“It has come to their attention that you intend to release an interview detailing your time in Alaska as a youth.”
“You make it sound like a wilderness vacation. My time in Alaska was conversion therapy, Bernard, and it nearly killed me. And because programs like it still exist, the very least I can do is anything and everything to get them shut down.”
“I understand. I am only relaying their concerns. They feel it will paint the family in an unflattering light unless their side of the story is also included.”
“Their side…” My eyes widened in disbelief. “By all means. Tell them they are free to tell their side of the story, Bernie. They’re welcome to share with the world how they had a gay son and didn’t want him to be gay anymore, so they tortured him for six months which resulted in a year’s long sanitarium stay which further resulted in him sabotaging the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He had to run away from the one person he loved more than anyone because he didn’t feel he was worthy, because he put that person in danger, and because he’d rather die than do it again. Tell them that.”
I stopped my rant to catch my breath. Mette and Elliot were watching me with wide eyes, then quickly pretended to be doing something else.
“Mr. Parish,” Bernie began quietly. “They asked me to tell you that should you give this interview and fail to remove the Parish name from the book…they intend to disown you.”
I took a step back, my blood running cold; old whispers starting up again.
Worthless. They don’t want you. No one does…
I swallowed hard. “That’s…stupid. They’re too late. I already have their money and I’m twenty-one years old. They can’t disown me—”
“It’s a symbolic gesture, to be sure,” Bernard said in a low voice.
“They don’t want me to have their name.”
“That’s the short of it.”
I leaned against the wall of the anteroom, the phone clutched in my hand so hard, my knuckles ached. “What about my aunt and uncle? Any word from them?”
I hated how pathetic I sounded. Weak and needy. Reg and Mags had moved back to their Florida mansion after I left Santa Cruz. They had no way to contact me, except through Bernard.
“I have not heard from them, no.”
I nodded, conscious that Mette and Elliot were waiting for me.
“Forget what I told you to tell my parents,” I said. “This is my answer to their two requests: fuck you and fuck off. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to give a reading of my banned book.”
I hung up, turned the phone on silent and shoved it in my pocket with trembling hands. My therapist’s advice came back: I breathed over the whispering voices, listening to the soft in-and-out instead of them.
I’m alive. I’m still here.
When I felt warmer, I forced a bright smile for Mette and Elliot.
“Sorry about that. A little unpleasantness with the family.”
“Are you all right?” Mette asked.
“No,” I said, smiling gratefully. “But I’m getting there.”
Mette smiled gently and pressed a copy of Gods of Midnight into my hand. “They’re going to love you.”
And that’s not nothing, I thought and stepped out onto the stage.
Thunderous applause greeted me, accompanied by a few cheers and whistles. It rolled through me—the approval and acceptance…I almost turned back around. But I sucked in a steadying breath and gripped the edge of the podium with both hands.
“Hi, my name is Holden and I’m an alcoholic,” I said. “Woops, wrong group.”
Laughter tittered through the crowd.
“It’s a surreal to see so many of you here for me and my naughty little book but thank you for coming.”
Another round of cheers and applause; smiling faces waiting to hear what I had to say.