Page 60 of Well, That Was Unexpected

“Well, I mean, that’s also probably true,” I say.

He laughs. “Yeah.” He hesitates. “I guess I’m really happy for her, but also really sad.”

“Why sad?” I immediately bristle again. Is he sad because he thinks any sexual orientation aside from hetero is less than legit?

“Because it’s not allowed here, Shar,” he says softly. “It’s not as bad in places like Bali and Jakarta, but in the more provincial areas like Aceh, it could get you like, caned. And even in Jakarta, people are mostly not accepting of it. If they were found out, they’d become social pariahs.”

Oh. A small star implodes inside me, shattering everything. Was this why Mama hadn’t wanted to come back to Indonesia all these years? I think of how judgmental I’d been toward her for keeping things from me, for not wanting to talk about Indonesia, and I feel nauseated at how cruel I’d been. I’d just assumed that she didn’t want to come back here because she felt the place isn’tgood enough for her. I was so wrong. I have no idea, absolutely none, what it’s like to live in a place and know that who you are could land you in prison. The suffocating weight of it.

The truth is, Mama isn’t just my mom, she’s a whole person in her own right. How did it take me so long to see that? I’ve always just seen her as my mother, the person whose life revolves around mine. What a selfish, bratty way to think of another human being. She has a story of her own, one that doesn’t involve me at all. One that’s heartbreaking.

“Oh god.” I sink down onto the ground and bury my face in my hands. Dimly, I feel George’s hand on my shoulder, and the weight of it is so reassuring that before I can stop myself, I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. He stiffens. For an awful moment I wonder if he’s about to push me away, but then he puts his arm around my shoulders and I let myself fall apart, just a little.

“She’s been carrying this weight with her all this time,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” George says quietly. “They both have.”

“Do you think that maybe that’s why she left Indonesia and never wanted to come back?” My voice is raw with desperation. I can’t help but think of every thoughtless comment I’ve thrown at her, every barb I’ve stabbed into her armor because I was so angry about her unwillingness to tell me about Indonesia.

“Maybe? Probably? I don’t know, I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to live in a place that doesn’t accept—” His words break off in a ragged sigh. “God, all this while, Eighth Aunt…”

“I’ve been so horrible to her, I’ve been so shitty,” I moan overand over again, and George nods and holds me tighter and tells me it’s okay, there’s time for me to make it up to Mama, that she knows I didn’t mean to hurt her, and so on and so forth. The whole time I’m falling, George holds me together, his arms tight around me, not letting me crash into a thousand pieces. He murmurs things to me. “It’s okay” and “You’ll be okay” and a dozen other words that mean nothing and everything in this moment.

“I wish I could do something. Show her that I know and I still love her and that I’m sorry. I wish I could know what they went through when they were younger. She said they were best friends. Did they—did someone find out, and my mom had to leave?” Every single possibility is horrifying. Mama, just a teenager at the time, having to flee the only home she’d ever known. Having to leave her girlfriend behind. And yet, despite all of that, she was able to make a good life for herself and for me. From the depths of this awful realization, a newfound feeling emerges—admiration. My mom is sort of a badass.

It feels as though hours have passed by the time I stop freaking out and am able to lift my head to face the world again. I’m a mess. I feel like a little kid who needs her mom. I turn to look at George and realize that our faces are only inches apart. Everything inside me is so raw that I nearly start crying again at the sight of him, because here is a guy I’ve been doing nothing but lying to, and it’s so impossibly hard to look at him when he’s this close to me, when I can see how his eyes aren’t black like I thought they were, but the deepest, warmest brown. When I can see the tiniest freckles dusted across his nose, when I can see a small scar just below his left eyebrow. It’s like reading hislife story on his face, and it’s too much. This close, I can’t bring myself to hate him, and maybe I don’t hate him, not even when I think of our chat messages, not even then.

It takes a lot of effort to look away. I do anyway because it’s all too much. “I…uh.” My voice is raw and jagged and I barely recognize it. I clear my throat and try again. “I should go get ready for dinner. You should too.”

You should too. Can I possibly sound more naggy?

He nods and gives me a small smile. “Yeah.” We’re still holding hands as we stand up. I start to pull my hand away, but stop. Because…I don’t want to. I want to keep holding hands with him, which is very weird and not at all the way things are supposed to be.

I guess George is too much of a gentleman to let go of my hand when I’m so obviously holding on, so we walk back toward the villas hand in hand. My heart is thudding so hard I’m pretty sure he can feel my hand pulsing in his, but he doesn’t say anything. I steal glances at him, wondering what he’s thinking, wondering what I should say to Mama, wondering at how much things can change in a single day.

“Are you going to say anything to your aunt?”

George looks thoughtful. “I don’t think so,” he says finally. “It’s not really my secret to reveal, and I don’t know how comfortable she’d be talking about it with me. I do want her to know that I would support her if she were to come out, but I don’t know how to do that, so. Yeah. What about you?”

“I’m really torn. I know what you mean about it not being my secret to reveal, but I know my mom. If I don’t bring it up, she’llnever bring it up herself, and the thought of her keeping it to herself is…” My breath releases in a shuddery sigh and my eyes fill with tears. “I don’t think I can go to the big dinner tonight.” The thought of having to face his cousins and aunts and uncles is exhausting.

I’m expecting George to tell me that I have to, that people will wonder why I’m not there, but instead he says, “Yeah, me neither.”

“Shall I tell everyone that I finally got the food poisoning that they’ve all been waiting for me to get?”

George laughs. “Okay. How about we both have runny tummies—”

“Runny tummy?” I have to chomp down viciously on my bottom lip to keep from grinning.

“It’s nicer than saying diarrhea!” George cries. “Anyway, I’ll tell everyone we’re a bit run-down after today’s activities and we want to be fresh and perky for tomorrow so we’re giving tonight’s dinner a miss. And then…” He takes a deep breath. “How about you and I go have some real Balinese food? Just the two of us. No cameras. No cousin or pesky little sister.”

“That sounds great.” The words slip out before I realize what I’m saying. And I mean them. Oh god, how I mean them. Nothing sounds better than a quiet dinner with George right now. His smile covers his entire face, making him look all of five years old. It’s so endearing I almost kiss him. Almost.

“Okay, I’ll arrange for a driver and tell my dad we won’t be joining for dinner and see you back here in ten minutes?”

I nod.

He gives my hand a squeeze. “You’re gonna be fine, Shar.”

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