“I sort of didn’t believe it myself for a while. I’m still trying to figure it out. It’s not the easiest thing to talk about—”
“And Max is not the easiest guy to talk to, as I think we’ve established,” Lily says.
I so don’t need her commentary here. I would love to put off this conversation for a few hours, until Charlie and I can grab some time alone.
“Lily, you’re not helping things,” Charlie says.
“Yeah. I know.” Typical Lily.
“At first I thought I could will myself straight—”
“Been there,” Juan shouts out from the back.
“Not me,” Will says.
“But it is what it is. It’s who I am. I’ve been wanting to talk about it all year. There’s never really a right time, though. And I didn’t want everyone to start freaking out, seeing me as some guy they couldn’t hang with, someone they couldn’t be in the locker room with, someone who was going to start crushing on them.”
Fuck. Guilty. I suck.
“You have no idea how many gay jokes I’ve heard over the years, from everyone, including you. It’s not the most tolerant environment, Freiburg.”
“Tell me about it,” Will adds.
I feel awful. I am sure I’ve made a million inappropriate remarks. My first instinct is to say as little as possible and then shut down and hide behind that, but I don’t want to be a wimp anymore. Charlie’s just done something braver than I’ll probably ever do. He deserves better than that from me.
“I’m here for you, man,” I say, lame as it is. This is me, trying. I want to mean it. I’ve never had this conversation before; I’m not sure how it goes. But I still don’t entirely get it.
“What about Janice Smart? And Tracy Lestahl?” I ask. Was Charlie faking it? He seemed so straight for so long.
“It’s been a long process, okay?”
“’Kay, I get it,” I say. I don’t really. But I’m gonna try, for Charlie’s sake.
No one’s talking. They’re just letting us have this awkward conversation all alone, in a car filled with people.
“So, whatever you need. Just say the word. Nothing changes between us, seriously,” I say.
“Thanks, bro. That means a lot.”
Everybody’s watching, waiting. Suddenly, I start laughing. I don’t know if it’s from the awkwardness of the situation or the absurdity. Or both.
“What?” Charlie asks.
“It’s just, I can’t believe you picked now to tell me. I mean, I’m glad you said something. It’s just, funny. Here in the car. With everyone.”
“I know. It’s crazy.” Charlie laughs along with me. It feels good to laugh. Maybe everything will be okay.
“It kinda gives new meaning to the expression, ‘It’s me, not you,’” Lily says. Her lips curl up into a smile and she chuckles to herself. The heaviness lifts, if only a little.
“This has to go down as the most wacked road trip in history,” Kylie says, the edge softening in her voice. Maybe we all will make it out alive.
“Have you told your parents?” Will asks.
“No. Not yet.”
“I have so much to teach you,” Will says.
“Charlie may be gay, Will, but that doesn’t mean you’re suddenly besties or anything. He still finds you totally annoying,” Lily says.
“And I still find you totally annoying, you odious harridan,” Will tells Lily.
“What’s a harridan? Sounds like a religious freak,” Charlie says.
“A fancy word for hag,” Will says.
“I love it. I’m totally going to use it,” Lily tells Will.
“Don’t. I’ll sue,” Will promises.
“Yeah, good luck with that. We’re bankrupt.” And then Lily actually laughs, long and hard. “Totally, fucking bankrupt. Bankrupt. Bankrupt. Bankrupt. It feels kind of good to just come out and say it.”
Will laughs as well. “The Wentworths have gone bust. I never would have imagined it.” He actually sounds sympathetic. “I think I first tasted caviar at your house.”
“Oh, God, I remember that. In kindergarten. Mom had it flown in from Petrossian. It was so gross. She gave it to us for a snack with juice,” Lily recounts.
“I was hoping for Oreos. I got caviar. It was so disappointing, I don’t think I’ve touched it since that day,” Will says. “Kids don’t generally like fish eggs.”
“Tell me about it. The one upside here is no more caviar.” Lily and Will both giggle at this. Which comes pretty close to one of the trippiest things I’ve seen in a while.
I’m relieved. I couldn’t take the stress much longer. I relax my shoulders and inhale a few times. It feels good to get air in my lungs. I think I may have stopped breathing.
“Oh, shit,” Kylie says, pointing out at the road.
What now?
I lean forward, look out the front window, and see immediately what Kylie sees—a huge, snaking line of traffic. The border is at least half a mile up ahead. I check the clock. We have a little over an hour to get to graduation. And we’ve come to a complete standstill.
“And then we’re going to go ninety-five all the way to school,” Will says. “Right, Charlie?”
“Let’s say ninety,” Charlie replies.
No one else seems willing to face the cold hard facts. Lily’s been pretty quiet, keeping to herself. Her anger has subsided, and in its place a sort of glumness has settled in. I actually feel sorry for her. Finding out your dad is a small-time Bernie Madoff has to be pretty hard.
Today has been at the top of my agenda for months. I have been preparing for it forever, and yet I’ve managed to screw it up so royally it almost seems intentional. Was this really so difficult? Couldn’t things have gone as planned? We should have been able to get in a car and get back to school in time for graduation. I should have been able to read my brilliant speech that I’ve worked on since the dawn of time, and received a standing ovation. Instead, we’re going to miss graduation entirely. I should have never insisted on doing Murphy’s assignment. I risked everything and didn’t even get it done. I suck.
If nothing else, the past twenty-four hours have made me realize that all work and no play isn’t such a good idea after all. It’s better to mix it up a little more. Before today, I spent all my time thinking about the future and none of my time living in the present. As of now, I’m not going to do that anymore. Maybe NYU really will be different.
I look at my watch again. Three minutes have passed. The numbers are against us. We’ve got thirty-seven minutes. We’re still four cars from the border; it’s taking each car three minutes to get through, so at this rate we won’t get through until eleven thirty, and then it’s a forty-minute ride to school. With absolutely no traffic we’d be ten minutes late. And that’s the best-case scenario. We’re screwed. In light of my looming speech disaster, that should be good news. But it’s not.
One more car creeps over the border. We’re now three cars from the booth. We’re so not going to make it. As much as I keep telling myself it doesn’t really matter, I can feel my heart breaking for the second or third time today. I might hate Freiburg, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to celebrate all that I’ve achieved there. I’ve been looking forward to this day for four years. It was supposed to make all my hard work worthwhile and all my social shortcomings seem irrelevant.
For the past several minutes no one has said a word. The tension is building. I think everyone is starting to realize that I may be right. I wish I weren’t. It’s not particularly fun to be right all the time. I’d like to be wrong for a while. I start to chew on my cuticles—a bad habit I rid myself of a few months ago, but it’s back with a vengeance.