She puts the Thermos down on the floor instead of drinking from it and rolls up into a sitting position. “Don’t forget about all the letters and tweets thanking you,” she says softly, gesturing for me to join her on the bed. I do, letting her wrap me up in her arms from behind. “The people hating on you don’t matter, Park. The ones who need to see a queer girl actually making it in Hollywood — a queer girl of color, no less? They really, really do. And you matter to them, so much. And to me, by the way.”
“Oh, whatever,” I tease, but a little shudder goes through my body as she presses her lips to the back of my neck.
“Not ‘whatever,’” she grumbles into my ear, resting her chin on my shoulder. “You wanted to be a good role model with that stupid purity ring crap, and now you are, with something you actually believe in.” She keeps one arm wrapped around my waist and reaches out for an open letter with her free hand.
“Look at this one. ‘Dear Ms. Park, I’ve been trying to figure out how to come out to my best friend for two years. When I saw you rip off the Band-Aid on TV, I realized I should, too. Thank you for making me feel like it’s okay to be who I am.’” She holds it up in front of my face so I can see the purple scrawl. “How can you even for a second give a damn about people quoting the Bible at you when you get something like that?”
I can’t help smiling at that, and at the knowledge that her best friend was every bit as cool about it as mine was. I just hoped her parents were cooler. I’d only spoken to mine once since my coming out hit the airwaves, and it was to listen to them declare it all “yet more Hollywood nonsense.” I haven’t spoken to them since. They’ve never even seen my apartment, and I’ve been here almost a month, filling it piece by piece.
And Bri’s stayed here almost every night.
“It’s hard not to care about people who seem to think I’m a different person somehow,” I admit, feeling my throat grow thick with tears I’m tired of shedding. “Even—”
My cell phone rings, cutting me off, and I instantly grow cold. I just spoke to Ally an hour ago, and obviously Bri’s right here, which means the odds are high it’s yet another reporter who somehow got my phone number. I reach behind Bri — I know it’s somewhere in these sheets — and snatch it to shut it up.
It’s my mother.
Bri looks at me questioningly, and I mouth “my mom” to her.
“Pick it up!” she urges, so I do.
“Hi, Mom,” I say cautiously, eyeing Bri to make sure she doesn’t go too far, just in case I’m in for another evisceration.
“Vanessa.” Her voice is stiff, but not icy. “Your father’s here as well. I’m putting you on speakerphone.”
Oh, good, a double whammy. No way this can possibly be horrible.
I wait until the static settles on the other end, and then my father says, “Hello, Vanessa. How are you?”
How am I? Seriously? Now they wanna know? Weeks after they kicked me out of their house, turned me away when I came out to them — came out to the world? I look helplessly at Bri, but she just gives me an encouraging smile, then slips out of the room to give me privacy I don’t even want.
“I’m fine,” I reply. “I have an audition tomorrow for a summer movie, and the apartment’s coming together, too. Bri’s been helping me decorate.” I say this last bit a little more deliberately, just in case they’ve managed to convince themselves it — or she — is a passing phase.
“That’s…I’m glad to hear it, Vanessa.” It’s hard to say whether I believe her or not by her voice alone, but she’s trying, and that’s more than she’s done in a long time. I grip the phone tighter.
“And how are things over there?”
“Also fine,” she says.
I’m just wondering the purpose for this call, since it doesn’t seem to be to have a real conversation with me, when my father says, “Uncle Robert and Aunt Jeanine are hosting Christmas dinner this year, and they would like to know if you will be joining us.”
“I…” Didn’t know I was invited, I almost say, but I know that won’t go over well and they’ll just play dumb. “I didn’t realize they were hosting it.”
“Yes, they are, and they asked about you,” says my mother. “I told them I assumed you would be, but that I would check.”
I assumed you would be. So, I’m still part of this family, then. Even though my parents know. And Uncle Robert and Aunt Jeanine — they must know, too. Not that they watch much TV, but considering pretty much everyone in America knew within ten minutes, even on Thanksgiving Day…
“You can tell them I’ll be there. Please,” I add quickly. “And what about…can I bring a guest?”
There’s a long silence, then a sigh on the other end, though I’m not sure which parent it comes from. Then my father says stiffly, “We would like to meet this guest first, for dinner at our home.”
Dinner. With Bri. And my parents. I can’t imagine anything more awkward, or anything I want to do more. “Just tell me when, and we’ll be there,” I say quickly, afraid the slightest hesitation in response will make them rescind the offer. I know I should ask Bri first, but given I came out on a national scale for her, I’m thinking she’ll probably give me this.
“Sunday night,” my mother says. “Six thirty. Do not be late.”
“We won’t,” I promise. “We’ll see you then.”
She makes some sort of grumbly noise of agreement, and then they hang up.
I jump off my bed and soar out into the living room, knocking Bri over onto the fluffy purple shag rug as I fling my arms around her and squeeze her tightly enough to cut off her breathing.
Surprised laughter bubbles up from her throat as she turns in my grasp to face me. “Please tell me this is joy.”
“It’s a start,” I say, but I can’t stop smiling. “Sorry about knocking you over. Oh, and about the fact that we have the world’s worst dinner plans on Sunday night.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “We’re having dinner with your parents? Holy crap. That is terrifying.”
Okay, yeah, I definitely should’ve asked her first. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was just so relieved for the invitation, I—”
She clasps my head in her hands and cuts me off with a long, slow kiss. “It’s a ‘worth it’ kind of terrifying,” she assures me when we part, then rolls us over so she’s on top. “Just, you know, tell me how to dress and act and behave and all that.”
I laugh, reaching up to toy with a strand of her fiery hair. “As long as you eat kimchi, they’ll love you just as you are,” I assure her. “Or at least tolerate you as much as they’ll tolerate anyone.”
“Best I can hope for, I guess.”
“Best any of us can hope for with the Parents Park. I should probably also warn you that this came up in the context of going to my aunt and uncle’s for Christmas dinner. Not that you have to come,” I add quickly. “I just wanted it to be an option, especially if Jade is as…Jade-like about Christmas as she is about everything else.”
Bri grins. “She’s actually been a little…different since we got together, but something tells me it won’t be quite as dramatic as suddenly learning how to cook. Maybe let’s see how this dinner goes first.”
“Deal.”
She lowers herself for another kiss, which quickly escalates until the rug is littered with discarded clothing and we’re both panting for air. “Have I mentioned how happy I am that you got your own place, by the way?”
“Only about a hundred thousand times.” I slide my hand through hers, admiring the way the different shades of our skin look intertwined. “May not be exactly how I planned for it to go down, but that seems to be the theme of the past six months, doesn’t it? Can’t really complain about how things have turned out…yet.”