and I was regretting that, but if I told my mom and dad I’d met Dean there, they might tell Dean’s mom and then we’d have to explain why we were there, and I couldn’t do that to Dean.
The State of Us Page 17