Love Show Read Online Free PDF Page B

had told them he was
gay, thinking that they might find a new church—one that wasn't so homophobic.
It had backfired.
    He'd lived with his sister and her
husband after that. They were kind, but David knew they partly resented having
to provide for him when they had young children of their own.
    David still made an effort—every
now and again when he thought they might come around. He'd tried last year at
Christmas and returned from break early, white-faced and quieter than I'd ever seen
him. He hadn't spoken to them since.
    "Are we going to your church
or anything?" he asked. "Do I need a suit?"
    "No," I smiled.
"Just bring your fine self, no sunglasses, and stop talking about the
stranger. Oh, and don't tell my mom I didn't get the job at the Times ."
    "You didn't tell her?"
    "No. And you aren’t going to
either. She'll, like, think I need to see a therapist," I said. I went
into my room and grabbed my suitcase. "Come on. We've got to get
going."
    I checked my phone a few times on
the way to the airport while David read Justin's article.
    "This is the kid you want me
to date?"
    "Nigel wants you to date. I'm
not even sure he's gay."
    "He's in the GSA."
    "So am I," I pointed out.
"Gay-straight."
    "There are no straight boys in
the GSA," David replied. "Girls, fine. Boys, no." He folded the
paper. "Good article, though. He sounds feisty."
    I smiled. "I guess."
    "He's not feisty?"
    “He’s quiet at first,” I said.
“But, yeah. He’s a little feisty.”
    "Well, you've got to look out
for the quiet ones.” He nodded. “Like you.”
    When we reached the airport, I got
the first and only email complaining about Justin's article—from Alexander
Faulk, the president of the fraternity.
    Hi Hadley:
    I wanted to let you know that I
saw Justin Shelter’s article in the paper. I'd like to be able to speak on the
record, if possible. I'm the President of the fraternity in question. Maybe we
could do a follow-up piece. Please let me know if we could organize something.
    Best,
    Alexander Faulk
    It was a reasonable request, even
though I knew Justin had given them the opportunity to get on the record a
half-dozen times. I tapped out a reply while we checked our bags:
    Alexander, thank you for
reaching out. I've left campus for winter break, and I will not be able to
assign a staff writer to a follow-up piece until January. However, if you would
like to write a letter to the editor, we could post it online until we have a
chance to run a piece with your statement in it in January. Let me know if
you'd like to do that.
    All best,
    Hadley
    I felt reassured by the reaction,
though. Perhaps he had told the rest of the brothers to let him handle it.
     
    When we stepped out from baggage claim in San Francisco, the
damp cooling air whispered across my neck. It felt gentle and clean. San
Francisco’s air was soft—humid, but almost never too hot or too cold. I felt
the tension in my neck and back dissolve underneath its soothing touch.
     I squinted through the haze of
headlights, found a cab, and gave the driver our address in Pacific Heights.
    My mother had kept the house in her
last divorce. I had pretended not to care, but secretly I'd been happy. We
usually ended up in hotels or apartments when her marriages ended.
    My mother would always say:
“Hadley, darling, the memories in that place just haunt me.”
    But, really, when you lose five
childhood bedrooms, memories start to sound like bullshit. I mean, don’t
memories live in your head?
    We pulled up to the white-brick
Georgian-style house and I yawned as the cabdriver helped carry our bags up the
stairs.
    "You good?" the driver
asked.                           
    "Yes. Thank you!" I
smiled and paid him and turned to the door.
    “This is pretty,” David said.
    I fumbled for my keys and frowned
when they didn’t work. "Well, that's weird.”
    "You sure it’s the right
key?"
    "Yeah. Maybe she changed the
locks." I shrugged and rang the doorbell. "She