Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit (18 page)

DAD WAKES ME UP WITH
his whistling. There's another voice layered underneath the happy notes, but I can't place it from upstairs. I change out of my sleep shirt and pull on a sweats and T-shirt combo and go in search of leftover pumpkin pie and coffee. I'm surprised to see Mrs. Foley sitting on a kitchen stool, in slacks, not her usual skirt and panty hose.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Dad's voice rings across the room. Mrs. Foley lifts the edges of her mouth in acknowledgment.

“What's going on?” My step-grandmother's appearance in our kitchen first thing in the morning has the
potential to be a serious buzz kill.

“Virginia stopped in to chat about Elizabeth and what we might need for the next few weeks.”

“Oh.” I bob my head in agreement even though I really want to cut past them toward the French press.

“Yes,” she speaks up. “I'd suggested perhaps you could come live with us until Elizabeth and the baby are in the clear, but your father seems to think that won't be necessary.” This time I see teeth as she lifts the corner of her mouth, and could it be, a slight creasing of the cheeks? Did her smile actually reach the upper limits of her face?

Dad grinds the beans for me.

I think about what she said. “In the clear?”

Dad answers. “Yep. Doctor Klein has prescribed strict bed rest through the end of the year, maybe longer. Your baby brother or sister is already the ruler of the roost. We don't want any shaking about while he or she nests for fear of flying away.” His whistling starts again as he fixes the press for me, then hands it off so I can put it on the stove top. When I get it going, he hugs me and doesn't let go.

“I've been explaining to Virginia how proud I am of you. How you're settling in, how your grades are holding steady, and how you'd never do anything to put the baby at risk. You're as excited as we are, aren't you, big sis?”

“Uh, yeah. It's going to be awesome.” What kind of
freak-a-zoid is jealous of an embryo? I can't believe I even had a minute of thinking that way. If I were five it'd make sense, but at seventeen? Not so much. A baby. I'm going to be a sister. Which is great. But I wonder, will they let me tell my sibling I'm a lesbian? Or will it always be “Oh look, here's your sister and her
friend
.”
My promised tell-all deadline to Mary Carlson comes zooming into my frontal lobe and a feeling of dread follows on its heels. This baby on the brink complicates things.

“And there's one more thing I have to brag about when it comes to my eldest child.” Dad fishes through the week's stack of mail and pulls out a crumpled piece of Wings of Love notepad paper with his chicken scratch penned all over it. “This got pushed to the side between the holiday and the miscarriage scare, but I have good news.”

Mrs. Foley peers over the kitchen bar and I try to make sense of the page.

“It's the interest ratings for your first two episodes of
Keep It Real
.” His voice is teasing.

My emotions lurch and I grip the counter. “And?”

Dad dances me around in a little jig, then stops when we're facing Mrs. Foley, his hand draped over my shoulder, the paper dangling like a National Religious Broadcasting Award. “Like father, like daughter. They love you.” Then to his mother-in-law, “You see? There's no reason to think
a teenager in the home is going to create stress for Elizabeth and the baby. Not when that teenager is my Joanna. Not when she's convinced thousands of radio listeners to love her, too.” He pulls me to him and kisses the top of my head and I swear I feel its warmth sink through my skull, ricochet through my brain, circle around my heart a time or two, before settling at the pit of my stomach.

The listeners need me. Elizabeth and the baby need me. Dad needs me.

But Mary Carlson says she does, too.

“Again? Is this becoming a thing with you?” Dana's eyes go wide on the computer screen.

“It's a big day, Georgia versus Georgia Tech.” Dana had Skyped after Dad left for the hospital to see if I wanted to come down the next day for some after–Black Friday shopping, of the legal variety, with her mom.

“Hold up. Let me get this straight. You, Jo Guglielmi, are going to a house filled with testosterone-laden guys more pumped up on testosterone than usual because they're watching sports ball.”

“I'm focused on the appetizers. Chicken wings. Artichoke dip. Little pecan pies. And Mary Carlson, of course.”

“See, I knew this would happen. Blowing me off for the girlfriend. Becoming a small town sports dyke.”

“Actually, I need your advice.” I fill Dana in on Dad and Elizabeth and my graduation gift of a sibling. How Elizabeth has bed rest orders from her doctor for the next four weeks.

“So what's the issue? Sounds like a fucking wonderful thing.”

“The issue is that Mary Carlson has finally discovered herself and I'm the only thing keeping her from coming out to her friends and family. On the one hand, it's completely rad how she's owning it. She's this fearless change warrior, not scared at all of the consequences.”

Dana laughs. “Maybe I like her after all.”

“But,” I say.

“You're worried about upsetting your apple cart.”

“Yeah, I mean, the baby thing is a real issue, though I imagine Mary Carlson would understand. If she likes me enough, she'd keep hiding, right?”

“So do you really want my advice?”

“I do.” On the wall opposite my bed are the photos Mary Carlson printed out for me to hang up. Me and her and B.T.B. in a selfie snapped outside Paradise Gardens, the day of our first kiss. Another with George, Gemma, Betsy, and Jessica in the youth group room at church. And the bold one, of the two of us, cheek to cheek in a grin that gives it all away. At least I think so.

Dana's face gets serious on the screen. “Dude, remember how I said you have to tell her or break up with her?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Well, you have to tell her . . . or break up with her. You can't keep this shit up.”

I guess deep down it's the answer I was expecting, though I hoped Dana would agree I could explain Three's touchy pregnancy to Mary Carlson, play the sympathy card, get her to keep sneaking around with me for at least four more weeks, then deal with it after that.

“Look.” Dana smiles through the computer screen. “This is not me being selfish, even though I do have one hundred and fifty legally earned dollars saved for our summer trip. This is me thinking about some chick in small town Georgia with a thousand-pound weight on her chest. If I were that girl, if I were ready to open it up for public viewing, I wouldn't want some lying bitch trying to keep me hidden.” Dana shrugs and lifts her hands. “You haven't really been open with her.”

“Jesus, Dana, tell me how you really think.” I push the laptop away from me, but I also realize she's right. It's put-up or shut-up time.

Dana leans closer to her webcam like she can reach me that way. “Look, Jo, don't be pissed. But this girl, if you love her like you say you do, you're going to need to let her
do what she needs to do. And if it can't be with you, you've got to be big enough to let go.”

I can't meet her eyes.

She pauses, before continuing. “For whatever reason, your dad made this douche move . . . but . . . you agreed to go along with it. As much as I thought you were crazy, your radio show
does
have the potential to be cool for the multitudes of queer kids stuck listening to Christian radio in their parents' cars. It's even playing out how you planned. Reel them in, then bam, give them the good word of Jo.”

I look up and her eyes meet mine. Her voice softens. “Now Three might lose her baby. You can't jeopardize that because of a high school romance. You just can't. And yeah, this Mary Carlson girl would probably keep hiding for you, but you can't make that girl wait. What if some other excuse pops up? If the two of you are meant to be . . .” She makes her hands fly away, then return and settle above her heart.

I feel the tears pushing up inside. This is Mary Carlson. My mind races through the memories we've already made. I don't want to give her up.

Dana taps the screen to get my attention. “Look at me. For starters, she won't understand that you've lied to her from the beginning and will probably be pretty damn pissed. And hurt.” Dana shakes her head like she can feel
the pain herself, which I guess given her recent experience isn't so much of a stretch. “On top of that, what if she can't stand the secret anymore and ends up slipping. Tells just one person to get it off her chest. And what if that one person is the wrong person. Then it gets back to your Dad, your stepmom. Hate to tell you, but this, my friend . . . is a lie cyclone. The only way out is to jump while you have a chance to reach shore. Bad analogy, but this is a serious shipwreck in the making.”

My mind flicks to Jessica or Mary Carlson's dad or mom. It could even be B.T.B. How well do you really know what anyone's reaction would be? I think about the things Three's mom has said in casual conversation and can only imagine the shit storm of talk that's going to happen among the families of Rome's finest. “Fuck, Dana. Why did I even have to meet her?”

“Aw, come on. Chin up. It won't be that bad. Listen. If your dad eventually lets you be yourself again, and you've taken the high road by stepping away, you'll seem like the admirable one. Like you were doing what was right all along. You can tell her some story about how you needed to start over with the truth. In the meantime, you'll stay cool with your dad, keep life stress free for the baby, and eventually get to be a change maker for lots of queer teens. She's just one girl, dude. You're hot, and smart, and the
kindest person I've ever known. You'll meet someone else if it doesn't work out. The timing's off. Sometimes it works like that.”

I don't believe Mary Carlson's just one girl. But I do know she'll hate me if I don't tell her the truth. Plus, she needs her own truth. Dana's got a point.

A point that's chiseling a crack in my heart.

I TOSSED AND TURNED ALL
night thinking about staying together or breaking up, mixed in with images of my dad and Three and a tiny embryo trying to get out into the world to meet us. But I also pictured the crumpled ratings paper from the ministry. The pride in my Dad's eyes. The kind words he said to Mrs. Foley. The people out there in radio land who are receptive to my voice.

If I break up with Mary Carlson, I'm doing the right thing. I'm not interfering with her coming-out process. I'm not piling on shame by keeping her hidden. I'm keeping my promises and being respectful to my dad and Elizabeth.

Hiding in the corners of my psyche is a quieter thought,
a scolding thought—Is it really timing or is it fear of reprisal? You have to come out in Rome eventually, why not stand up to your father and do it now? Have you even thought about how hurt she's going to be?
I silence the thought. It's not an option. The timing is totally off. What would telling her the truth even look like? Um, excuse me Mary Carlson, but I've been lying to you since we met and I know you hate liars but maybe you'll understand this one. And oh yes, I'm supposedly this really awesome queer girl, yet I've chosen to stay in the closet this school year. Well, except for the kissing you part, that was really, really gay.

Breaking up is the lesser of the two evils. If I tell her, she's going to break up with me anyway. I would if the situation were reversed. But should I let her decide? I think about what Dana said—what if she slips and tells one wrong person—then what? Shit. This sucks every way I look at it. I should never have told her I wanted to kiss her that day at Paradise Gardens.

I text her and my stomach knots.

Can we meet at Ridge Ferry before going to the game?

She texts back immediately.
Do you have something to tell me
☺☺☺

My heart constricts. She thinks I've told my parents already. And this time I know these emojis mean so much
more. I can't stand to be the cause of turning those smiles into frowns.

Um yeah. I need to talk to you.
No smiley faces.

?? Is everything okay?

Crap, now she's worried. But if she's worried, maybe it won't come as such a surprise.

Mary Carlson's rage is way bigger than I expected. I'm heart-racing, what-the-fuck-am-I-doing panic.

We've walked down the paths into a cold, deserted Ridge Ferry Park and her face is a hot mess of tears and anger. “Why, Jo? I don't understand. We agreed to start slow. That we'd only tell our parents and George and Gemma for now.” Mary Carlson keeps asking me this and I can't formulate an answer to make her get it. Because any answer I give her is a lie, and any truth I tell her is going to make her hate me, too.

“I can't tell my parents right now and I don't want to hold you back. You have so much bravery and confidence.”

“You
can
tell your parents. I've known Elizabeth my whole life. She's not the type to let someone's sexuality interfere with how she feels about them. She's one of the good ones.”

“But my dad.” The words unloose my tears. It's not a lie. I'm breaking up with Mary Carlson because my dad—my
kind, supportive, not-your-typical, evangelical preacher dad—asked me to do the unthinkable. And I said yes.

She pulls me into her arms and I sob against her sweater.

“Hey, hey, shhhhh.” She pushes me back and with excruciating tenderness wipes the tears from my face. “We can do this together. People will see how happy we are and be okay with it.”

A man appears on the path above us and I jump away from her. She looks at him, then me, then down at the ground.

“I can't, Mary Carlson. It's . . .”

She looks up again, the tenderness gone. “Too hard? Too scary? Yeah, I get that. I know who I am. Do you know who you are?”

“Yes, of course I do. But . . . it's wrong. I can't.” I was thinking about the timing being wrong, but she misinterprets me.

“It's wrong? What's wrong? Us?”

“No, that's not what I meant. I—”

She blows out a breath of cold air, then cuts me off. “You're serious. I can't believe you're serious. I hate you right now. The way you acted all into this.” She wipes away a tear and flings it to the ground like she can get rid of any emotions in the movement. “I thought I loved you, Jo
Gordon. But you're a coward.”

I drop my chin and stare at the ground. Am I a coward? If I'd never met her, none of this would be an issue. Mary Carlson was the one who pulled me into her circle of friends. She was the one talking about how she couldn't handle the handsiness of boys. She was the one who kissed me first. As far as I knew she was just messing around, experimenting after seeing that movie. It's
not
my fault she chose me as her catalyst to do the thing that had obviously been building inside her since before we met.

“I'm not a coward,” I whisper. “I'll have your back. I'll be your ally.”

“Ally? That's rich. Was it my ally who had her hands up my shirt between third and fourth block last Tuesday? One day you'll figure out who you are, Joanna Gordon. And you'll feel just like me. And hopefully the girl you love won't be crushing your heart into dust in the process.”

“I . . .” I look up, my mouth open, the words right there sitting in my throat. I could tell her everything. I could tell her I think I'm falling in love with her, too. But then I think about Dad and Three, his hand on her stomach, her on the couch piled with blankets and pillows, and I can't. I'm selfish if I don't tell her and I'm selfish if I do. Dana was right. All it would take is Mary Carlson slipping it to one wrong person and things would spiral into drama. I
can't bring drama into our house right now. I don't want to be the daughter who messed it all up. “I've got to go.”

Make a clean break. That's what Dana said. I'm going to walk my feet away from this amazing girl and let her fly.

“Fine. Go. Go to the stupid party at Jessica's without me. Maybe you can find another nice boy to fake it with.”

“Screw you, Mary Carlson.” I turn to head back up the path.

“No. Screw you, Joanna. Run back to your safe little life. In the meantime, I'll be at home, telling my parents I'm queer.”

Every part of me is wound tight. I want so badly to turn around. To tell her I've been out longer than she's probably even thought about it. But I keep walking, my head down, my hands in my pockets, and my mouth shut. Losing Mary Carlson is going to hurt like hell, but it won't hurt as much as my dad's disappointment.

When I finally get to my car and pull away from the park, my tears burst free.

What did I just do?