Tell Me Again How a Crush Should Feel

by Sara Farizan

  “That was just a couple of times!” I protest, and she chuckles again. She takes another long drag, as though it’s what powers the exhalation of truth that follows.

  She rolls her eyes. “I was doing fine until you were so ridiculously sweet at just the right times. You’re crazy good at that by the way.” My cheeks burn in the bitter cold. “But I figured you were straight.” Have I landed in some parallel universe where everyone is gay and I don’t know it? If Ms. Taylor comes out next, I will die. “Then I saw you with her in the bathroom.”

  “Oh,” I whisper. “She’s seeing Greg now.”

  Lisa smirks and flicks her cigarette away. “I just want you to know that all of this is my therapist’s fault, that bitch.” I can’t help laughing. “And that you have someone to talk to. If you want.” I hear a twinge of hope in her voice.

  “Thank you,” I murmur. I wish I knew the right words to say. I don’t know what this means for us, but I know it’s really nice to have someone I can trust fully for the very first time.

  “Does your mom know?” I ask. Lisa shakes her head.

  “I figured there’s no reason to tell her. I’m not dating anyone, so . . .” Lisa blushes, and wow. She’s really serious about her feelings for me. “I assume you haven’t told your parents?”

  “Lisa, you don’t understand. It would hurt them. I’ve already disappointed them. My father is desperate for me to be a doctor. They’d probably kick me out. You know where they’re from, being gay is illegal? They imprison people over there for feeling like I do! Sentence them to death sometimes.” My lip trembles and my eyes water, but I don’t care if Lisa sees. She’s seen everything else.

  And then, there she is. The Lisa I knew so well. She takes my hand and rubs my wrist with her thumb. “Then it’s a good thing you live in the good ole U-S-of-A. Let’s get out of here. It’s freezing.”

  Twenty-six

  Tess and I are sitting in the library, supposedly studying for a science test. But Tess never really has to study for anything, and she’s going on and on about the Valentine’s Dance, still weeks away. We won’t have a prom in the spring because last year’s seniors filled the swimming pools with bubble bath, so the Valentine’s Dance, for all intents and purposes, is going to be our big formal occasion. All the girls in my grade are making a big deal about it.

  “We should go shopping soon, before all the good dresses are taken,” she says.

  “I’ll go shopping with you if you want, but I’m probably not going to the dance,” I tell her.

  She’s already jumped ahead. “We should get a group together and rent a limo.” I can’t be too annoyed, because she really is a good friend to me. She could go with the girls from the squash team, who would be just as excited about it as she is, and leave me out, but she wants include me even though I’m being such a downer about it.

  “What about dates?” I say, as though the answer to that question is not obvious.

  “I could help,” Saskia murmurs, creeping up behind us.

  “No,” I say, protective of Tess, even though Saskia is oblivious to Tess’s feelings about Greg, and Tess seems to be moving on. Maybe she figured she had a chance when I was the obstacle to her happiness, but waiting for Greg to get over Saskia is a statistical impossibility.

  “I could help you pick out dresses! Oh, come on, you know you’re helpless, Leila. You have no fashion sense.” Saskia winks, looking me up and down as though part of her is assessing my body in a slightly inappropriate way. I cross my arms over my chest. “Think of it as my charitable contribution. We can all go shopping. What do you say?”

  I want to be on better terms with Saskia for Greg’s sake. He and I haven’t spoken since our argument. I also should be on better terms with Saskia because she knows I’m into girls, but I’d rather send her to Saint Petersburg on Aeroflot. At least she’s trying to be friendly, in her slightly warped Saskia way. And her hair looks so good down.

  “It’ll be great. You can get dresses for the dance, and we’ll also find something for you both that will guarantee you’ll get dates in the meantime.” Saskia smiles at Tess like she’s running for office, and Tess looks so hopeful I can almost ignore the feeling in my bones that this is a very bad idea.

  Tess is doing her best to speak girl with Saskia, talking about upcoming spring collections, but it sounds rehearsed, like she’s memorized information out of a magazine. She half gives up and walks beside me as we enter the next store. It feels like we have been to about thirty already. I can’t quite figure out why Saskia has offered to do this, but if it helps Tess, that’s all that matters. Maybe she’s really making amends. I just don’t know why I let myself be roped into it. I have no intention of going to the dance.

  Saskia holds up hangers to Tess with the fervor of a Project Runway contestant. When Tess emerges from the changing room, she looks really good in the clothes Saskia has picked for her. I will give Saskia one thing; she does know fashion.

  “Leila, you should totally try this on,” Tess says, pulling a red dress from the rack. Saskia looks at the dress and gushes about it, too.

  “Excellent eye, Tess!” Saskia says. “Yes, you must try it on, Leila!” I know this means I’m not getting out of it. Whatever Saskia wants, Saskia gets. Saskia pulls me into a fitting room, dress in hand. She blocks the door and smiles.

  “Just try it on,” she purrs, inching closer to me. I gape at her. “God, you’re such a prude! Fine. I’ll close my eyes.” She covers her eyes with her hands.

  “I don’t want to try this on with you in here.” She keeps her hands over her eyes, and I angrily take off my pants and shirt, because it’s just another battle I can’t win. When I zip up the dress, I tell her she can look. When she does she look, it’s with lust in her eyes.

  “You’re delicious,” Saskia says, and my legs are jelly and my face is on fire. How can she still have this effect on me after everything she’s done? “I love being in dressing rooms with you. Last time you were so nervous. Remember?”

  “Can you get out now?” I plead, but she wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me close.

  “We have time. Tess is still shopping.”

  “Why are you helping Tess, anyway?” I ask. Saskia leans in close and brushes her lips against mine. I momentarily forget where I am.

  She grazes my cheek with hers when she whispers in my ear, “Tess is important to you. Or to your science grade, anyway. So I wanted to help.”

  I shove Saskia away. “What about Greg?”

  She backs away slightly and rolls her eyes. “God, he’s so dull. He only ever wants to have sex missionary-style. And he has very little stamina.” She laughs a little but the whole thing is twisted, and now I feel a little sick to my stomach, thinking about the two of them together, thinking about poor Greg. I don’t want to hear any more. As if I could stop her. “But you, Leila . . . You always have something interesting to say. You know about Hitchcock films, you pretend to like my jazz music, you even make me laugh, which not many people can do. Not a real laugh anyway.” She inches closer again and grabs at my hips. In spite of myself, it feels good and a part of me wants to give in.

  “But Greg’s my friend,” I whimper.

  “Ugh!” she groans. “Fine!” She pulls her cell phone from her purse and begins typing a text message. “There.”

  “There what?”

  “I broke up with him.” She says this like she has just decided to make toast.

  “By text?”

  Saskia shows me the screen of her phone. It reads It’s Over. Sorry! Just like that. Like he didn’t matter one iota to her. Like what he’s feeling on receiving this message doesn’t matter, either. She plops her phone back into her purse, then lunges forward aggressively and bites my lower lip.

  “Stop!” I force her off me. She crashes into the wall behind her. I’m not sure what is happening, but she eyes me like a feral animal. Where are the store clerks to knock on the door? They’re always available at the wrong times.<
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  “Isn’t this what you wanted?” Saskia asks in a sultry voice.

  “Saskia, you hurt me.” I look for any sort of sympathy in her expression. “Do you understand that?” Nothing. “I don’t . . . This isn’t what I want.”

  Saskia looks unmoved. “Then what do you want, you stupid dyke?” she asks icily.

  Oh.

  This bitch is crazy.

  Saskia gets close to my face again and caresses my cheek. “No one is done with me until I am done with them. Do you understand?”

  I’m getting a little scared now but don’t let on. Saskia gives me an evil smile before she exits the dressing room.

  As soon as I get my hands to stop shaking I change back into my regular clothes. I find Tess and Saskia at the cash register, paying for a dress Saskia has picked out. Tess is smiling, so at least something good has come out of this whole afternoon. Saskia signs her credit card receipt and behaves as though nothing strange has happened.

  “Should we keep looking?” she asks Tess and me cheerily.

  Tess looks worried. “Leila? Why are you shivering like that?” she asks. Instantly, Saskia’s face changes. Her grin disappears and her eyes grow wide with fake concern. But I can’t tell Tess what just happened without outing myself. Saskia knows it, too.

  “Tess, can we go home? I don’t feel well,” I plead.

  “But we have so many more stores to see!” Saskia says, throwing an arm around Tess like they are best buds. I have to get out of here.

  “Please,” I blubber. Tess rushes toward me and gives me a hug.

  “Don’t cry! If you feel that sick, I’ll drive you home.” Tess walks me out of the store and Saskia trails us, asking me what’s wrong and why won’t I tell my best friends what’s troubling me.

  Twenty-seven

  I can’t sleep. I keep analyzing every move, every sentence Saskia said in the changing room.

  Then what do you want, you stupid dyke?

  It was cold. It was brutal. I am scared of what she is capable of. I am terrified that she will tell someone about me and rob me of my privacy and my choice to tell or not tell my friends and family this fact of who I am. My anxiety grows as I imagine every scenario in which she could hurt me. She would just need to tell one person at school and the rumor would spread faster than Ashley’s legs in Mr. Harris’s science lab. Which is also a rumor that spread quickly. It would be only a matter of time before my parents would hear about their gay daughter. I imagine the parent phone chain coming to life. “Another snow day, right?” “No, Leila Azadi is a lesbian.”

  Stupid dyke.

  I was stupid. Stupid to fall for someone so fast and for superficial reasons. She was gorgeous, she noticed me, she was charming . . . and I feel like the biggest sap on earth. Like the gumshoe in a film noir who lets the femme fatale pin him for the crime. “It was the broad, see! She’s the one that done it.”

  What do you want?

  I want to stop living in fear. I want to stop coming up with excuses about why I’m not interested in dating. I want my family to know me. I want to get to learn more about Lisa. I want to stop feeling like everything I am is inadequate or makes me unworthy of love because of something I can’t help.

  I know that I have to tell Mom. There’s no getting away from it.

  Morning finally arrives, and I’ve been up all night thinking about what I want to say. I keep thinking, too, about Kayvon and how his parents no longer speak of him. I wonder how long it will take for Mom to erase me from her memory.

  I listen for the garage door to open to let me know Dad is off to work. When I imagine coming out to Dad, all the bile and acid in my stomach lurch up to my throat. He gets upset and angry about mundane things like buying a rotten watermelon. When that happened, he went back to the grocery store and got in an argument with the manager for ten minutes, causing everyone in the store to stare as a brown man turned purple. Finally the whirring crank of the motor and clang of the chain let me know it’s time to face my fate.

  Mom is brewing coffee in the kitchen when I show up.“You’re awake, Leila? But it’s so early.” I sit down on a stool by the kitchen island. I don’t know how to begin this.

  “Leila joon! You’ve been crying! What’s the matter?” She hugs me and I just cry harder. Mom pats my head and makes comforting little cooing noises. I soak it in. I don’t know if all this hugging and consoling will last when I tell her why I’m such a mess.

  “You’re going to hate me,” I mutter into her chest.

  “Is it your science grade? We can get you a tutor. It will be okay.”

  “No! It’s not my science grade.” I back away from her in frustration. She looks lost but also protective.

  “What is it?” she asks. But this is too hard.

  “You’re going to hate me! You and Dad are going to hate me, so I don’t want to tell you.”

  She inches forward and looks at me fiercely. “You’re my daughter. I am never going to hate you. I might be angry with you, or disappointed, but I will love you until I don’t have any breath left. You understand that?” At that last bit she chokes up, which makes me start crying again. Mom sits me down on the couch.

  “So you’ll love me no matter what?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think you will.”

  “Try me.”

  How do people do this? How do people work up the courage to be themselves even if it means facing rejection from people who love them? Why don’t people get medals for this?

  “Your friends the Madanis, they used to have a son right?”

  Mom frowns. “I wouldn’t call them friends. More like acquaintances.”

  “Anyway, they had a son . . .”

  “They still do. He’s living in Phoenix near his aunt.”

  “But they kicked him out.”

  Mom is starting to catch on. “Yes. They did.” The space between us is loaded with heaviness. I can’t look at her face. I know what I’ll see there. I will see her mouth tighten, I will see the frown lines by her lips deepen, I will see her eyes steel.

  “No,” my mom says firmly. “I didn’t raise you to be that way.”

  I bury my face in my hands. I don’t ever want to take my hands away.

  “Stop. Stop crying. It’s okay.” I feel the weight of the sofa cushion shift as my mom stands up to walk away.

  My nose is running. I wish Lisa were here with another tissue. What did I expect? That my mother was going to exclaim, “Finally! A lesbian daughter!” and lead me by the hand to the next Pride parade? I am a fool for doing this. I should have just kept it secret. Forever. How would my family ever know? I could just bring my “roommate” to Nowruz parties and distant cousins’ weddings. Just friends, my “roommate” and I.

  My mom puts her hands on my back and hands me a paper towel. I silently take it and wipe my face. She sits next to me again. She doesn’t hold me or anything, but she’s close. Close enough that’s it’s clear she knows she can’t catch the gay.

  “But you’ve never been with a boy before.”

  “No. I haven’t.” She’s not advocating that I become the town slut and give all the boys at school a try, is she?

  “Then how do you know? For sure?” How does she know she likes men? I could tell her that even though I’ve tried to like boys, I will never fall in love with one. I could tell her that I have wished my feelings away for months.

  “I just know,” I say. “It isn’t going away.” This time I meet her eyes. I need her to know it’s serious, even if I’m embarrassed and ashamed. This matters, and I can’t deny it.

  “We’re not going to tell your dad and sister,” Mom says gently while rubbing my back. “Not now. Okay?” I nod and feel only relieved.

  “Do you hate me?” I ask. Mom looks at me seriously and doesn’t hesitate at all.

  “I love you. You’re my whole reason to exist. That’s why this is hard.”

  What were supposed to be words of comfort make me feel like crap.
But at least I don’t have to pack my things and go. It could have been a lot worse.

  “I need time,” Mom says. “And maybe you will change your mind. You have your whole life ahead of you. But I know you’ve been keeping this from me, and you should never keep anything from me.”

  Maybe, but I don’t think it’s the right time to mention falling for a scarily unbalanced girl. I’m hoping I’ll never have to bring it up. Mom tells me to wash my face and not to cry anymore. After I clean my face and look in the mirror, I text the first person who pops into my head. Really, she’s been there throughout this whole conversation.

  Me: I came out to my mom. There is snot everywhere.

  It takes Lisa twenty seconds to text back.

  Lisa: I’m so proud of you.

  Me: She doesn’t hate me.

  Lisa: She never would. Your mom adores you.

  I type and retype my next text at least five times.

  Me: Is it weird that I text you now?

  Lisa takes no time at all to respond.

  Lisa: No. It’s wonderful.

  Everything is heightened now that I’ve told my mom the truth. I’ve been observing her behavior for the past two days. I don’t feel less loved or like she’s ignoring me, but neither one of us mentions what I’ve said. She’s praying a lot all of a sudden, I notice, which is weird because we’re not religious. At night, before she goes to bed, she pulls out her prayer rug and faces east. It’s funny, during the day she is this glamorous woman in tight sweaters and fitted pants. When she prays she’s swimming in a sheet, with just her face showing. It makes her look so much older, especially when she bends her forehead to the floor. I think she’s trying to pray that my lesbian inclinations will go away, but she never says anything about it, so I can’t know for sure.

  Dad doesn’t even pay attention to my gloomy mood anymore. He just notices that I’m studying again, and that’s all he cares about. I don’t know when or if I’m ever going to tell him, but I’d better hope to God I get into medical school before he finds out. I still don’t want to be a doctor, but I’m considering it now that I’m supergay and want to make it up to my parents.