Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit (2 page)

“CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS IT.”
Dana's standing on the steps of the Morningside house where I've lived with my dad for the past four years. We'd moved here after Two took the Buckhead house right out from under us in the divorce. Moving men are carrying boxes and the few pieces of furniture Three deemed acceptable down the steps to the van parked out front.

I was psyched when Dad finally agreed I could stay with Dana for the duration of his and Three's honeymoon. He'd been insisting I go to Rome to stay with my new grandparents, but he changed his mind at the last minute. Which was one hundred percent fine by me. Even having to listen to Dana talk, ad nauseam, about her Cougar Jen
hookup was worth avoiding two weeks of awkward.

“Me neither. It sucks.” The reality of my situation burrows under my skin like a well-inked tattoo. But unlike a tattoo, this isn't permanent. One year. I can do anything for a year.

I watch the movers load up the last of our boxes and then I turn to Dana. “Peace, dude.”

“Peace to you, dude.”

I throw my arms around her and squeeze, freaked that when I let go my whole life is going to blow away. “Don't forget about me up there.”

“As if.” She clubs me on the shoulder. “Let me know how the chicks are. Maybe I'll come up and unleash the Dana on them.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever, but you and me, we're celebrating my freedom after graduation.”

“Gonna be off the hook.”

At least I've got our long-planned after-grad road trip to look forward to—my dad
has
to give his permission now that he's making me move away. Dana waves and jogs to where her mom is waiting. I drag my feet on the way to my car. One of Dad's radio techs, Jamal, is finishing up with the movers and handing the keys over to the real estate agent. My Atlanta house has locked me out. It's time to roll. When I press the ignition button, AC/DC's
“Highway to Hell” blasts from the radio. I look to the sky. “Really, Goddess?”

I haven't been in the new house for more than thirty minutes and my brain is already blown. “You want me to do what?!”

My father, the preacher, the man with the big heart and the big voice, dragged me into the landscaped backyard and laid out the most unbelievable mess of bullshit I've ever heard.

He sighs and repeats himself, this time more succinctly and straight to his ridiculous point. “I want you to lie low. Don't be so boldly out of the closet up here.”

I can't even process this nugget. My father, the one who's said he supports me one hundred percent, is taking some percentage of that back. He knows I have a handle on the right time and the wrong time to wave my sexuality. This isn't something he should ask. It's completely freaking wrong. “I can't believe this.” I cross my arms and uncross them and cross them again.

“Joanna, please. I need you to help me out.” He stands, arms slack, in front of me, then repeats one word. “Please.”

My father's guilt talks have a way of plunging to the core of my being. And that love-soaked
please
was exponential. He's serious. It takes another minute. A slow,
second-dropping minute, but what he's saying sinks in. My mouth drops open in fractions before I gurgle out the words. “You for real are asking me to pass? To completely hide my gay?”

He rubs his chin, shifts his jaw, and avoids my eyes.

“It's
not like that.” My dad takes my hand and pulls me to the stone wall, where we can perch. “Look.” He opens his hands and I hear his sermon voice. “I'm asking you to take it easy for a year. Concentrate on school. Not be quite so in-your-face. It will make things easier for us.”

My ears do not believe what they're hearing. My father is asking me to lie, to hide who I am, and to be someone I'm not, to appease Three's family.

“I don't even have words.” I stand up and pace across the patio.

“Joanna Gina.” He only uses my full name when he's serious. “Elizabeth's mother was apoplectic about seeing Dana and one of the wedding guests fooling around in the hall outside her room. It was everything Elizabeth could do to talk her mother off the ledge, to convince her she hadn't married into the den of Satan.”

“Like that's not dramatic,” I mutter.

“Jo.” My dad only uses my nickname when he really wants something. “Stop pacing and look at me.”

I do. This time his eyes meet me full on and what I see
scares me. It's a swirl of pain and hope and love and fear. It's him projecting how much this means to him. And it guts me. My dad is literally all I have. My real mom I don't even remember. My grandparents died one by one before I turned twelve, and both my parents were only children. Yeah, there are some scattered third cousins up north, but that's it. I'd do anything for my father.

“Dad.” The word comes out a whisper. “I can't. You can't ask me to do this.”

He sighs and buries his face for a second, then looks up again. “You're right. I'm sorry. But I'm still asking.”

“Ask? Right. More like telling.”

“Jo, stop. Ten months. I'm asking for ten months of compromise. Besides, Rome is not like Atlanta. It won't be as easy here as it's been for you in the past. When have I ever stood in your way when something was important?”

“Um, you've stood in the way of my summer trip.” I cross my arms. “You've stood in the way of my doing a radio show for the ministry.” Over the privacy fence I hear kids splashing in a neighboring pool. They sound like they're having way more fun than me.

He sighs. “Fair enough. If you are big enough to do this for me, then I can be big enough to let you travel with a friend. You have my permission for your summer trip with Dana.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I imagine I would have relented closer to graduation, but your point is solid, so yes, I'll say it now. You can go.” He grabs my arm and pulls me back to sitting by his side. “I know this is going to be hard, Jo. And I wouldn't ask unless I thought I needed to. I want you to be safe and I want us to make a good life with Elizabeth and the Foleys. You can keep busy with school. You can even do some work at the station with me. You have talked about that for a while.”

Not just a while. But since I came out. The whole being-gay-and-a-preacher's-daughter thing comes with some weird mixed messaging—Jesus Loves You. Well, maybe not
you.
It's been a constant internal struggle, having grown up in a religious household, desperately wanting to believe in the great goodness all around me, yet hearing so much hate even when my dad did his best to shield me. About a year ago, I decided starting my own ministry within his could be an amazing way to help other queer and faith-filled youth. Maybe now, with what he's asking of me, I'll get him to listen.

“You mean work like my radio show?”

My dad straightens. His ministry, Wings of Love, is not a brick and mortar church. It's a radio station with
Christian evangelical programming. He tapes his sermons and they go on throughout the day on Sundays and Wednesdays. In between he runs syndicated programs with topics of interest for his listeners. I want my own show, about youth topics and how Jesus was not the kind of dude to preach any type of hate. He was a total out-of-the-box guy and I've always loved him. But some of his followers are fucking nuts. And they might stop sending Dad donations if I go on the air.

“Joanna—”

I cut him off. “No. You moved me my senior year. You swear how cool you are with my choices, and now it's like you're saying that was all a lie. The trip offer is awesome, but like you said, you would have agreed eventually, and I've saved my own money for it. What would really make me okay with this is the radio show.” I know I'm pushing here. But maybe this show would be the thing that could make living in this town bearable. If my new grandparents figure out I'm intelligent and thoughtful, if the local listeners get some insight into how to be better Christians, Dad might not freak out about us having to be on our best behavior. And I won't have to adhere to this ridiculous new rule. I could help make the world, and my new town, a safer place for kids like me.

Now Dad's the one pacing. Five steps toward the yard, five back to me. He does this twice. Twenty steps to decision.

A kid yells, “Cannonball!” and there's the sound of a huge splash from somewhere over the fence.

Dad stops walking. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I'm sort of shocked.

“But.”

Nothing good ever comes after that word.

“Any agenda you have needs to be approached cautiously. I want us to work on the planning together.”

I deflate onto the stone wall, then shake my head and roll my eyes. Yeah, it's what I wanted, but if it's too watered-down it might as well be pointless. Although, maybe a foot in the door is better than being locked out. Once I'm in, proving my salt, gaining my own following, then I can pull out the big guns . . . and, blam—queer girl sucker punch. I
can
do anything for a year if there's a rainbow at the end of it. If they love my dad, they'll love me. And maybe once they love me, I can make some real change and talk about being young, queer, and faithful. It might make this worth it.

“Okay.”

This time he's the one who's shocked. “Okay?” He lets out a huge breath of air and plops back next to me, pulling
me into a side hug. “This means a lot to me, kid. I wouldn't have asked otherwise. You know I'm proud of you.”

I nudge him in the ribs with my elbow. “I love you, Dad. I want you to be happy.” But I don't tell him I know he's proud. Because for the first time since I told him my truth, he's acting like it may be a problem.

DANA'S STRAIGHT UP GUFFAWING ON
the other end of the phone. “Are you serious? That old lady that stuck her head out of the room when I had my hand up Cougar Jen's skirt was your new grandma? I guess I wasn't really paying attention. Had other things keeping me occupied.”

“Yep. That's who it was. New grandma.”

“You sound pissed.”

Somehow between my talk with my dad, the awkward post-honeymoon dinner at our new family table, and me finally escaping to my room to call Dana, I
have
gotten pissed. She knew what the wedding was going to be like. She knew the folks there were on the more conservative end of the spectrum. Who the hell acts like that in the
hallway at the Ritz-Carlton? It's like she thinks she's Shane from
The L Word
and nothing she does is going to come back on her. “Three's mom recognized you as my friend. And now she thinks my dad is the Antichrist because he can't manage his offspring. An apology wouldn't hurt my feelings.”

“No way. I did us a favor. The trip is on, and besides, you're going to get that stupid show you wanted. I swear, I do not understand why you're still all up in Jesus's house. You know those people don't like homos.”

“Wrong. Some of those people. And that's the whole point—my show is supposed to change hearts and minds.”

I press the bottom of my feet against the padded headboard and push up into a stretch as I wait for her response.

“So, what's your approach?”

“Be myself.” I drop flat again against my new bed.

Dana snorts. “Isn't that exactly what your dad said you couldn't do?”

“You have a point.” I hate when she's right. It takes all the anger out of my balloon.

“I'm serious. Your dad wants you to blend in for the year. Then fucking blend. If you think you have half a snowball's chance in hell to turn some of those haters into allies, I've got your back.” She pauses and I can tell she's strategizing. “This is too nuts for me, but what if you do
the whole small town makeover?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, girl-next-door, cool-kid table—I mean, not the really cool kids, but the ones who think they are—county fairs, and prayer group. Oh, and Sephora. You have to promise me you'll go, with Three, and get a makeover. No more fauxhawk. Let that shit grow out. You'll be so pretty with a dark little pixie cut and some rose lips. And finally, new wardrobe. No Docs. No ripped jeans. No black.”

“Screw you, Dana.”

“No, screw you. Papa D. is only trying to help you out here, and you have to admit this idea is brilly.”

It's so stupid I can barely stand it, but again, the girl has skills at getting to the heart of an issue. It might make my transition easier.

“Papa D. could be right.”

“Yaaaas! And pictures or it didn't happen. Besides, maybe Three will try on clothes with you and you'll get to see what your dad's hitting.”

“That is the nail, dude.”

“Yeah, but who's in the coffin?”

“So we're cool?”

Dana's quiet on the other end of the line, then she sighs. “Yeah, bitch, we're cool. But I'm serious. If you're
going to do this shit for the cause, you might as well go for broke. Then we can bust you out of your chains on graduation day. But don't be thinking you can avoid my texts. Me with no car and you with your new life, I don't know how often we're going to get real-life visits.”

“You're going to be my lifeline, dude. Don't forget about me.”

“As if.” She laughs. “Give my regards to Grandma.”

“Later, gator.”

I hang up and stare at myself in the mirror. Normal makeup, hair, clothes? No time like the present to start a slow death. There's genius in Dana's plan. Blend in. Keep my enemies close. Maybe I'll even figure out how to pilot my own life instead of always being her wingman. I lean in closer and look myself in the eyes. “You've got this, girl.” The fear worms its way in again. I've never lived in a small town before and they're not known for being kind to girls like me. Maybe Dad's edict won't be the worst thing in the world.