Free Wife 22 by Melanie Gideon Page B

head.
Peter, I have something to tell you and this may come as a surprise. You’re gay. Possibly bisexual but I’m pretty sure gay.
And then we would cry with relief and watch
Bonanza
reruns
,
which is something we already do, but it would feel different now that we had shared the burden of his secret. Instead, I try to subtly broadcast my approval for his pending life choice.
    “Eric seems like a cool kid. Maybe you want to invite him over for a playdate.”
    “Will you stop saying things like ‘cool kid’ and ‘playdate’?”
    “Well, what should I call it? When your friends come over?”
    “Coming over.”
    “That’s what we used to call it in the ’seventies! Yes, that was thirty-something years ago and things were different then, but what’s not different is that it’s still hard to be in middle school. Changing bodies. Changing identities. One day you think you’re this person. The next day you’re somebody else. But don’t worry, it’s all normal. All a part of—”
    Peter’s eyes drift up to my head. “What’s up with those orange highlights?”
    I finger a strand of my hair. “That’s what happens when the color fades. Is it really orange?”
    “More like rust.”
    The next morning I drop Peter and Zoe off at school, and on my way to work I notice Peter’s pillow in the backseat. I’m going to be late as it is, but Peter will be so uncomfortable sleeping on the ground without hispillow. I race back to his school and get there just in time. The bus transporting the seventh-graders to Yosemite is still in the parking lot, its engine running.
    I climb onto the bus, the pillow tucked under my arm. There’s a moment before anybody notices I’m standing there when I search frantically through the crowd, thrilled that I have an opportunity to spy on my son in his natural habitat.
    I spot him in the middle of the bus, sitting next to Briana. His arm is around her and her head rests on his shoulder. It’s a startling sight for a few reasons. One, it’s the first time I’ve seen my son in any sort of intimate position, and he looks disturbingly natural and disturbingly mature. And two—because I know he’s faking it. He’s trying to pass as straight, which breaks my heart.
    “Pedro, your mother’s here.”
    Could there be four more humiliating words whispered on a bus?
    “Pedro forgot his
beanie baby
,” somebody from the back of the bus sings out.
    Yes, yes there could.
    “I’ll give it to Peter,” says Ms. Ward, Peter’s English teacher, sitting a few rows back from where I’m standing.
    I clutch the pillow tightly—mortified.
    “It’s okay. Just give it to me,” she says.
    I hand her the pillow, but remain frozen in place. I can’t stop staring at Briana. I know I shouldn’t feel threatened, but I do. In the past year she’s transformed from a gawky, mouthful-of-braces girl to a very pretty young woman wearing skinny jeans and a camisole. Was William right? Am I that afraid of losing Peter, to the point of feeling competitive with a twelve-year-old?
    “You should go now, Mrs. Buckle,” Ms. Ward says.
    Yes, I should go before
Pedro, your mother’s here
turns into
Pedro, your mother is bawling because she can’t bear to be away from you for twenty-four hours
. Peter is slumped down in his seat, arms crossed, staring out the window. I get into my car and bang my head softly against the steering wheel while the bus pulls out, then I put on my Susan Boyle CD (the “Wild Horses” track, which always makes me feel plucky and brave) and dial Nedra.
    “Peter has a beard,” I cry. I don’t have to explain to Nedra that I’m not talking about facial hair.
    “A beard? Well, good for him! It’s practically a rite of passage. If he
is
gay, that is.”
    Nedra, like William, is still on the fence about Peter’s sexuality.
    “So this is normal?” I ask.
    “It’s certainly not
ab
normal. He’s young and confused.”
    “And humiliated. I just completely embarrassed him in