Page 64 of Like a Love Story
I nod.
My mom lets out a breath and shakes her head. “How could I not see it?” she whispers. Then, through tears, “My God, have you... are you...”
She doesn’t say any more. She breaks down crying, and Abbas holds her in his arms, guides her head to his shoulder. He whispers to her that it’s okay and strokes her hair.
I feel like a ghost. Like I’m not in the room anymore. They don’t look at me or talk to me. I don’t get it. I’m the one who just came out to them. I’m the one who is broken up inside. Why am I not the one being comforted? Why is no one telling me it’s okay? Suddenly, Ifeel sick to my stomach, like I’m going to vomit. I rush away.
“Reza,” my mother barely croaks out as I’m almost out of her view.
I turn around, the whole room spinning from my nausea.
“Reza, give me time,” she says. “Please don’t tell anyone else.”
“I...” I want to tell her that the whole point of my coming out to her is that I can’t hide anymore. The hiding is what was destroying me. And she’s asking me to hide again. I do not say a word of that, though, because I need a toilet. I run to my bathroom and kneel in front of the toilet. I try to vomit, but nothing comes out. The room spins. I want my insides to be emptied of everything. No more family, no more shame, no more past.
I lay my head down on the toilet seat and close my eyes, thinking maybe my mother will have a change of heart and come to comfort me. But the next thing I feel is a hand on my shoulder, and my sister’s voice is gently whispering, “Zabber. Are you okay?” I open my eyes. “I doubt you’re hungry right now, but I saved some sesame chicken for you.”
“I can’t eat,” I say, my voice sad and distant. “I feel sick.”
“I’ll just leave it here then,” she says, placing the container near the sink. Then she sits next to me and rests her head on the other side of the toilet seat, an act of solidarity that almost makes me cry again.
“Did you talk to Mommy?” I ask, afraid of the response.
“No,” she says, like this answer should have been obvious. “I came right to you. Anyway, you know she’ll pretend nothing happened unless you push her again. That’s what she does. Deny, deny, deny. It’s the Persian way, little brother.”
I manage to laugh. I didn’t think that was possible anymore.
“Why do you think I’m always acting out?” she asks. Then, answering her own question, “Because I just want her to see me. To acknowledge me. You know?”
I raise my head up now. “I see you,” I say. “And since I don’t think I’ve ever said it, you’re... amazing.”
“Thank you, little brother,” she says, a sad smile on her face. “But it’s not about me right now. I mean, it’s always a little about me, but we don’t have to focus on that right this moment.”
“Did you always know?” I ask, truly curious. “That I was, you know...”
“Gay?” she says defiantly. “It’s okay to use the word, you know.” She takes a deep breath, then adds, “Yeah, I always knew.”
And yet she never made fun of me. Never threw it in my face. Never forced my hand before I was ready to come out on my own. All this time, I’ve resented my sister and protected my mother, taking my mom’s side. How could I not see that my true ally was Tara?
I feel sick again, and this time I vomit. The smell of itfills the room. Tara immediately springs into action. She flushes the toilet, wipes my mouth, pours me a glass of water from the sink, and gently places it to my lips.
“Tara,” I whisper, my lips trembling, “do you think I’m sick?”
She flips her hair, gives me a wry smile. “You just barfed, so yeah, I think maybe you’re a little sick.”
“You know what I meant,” I say, taking her hand in mine.
“Yeah, I know.” She sighs. “Of course I don’t think you’re sick. I think you’re smart. Anyone on this earth who doesn’t love hot men is an idiot, as far as I’m concerned.”
She manages to make me laugh again. “But if everyone loved hot men,” I say, “then no one would love you.”
“A valid point,” she says, laughing too now.
“So, um, did you tell them about, you know, Massimo and school and...” I trail off.
She shakes her head. “I was going to,” she says. “And then we saw you on the news, and I knew it wasn’t the right time. I’ll get there, but thanks for making it a little harder for me.”
“Sorry,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. I seem to be making life harder for everyone I love these days.
