Work Text:
“I think I’m going to tell them.”
The leftover adrenaline from their gig has started to wear off, and between the subsequent sleepiness that follows and the ambient noise of the crickets outside, Sunset Curve has finally started to settle into a comfortable lull that would have had all of them asleep before one in the morning – for once in their lives. But Alex’s announcement has shattered the silence as his bandmates jerk to attention.
“What?” Reggie blinks at him across the coffee table, accidentally elbowing Luke in the ribs as he tries to navigate sitting up straighter and continuing to cuddle with the guitarist.
From the floor, Bobby sounds off. “You don’t mean . . . ?”
“I do,” Alex says, everyone now wide awake as he adds, “I think I’m going to tell my parents that I’m gay.”
“Are you sure?” Luke asks. “I mean, they’re not exactly the most accepting people on Earth.”
The sound of velcro peeling quietly crackles from the couch as Alex fiddles with the back of his hat while he thinks about it. He nods. “I think they might be more open to it than I thought. The other day on the drive home from Youth Group, Elton John came on the radio, and my dad said that he really liked the song. He didn’t even say anything rude this time.”
From their spot on the chair, Luke and Reggie share a worried look. They’ve met Alex’s parents, and while they’re seemingly lovely people, they’ve heard the stories that have made Alex so nervous for them to find out about his sexuality. He loves his parents, has a better relationship with them than most teenagers – but he’s also used to seeking their approval. There’s a high chance that he’s just looking for any kind of sign that they might be accepting of him and clinging onto it like a liferaft in a storm. Rose-colored glasses, and all that.
Bobby starts to say something, and from the furrow of his eyebrows, it’s obvious that he’s about to do what he does best: smash the half-full glass until there’s water everywhere and any optimism has fled the studio for the night. He’s a realist like that.
Reggie coughs, managing to cut him off and catch his eye before he says anything. A slight shake of the head is all the rhythm guitarist needs to relax his shoulders and take a breath before trying a different approach. (He always listens to Reggie; no one else knows how he does it.)
“Alex,” Bobby says carefully. “I just want you to know that if things don’t go according to plan, you always have a place to crash here in the studio.”
That’s all it takes for Alex’s already pale face to flush, even though Bobby was gentle. “Do you think it’ll go badly?”
The three guitarists share a worried glance.
“I hope it goes okay, man,” Reggie finally says. “We’re rooting for you.”
A hushed sound that might be a relieved sigh or a worried laugh escapes Alex’s lips. “Thanks, guys,” he says. “And don’t worry; I actually have a really good feeling about this.”
He leaves the studio that night with confidence, whistling as he makes his way home under the moonlight.
The next night he comes back to the studio and wakes Reggie – who’s been crashing there for the past two months – as he closes the door behind him and shuffles across the floor with a duffle bag in his hands and a pillow under his arm.
He doesn’t talk about what happened. He also doesn’t go home anymore. But in the end, it’s his choice not to.
And it’s the hardest choice he’s ever made.
“Alright!” Ray claps his hands after he finishes saying grace, already passing the warm plate of empanadillas to Carlos on his left. “Let’s dig in!”
“Well, not yet,” Tía Victoria says, making Julie groan. “I think we should discuss the elephant in the room first. Just to get it out of the way.”
“And ruin a perfectly good meal?” Carlos asks.
Ignoring the complaints, Victoria fixes Ray with her all-business look that says Do you want to do this, or should I?
Sensing a loss, Ray sets down his fork, the first bit of his empanadilla forgotten.
Uh oh . If anyone in the Molina house is willing to postpone a bite of Tía’s cooking, then something must be seriously wrong.
Ray clears his throat. “So, as you boys know, your Orpheum performance went viral.”
Viral, right. Although none of the boys are really sure what that means. Ever since Julie brought them back to life and Ray discovered them living in the garage, he and Carlos have been trying to help get them adjusted to life in the twenty-first century, but some things just remain a mystery.
“It means that it’s popular,” Julie explains, sensing the boys’ shared confusion. “Like, it’s widespread. A lot of people have seen it.”
“Ooh!” Luke – who’s incapable of sitting still on the best of occasions – is practically vibrating in his seat. “Has an agent contacted you? Have we booked a tour?”
Reggie’s face lights up like the beach on a sunny morning. “Does Jay Leno want us on The Tonight Show?!”
Across the table, Carlos chokes on his water. “You mean Jimmy Fallon?”
“Who’s Jimmy Fallon?”
“Who’s Jay Leno?”
“Boys!” Tía exclaims, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Although I admire your ambition and your imagination, that’s not what we wanted to talk to you about.” Ignoring their crestfallen looks, Tía gives the floor back to Ray, who takes a deep breath and rubs a hand over his mouth.
When he speaks again, he sounds unsure of himself. “There’s no easy way to say this, but Julie, Victoria, and I figure that at some point, your families might see a video of the performance. And if they do, they’re going to have questions.”
Silence falls across the dining room like a wool blanket; smothering and itchy.
“So we were wondering if there’s any chance that you guys might want to reach out to them.” It’s Julie speaking this time, her voice familiar and soothing amongst the uncertainty that Ray just dropped on them.
After another uncomfortable moment, Luke bounces his leg. “I mean, I haven’t been able to see my parents since you brought us back to life. It could be nice to visit them again . . . To actually be able to visit with them.”
Beside him, Reggie shrugs. “My old house is a bike shack.”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard to find where your family moved to, Reggie,” Tía assures him. “There’s all kinds of stuff online now.”
“Okay.” He nods. “But I just want to know where my mom and my little sister ended up. I just need to know that they made it out okay.”
“Nobody else?”
“No, thank you. Just them.”
“Alex?”
The drummer in question has been staring at his lap, trying to think of something to say. It’s like being back in school, rehearsing his answer a hundred times in his head just in case the teacher called on him. And now everyone is staring at him, waiting for a response. God , it really is just like school. The dry mouth, the blood pounding in his ears as he tries to remember how to form words – all of it.
Because what is he supposed to say? On the one end of the spectrum is Luke, who would be overjoyed to get a do-over with his parents. Reggie falls somewhere in the middle, wanting to find his mom and sister, but not his dad. Which leaves Alex. Is he on the far end, not wanting to find anyone after they let him walk out and then didn’t try to follow him? Then again, years have passed and the world is a different place. Things are always changing, and maybe they have, too. That kind of thinking might be setting him up for another inevitable heartbreak, though. But then again, he could be the bigger person and offer them the second chance that they never gave him.
Oh God. There’s no clear way out of this – not with all eyes on him, waiting for a response.
It’s a gentle hand on his shoulder that snaps him back to reality. Reggie’s earnest brown eyes are searching his, like he can see everything running around in Alex’s mind.
“You don’t have to,” his friend says with a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. “And you don’t have to decide right now.”
The night that Alex had to leave his house, it hadn’t been his family that comforted him after his worst coming out experience. They weren’t the ones to hug him, reassure him that they loved him, and tell him that things would be okay in the end until he could breathe again, move on and learn to laugh again as he found his place in the world. No, it had been Reggie. And then Bobby, when he came down from the house because he forgot a textbook he needed. And, the next day, Luke, when he came over for rehearsal.
Alex catches his breath. (When did he lose it, anyway?) He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans as he turns to Tía, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.
“I don’t want to know what happened to my family,” he says.
He halfway worries that she might question his choice, ask him to reconsider. Instead, she nods, offers him a small smile, and refills his water glass before asking Carlos about his day, ending one of the most uncomfortable conversations that the Molina dining room has ever experienced, and lifting the metaphorical wool blanket from everyone’s mood.
“I’m proud of you, dude,” Luke tells him later when they’re alone in the studio. “It was your call, and I’m glad you stuck to your guns.”
Now that the adrenaline from the panic at dinner has worn off, Alex feels like he can see the situation more clearly, like when someone replaces a dim light bulb and the whole room comes into focus. It’s all so easy to see now; his choice was obvious.
But at the risk of being sappy, Alex shrugs. “Yeah, well, why would I need a family who couldn’t love me when I needed it most when I already have the greatest family ever right here, loving me so hard that it brought me back to life?”