Boys of West Denton ✓

chapter thirty-four

sebastian

I spend the next couple nights in the guest bedroom at Saanvi's house. We tell them everything—it was a little hard not to, showing up with Saanvi in tears and me hauling a giant suitcase behind us. We'd never been exactly sure how they'd take it, the whole gay thing. But Saanvi's parents were chill, enough so that they were happy to offer me a place to stay for at least the night. I could hear them whispering in hushed Telugu through the vents, a conversation likely about me that I'll never understand.

I can't get the look on Dad's face out of my head. What was that expression—disgust? Hatred? I'm almost too scared to give it a name.

Mom keeps calling and texting. I end up turning my phone all the way off, because I simply cannot deal with anymore of this today. I think that day was quite possibly the worst day ever, and I don't think I can handle any of that negativity today.

Saanvi comes in at about ten a.m., in a different set of animal pajamas (penguins this time), her hair in two frizzy pigtails. "Heyyy," she says, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "Want some breakfast?"

My chest pangs, thinking of Harris asking the same question only a few days ago. I haven't had the heart to text him since. "Yeah, what's on the table?"

"Probably either Honey Nut Cheerios, or All-Bran. Choose wisely."

The Gaddam's guest bedroom is in their basement, but it's nothing like the basement in the McCammon's house. For one, there's carpet, not just an ancient shag rug thrown atop chilly concrete, and there's separation. One room is a bedroom, and the other is Saanvi's mom's office, for her remote work. Something to do with engineering, I don't know for sure. Just, something smart.

"Are you doing okay?" Saanvi whispers to me as we both tiredly trot up the staircase. I'm in a pair of PJs I'd packed for the fall semester, flannel bottoms that remind me of Harris, and a wrinkled HOSA T-shirt.

I glance back over my shoulder. I want to tell her I'm fine, but my throat constricts and tears threaten, so I just flash her a small smile and shrug.

"This week has been really intense," Saanvi says. "I'd let you stay here till Dartmouth, but we're all flying to India next week, and we'll be gone for a while.... Oh! Maybe I can talk my parents into letting you watch Honeydew? A live-in pet-sitting situation? The seven-year-old next door will not miss out on her inadequate paycheck, believe me. I—"

"It's okay, Saanvi, but thanks." I don't actually know if it will be okay, but ... she's already done enough for me. I stop and turn on the final step. "And thanks for being my best friend."

Saanvi looks up at me. I'm usually about three-fourths of a foot taller than her, but right now, it's at least a whole foot. Her eyes have a slight shine to them. She sniffs. "You're my best friend. And I'm really glad you were having a better summer than senior year, Seb, I really am."

"Me too." And I mean it. Junior and senior year felt like dragging myself through hot coals on my hands and stomach, grasping to find purchase on the next hot stone that might allow me to pull myself just a few inches closer to success, to respite, to freedom. This summer had been the perfect change of pace, from that very first night when jumping into Lake Franz felt like a much-needed (and literal) leap of faith, to the night before last, when Harris and I slept together.

But it's different now. Wrong. Dad's kicking me out isn't the reaction I'd hoped for from coming out to my parents, but if anything, I do at least feel satisfied now. Satisfied that I was right when I told Evan I couldn't come out. Like, look at that. I was right. At least I'm eighteen now. I'd be moving out in a couple months anyways.