Autoboyography
Page 17

When he leans back and lets out a laugh, I’m screwed. Totally ruined.
I can’t read him. I can’t grasp him.
I have no idea what he’s thinking and if he’s messing with me or if he really is this good, but never before have I wanted so fiercely to lean forward and put my mouth on someone’s neck, begging them to want me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I drive home still in sort of a daze, barely aware of anything that happened after lunch. Classes are a blur. I helped Autumn with her calc homework until late, but I’m not confident I was very helpful—or that her answers ended up being correct.
I’ve replayed my conversation with Sebastian over and over, and every time I wonder whether he looked as happy to see me as I think he did. We were flirting . . . I think? The idea of good, clean-cut Sebastian leaving school for what I suspect was the simple thrill of doing something he wasn’t supposed to is causing a serious malfunction in my brain.
I’m also trying to wrestle with the idea that Sebastian will be gone for the next week. I’ve always liked school, but seeing him in Seminar is pretty much the only thing making this final semester of high school bearable.
A thought occurs to me, and I fumble for my phone.
Can u text me while ur gone?
I regret sending it almost instantly, but figure at this point, what do I have to lose? Thankfully, he doesn’t let me spiral too long, and my screen lights up again.
I’ll be working with my editor and don’t know my exact schedule, but yeah, I’ll try.
I climb out of my car and shut the door, still smiling down at my phone when I stumble into the kitchen. Mom is at the sink, already wearing her bright rainbow pajamas, washing dishes.
“Hi, honey.”
“Hey,” I say, tucking my phone away and slipping out of my jacket. I’m distracted and drop it twice in an attempt to hang it up. “You’re home early.”
“Let’s just say I needed a glass of wine,” she says, closing the dishwasher door. She motions to the fridge. “Saved you a plate in there.”
I thank her with a kiss to the cheek before heading across the kitchen. It’s not that I’m particularly hungry—thinking of my lunch with Sebastian is enough to send my stomach back into roller coaster territory—but if I don’t eat, I’ll just disappear into my room, where I’ll obsessively reread his texts and possibly venture into less-than-wholesome territory. Which—let’s be real—is most likely going to happen anyway.
The plate has a Post-it note stuck to the Saran Wrap that says, YOU ARE MY PRIDE AND JOY. I pull it off and smile, although I can tell I’m too frantic, eyes too wide.
Mom watches me from the other side of the kitchen island. “You look a little . . . wound up. You okay?”
“Yeah, totally.” The weight of her attention follows me as I heat my food and pour myself a drink. “What happened at work?”
She steps around the counter, leaning against it like she’s going to answer. My phone vibrates in my pocket. As usual for this time of night, there’s a text from Autumn.
But there’s also a text from Sebastian.
Thanks for lunch btw.
I wasn’t having the greatest day and you turned it around.
Night, Tanner.
The roller coaster inside my stomach reaches the top of the hill and goes careening over the edge.
“Tanner?” Mom pulls her hair up into a ponytail, securing it with an elastic from around her wrist.
I tear my eyes from the screen. “Yeah?”
She nods slowly and pours herself that glass of wine before motioning for me to follow. “Let’s talk.”
Oh, crap. I asked her about her day and then stopped listening. Leaving my phone on the counter, I follow her into the living room.
On the giant easy chair in the corner, my mom tucks her feet beneath her, watching me sit down. “You know I love you.”
Inwardly, I wince. “I know, Mom.”
“And I’m so proud of the man you’re becoming, I could nearly burst.”
I nod. I’m lucky. I know I am. But there are times when the declarations of adoration begin to feel . . . excessive.
She leans forward, uses her gentle voice. “I’m just worried about you, honey.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to what you had to say about work.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
I know this already. “Mom, Sebastian is a Mormon, not a sociopath.”
Mom lifts her eyebrow sardonically, as if she’s going to crack a joke, but she doesn’t. And in a wild rush of relief, I’m glad she doesn’t. Defensiveness for him rises like heat in my chest.
“But everything between you is still platonic, or . . . ?”
I grow uneasy. Our family talks about everything, but I can’t stop thinking about their faces the other night at dinner and the realization that they have a very specific idea of the kind of guy I might end up with someday: someone just like us. “What if I had more than platonic feelings for him?”
She looks pained and nods slowly. “I don’t think I’m entirely surprised.”
“I went and saw him at lunch.”
I can see her swallowing her reaction down like a thick mouthful of cough syrup.
“You’re okay with this, right?” I ask.
“About you leaving campus?” She leans back, studying me. “Not really, but I know everyone does it, so I’m willing to pick my battles. About your sexuality? Absolutely. You never have to worry about that with your dad and me, okay?”
Now, I know this isn’t the reality for most queer kids. I know I am endlessly lucky. My word comes out a little thick with emotion: “Okay.”
“But am I going to be okay with you pursuing an LDS kid, boy or girl?” She shakes her head. “No. Tanner, I’m not. This is just me being honest. And maybe it’s my blind spot, but it genuinely troubles me.”
My gratitude is immediately extinguished. “How would this be any different from his parents saying guys are off-limits?”
“It’s completely different. Among a hundred other reasons, going to church is a choice. Being bisexual is simply who you are. I’m protecting you from the toxic messages of the church.”
I actually laugh at this. “And his parents are doing it to protect him from hell.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Tann. The church doesn’t threaten fire and brimstone.”
My lid blows. “How would I know what the LDS Church says about anything?” I ask, voice rising. “It’s not like you give us any level perspective on what they actually believe and how they function. All I know from you is they hate the gays, they hate women, they hate, they hate, they hate.”
“Tanner—”
“I don’t actually feel like the Mormon Church hates much of anything. You’re the one who hates them.”
Her eyes go wide, and then she turns her face away, taking a deep breath.
Oh, shit. I went way too far.
If Mom were a violent woman, she probably would have stood up and smacked me just then. I can read it in the stiff line of her shoulders, her deliberately calming breaths.
But Mom isn’t a violent woman. She’s gentle, and patient, and unwilling to rise to my bait. “Tanner, honey. This is so much more complicated for me than you can possibly imagine, and if you want to talk about my history with the church, we can. Right now I’m worried about you. You’ve always led with your heart first and your head second, but I need you to think about this one.” Tucking her leg underneath her again, she says, “You and Sebastian come from two very different places, and even though it’s not the same thing your dad and I or Aunt Emily went through, it’s not completely different, either. I assume his family doesn’t know he’s gay?”