The next day, we all pretend like last night never happened. I’ve got a killer headache, and the others don’t look so great either, but we don’t talk about it.
The exercise for the day is baseball—the boys have to play; the girls have to watch. I have a pretty good feeling that most of the girls would rather be playing and most of the guys would rather be on the sidelines, but I guess it’s supposed to be another way to instill appropriate gender roles in us. Girls don’t play sports. Boys do.
It’s fine by me though. If I had to swing a bat and run around on a field with this hangover, I’d probably puke all over home plate. I don’t know how Matthew and Daniel are managing to hold it together.
It turns out Ian, the kid who had to hit Gabe during the Father Wounds, is an incredible baseball player. He hits every pitch that comes his way. By the third inning, the score is 11–0 and the male counselors join in the game—“to even out the teams”—but Ian tramples all over them too. Everyone is rooting for him, even the guys on the opposite team. It’s pretty great, watching him put the counselors in their place.
My eyes keep wandering over to Carolyn during the game. She hasn’t said much since last night, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing I am: the reparative therapy isn’t working.
I know what I said about it being about choices and the diet analogy and everything, and I do think that can probably work for some people; the idea that the camp doesn’t zap us completely free of our SSA but rather gives us the tools to fight back against the SSA and be content choosing a different path in life isn’t so hard to believe.
But the thing is, I don’t know if it’s a diet I can personally commit to. God knows I’ve been trying to fully entrust myself to the de-gayifying exercises I believe in, and to find the gray area in the others, but I still keep drifting back to Carolyn.
Carolyn, who looks so completely miserable right now. I hate that whatever is on her mind is making her so sad. So, on the off chance she’s thinking the same thing I am, I whisper, “There’s still five weeks left.”
She looks up at me.
“It’ll be okay,” I say. “You’re going to be okay.”
She nods. “There’s still five weeks left,” she repeats.
“Five weeks is a long time.”
“Thanks, Lexi.” She gives a small smile and goes back to watching the game.
But now that I’ve consoled Carolyn—or as much as I can without knowing exactly what it is I’m comforting her about—I have nothing to distract me from my own misery.
The reparative therapy isn’t working for me. I have all these tools, and I’m trying to use them, but nothing’s happening. And I’m pretty sure five more weeks isn’t going to change that. I feel it, deep down in my core. This just isn’t going to work. Maybe I’m different from Mr. Martin and Kaylee and Peter. Maybe I just wasn’t meant to be gluten free after all. Maybe this is what God has wanted for me all along…
But I cannot go home to my mother and look her in the eye and tell her it didn’t work. It would kill her.
After the game (final score: 21–0), Brianna whisks the girls away to do some gender activities in the main cabin. Today’s lesson: laundry.
“Are you serious? The boys get to play sports and we have to clean? That’s not fair!” Melissa blurts out as Brianna presents us with the ginormous pile of pink and blue laundry in the cabin’s basement laundry room.
“Melissa, I’m really getting tired of your complaining,” Brianna says. “Another word and you’ll be on laundry duty for the rest of the summer.”
Melissa zips her lips and throws away the key.
That’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.
“Mrs. Wykowski usually takes care of the camp’s laundry, but we gave her the day off today,” Brianna explains. She shows us how to sort the laundry into lights and darks and work the settings on the row of washing machines and dryers. I already know how to do all this stuff, but it seems like a lot of these girls have never had to do their own laundry before.
I’m on hand-wash duty (the girls’ sweaters are hand-wash only—yet another reason to loathe them), but I actually don’t mind. The repetitive motion of soaking, rinsing, and wringing is conducive to thinking, and I have a lot to think about. The de-gayifying isn’t working. So what the hell am I going to do?
By the time the sweaters are all laid flat to air dry and it’s all hands on deck for the Great Fold, I’ve come up with a new plan: I will stick with the program for the rest of the summer. I will do everything Mr. Martin and the other counselors say to do, so they can tell my mom what a model camper I was. And I will spend the rest of my life lying to my mother.
If I’d done a better job of keeping that damn sketchbook away from her in the first place, she never would have known I was gay. Just like if I tell her the de-gayifying worked, she’ll never know that it didn’t.
I can get married. I can have babies. You don’t have to be in love to do those things. You don’t even have to be in like. I repeat to myself what I told Carolyn: it’ll be okay. You’re going to be okay.
***
The following Sunday marks the summer’s halfway point—and brings with it a couple of surprises.
The first thing that happens is that Mr. Martin announces at breakfast that we’ll get the chance to call our parents today. My heart immediately swells up—for the first time in a month, I’m going to get to talk to Mom!
We all line up outside Mr. Martin’s office and go inside one at a time for a five-minute supervised conversation.
Matthew is in line right before me, and he whispers just before he goes in, “I’m calling Justin.”
My jaw drops. “You can’t! Mr. Martin said parents only! He’s going to be watching you the whole time.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he says and disappears into the office.
I listen through the door. After a few moments of silence, I hear Matthew say, “Hi, Dad, it’s me.” Pause. “I know, I’m glad to hear your voice too.” Pause. “It’s not so bad. I’ve got some friends here so that’s good. How’s everything at home?” Long pause. “Yeah, I bet!” Laughter. “Okay, well, I have to go, but I’ll see you in a month.” Short pause. “I miss you too. I love you.” Short pause. “Say hi to Mom!” More laughter. “Okay, bye.”
The door swings open and Matthew’s face is pure joy. I can’t help but smile.
I go into the office and sit down. With a quick glance at Mr. Martin, who’s sitting behind his desk watching me, I pick up the phone and dial my house number.
As it rings, the excitement I’d been feeling as I waited in line turns to apprehension. What if she’s not “doing fine” after all? Or what if she’s not home again and I don’t get another chance to speak with her for four more weeks?
But she picks up on the third ring—and her voice sounds bright and happy.
“Mom?”
“Lexi! Oh my goodness, how are you?”
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“I’m doing really well. Oh, Lexi, I wish you were here to see it.”
“You sound great,” I say, relieved—and surprised. “I heard you went camping?”
“Yes! It was such fun, but I am so sorry I wasn’t here when you called. I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too, Mom. I’m so glad to hear you’ve been keeping busy though.”
“I definitely have. I joined this exercise group that goes on long walks and hikes—that’s who I went camping with—and I took on a shift at the church daycare center. And I joined a widow support group—it’s wonderful. I really should have done it earlier.”
I’m stunned. “That’s great, Mom. I’m so happy for you.” Tears spring to my eyes.
“Well, you inspired me, honey. You knew you had to get help, and you went and did it. I realized there’s no reason why I shouldn’t do the same thing. How is everything at New Horizons? Are you making good progress?”
Now I’m full on crying, and I’m not even sure why.
I do my best to make my voice sound normal. “It’s really great. I…” Deep breath. “I really think it’s working.” There it was, lie number one in a lie-filled lifetime.
“Oh, that’s such wonderful news! I’m so proud of you, Lexi. I knew he didn’t know what he was talking about.”
Wait—what?
“Who didn’t know what he was talking about?” I ask. “Pastor Joe?”
There’s a pause. “No, no, sorry, never mind. I still get confused sometimes,” she says.
“Oh. Okay…Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m great. I promise,” she says.
Mr. Martin is making a wrap-it-up gesture. “I have to go, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you too, honey. You keep working on getting better, and when I come to pick you up next month, we’ll go out for a big celebration dinner. How does that sound?”
“Sounds great.” I clear my throat. “Bye!”
“Bye, Lexi.”
I hang up the phone and leave the room in a daze. She sounded just like the woman she used to be, the one whose specialty was macaroni and cheese casserole with a black olive smiley face baked into the top, who made her own homemade crayons for her students because she thought they deserved the best. I should be glad that she’s doing so well. And I am—I really, really am. My utopia is actually starting to come true.
But somehow utopia doesn’t feel so…well, utopic.
At dinner, everyone talks about their phone calls. Daniel is grinning. Over the past week, he’s slowly been working past the dejection he felt during our fateful night of drinking, and now that he’s finally gotten a chance to check in with his mother, the last of his worries seem to have evaporated, his faith in New Horizons fully restored.
Matthew gabs away excitedly about all the San Diego gossip he found out from Justin. Apparently, someone named José cheated on someone named Diana with someone named Jennifer, which “everybody totally knew was going to happen.”
Everyone’s glad to hear that my mom’s doing so well. I don’t tell them the part about me not being as happy about it as I thought I would.
“How about you, Carolyn?” I ask. “How did your conversation go?”
She doesn’t look happy; there’s a deep crease between her eyes that wasn’t there before her phone call. “They miss me,” she says, and there’s an edge to her tone.
“Well, that’s good, right?”
“They want me to come home,” she says, picking a biscuit apart with her fingers. “They don’t get it.”
Matthew, Daniel, and I exchange a look. “They want you to come home?” I say. “Like, now?”
“Yup. They didn’t want me to come here in the first place.”
“So…then…why…” I’m having trouble forming the question. Carolyn’s parents didn’t want her to come here? I know we’re all here for different reasons, but up until now, I thought the one common theme among all of us was that our parents were at the very least supportive of the de-gayifying.
I don’t get an answer to my barely formed question though, because Carolyn suddenly throws down the mangled biscuit and storms out of the cabin, slamming the screen door behind her.