As Far as You'll Take Me Read online

  So I play.

  And I go through my entire collection. I’m there, off to the side, for forty minutes. I thank the busking gods that no one asked for my license.

  I feel freer after the performance. More confident. If I can do that in Heathrow Airport, I can do it anywhere. I look into the oboe case, surprised to see that New Marty just made bank.

  “Huh. This is not how I expected to find you.”

  I look up as Shane drops a couple of coins into my case. The look of confusion fully takes over my expression, which causes him to laugh.

  “Hey, mate,” he says. “Dani texted me. I hopped on a train as fast as I could.”

  “You didn’t need to do that,” I say. “I’m fine. Really. Sort of.”

  He pulls me into a firm hug. “It’s okay not to be, you know.”

  Tears pool in my eyes, and I blink them away. I feel shaky and so drained. When we pull apart, Shane takes my backpack from me and guides me toward the platform.

  “And actually, I did need to do this. I promised my mom I’d take care of you this summer, and I don’t know if I’ve really done that.”

  I stop walking and grunt a disapproval. “You tried, though. Way more than I tried to take care of myself.”

  “I wasn’t even here when you landed, Marty. I keep thinking that if I just—”

  “No, Shane. Really.” I put my hand firmly on his shoulder. “I don’t think there’s anything you could have done. I was so stubborn about this, about everything.”

  He sighs in relief. “It’s nice to hear you say that. You’ve been so different lately. I mean, that’s a good thing too! I was shut in that bookshop while you did some really brave and incredible things.” His smile is so bright my face starts to mirror it. He laughs. “I know I’m not really responsible, but I probably would have done a few things differently if I could do it again.”

  “Uh, yeah, me too,” I say with a laugh.

  “Anyway, I thought it was time I finally picked you up from the airport.” He nods toward the tube entrance.

  “You’re only six weeks late,” I say, causing him to give me a light shove.

  “Don’t push your luck,” he scoffs. “Now tell me about your trip. Everything.”

  I talk more on the ride back than I’ve ever done before—with Shane, with Pierce, with Megan, with anyone. The walls within me have broken, and I give in. It’s hard to get the words out at times—about my crash dieting, and everything I tried to change for a stupid boy—but once they’re out there, I don’t feel so alone anymore.

  Ever the practical one, Shane helps me make a plan for the rest of my time here. Tomorrow’s the day I will get serious about my portfolio and put up my videos on YouTube. Tomorrow’s the day I start over again, as a single guy, but as someone with a lot of close friends. Old Marty wouldn’t be ready for this.

  But fuck it, I am.

  12 MONTHS AGO

  DIARY ENTRY 6

  Dear fucking diary: it’s over.

  I’m sitting in the lobby waiting for my parents to come back from their coffee run. The audition was supposed to take a lot longer, so they probably think they have a ton of time. But things didn’t exactly go to plan.

  I can’t blame everything that happened during the parade for why I flopped, but I can’t say it helped. I’ve been in a daze this whole time, lower than I’ve ever felt. They could tell too. The teens in the office looked at me with a confused pity on their faces as I left the audition. I don’t blame them … I’m confused too.

  My reed hadn’t soaked enough, and I knew it’d be an issue. But we were late enough as it was, and my parents had already made it clear that they weren’t sure London would be a great place for me, so I didn’t really get the point of following through with the audition.

  But I still sucked it up. I played the piece. And I left.

  I missed so many notes. Runs I know I had under my fingers mushed into a squeaky blur. My fingers felt tingly and numb as I played, and with every wrong note, I could only focus on how I was blowing this opportunity. But I made it through the piece.

  “Do you want to run through that last part again?” Dr. Baverstock offered kindly. “No need to be nervous—we know you can play, and we enjoyed your video audition.”

  “I don’t want to play it again,” I replied.

  What I didn’t say was that my parents had just pulled the rug out from under me—in more ways than one—and that they weren’t even planning on letting me come to London anymore.

  I put my oboe back in its case and grabbed my sheet music.

  “I’m just wasting your time, sorry.”

  I couldn’t even look him in the eye as I left.

  THIRTY-SIX

  The anxiety’s faded. Sort of. Okay, it never truly fades, but maybe I’m learning how to work with it. At various points of the day, I still feel sad about myself. My shoulders ache and my mind alternates messages of hate. I almost lost it all. I definitely lost him. And that’s supposed to be a good thing, but it rarely feels like it.

  At a small two-top in the back, I see her. I run and wrap her in a hug.

  “Sophie,” I say. “I missed you.”

  “It’s been, like, a week, Mart. Let’s calm down.”

  I sit down and order a traditional English breakfast—eggs, beans, bacon, sausage. Sophie and I catch up while we wait for the food.

  “What’s new with you?” I ask. “What did I miss?”

  “Biggest thing is, well, I gave principal clarinet to Rio,” she says, shaking her head. “I realized it meant so much more to her. But Baverstock wanted to do an audition for the solo. I’ll find out soon about that, but the audition went well.”

  “It’s good he opened it up to auditions, and didn’t give it straight to Rio.”

  She laughs. “I think Rio wasn’t too happy about that. She’s an odd person, very intense about everything, but I think we’re starting to be real friends. Better than what we were when we first got here.”

  “Just friends?” I ask coyly.

  “We’re, um, taking it slow.”

  “By kissing in the—”

  She kicks me under the table, so I stop. But the smile never leaves my face.

  Our plates come, and I dig in. I’m starving, and for once, I’m not going to ignore it. I’m going to eat this sodium wasteland like a real Brit, and my kidneys can just be happy I’m not washing it down with beer.

  “Are you mad at me for everything I said?” Sophie asks.

  I shake my head, slowly. “This will sound so cliché, but I think I needed to hear it. It set everything in motion that led me to realizing Pierce was not right for me. It’s hard, because the good times with him were so good. But I was a mess. I still am a mess. It’s going to be nice to pull back and focus on myself for a bit.”

  “Sorry it didn’t work out. You deserve better, anyway.”

  She flashes a genuine smile, and I feel it reflected on my face.

  “You’re a good friend,” I say. “I’ve been burned before, and I know you have too. But I trust you.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’ve come to the conclusion that people are, in general, nicer than not in the real world. But I was shit to you. I got so scared you’d be another Colin situation, and I hate it when people look for advice, then blatantly don’t take it.” She pauses. “But I walked out on you, even though I knew you were flailing and not eating and needed someone. What I’m saying is, even though you’re a git, I’m sorry I abandoned you like that.”

  I chuckle, and when I stop, I take time to look at her. A real friend. The girl who fought for me, freaked out about losing me, and …

  Apologized to me.

  I suck in a deep breath and think about Megan. How toxic she is for me, and how I still don’t want to be around her. There are two Megans: the one who made me the scrapbook and the one who outed me to my whole school. Dealing with the second isn’t worth it, just to stay friends with the first.

  Sophie clears her throat. �
��So yeah, tell me all about Italy.”

  And I do, between bites of food.

  I walk into the apartment, and immediately lock eyes with Aunt Leah. She’s not supposed to be back for another month, so even though she gives me a sweet smile, a chill runs through my body.

  “Marty!” She pats the seat next to her on the couch, and as I come in I see Shane sitting at the kitchen table, a hesitant look on his face. I feel everything start to unravel as I take a seat, but I hold it together. Or at least, I try to.

  Because I’ll never know if I can until I try.

  “You’re back early,” I say.

  “Yes, I am. I want you to know, first, that I’m not angry with you.” She looks up to Shane. “Maybe a little with you, but I understand why you did what you did.”

  She sighs, and I think about interjecting or playing dumb, but really, what’s the point? I sent my parents all my old diary entries; they detail pretty clearly how much of a flop I was in that audition. The pieces must have come together.

  “Your mum called me,” she said. “And she was not happy.”

  “I’m sorry.” I say it quickly, but she just raises a hand before I can elaborate.

  “Apologies can come later. I need to talk for a bit.” She sighs again, blowing out a chest full of air and looking to the ceiling. “You know, our family was never religious? It seems odd, looking back, because all our friends were super Catholics, but that was just never something we were a part of.”

  “I guess I never really thought of that,” I say. “Our megachurch kind of took over our whole lives, so it was hard to imagine anything came before.”

  “I’m not sure what drew her to it. Maybe she was trying to find her own family, which is probably something you can relate to. But anyway, I got pregnant at around the same time your mum did, which you could probably figure out since you and Shane were born a month apart. It was unplanned, it was a scary situation for me, but I was so glad I had a pregnancy buddy. I was already doing this without any ‘dad’ in the picture, so I really hoped it would bring me closer to your mum. I needed her.

  “This was, unfortunately, a few months after she joined that big fundraising machine she calls a church, and I had started to see changes. She always distanced herself from me, from her life here, and I can only guess why. But it escalated when she knew I’d gotten pregnant. Out of wedlock. The horror.” She rolls her eyes.

  “She turned her back on you for that?” Shane asks. “That sounds nothing like the aunt I knew, the one who’d send me birthday cards every year. They were the tacky Jesus-y inspirational ones, sure, but she still wrote so much in them. I remember because they seemed even more out of touch than the ones Nan would send.”

  “She loved you, of course. And she’s obviously not all bad—she’s a normal person, just easily influenced by anyone with a cross hanging around their neck. Point is, I can’t imagine your experience being raised in that environment as a gay teen, but I do know what it’s like to be young and have someone turn their back on you in the name of religion. I know the shame that comes with that. So, after Shane came out—and told me you had too—I vowed to do what I could to help you.”

  “I know,” I say. “And I … took advantage of that.”

  I run a hand through my hair and try not to let the guilt gnaw at me, but it still creeps into my stomach and builds like a full-body cramp.

  “So, like I said, your mum called. And it took us a while to sort out the truth. She said you sent them a diary you kept from your time here last year. I could tell it really affected her, because she wasn’t yelling at me like she normally would, and we sorted through all your lies without her once calling it a sin. Which we all know is big for her. But she was genuinely worried about you and couldn’t get ahold of you.” She opens her laptop, and taps a few keys. FaceTime pops up. “So I told her I’d go back immediately and we could all talk it out.”

  I nod. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  The call connects, and my parents are in the view. Mom and Dad sit at the barstools at the counter in our kitchen back home, and Aunt Leah adjusts the view so both of us are in it.

  “Hi, Marty,” Mom says. “First of all, we love you. I hope you know that. Secondly, we have a lot to talk about here. But maybe you should catch us up on your time in London.”

  “And … Wales. And Italy.” Dad laughs. “You never should have showed me how to use that Find Your Friends app.”

  My cheeks flush hotly, but I hold myself out of my shell for just long enough to explain myself. From the beginning. The full story. New Marty’s got one last job to do.

  “Marty,” Aunt Leah says once the call ends, “I know it’s hard. But you’ve got to give them a chance to—”

  “How can I? My family is supposed to be my rock, the one thing that keeps me going no matter what. They’re not going to just become understanding and start waving pride flags overnight, and I shouldn’t be forced to wait while they figure it out.”

  “You’re right,” Shane says. “But you can have more than one family. You can choose your family.”

  Aunt Leah laughs. “And remember that adults like me and your mum—we don’t have our shite together. We can try to be a rock all we want, but we’ve got plenty of cracks. It’s rough to grow up and learn your parents aren’t quite as put together as you think they are. So be mad, be resentful, but most of all … be honest. Things may change, or maybe they won’t, but you won’t know until you try.”

  “I can choose my family,” I echo. “I mean, you’re my family. And so is Sophie, and Dani, and that whole group.”

  Shane comes over to give me a hug. My aunt makes it a group hug. “And we’re not going anywhere,” he says.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  I barely picked at my dinner last night, which was the latest reminder that there’s a lot still lingering inside me. But I asked Shane to help me be accountable for it in the future. After the call with my parents, and the lie unraveling, it’s clear: a guy can’t change overnight.

  I’ve dropped the New Marty persona. I’m trying to learn and get better every day. I’m doing things that make me happy and make me closer to my new family.

  Today’s a big day. Dani used our videos and got us an audition for a busking license. And after that, it’s London Pride. Take two. I’ve got a sack of glitter, and we’re all going to be decked out in the brightest colors we can find. We’re doing it right this time … as long as we can get through this audition in one piece.

  Before I get out of bed to start this hectic day, I decide to bite the bullet and pull up Mom’s email. The one I got in the airport, right before I sent them last year’s diary. I’m still trying to figure out if I want them in my life, and if so, to what extent I want them to be here. Aunt Leah’s given me an extension on my stay here, but I don’t know how long that’ll last.

  I don’t know anything. But I open the email.

  Marty,

  I am furious right now. I know your friend Megan has been acting strangely lately, but I heard what she did to you, telling everyone at Avery High about your sexuality without your permission. It’s disgraceful, and I am so sorry you’re going through this.

  I want you to know that I found this out at church. It was everything I had feared. My “friends” all finding out that my son was gay, then coming to me offering scriptures and fake support … and one even mentioned a special program I could send you to that was sponsored by this very church.

  Now, I know I haven’t been the most accepting, and I know that won’t change overnight. But when these ladies came to me, honestly offering a thinly veiled conversion program as support, a piece of me broke straight in two.

  I was too appalled to speak, but your father stepped in with some choice words for them. We left right then, and by the time you get back, we will hopefully be a part of a different church. A more accepting one.

  This doesn’t exonerate me. I know this. I’ve prayed a lot about this, and I don’t know what I can do. But
your dad thinks this is a good start. I’ll try calling you soon, though I know you hate when I call out of the blue.

  I love you,

  Mom

  The email sits with me all morning. I wish my feelings about this weren’t so complicated, but I’ve learned that pretty much everything is complicated, especially when you’re gay. So I might as well do the best I can and try to cope.

  Shane, Sang, and I sit on a train, off toward Trafalgar Square, which is full of a few hundred billion people on a normal day, so I can only imagine what it’s like during pride. But they’re holding busking license auditions in a private room in the National Gallery.

  I look over to Shane, who’s got his arm casually around his new boyfriend, and I try to make sense of the jumble of thoughts knocking around in my brain. All of them are probably farfetched, but since I’m off to my first and only audition of the summer—and Shane’s just a few weeks away from starting work in his Les Mis run—now seems like the right time.

  “Okay. Now that you got your dream gig, I have a favor to ask. Would you put in a good word for me at the bookshop before you go? I’m looking for part-time jobs, and I’ve applied to a few American-style restaurants that might appreciate having someone with real American diner experience under his belt. Actually applying this time, not just dicking around and falling in love with a jerk. Between that, and if this busking thing works out with me and Dani, I think I could make it work.”

  “Does this mean you could really stay? Like, for good?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Should we start looking for a flat? I kind of like having you as a roommate.”

  “I don’t know.” Shane sighs. “I kind of liked living alone this summer, while you were out touring. Maybe I’ll get my own place.”

  Sang snickers. “I definitely appreciated the, uh, private time we had there.”