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“I thought dealing with one protective father was bad enough,” he once said. “But two?Your dads are gonna be the death of me, Lo.”
I smile. “You don’t think I’m perfect?” “No.You’re delightfully screwy, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.
Which, by the way, doesn’t make him “the woman.” Nothing annoys me more than someone assuming one of my dads is less-than-dad. Yeah, Andy bakes for a living. And he stayed at home to raise me. And he’s decent at talking about feelings.
So neither is “the woman.” They’re both gay men. Duh.
“It’s easy to talk about things we hate, but sometimes it’s hard to explain exactly why we like something.”
“All right, then.” He nods. “Have a good time. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I hear Andy as I’m walking out the front door. “Honey, that threat doesn’t work when you’re gay.”
He’s staring at me. Staring through me. For the first time ever, Cricket Bell looks small. He’s disappearing right before my eyes.
“When it’s right, it’s simple,” he says to my unasked question. “Unlike your hair.”
The moon is fat, but half of her is missing. A ruler-straight line divides her dark side from her light. She hangs low over the bustling Castro, noticeably earlier than the night before. Autumn is coming. For as long as I can remember, I’ve talked to the moon. Asked her for guidance. There’s something deeply spiritual about her pale glow, her cratered surface, her waxing and waning. She wears a new dress every evening, yet she’s always herself.
It’s maddening how someone so easy to read can be so impossible to understand.
“I like being different.” “And I like that about you,” Cricket says. “But I like the real you best.”
“I’ll only say this once more. Clearly, so there’s no chance of misinterpretation.” His eyes darken into mine. “I like you. I’ve always liked you. It would be wrong for me to come back into your life and act otherwise.”
“He’s good, Lola. He’s really good,” Anna says at last. “Has he considered therapy?” St. Clair asks, and Anna elbows him in the ribs. “Ow.”
My heart screams in surprised agony. He halts. It’s as if he’s physically stopped by something we can’t see.
Anna looks at me carefully. “Sometimes a mistake isn’t a what. It’s a who.”
“For a skinny guy, your arms are like a steel trap,” I hiss. Cricket bursts into laughter.
“That was both ridiculously easy and way more complicated than it should have been.” He smiles back. “That’s my specialty.”
I smile. “Why are you always in the right place at the right time?” “It’s a particular talent of mine.” He shrugs.
“I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve never seen the same you twice. Nothing about you is real.”
“Are you gonna say what’s on your mind, or are you gonna make me guess? Because I’m not good at guessing games. People should say what they mean to say and not make other people stumble around.”
“History books are filled with lies. Whoever wins the war tells the story.”
Life isn’t about what you get, it’s about what you DO with what you get.”
“You can’t let that kind of shame dictate who you are.You aren’t your name.Your decisions are your own.”
Just because something isn’t practical doesn’t mean it’s not worth creating. Sometimes beauty and real-life magic are enough.”
I’m a child playing dress-up, who can’t even recognize herself under her own costume.
Because that’s the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don’t want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It’s mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.
His eyes open and lock on mine. “You have one, too. And maybe some people think that wearing a costume means you’re trying to hide your real identity, but I think a costume is more truthful than regular clothing could ever be. It actually says something about the person wearing it. I knew that Lola, because she expressed her desires and wishes and dreams for the entire city to see. For me to see.”
“Do you know my biggest regret?” she asks. “That you turned into this bright, beautiful, fascinating person . . . and I can’t take credit for any of it.”
“I know you aren’t perfect. But it’s a person’s imperfections that make them perfect for someone else.”
“I think you’re perfect, too. Perfect for me. And . . . you look amazing tonight.You always do.”
And if I’m the stars, Cricket Bell is entire galaxies.
And I hold my head high toward my big entrance, hand in hand with the boy who gave me the moon and the stars.
