ON THE WAY HOME to my house, Clara’s going on about her brother again. It’s hard to concentrate on what she’s saying when all I can think about is what’s going to happen when I open my front door. Fortunately, she’s so busy talking, she doesn’t notice I’m grinding my teeth.
“Garth gets on the phone with that girl and he doesn’t say hardly anything. Then when he hangs up he says, ‘It’s so great. She’s so hot for me and I couldn’t care less about her.’ That’s his idea of the ultimate relationship. And I say, ‘Congratulations,’ but I mean it sarcastically and he thinks I’m serious. So he goes, ‘Thanks, Sis.’ Can you believe that?”
“I sort of get it. I mean, he doesn’t have to worry about getting hurt. It’s pretty intelligent in a warped way.”
“What it means is that you end up hanging out with people you have no respect for.”
“At least you have a brother. At least you have a whole normal family,” I snap at her.
I should tell her about Leon.
I should tell her before we get to my place. She should know what she’s getting into. I’ll tell her when we pass the last tree on the park path.
I’ll tell her when we cross the street. I’ll tell her when we turn off. I’ll tell her on the doorstep.
I watch our feet walk up the limestone path to the house. I open my mouth to tell her, but it’s like I’m standing in front of art class again, not saying the most important thing. I take one last look at Clara’s happy face and turn the doorknob.
We’re taking off our shoes when Leon comes jogging down the stairs in his green jeans and purple T-shirt. As soon as he sees Clara, he gets this huge honking grin on his face.
“Girlfriends!” he squeals, laying it on thick off the top.
I hate him up and down. Instead of covering it up, he sticks it in your face. I want to plow him down. Why didn’t I say anything? Leon swoops down and stands between us.
“So, Gwen, are you going to introduce me?” I swear he’s slurring his S’s on purpose.
I take a deep breath.
“Leon, this is Clara. Clara, this is Leon, my dad’s boyfriend.”
Clara sits on my bed holding her knapsack in her lap. She plays with the zipper, flipping the pull up and down and staring at the floor. I close the door and walk around her to the chair at my desk. I clench my hands in my lap and wait for her to say something. Outside, a crow caws, and we both turn our heads to the sound.
“I didn’t know. I didn’t think...” She lets her voice trail off into the air and rests her chin on her knapsack.
“So?” I say. She turns her head to the side. I stand up and walk in front of her. “Clara, Clara, Clara, my dear girl. You are supposed to say something nice when somebody invites you over to her house. You can say anything you want, but it has to be nice.”
“Why didn’t you tell me your dad was gay?”
“You know now. You know everything.” My voice catches. “You’re the first one.” But as I say it, I realize it’s not true. I told Anisha. My mind whirls back to that day in the park, to me kissing her, to her running away. “You’re the first one to meet Leon.”
“He seems...so...”
“Gay?” I say the word for her. She nods. “Yeah, I know.”
“Is your mother?”
“No. I think they both wanted a family, only it didn’t turn out the way they planned. Or at least, it didn’t turn out the way my mother planned.” The words come out of my mouth and sound true, as if I’ve known this all along. Clara sits forward on the bed, hugs her knapsack closer and stares at the door.
“She left because of your dad being gay?” she asks.
It’s the first time anyone has ever said it out loud. I nod and press my palms against my eyes to make myself disappear. I stand in the middle of my room, pressing the dark against me, not wanting to see what comes next. I hear the creak of my mattress as Clara stands up. I hear her walk across the floor and then the room goes quiet. I wait, holding my breath, but hear no sound. Clara must have gone.
I press harder on my eyes and shake my head.
Someone’s hand cups my elbow. I snap my arm away and set my jaw, ready to yell at Leon. But when I blink open, it’s Clara. I let loose a wave of tears. I grab Clara’s hand and use it to wipe them away. I squeeze it in both my hands. She pries my fingers gently off her hand and wipes the back of her hand on her jeans to dry it off. I laugh.
“So is this what you do here? Sit around and cry? Don’t I get something to eat? At least my family fed you.”
I jump up, slam open the bedroom door and holler, “Leon, tell Dad to pick up some pop on the way home. Clara’s staying for dinner.”
Clara calls home, and Leon gets started on spaghetti and meatballs. When Dad gets home, he brings us fizzy pink pop in tall glasses filled with ice. Clara tries to make a perfectly circular nest out of one of the beanbag chairs. Once she gets into it, she can’t reach her drink and I have to pass it to her when she’s thirsty so the nest won’t get ruined. Then I make a nest out of my beanbag chair and neither of us can reach our drinks. We sit cross-legged in our beanbag nests and meditate until we become serene buddhas who don’t need to drink. Then Dad calls us down to dinner.
I always thought it would be too strange to have a friend over here with Dad and Leon, but it’s okay. Even with Leon showing off. He slurps a huge long piece of spaghetti and says “ah” at the end and you can tell he thinks he’s like the clown at a children’s party.
Dad’s so happy, I can hardly stand it.
“Stop it,” I say to Leon when he slurps yet another piece of spaghetti.
“Stop what?” he says.
“Acting like that.”
“How was I acting?”
“Melon,” I hiss.
“I have to know how I was acting so that I don’t act like that anymore.”
Clara starts giggling and then Dad joins in.
“Dad.”
I burn him with my eyes and he backs off. He clears his throat. “Gwen told us that your group has won the mural design contest. You must be happy about that, Clara.”
“Yeah. It was Gwen’s idea and Tony’s pictures that won. Tony’s the best in our class, except for Gwen, but she gets it from you. I really like your portraits, Mr. Bainbridge.” Dad is confused, but I shoot him a look not to say anything. Then Leon pipes up.
“I did those.” How many times can you wish a guy dead in one day?
“Oh,” says Clara. “I thought you said...”
“That Dad did them?” Everyone holds their forks in the air, waiting. “I lied about the portraits to Anisha and it just sort of grew. I wasn’t ready to explain about Leon.”
“Why?” says Leon. “What’d I do?”
“Never mind,” I growl. “God, what I wouldn’t give to live in a normal house, with normal people who were normal.”
“Seems pretty normal to me,” says Clara, stuffing another meatball in her mouth.
“I like her,” says Leon.
“Yes. I do, too,” says Dad.
After dinner, we go to my room.
“I have something I want to show you.” I make my way to the desk. I get out the postcards and hold them to my chest. “I had this rule about not showing them. I thought I had to keep everything about my parents secret.” I pass them to her. She handles them with her fingertips, as if they are precious artifacts. She lays them out on the bed and examines the pictures.
“You can read them if you want,” I say. She turns over the first one, the one with the picture of the family camping by the river. I sit on the edge of the bed and watch her read. The black jags of her hair scrape her cheeks as her head moves from side to side.
Her face shows everything. I can almost see the words going into her head. “I think about you all the time... Oh well. C’est la vie...I can’t wait to see your shining face again...time for siesta...when you come to visit.. .My roommate. ..Soon angel... I bet grade 7 will be a breeze...mucking it up... Maybe Christmas...”
When she finishes, she puts them back in order and passes them to me.
“It’s too bad,” she sighs.
“Well, I do have my dad, and he’s good and Leon’s not so weird once you get to know him.”
“I didn’t mean that,” says Clara. “I meant it’s too bad for your mother that she doesn’t know you. I feel sorry for her.”
I look down at the postcards in my hands. Then I throw them up to the ceiling and let them float down around us like autumn leaves.