Page 31 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
“Why’s that?” I ask, leaning forward in my chair. I forgot how nice it was not being the only family disappointment ever since they moved to L.A. and my mom stopped talking to my abuela. Despite Moni’s genius, she’s always been pretty rebellious.
“To get me away from mynegative influences,” she says the last part with finger quotes. “Which is silly. My business is where I am, I’m just excited to tap into a new market. I’m the influence! If he’s so worried about negativity, maybe he should be more supportive.”
I nod as if I have any idea what she’s talking about, but luckily, she keeps going, so I don’t have to ask.
“Seriously, he should be proud of me! I’m an entrepreneur! Just because my business isn’ttechnicallylegal doesn’t mean it’s not ethical, and just because the work he doesislegal doesn’t make it right.”
I vaguely remember my tío having some kind of job in the pharmaceutical industry, but other than that I have no idea what she’s referring to. “Uh, what’s your business, exactly?” I ask once I remember how Moni’s always been. She kind of forgets that not everyone has all the same context going into a conversation. She probably doesn’t even realize I don’t know what she’s talking about.
“Oh, I sell weed.” I laugh involuntarily, but she doesn’t crack so much as a smile. “But my dad’s just as much of a drug dealer as I am. I want to save up and open my own dispensary when I’m old enough. If he wants me to stop selling the ‘wrong’ way, he should help me fund my dispensary withhisdrug money. Butno, he’ll only give me money if it’s for a music program.
“He says he invested too much in my career to let me throw it away by focusing on something else. So I said he doesn’t have to throw my career away, I’ll do it for him.” She smiles and sits up straighter. “He should learn from me. It’s never too late to leave a soul-sucking career. Anyways, where’s Yami?” she asks, but keeps going before I can answer. “I’m kind of relieved she’s not here,honestly. Probably wouldn’t be able to talk about this stuff around her, you know?”
“You don’t like Yami?” I’m a little surprised since I always thought Yami and Moni got along. They were never as close as me and Moni, or me and Yami, but the three of us still had fun.
“More like she probably doesn’t like me. At least, she won’t when she finds out why we came back. She’ll probably think I’m a bad influence on you.”
I’m about to respond that Yami never said anything bad about her, but Moni shushes me before I can get a word in.
“Did you hear that?” She’s whispering now.
“Hear what?” I say quietly, trying to listen for whatever.
“That was your name. I think they’re talking about you; let’s go listen.”
She doesn’t wait for me to agree before slowly pushing the door open and creeping into the hallway. I follow because, I mean, I do want to know what they’re saying about me.
My mom and tío’s voices are coming from the kitchen on the other side of the hall. They’re talking kind of quiet, but it’s still easy enough to make out.
“I just don’t know what to do with that boy,” I hear my mom say. I clench my jaw, trying not to let Moni see any emotions on my face. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Have you talked to Mami? She’s been a huge help getting through to Monica—”
“We don’t speak,” my mom responds harshly.
“Don’t be so hard on her. She’s doing a lot better now. She might be able to help.”
They argue in hushed tones for a bit over whether my abuela is worth reaching out to. I don’t even know what happened between my mom and abuela. All I know is they haven’t spoken in years, and every time I overhear my mom talking about her, it’s about how crazy she is and how she can’t be trusted.
Before they say anything too juicy, their voices start moving in our direction, so Moni and I rush back to the room as stealthy as possible, barely managing to push the door to its almost-closed position before our parents turn the corner. Not long after that, Moni’s dad knocks on the door saying it’s time for them to go. I give my tío a goodbye hug and Moni another high five, and they’re gone. Hopefully it won’t be another seven years before I see them again.
I flop face-first down on my bed as soon as I’m alone and stay like that for who knows how long. I try not to let it bother me too much that my mom was venting about me. That she “doesn’t know what to do” with me. I just cover my ears with my pillow, like that’ll block out the memory of what she said and what that might mean.
Eventually, seven o’clock hits and Jamal calls.
“Hey, you,” I answer on reflex, even though it’s probably not a good idea to talk to him when I feel like shit.
“Hey, you. How are you doing?” I knew the question was coming, but somehow, I’m never prepared for it. I don’t know how to lie to him, but I don’t want to be an asshole and hang up on him again or anything either.
I sigh. “Can we not talk about it today?”
“Okay.” He takes a few seconds to say anything else. “Question.”
“Yeah?” I find myself smiling.
“Do you want to go to a party together on Saturday?”
“Why?” I find myself saying. Jamal has never been the party type. He only ever goes whenIwant to go, so I don’t have to show up by myself.
