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They’re LGBTQ+ friendly.
The second the thought enters my mind, I cast it out. Right along with the colorful images that flash across my mind, from the gallery I skimmed through on their website.
Don’t presume anything. He’s nothing until he says he’s something. Don’t be like everyone else.
It’s a mantra I’ve stuck to for years. One I’ve insisted upon, even with Izzy, who has the best intentions at heart…but has a history of acting first, and thinking second.
I don’t know much about being gay or bisexual or queer…
But I do know it’s not my place to assume anything. I’ve read enough up on my sister over the years—learned stuff in family counseling when she first started transitioning—to know that the way people have treated Jeremy, not just the bullying, but the…the stereotyping and the assumptions made, even those with good intent…
It’s not fucking right.
And gay or straight, I don’t care, as long as he’s happy and whole and not bleeding from his wrists.
Even if…even if that means he can’t be happy and whole here, with me. With us. In New York, living…living our dreams…
He’ll be safe there. That’s what matters. Safe and happy.
“Mason?”
My gaze lifts to find Izzy watching me with an indiscernible look in her eye, not unlike the one I noticed earlier. And I feel my pulse quicken. Something…something’s there, right on the edge of my awareness, trailing a feather-light claw down my neck, raising the little hairs.
“Are you…are you having second-thoughts?” she asks. “If you don’t wanna go to New York, we?—”
Shaking my head, I say, “No. No, I don’t know what I’m saying. I?—”
“They’re going to accept you. They’d be idiots to turn you down.”
I smile, and huff a quiet laugh.
Somewhere, inside me, I feel relieved.
Relieved that’s where her head went to.
“I mean it, Mason,” she says solemnly. “You’re amazing. Piano, guitar… singing. You can do it all.”
Snorting softly, I say, “No, that’s Waylon.”
“No, that’s you too. You can do far more than I ever could.”
“Iz…”
“I don’t mind that piano’s it for me. But…” She trails off, pressing her lips together.
I cock my head. “But what?”
She searches my eyes. “Maybe…maybe piano’s not it for you.”
I stare at her, unsure what to say.
Piano’s what it’s always been about. For both of us, ever since that first day I came over, so many years ago, and she taught me magic.
“It’s okay if your dream isn’t my dream.”
“No, no that’s…that’s silly. I?—”
“Mason…”
