Tell Me Again How a Crush Should Feel (14 page)

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.

When I come home from school the third day after talking to Mom, Dad is cooking dinner. He always gets excited and wants to show off his purchases when he has gone grocery shopping.

“Leila
joon
! Look, I’m making scallops! If you had this at a restaurant, one serving would cost almost the same as the whole pound that I bought today.”

I wish I didn’t love my dad so much and always want his approval. Maybe I don’t try as hard as Nahal does because I already know I’m going to disappoint him. I figure I’d better just get some of the disappointment out of the way today. I’m on a roll.

“Dad, I’m not going to be a doctor.” He stops cooking and looks at me.

“I know that, honey.”

“You do?” I’m shocked. I mean, this whole time he’s been telling me what a great job it is and encouraging me to take summer courses in biology.

He nods with a smile. “I know you’ve never been interested. But you can do whatever you want. Maybe not an actor . . . I don’t know how stable that is . . .” He turns the flame on the stove higher and with a fork pokes at the scallops sizzling in the skillet. “I just want you to be happy. That doesn’t mean you can get bad grades, though!” Before I can laugh, Mom walks into the kitchen.

“What are you two talking about?” she asks a little sharply. She wants to know if I’ve told him.

“Scallops,” I say weakly. I don’t know when I’m going to tell Dad my big secret, but I know he’ll eventually figure it out. Maybe the same way he figured out I don’t want to be a doctor. Maybe when I bring my roommate to Nahal’s wedding.

After dinner and her prayers, Mom comes to my room to tell me good night. I’m in bed studying for my science quiz tomorrow. She smiles.

“I’m glad you’re focusing on school.”

“You mean instead of girls?” I shouldn’t have said it, but we haven’t talked about the big issue.

“Is there . . . someone . . . you like?” She can’t even say “a girl.” I don’t want to tell her about Saskia being a psycho or how Lisa confounds me in the best way possible.

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing could happen anyway, because you and Dad would freak out. I’m sorry I’m not perfect, like Nahal.” Mom sits down next to me on my bed. I just lie on my side, looking at my book.

She takes my hand. “I was a very good student, you know. My parents didn’t care that much. They focused more on relatives in Iran during the war in the eighties. I was fifteen when my family and I moved to this country. I kept doing well. I got good grades and I didn’t go on dates. I was asked out a lot, especially by American men, handsome men. But it wasn’t right. My parents wouldn’t have liked it,” Mom’s never really talked about her dating history.

“I was getting my master’s degree when I met your father. I had other Iranian suitors, too. But he was a nice man. He wanted children. My parents approved because he was doing his residency, and I liked him. So we got married. But I was so young and didn’t know who I was yet. What I wanted.”

“So you’re saying you don’t love Dad?”

“No, Leila. I do. But I always wonder
what
if
about a lot of things. And I never want you or your sister to wonder
what if
about anything. Just because I didn’t know who I was when I was young, doesn’t mean you can’t figure out who
you
are.”

I think that’s her admitting that she’s okay with my liking girls, and decide to seize the moment.

“Lisa’s been really great lately.”

Mom’s eyes widen a little, but she still holds my hand.

“She’s very beautiful,” Mom says. “I thought you were going to say you liked one of those shaved-head girls.” I laugh. Mom has never looked more gorgeous to me.

“What are we going to do about Dad?” I ask.

“I’ll worry about him. But I know he loves you no matter what.”

“He overcooked the scallops.”

Mom sighs. “He usually overcooks something.” She kisses me on the cheek. As she leaves the room, I feel like things are going to be okay.

I get a B on my science quiz and I couldn’t be more thrilled. Science isn’t kicking me in the gut so hard these days, and Mr. Harris shows he notices by drawing a smiley face on my quiz.

“I got a B, Tess!” I proclaim as I catch up with her in the hallway, where she’s exiting her AP physics class. She rips the quiz from my hands and gapes at it while walking.

“Holy crap! I
am
a genius,” she says, and kisses the quiz. I grab for it and smooth out whatever wrinkles Tess may have caused.

“Thanks are in order, yes. I owe you,” I say. She gets an impish look in her eye.

“Anything I ask for?”

“Is this going to be about that stupid dance again?” I ask, already knowing the answer. When Tess drove me home from the mall after the dressing room fiasco, I was adamant that I wanted
nothing
to do with the dance. I don’t want to be anywhere near Saskia unless I have to be, like school. I’ve only seen her walking by a few times, and usually I can hide or walk in a different direction to avoid her.

“It’s going to be fun! I think,” Tess says. We walk into the library during our shared free period and head for our usual table. It’s already taken. Greg sits writing on his laptop, engrossed in whatever he’s working on. We still haven’t spoken even though Saskia broke up with him. I miss him. I approach him. Feeling my presence, he looks up.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” he says back. We’re an articulate duo. Don’t guys normally just punch each other and then make up? Can’t we do that?

“I’m sorry about being weird.” It’s the best I can come up with. He processes this for a moment.

“Well, you never could help being weird,” he says with a grin. I think I’ve got my friend back. Tess approaches us and sits across from Greg.

“Finally! You two were annoying me with all your teen angst.” I pull out a chair and sit next to Greg.

“What are you guys up to?” Greg asks. If only I were prepared to tell him. Or even knew where to begin.

“I’m convincing Leila that we should all go to the dance,” Tess whispers, and Greg and I both groan.

“Sorry, Tess, but I’m not really going to be in a Valentine’s mood when February fourteenth rolls around,” Greg says. I would love to tell him I know exactly how he feels. He turns to me. “You were right. That girl was erratic as fu—”

I interrupt him, not wanting to get into the details of Saskia’s wicked ways. “I’m sorry you had to learn that from experience. She’s just bad news.”

“She text-message broke up with me! What kind of person does that? And she was always hot and cold. Like one minute she was super into me and the next she was bored and shut off.”

“I know! She’s so infuriating!” I add, unable to help myself. “And what’s worse, she makes you feel like you’re her best friend.”

“And she knows she’s hot, so I would totally feel like a million bucks that she wanted to be with me.”

Tess slams her notebook on the table and glowers at both of us. We stop our complaining and give her our undivided attention.

“I’m sorry, but I have had it with you two,” she says. Whoa. She faces me. “You, Leila, have been weirdly secretive and mopey and I have no idea why, but it’s bumming me out. You’re supposed to be the fun one! And lately I feel like I have to be the one to get us to do stuff while all you want to do is study for biology. Which is bizarre. So snap out of it.”

Tess turns toward Greg, and his eyes widen. “And
you
are Greg Crawford! Awesome guy, great student, amazing athlete, but you’ve been walking in Saskia’s shadow like she has an invisible leash just for you!” She scowls and leans in, and Greg and I both tilt back in our seats. “This year I was lead in a play, I have excellent grades, I am
finally
a varsity athlete, and in a couple of weeks I won’t have to wear my retainer anymore. So I am going to that dance with my friends. I want the corsage, I want the awkward slow dance, I want it all. Okay?”

Neither Greg nor I say anything for a moment. Neither do any of the other five people in the library who have just heard Tess’s rant and are staring at us. Tess leans back and covers her mouth in what I think is slight embarrassment, but maybe she’s just wiping away the spit that accompanied our reaming out. Greg is blushing, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off Tess. He does like outspoken women. I do know that about him.

“So are you two sad sacks going to suck it up and come to the dance with me?” Greg nods, his mouth a little open.

“I owe you for all the science tutoring,” I admit.

“Damn right you do,” Tess says, but she’s smiling, and it makes me chuckle. She looks Greg in the eye. “And
Zombie Killers Part II
is
not
the best in the franchise. That honor goes to the original
Zombie
Killers.
” She slaps her notebook, picks up her pen, and starts writing with what appears to be fierce concentration. She is done with us. Greg looks at me with raised eyebrows and still-big eyes. I like aggravated Tess. We should annoy her more often.

Tomas is running lines with the kids, and he’s hard on them! I’ve taken the role of good cop in this scenario, since I think they are all so cute. Tomas, after every rehearsal, tells me not to condescend to them and to treat them like real thespians.

“Thurston!” Tomas barks from the seats in the audience. “Are you taking this role on wholeheartedly or would you rather we give it to someone else?”

Thurston stands onstage and barks right back. “I’m taking it seriously! As seriously as someone can take this dumb play!” It’s not so bad. Well, okay, it’s pretty bad, but let him try writing a half-hour play with a full homework schedule and loony-toon girls on the brain.

“Thurston,” Tomas says, “while our rendition of Cinderella is no
Scarface,
we are trying to impact an audience with our sincerity and your adorable faces. We have a chance to really get people to feel! And you’re not going to screw that up for me . . . I mean us.” Thurston folds his arms and glares at Tomas.

“Maybe we should take a break?” I say, and I hear the kids breathe a sigh of relief. Tomas pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

“Fine. Take five, you heathens,” he says. The kids start to leave the auditorium, only to run into Lisa, entering in her squash gear. The twelve-year-olds swarm Lisa, telling her they heard how great she did at the match last weekend. Lisa and I lock eyes, and her smile widens. My stomach begins an elaborate gymnastics routine.

“So when are you two going to make out already?” Tomas asks, and I look at him incredulously.

“We’re not . . . She’s not . . .”

“Well, she doesn’t visit rehearsal to watch tweens recite their lines. And I’m handsome, but I don’t think we’d mesh well.” I glance over at Lisa, who is smiling at the kids. She’s adorable.

“We wouldn’t work,” I mutter.

Tomas bonks me on the head. “If I had someone to get through high school with, all the other nonsense would be worth it.” I know what he’s talking about. Robert and some of the jocks have been particularly ruthless to Tomas lately, probably because the cool girls aren’t that interested in him anymore and so aren’t there to protect him. The novelty of a gay mascot has worn off.

“I’m not as strong as you are,” I say, and he beams. I rarely compliment him, because he makes it so hard with his gloating afterward.

“Listen, high school is just a phase,” he says as he directs his attention to Lisa.

“But we might as well make the best of it while we’re in it.”

“If I leave rehearsal early, are you going to be verbally abusive to the kids?” I ask seriously. I’ve never left the middle schoolers alone with him, and I am terrified of how many parents might call Mr. Kessler tomorrow.

Tomas pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll go easy on them. Besides, we only have half an hour left. I’ll make them do Oscar acceptance speeches.” He sometimes has the kids pretend they’ve won an Academy Award as a self-esteem boost. There’s a lot of thanking their parents and imaginary agents.

“Thank you,” I tell him sincerely.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says.

I pry Lisa from the sticky grip of half a dozen middle school admirers, and we leave Tomas and the kids to their awards ceremony.

“How’s home?” Lisa asks as she walks me to the tennis court bleachers. It seems like it’s become our “spot,” though I wish we had a “spot” that was in a warmer climate.

“Fine. Mom’s been really cool, but I think it’s going to take her some time to adapt. Not going to be making out with anyone in front of her anytime soon.”

Lisa climbs up a few rows as usual. She sits and extends her arm, offering me a seat. I leave the usual few inches between us. Lisa takes out a cigarette and scrunches up her face at my disapproving look.

“Tess is going nuts about this dance,” I tell her as she smokes.

“I know. She talks about it at squash practice all the time.”

“It’s stupid. Dances.” Lisa nods and flicks ash off her cigarette. “Are you going to go?” I ask.

Lisa laughs and shakes her head emphatically.

“Well, I have to go,” I say. “Mostly because of Tess and Greg. Plus, my mom expects me to go. I won’t have a date, though. Unless someone wanted to ask me . . .”

I look at Lisa with what I imagine are my huge, fearful Bambi eyes. She doesn’t meet my gaze. She just stares out at the empty tennis court and drops her cigarette onto the bench below us, crushing it with her foot. I try to keep my mind busy through the silence. Is there chocolate-flavored gum yet? Did I remember to clear my browser history of lesbian folk music sites? I’ve been learning a lot about Ani DiFranco. I don’t even like folk music, but I guess I’d better see what all the fuss is about if I am to join my people.

“I’m only just starting to feel better,” Lisa finally whispers. “And I don’t want you to have to pick me up when I break again.” Her eyes begin to tear up a little. It’s the first time I’ve seen her cry since we were kids. I put my hand on hers.

“When you’re ready, so am I.” She smiles through her tears and she rests her head on my shoulder while I rub her back.

“Do I have to say something cheesy from a movie now?” she asks through her tears.

I nod.

“You had me at hello.”

I chuckle and so does she, in between her sobs.