Autoboyography
Page 60
But seeing her is also a little painful because she gets to see him whenever she feels like it.
“Should we go inside?”
He shakes his head. “It’s probably better to talk out here.” The house feels like the inside of a giant, fuzzy microphone. It’s too hot in there, too tense and silent. In his rare flashes of free time, Sebastian goes online and searches for spacious, unfurnished apartments in Atlanta, New York, Seattle, Los Angeles.
“Okay, well, first,” Autumn begins quietly, “I want to apologize. I know Tanner told you what happened between us. I hope you know what a mess he was. I took advantage, and I’m sorry.”
A muscle clenches in Sebastian’s jaw. The reminder of what happened between Tanner and Autumn isn’t great, but at least it answers one question he had: Are they together now? “I appreciate that, but it’s not necessary. Nobody owes me an explanation.”
She studies him for a few breaths. He doesn’t even have to wonder what he looks like from the outside. Of course, Autumn has seen grief before, and now Sebastian knows too, how it can take up residence in the tiny spaces on a face where muscles can’t force a smile. Beneath Sebastian’s eyes there are blue smudges. His skin isn’t pale exactly, but it has a sallow tint, like he’s not getting much sunlight.
“Okay, well, I wanted to say it anyway.” Autumn opens her hand, exposing a small pink USB drive. The flush of betrayal climbs up her neck. “And I wanted to give you the book.”
“Didn’t you turn it in to Fujita?” The due date was days ago; Autumn knows this.
She looks at him, confused. “This isn’t my book.”
Sebastian has never felt the ache in daylight before, but there it is. Out in the sun, it spreads faster, fed like wildfire whipped to a frenzy in the wind. It takes him a moment to remember how to speak. “Where did you get that?”
“From his laptop.”
His heart does a weird fist-clench in his chest, and then begins pounding against his breastbone. “I’m guessing he doesn’t know you took it.”
“You would be correct.”
“Autumn, you have to take it back. This is a violation of his privacy.”
“Tanner told Mr. Fujita he didn’t have anything to turn in. You and I both know that’s not true. Fujita knows it’s not true.”
Heat drains from Sebastian’s face and his words come out as a whisper. “You want me to turn it in for him?”
“No. I would never ask you do to that. I want you to read it. Maybe you can talk to Fujita, ask if you can grade it. I heard you’re grading a few others. He knows Tanner didn’t feel comfortable turning it in but will probably be happy to hear that you’ve read it. I don’t have the clout to do that. But you do.”
Sebastian nods, staring at the drive in his hand. His desire to read what’s there is nearly blinding. “It’s a bit of a conflict for me. . . .”
Autumn laughs at this. “Uh, yeah. But I don’t know what else to do—if he turns it in, you’re outed to a teacher without your consent. If he doesn’t turn it in, he fails the assignment that makes up most of his grade and jeopardizes his standing at UCLA. You and I both know there’s no easy way to just swap names here.”
“Right.”
“Personally, I don’t know what he was thinking.” Autumn looks up at him. “He knew he’d have to turn something in eventually. But that’s Tanner for you. He feels before he thinks.”
Sebastian sits on the front step, his eyes on the sidewalk. “He said he was writing something new.”
“Did you honestly believe that, or did it make it easier? He couldn’t think about anything else.”
Sebastian is filled with this clawing sense of irritation; he wants her to leave. Autumn’s presence is like a thumb pressed to a bruise.
Autumn sits next to him on the step. “You don’t have to answer because it’s probably none of my business. . . .” She laughs and then hesitates. Sebastian focuses on trying to find the ache again. “Do they know about Tanner?”
His gaze darts to her face and quickly away.
Do they know about him?
It’s such an enormous question, and the answer is an obvious no. If they knew about him—truly knew about his capacity for tenderness, for humor, for quiet and for conversation—he would be with Tanner right now. He genuinely believes that.
“They know that I was interested in someone and that it was him. I didn’t tell them everything, but it didn’t matter. They lost it anyway. . . . That’s why . . .”
Why he sent the note.
“We used to have all these inspirational quotes and photos around my house,” she says. “I remember one that said ‘Family is a gift that lasts forever.’”
“I’m sure we have that one somewhere.”
“There was no asterisk though, saying, ‘But only under these specific conditions.’” She picks a piece of invisible lint from her jeans and looks up him. “My mom got rid of most of it. I think she kept the one of them on their wedding day in front of the Temple, but I’m not sure. She was pretty angry; it could have gone in the trash with everything else.”
Sebastian looks at her. “Tanner told me a little about your dad. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t understand Mom’s reaction at the time, but it makes sense now. I know those sayings are supposed to be inspirational, but they mostly feel like someone standing over your shoulder, passive aggressively reminding you where you fall short or why your tragedy is for the greater good, all in God’s plan. Mom had no use for any of it.”
He blinks, eyes trained on his feet. “Understandable.”
She bumps his shoulder with hers. “I’m gonna wager a guess that things aren’t great right now.”
He leans forward, wanting to get away a little, and rests his elbows on his knees. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to be touched; it’s that he wants it so intensely it nearly burns. “They’re barely speaking to me.”
Autumn growls. “Sixty years ago they would have been just as unhappy if you’d brought home a black girl. She’d have had the right things inside but the wrong skin color. Do you see how ridiculous that is? That’s not independent thinking; that’s deciding how to love your child based on some outdated teaching.” She pauses. “Don’t stop fighting.”
Sebastian stands and brushes the dirt from his pants. “Marriage is eternal, is between a man and a woman, and leads to an exalted, eternal family. Homosexuality denies that plan.” He sounds completely detached, like he’s reading from a script.
Autumn stands slowly, giving him an unreadable smile. “What a great bishop you’ll make.”
“I should. I’ve heard it enough.”
“They’re upset, but at some point they’ll figure out you can be right, or you can be loved. Only a handful get both at the same time.”
He runs a finger along the thumb drive. “So it’s on here?”
“I haven’t read it all, but what I have . . .”
He waits, one, two, three beats of silence between them, before he finally breathes.
“Okay.”
• • •
Sebastian’s not used to avoiding his family. He’s the son who helps his mother clean so she has time to relax before dinner, who goes to church early for some extra time with his dad. But lately he’s treated more like a tolerated houseguest. As Autumn’s car backs out of the driveway and disappears down the street, he wishes he didn’t have to go back inside at all.
“Should we go inside?”
He shakes his head. “It’s probably better to talk out here.” The house feels like the inside of a giant, fuzzy microphone. It’s too hot in there, too tense and silent. In his rare flashes of free time, Sebastian goes online and searches for spacious, unfurnished apartments in Atlanta, New York, Seattle, Los Angeles.
“Okay, well, first,” Autumn begins quietly, “I want to apologize. I know Tanner told you what happened between us. I hope you know what a mess he was. I took advantage, and I’m sorry.”
A muscle clenches in Sebastian’s jaw. The reminder of what happened between Tanner and Autumn isn’t great, but at least it answers one question he had: Are they together now? “I appreciate that, but it’s not necessary. Nobody owes me an explanation.”
She studies him for a few breaths. He doesn’t even have to wonder what he looks like from the outside. Of course, Autumn has seen grief before, and now Sebastian knows too, how it can take up residence in the tiny spaces on a face where muscles can’t force a smile. Beneath Sebastian’s eyes there are blue smudges. His skin isn’t pale exactly, but it has a sallow tint, like he’s not getting much sunlight.
“Okay, well, I wanted to say it anyway.” Autumn opens her hand, exposing a small pink USB drive. The flush of betrayal climbs up her neck. “And I wanted to give you the book.”
“Didn’t you turn it in to Fujita?” The due date was days ago; Autumn knows this.
She looks at him, confused. “This isn’t my book.”
Sebastian has never felt the ache in daylight before, but there it is. Out in the sun, it spreads faster, fed like wildfire whipped to a frenzy in the wind. It takes him a moment to remember how to speak. “Where did you get that?”
“From his laptop.”
His heart does a weird fist-clench in his chest, and then begins pounding against his breastbone. “I’m guessing he doesn’t know you took it.”
“You would be correct.”
“Autumn, you have to take it back. This is a violation of his privacy.”
“Tanner told Mr. Fujita he didn’t have anything to turn in. You and I both know that’s not true. Fujita knows it’s not true.”
Heat drains from Sebastian’s face and his words come out as a whisper. “You want me to turn it in for him?”
“No. I would never ask you do to that. I want you to read it. Maybe you can talk to Fujita, ask if you can grade it. I heard you’re grading a few others. He knows Tanner didn’t feel comfortable turning it in but will probably be happy to hear that you’ve read it. I don’t have the clout to do that. But you do.”
Sebastian nods, staring at the drive in his hand. His desire to read what’s there is nearly blinding. “It’s a bit of a conflict for me. . . .”
Autumn laughs at this. “Uh, yeah. But I don’t know what else to do—if he turns it in, you’re outed to a teacher without your consent. If he doesn’t turn it in, he fails the assignment that makes up most of his grade and jeopardizes his standing at UCLA. You and I both know there’s no easy way to just swap names here.”
“Right.”
“Personally, I don’t know what he was thinking.” Autumn looks up at him. “He knew he’d have to turn something in eventually. But that’s Tanner for you. He feels before he thinks.”
Sebastian sits on the front step, his eyes on the sidewalk. “He said he was writing something new.”
“Did you honestly believe that, or did it make it easier? He couldn’t think about anything else.”
Sebastian is filled with this clawing sense of irritation; he wants her to leave. Autumn’s presence is like a thumb pressed to a bruise.
Autumn sits next to him on the step. “You don’t have to answer because it’s probably none of my business. . . .” She laughs and then hesitates. Sebastian focuses on trying to find the ache again. “Do they know about Tanner?”
His gaze darts to her face and quickly away.
Do they know about him?
It’s such an enormous question, and the answer is an obvious no. If they knew about him—truly knew about his capacity for tenderness, for humor, for quiet and for conversation—he would be with Tanner right now. He genuinely believes that.
“They know that I was interested in someone and that it was him. I didn’t tell them everything, but it didn’t matter. They lost it anyway. . . . That’s why . . .”
Why he sent the note.
“We used to have all these inspirational quotes and photos around my house,” she says. “I remember one that said ‘Family is a gift that lasts forever.’”
“I’m sure we have that one somewhere.”
“There was no asterisk though, saying, ‘But only under these specific conditions.’” She picks a piece of invisible lint from her jeans and looks up him. “My mom got rid of most of it. I think she kept the one of them on their wedding day in front of the Temple, but I’m not sure. She was pretty angry; it could have gone in the trash with everything else.”
Sebastian looks at her. “Tanner told me a little about your dad. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t understand Mom’s reaction at the time, but it makes sense now. I know those sayings are supposed to be inspirational, but they mostly feel like someone standing over your shoulder, passive aggressively reminding you where you fall short or why your tragedy is for the greater good, all in God’s plan. Mom had no use for any of it.”
He blinks, eyes trained on his feet. “Understandable.”
She bumps his shoulder with hers. “I’m gonna wager a guess that things aren’t great right now.”
He leans forward, wanting to get away a little, and rests his elbows on his knees. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to be touched; it’s that he wants it so intensely it nearly burns. “They’re barely speaking to me.”
Autumn growls. “Sixty years ago they would have been just as unhappy if you’d brought home a black girl. She’d have had the right things inside but the wrong skin color. Do you see how ridiculous that is? That’s not independent thinking; that’s deciding how to love your child based on some outdated teaching.” She pauses. “Don’t stop fighting.”
Sebastian stands and brushes the dirt from his pants. “Marriage is eternal, is between a man and a woman, and leads to an exalted, eternal family. Homosexuality denies that plan.” He sounds completely detached, like he’s reading from a script.
Autumn stands slowly, giving him an unreadable smile. “What a great bishop you’ll make.”
“I should. I’ve heard it enough.”
“They’re upset, but at some point they’ll figure out you can be right, or you can be loved. Only a handful get both at the same time.”
He runs a finger along the thumb drive. “So it’s on here?”
“I haven’t read it all, but what I have . . .”
He waits, one, two, three beats of silence between them, before he finally breathes.
“Okay.”
• • •
Sebastian’s not used to avoiding his family. He’s the son who helps his mother clean so she has time to relax before dinner, who goes to church early for some extra time with his dad. But lately he’s treated more like a tolerated houseguest. As Autumn’s car backs out of the driveway and disappears down the street, he wishes he didn’t have to go back inside at all.
