“Yeah, I’ve been. Just because it’s called the Gayborhood doesn’t mean only gay people can go, Clarity,” Stephanie teases, chuckling.
I laugh a little with her. “How am I supposed to know?”
“You could come visit me, you know?”
My eyes shoot to her, immediately catching in the web of her gaze. Her eyes are a deep brown, lined to perfection and accented by expertly applied eye shadow. Stephanie has always been one of the prettiest people I know. With her eyes locked on mine, no amount of challenge or kidding simmering in the black of her irises, I can tell her invitation is genuine.
“Youshouldcome. Especially if you’re going to apply there. I can give you a campus tour, and if itreallymeans that much to you, I can take you to the Gayborhood.”
“We don’t have to go to the Gayborhood,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “I mean, it’s not like I’d be allowed into any bars—”
“But still, you shouldn’t apply to a bunch of schools you’ve never been to,” she chides. “Plus, my friends love the Gayborhood, so there’s no getting out of it.”
“Theyloveit?”
“Given that half of them aregay, yes, they love going to a place called theGayborhood. It’s a safe space for them. Philly is pretty open that way, you know? You’d love it.”
Me?Why does she think I,me specifically, would love it?
“I don’t know if I’d need to go there though,” I say, pushing my greens around with my fork.
“Why not? If you’re going to come see Temple, you might aswell see more of the city. Temple isinthe city. That’s one of the cool things about the campus. The class buildings are mixed in with everything else.”
“Okay, that’s pretty cool,” I relent, letting out a breath.
Of course, what I don’t admit is that Temple isn’t in the lead for me, not compared to the University of Pittsburgh.
I relax when Stephanie pivots to talking about Old City and how Philadelphia is a place filled with real history, from the buildings to the Constitution, and the culture and community. She thinks I’d like it for more than just the Gayborhood, which—even if I don’t go to Temple—I definitely want to visit someday.
Half her friends are gay.Which means maybe she wouldn’t care if she found out I am too.
A little while later, with the sun beginning to descend, I help my dad go around the backyard lighting torches and plugging in the string lights that he and Uncle David hung last summer when Momma expressed that she wanted to enjoy sitting outside more. A canopy of fairy lights brings a layer of mystical warmth to the backyard, and we all gather around the long table again—now cleared of the aluminum tins of food and dressed in a fresh purple dollar store tablecloth.
We sing “Happy Birthday,” Momma’s face illuminated by the candles on her cake.
Maybe it’s a little selfish or self-centered of me, but something about looking around at everyone eating the cake that Imade, feeling happy and finding peace, makes me want to stay in this moment.
There’s so much love here, it carves a mark of wanting inside my chest. A deep longing for Hannah. I wish she were here, sitting in a chair next to me. I wish she could taste my famous cake and lean back in her chair, belly full of good food—food made with love and family in mind, food for the soul, as Momma would say. And she’d feel this energy buzzing around us, the hum of the histories of my family.
Her knee would lie to the side, touching mine, letting me know she’s here and keeping us connected as we listen to stories. The funny, endearing history that reminds me that I am—in fact—part of something bigger than me, my mom, and my dad. That I’m never alone.
There is a way for me to bring her into my family. Maybe not explicitly, where everyone is on the same page about what we are to each other, but in the same way that Kristen can come around, that any friend of mine can come over and meet my parents… Hannah could meet them too.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Dear God,” I start, palms pressed together over my heart, but the words catch in my throat. They aren’t authentic. They’re too formal.
“God, I don’t even know what to say.” The uncertainty hits me anew, but I take another calming breath and push. “I used to be so sure that I knew what it meant to follow You. To be good. To do what was right.” The words come faster, a confession barreling out of me with its own force. “Hannah means the world to me, and liking her doesn’t feel wrong. It doesn’t feel like something I should repent for. But everything I’ve been taught tells me that I should, that this is something You wouldn’t want for me—”
I take a breath, hoping to suck in the tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “I miss You,” I whisper.
My room is so still and silent, it seems like even the world outside has paused, waiting.
Warmth, like a small flame flickering to life, blooms inside my chest.
“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice breaking. “I’m scared of losing everyone. Can I be with Hannah and still follow you?”
Trust.