Page 16 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
I planned to spend the rest of the evening in my room, but Mami gets home too early for me to pretend to already be asleep. Since the sun isn’t even down yet, I have no choice but to socialize.
I go out to the living room to find Yami and my mom hugging, which seems to happen a lot more now than when we were growing up. If I had to pinpoint when Yami and our mom started getting closer, I’d guess it had something to do with Yami coming out to her last year.
Mami gives my sister a final squeeze before letting go and pulling me in for a hug of my own. “How was your weekend of freedom?”
I know she’s making a joke, but something about it feels off. Does she know I abused that freedom by not taking my meds?
“It was good,” I say, trying my best to sound chill about it. Like I didn’t do anything wrong, I didn’t get an email from my dad, and I didn’t just decide to burrow myself further in the closet for potentially the rest of my life.
She kisses my head before letting me go and clapping her hands together.
“So, Yamilet, how behind are we from this trip?”
I take that as my perfect chance to check out of the conversation, since they’ll probably be spending the rest of the evening catching up on their jewelry orders. I slip away to my room and lie in bed with my eyes closed, as if that could possibly help me sleep.
I don’t get much rest before seven rolls around, and I stare at Jamal’s contact in my phone until practically the last second before answering. By now, I’ve made up my mind. We can’t get back together.
Still, that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right? I really don’t want to lead him on—but I can’t lose him either—but I can’t date him again—but Iwantto—but Ican’t.
I have to tell him.
“Hey, b—you,” I say, resisting the urge to call him babe. Even with all these months being single, it still feels natural to call him that. But it was naive of me to think we could go back to it.
“Hey, you.” I can hear the smile in Jamal’s voice, and despite how much I should be dreading talking to him, it immediately relaxes me. “How are you, Cesar?”
He usually starts out our calls this way, but from him, I know it’s not just small talk. He genuinely wants to hear whatever might be bothering me, how my day really was—unfiltered.
My phone buzzes with a text before I can answer, and I open it to find a stream of texts spread out from New Year’s Eve to today.
Hunter:Hey man how’ve you been?
Hunter:How’s it going bro?
Hunter:Dude you okay?
Shit. I don’t mean to ignore Hunter, but what am I supposed to say to “How’s it going?” when it’s going bad? I feel like shit, but I can’t exactly tell him that without having to explain why. And I’m not trying to think about it any more than absolutely necessary.
“Cesar?” Jamal asks when I take too long to respond tohim.
Right. I think about telling Jamal I don’t feel the same way about him anymore, or that I don’t want to get back together, but “Eh” is all I end up saying, since I’m not the best at lying to Jamal. I know I’ll have to tell him soon, but I just change the subject like a coward. “You still doing that open mic next Friday?”
“Of course,” Jamal says. “Why? Did something come up?”
Even though I can’t get back together with him, and being around him knowing that will be absolute hell, I can’t bring myself to let him down. I’m not about to let him come out to a strange crowd without some kind of backup.
“If you’re there, I’m there. You know I’m your biggest fan,” I say, despite my better judgment.
“My one and only.” He laughs with a tiny little snort that shouldn’t be cute but is. “So, question.”
“Yeah?”
“How are you? Like, actually.”
Dammit. I almost thought he’d let me drop the subject.
“Hungry,” I say. Sure, I’ve already eaten, but my stomach has a mind of its own. I decide Jamal doesn’t need to know I’ve been desperately praying about him—and failing.
He chuckles. “I can bring you some Takis?”
