Page 53 of Everything We Thought Was True
“I could drink a gallon of water. What’re you trying to do—kill me?” Kate glared at me in mock horror.
My eyes narrowed jokingly. She snorted, laughing over the rim of her water glass.
Kate and I were back at it a week later. But this time, it was my turn to torture her. It was Saturday morning, postrun. We sat at an outdoor table at the Filling Station Cafe, a few blocks from my house, having brunch. Kate had inhaled several glasses of water in record time.
“I’m starving,” she said. “We must have burned a thousand calories on that run.”
“We barely ran three miles,” I teased.
The server came over and poured us both steaming mugs of coffee. After Kate ordered way too much food for two people, we relaxed back in our chairs. I stretched out my legs, enjoying the feeling of postrun endorphins working their magic.
She put down her coffee mug and looked at me, her expression growing serious. “Lena, so I’ve been thinking. You know how I mentioned I’m involved with COLAGE? I serve as one of their boardmembers. I think you should get involved. I bet you’d love the group and get a lot out of it.”
I nodded, suspecting there was more. I could hear it in her voice.
“So, I just found out that the keynote speaker for an event they’re holding in the LA area in October had to back out, and they need to fill the spot.”
I pursed my lips together and waited.No, she couldn’t mean...
“I think you’d be perfect for it.”
“Me? Be the keynote speaker?” I shook my head as if this was the most asinine idea I’d ever heard. “What in the hell would I talk about? I don’t even know the group.”
“I was thinking about it,” Kate said, excited. “You can talk about the legal landscape for sexual orientation discrimination. That’s something you know a ton about. It’s timely and interesting—and would be a safe way to approach this.”
Safe?What a strange comment. Like I needed a strategy for something I had absolutely no intention of doing.
“Kate, I’m not going to be their keynote speaker. I wouldn’t feel comfortable.”
“Why? You’re an expert on this kind of law, Lena. It’s a perfect solution. You talk about some cool recent cases, strides made, areas that still need attention. They learn and get inspired. Win-win.”
“I’ve got enough going on. I’m planning my dad’s wedding, which is in two months, remember? This would just add to my stress right now. No thanks.”
“It would actually be the week after the wedding. And you don’t have to do much prep at all. Just an outline of some legal points you could probably recite with your eyes closed. Think about it, okay? For me?” Kate looked at me pleadingly, and I had the feeling this was more than just a favor. “And I think it would be good for you.”
There it was. The truth. She thought she was helping me.Seriously? Not helping,I wanted to scream. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
“Lena, I know it’s bold, but I feel like it’s meant to be. We met for a reason. I can’t help thinking that your struggle with coming out will resonate.”
“My what? Kate, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t need to come out—I’m not gay.” I glared at her. “My dad came out years ago. I’m fine with it. I just don’t need to scream it at the top of my lungs.”
“You know what I mean. At least, I think you do.” Now she looked uncomfortable too.
Good, that makes two of us, I thought.
She leaned forward. “Children of LGBTQ parents need to come out too. We often hide who we are as much as our parents do.”
So that’s what she meant.I cringed, imagining standing up publicly in front of a bunch of strangers, claiming my status as the daughter of a gay parent, like some kind of poster child.
“Just tell me you’ll consider it,” she said.
I remained silent. Stubborn to the core. That was the Italian in me.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop pushing. I know I’m not your therapist.” Kate flashed a nervous smile.
Yeah, I stayed away from therapists for a reason. Many reasons actually: my mother’s insistence we could take care of things ourselves and should not air our dirty laundry, the guidance counselor’s admonition to keep my family secret quiet, our desire to not get my father fired or thrown in jail. Besides, I’d had my journal growing up, which I used to say was like therapy—much closer to the truth than I cared to admit.
Kate sure had some nerve psychoanalyzing me. But I was afraid she might be right. I’d never thought of it quite that way before—that I was the one who needed to come out and was stillallowing my past to define my present and future. By hiding, I was giving so much power to those old wounds—the hurt little girl still held sway over me. I was the one who wasn’t free. I envied Kate. Sure, she had overstepped. But that didn’t make her entirely wrong.
