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There. I have him.
“We need to get help,” I tell him. “Tomorrow morning we need to find a counselor who’s open on Saturday, and we need to see what we have to do. I probably need medication. I definitely need to talk to a doctor. I have been living this for so long.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
Why didn’t you see? I want to ask back. But now’s not the time for that. He’ll get there on his own.
“That doesn’t matter. We need to focus on now. I am asking for help. You need to get me help.”
“Are you sure it can wait until morning?”
“I’m not going to do anything tonight. But tomorrow you have to watch me. You have to force me if I change my mind. I might change my mind. I might pretend that this whole conversation didn’t happen. Keep that notebook. It’s the truth. If I fight you, fight me back. Call an ambulance.”
“An ambulance?”
“That’s how serious this is, Dad.”
It’s the last word that really brings it home to him. I don’t think Kelsea uses it that often.
He’s crying now. We just stay there, looking at each other.
Finally, he says, “Have some dinner.”
I take some chicken from the bucket, then bring it back to my room. I’ve said everything I’ve needed to say.
Kelsea will have to tell him the rest.
I hear him pacing throughout the house. I hear him on the phone to someone, and I hope it’s someone who can help him the way Rhiannon helped me. I hear him stop outside the door, afraid to open it but still listening in. I make small stirring noises, so he knows I’m awake, alive.
I fall asleep to the sound of his concern.
Day 6006
The phone rings.
I reach for it, thinking it’s Rhiannon.
Even though it can’t be.
I look at the name on the screen. Austin.
My boyfriend.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hugo! This is your nine a.m. wake-up call. I will be there in an hour. Go make yourself purdy.”
“Whatever you say,” I mumble.
There’s a lot I have to do in an hour.
First, there’s the usual getting up, getting showered, and getting dressed. In the kitchen, I can hear my parents talking loudly in a language I don’t know. It sounds like Spanish but isn’t Spanish, so I’m guessing it’s Portuguese. Foreign languages throw me—I have a beginner’s grasp of a few of them, but I can’t really access a person’s memory fast enough to pretend to be fluent in any of them. I access and find that Hugo’s parents are from Brazil. But that’s not going to help me understand them better. So I steer clear of the kitchen.
Austin is picking Hugo up to go to a gay pride parade in Annapolis. Two of their friends, William and Nicolas, will be coming along. It’s marked on Hugo’s calendar as well as his mind.
Luckily, Hugo has a laptop in his room—since it’s the weekend and a school computer isn’t an option, I am going to risk checking in. I quickly open my email and find something that Rhiannon sent only ten minutes ago.
A,
