Autoboyography
Page 5
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Fortunately, Autumn is tagging along. Mom’s superpower seems to be her uncanny ability to find the ugliest clothing for her children. In this way, Autumn is a great wingwoman. But unfortunately, having all three of them around means any mobile Sebastian investigation needs to be done covertly. Autumn might raise an eyebrow if she caught me googling pictures of our hot male TA. Mom and Hailey know I like guys, but Mom in particular would not be thrilled to know that the object of my current interest is the local bishop’s son.
Organized religion isn’t something that’s regarded too fondly in our house. My dad is Jewish but hasn’t been to temple in years. Mom grew up LDS, just north of here in Salt Lake City, but defected from the church at nineteen, when her younger sister, my aunt Emily, came out in high school and her parents and the church cut her off. Of course, I wasn’t around then, but I’ve heard some of the stories and see Mom’s forehead vein make an appearance whenever any aspect of the church’s narrow-mindedness comes up. Mom didn’t want to break up with her parents but, like any normal, compassionate human, couldn’t justify alienating someone she loved because of a bunch of old rules in a book.
So then, you might ask, why are we here, living in the most LDS-dense place in the world? Also, ironically, my mother. Two and a half years ago, a massive, super-loaded software startup based here lured her away from Google, where she’d been the only senior software engineer with an XX genotype, and she basically cleaned the floor with everyone around her. NextTech offered her the CEO position, but she asked for the CTO job instead, which came with an almost unlimited tech-development budget. Right now her team is developing some 3-D holographic modeling software for NASA.
For any other family with two six-figure incomes still barely cutting it in the South Bay, the decision would have been an easy one. A salary hike in a place where the cost of living could fit in our smallest Palo Alto closet? Done. But because of Mom’s past, the decision to move was agonizing. I still remember hearing my parents arguing about it late into the night while Hailey and I were supposed to be sleeping. Dad thought it was an opportunity she couldn’t possibly turn down, and one that would feed her imagination. Mom agreed—but worried about how it would affect her children.
In particular, she worried about how it would affect me. Two months before the offer came in, I admitted to my parents that I’m bisexual. Well, “admitted” might be taking too much credit. For her graduate school project, Mom created undetectable software that helps employers keep track of what their employees are doing. Turns out it’s so user-friendly and has such a pretty interface that a consumer version was created and sold to nearly every household with a working computer in the States. I probably should have put two and two together and realized my parents would also be using it on our home network before I discovered I could stream porn on my phone.
That was an awkward conversation, but at least it resulted in a compromise: I could go to certain sites, and they wouldn’t stalk me online as long as I didn’t lurk on places that, as Mom put it, “would give me unrealistic expectations about how sex should be or what our bodies should look like.”
In the end, my stridently anti-LDS parents moved their emo-scene daughter and queer son back into LDS wonderland. To compensate for their guilt over making sure I protect myself at all costs (read: be very, very careful about who I come out to), my parents have made our home a gay, gay den of pride. Autumn and I spend most of our time together at her house, and Hailey hates almost everyone (and no one from her angry coven ever comes over), so LGBTQ essays, PFLAG pamphlets, and rainbow T-shirts are handed to me at spontaneous moments with a kiss and a lingering look of pride. Mom will slide the occasional bumper sticker into my pillowcase, to be found when the sharp corner meets my cheek at night.
NOTHING WOULD BE THE SAME IF YOU DID NOT EXIST!
COURAGE IS BEING YOURSELF EVERY DAY IN A WORLD THAT TELLS YOU TO BE SOMEONE ELSE.
LOVE KNOWS NO LIMITS.
NORMAL IS JUST A DIAL ON THE WASHING MACHINE!
Autumn has found a few of them here and there over the years but shrugs it off with a murmur of “San Francisco, man.”
It’s funny to think about these now in the car, surreptitiously scrolling slack-jawed through photos of Sebastian, because I start imagining them read to me in his deep, gentle voice. Even hearing Sebastian speak a mere three times today, the sound of it still hovers like a drunk honeybee inside my head.
Hey, guys.
Oh, the book is out in June.
I’m here to help, however you need me, so use me.
I almost lost it when he said that.
A Web search doesn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. Most of the results for “Sebastian Brother” are for a steakhouse in Omaha, links to articles about the Seminar, or announcements about Sebastian’s book.
Google Images is where I hit the jackpot. There are photos of him playing baseball and soccer (yes, I save one), and a few of him doing interviews for local papers. When I click through, his answers don’t say much about him—they seem pretty canned—but he’s wearing a tie in a lot of the photos, and combined with his hair? I’m ready to start the Sebastian Brother Spank Bank folder.
Really, he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in person.
Facebook is a dead end. Sebastian’s account is locked (of course it is), so not only can I not see his photos, but I can’t see his relationship status, either. Not that I care, or will beyond a few days. He’s Mormon eye candy. This flash of infatuation won’t go anywhere interesting. I wouldn’t let it—we’re on opposite sides of a very thick fence.
I close every window on my phone’s browser before I fall prey to the worst social media stalking possible: the futile hunt for his Snapchat or Instagram. Even the idea of stumbling upon a sleepy shirtless Sebastian selfie wreaks havoc on my nervous system.
At the mall, Autumn and I follow my mom as she weaves through the racks of the guys’ department at Nordstrom. I’m bored putty in their hands. Mom leads me to table of shirts, holding a few up to my chest. She narrows her eyes, asks Autumn’s opinion, and the two women confer before wordlessly rejecting most of them. I don’t comment; I know how this works.
My sister is off somewhere getting her own things, giving us a nice reprieve from her constant need to bicker with us. Autumn and Mom get along, and when they’re together, I get a break from having to pay attention to anything anyone is saying; they keep each other entertained.
Mom holds a hideous Western-themed shirt up to my chest.
I can’t let this one slide. “No.”
She ignores me and looks to Autumn for her opinion. But Auddy is Team Tanner, and scrunches her nose in distaste.
Hanging the shirt back up, Mom asks her, “How is your schedule this term?”
“I love it.” Auddy hands Mom a short-sleeved blue button-down from RVCA. I give her a covert thumbs-up. “I may need to switch Modern Lit to Shakespeare, and calculus is probably going to be my death, but otherwise—good.”
“I’m sure Tanner would love to help you with calc,” Mom says, and I feel Autumn throw an eye roll in my direction. “What about you, honey?”
I lean against the rack, crossing my arms over the silver bar. “I added biology after lunch, and now I’m sleepy last period.”
Mom’s blond hair is smooth and pulled into a ponytail, and she’s traded her work clothes for jeans and a sweater. She looks younger dressed like this, and if Hailey would drop her Wednesday Addams thing, she and Mom would look like sisters.
Organized religion isn’t something that’s regarded too fondly in our house. My dad is Jewish but hasn’t been to temple in years. Mom grew up LDS, just north of here in Salt Lake City, but defected from the church at nineteen, when her younger sister, my aunt Emily, came out in high school and her parents and the church cut her off. Of course, I wasn’t around then, but I’ve heard some of the stories and see Mom’s forehead vein make an appearance whenever any aspect of the church’s narrow-mindedness comes up. Mom didn’t want to break up with her parents but, like any normal, compassionate human, couldn’t justify alienating someone she loved because of a bunch of old rules in a book.
So then, you might ask, why are we here, living in the most LDS-dense place in the world? Also, ironically, my mother. Two and a half years ago, a massive, super-loaded software startup based here lured her away from Google, where she’d been the only senior software engineer with an XX genotype, and she basically cleaned the floor with everyone around her. NextTech offered her the CEO position, but she asked for the CTO job instead, which came with an almost unlimited tech-development budget. Right now her team is developing some 3-D holographic modeling software for NASA.
For any other family with two six-figure incomes still barely cutting it in the South Bay, the decision would have been an easy one. A salary hike in a place where the cost of living could fit in our smallest Palo Alto closet? Done. But because of Mom’s past, the decision to move was agonizing. I still remember hearing my parents arguing about it late into the night while Hailey and I were supposed to be sleeping. Dad thought it was an opportunity she couldn’t possibly turn down, and one that would feed her imagination. Mom agreed—but worried about how it would affect her children.
In particular, she worried about how it would affect me. Two months before the offer came in, I admitted to my parents that I’m bisexual. Well, “admitted” might be taking too much credit. For her graduate school project, Mom created undetectable software that helps employers keep track of what their employees are doing. Turns out it’s so user-friendly and has such a pretty interface that a consumer version was created and sold to nearly every household with a working computer in the States. I probably should have put two and two together and realized my parents would also be using it on our home network before I discovered I could stream porn on my phone.
That was an awkward conversation, but at least it resulted in a compromise: I could go to certain sites, and they wouldn’t stalk me online as long as I didn’t lurk on places that, as Mom put it, “would give me unrealistic expectations about how sex should be or what our bodies should look like.”
In the end, my stridently anti-LDS parents moved their emo-scene daughter and queer son back into LDS wonderland. To compensate for their guilt over making sure I protect myself at all costs (read: be very, very careful about who I come out to), my parents have made our home a gay, gay den of pride. Autumn and I spend most of our time together at her house, and Hailey hates almost everyone (and no one from her angry coven ever comes over), so LGBTQ essays, PFLAG pamphlets, and rainbow T-shirts are handed to me at spontaneous moments with a kiss and a lingering look of pride. Mom will slide the occasional bumper sticker into my pillowcase, to be found when the sharp corner meets my cheek at night.
NOTHING WOULD BE THE SAME IF YOU DID NOT EXIST!
COURAGE IS BEING YOURSELF EVERY DAY IN A WORLD THAT TELLS YOU TO BE SOMEONE ELSE.
LOVE KNOWS NO LIMITS.
NORMAL IS JUST A DIAL ON THE WASHING MACHINE!
Autumn has found a few of them here and there over the years but shrugs it off with a murmur of “San Francisco, man.”
It’s funny to think about these now in the car, surreptitiously scrolling slack-jawed through photos of Sebastian, because I start imagining them read to me in his deep, gentle voice. Even hearing Sebastian speak a mere three times today, the sound of it still hovers like a drunk honeybee inside my head.
Hey, guys.
Oh, the book is out in June.
I’m here to help, however you need me, so use me.
I almost lost it when he said that.
A Web search doesn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. Most of the results for “Sebastian Brother” are for a steakhouse in Omaha, links to articles about the Seminar, or announcements about Sebastian’s book.
Google Images is where I hit the jackpot. There are photos of him playing baseball and soccer (yes, I save one), and a few of him doing interviews for local papers. When I click through, his answers don’t say much about him—they seem pretty canned—but he’s wearing a tie in a lot of the photos, and combined with his hair? I’m ready to start the Sebastian Brother Spank Bank folder.
Really, he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in person.
Facebook is a dead end. Sebastian’s account is locked (of course it is), so not only can I not see his photos, but I can’t see his relationship status, either. Not that I care, or will beyond a few days. He’s Mormon eye candy. This flash of infatuation won’t go anywhere interesting. I wouldn’t let it—we’re on opposite sides of a very thick fence.
I close every window on my phone’s browser before I fall prey to the worst social media stalking possible: the futile hunt for his Snapchat or Instagram. Even the idea of stumbling upon a sleepy shirtless Sebastian selfie wreaks havoc on my nervous system.
At the mall, Autumn and I follow my mom as she weaves through the racks of the guys’ department at Nordstrom. I’m bored putty in their hands. Mom leads me to table of shirts, holding a few up to my chest. She narrows her eyes, asks Autumn’s opinion, and the two women confer before wordlessly rejecting most of them. I don’t comment; I know how this works.
My sister is off somewhere getting her own things, giving us a nice reprieve from her constant need to bicker with us. Autumn and Mom get along, and when they’re together, I get a break from having to pay attention to anything anyone is saying; they keep each other entertained.
Mom holds a hideous Western-themed shirt up to my chest.
I can’t let this one slide. “No.”
She ignores me and looks to Autumn for her opinion. But Auddy is Team Tanner, and scrunches her nose in distaste.
Hanging the shirt back up, Mom asks her, “How is your schedule this term?”
“I love it.” Auddy hands Mom a short-sleeved blue button-down from RVCA. I give her a covert thumbs-up. “I may need to switch Modern Lit to Shakespeare, and calculus is probably going to be my death, but otherwise—good.”
“I’m sure Tanner would love to help you with calc,” Mom says, and I feel Autumn throw an eye roll in my direction. “What about you, honey?”
I lean against the rack, crossing my arms over the silver bar. “I added biology after lunch, and now I’m sleepy last period.”
Mom’s blond hair is smooth and pulled into a ponytail, and she’s traded her work clothes for jeans and a sweater. She looks younger dressed like this, and if Hailey would drop her Wednesday Addams thing, she and Mom would look like sisters.
