Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit (24 page)

George's eyes widen.

Good thing I'd slipped his gift into the pocket of my jacket.

IT'S THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS
Eve and I'm at the radio station getting ready for a special live broadcast. Elizabeth, Dad, and I had brainstormed and decided that since young people easily get caught up in the consumer part of the holiday, this would be the perfect start to remind folks about the real reason for the season.

I'd also convinced them to let me have Gemma, George, Betsy, Jake, and B.T.B. on the air with me.

Elizabeth pokes her head out from the back offices. “We're set up and ready to record. Are y'all ready?” She's wearing a sweater dress that shows off the tiniest start of a baby bump.

I grab Gemma's arm as we go in. “Are you sure she's
going to be listening?”

“Girl, there is no way she's going to miss this. You're putting her brother on the air and I spent last night singing your praises for inviting us to be a part of this. And I'll have you know, she told me that Deirdre was not really her girlfriend, that they were only ‘hanging out.' Unsolicited. I never bring up that girl in our conversations.” Gemma shudders like she got a bad peanut in her bag.

“She said that?”

Gemma purses her lips. “Yes, missy, and she also went on and on and on about the cool thing you did for her brother and how she was going to have to find you at church tomorrow night and thank you in person.”

I'd surprised B.T.B. with an early Christmas gift from Dad, Elizabeth, Althea, and me. We made him the official sponsor of all the elephants at the Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee for an entire year, which guarantees us at least a day to volunteer over the summer. Extravagant, sure, but also tax-deductible for Dad, and so worth it to see B.T.B.'s reaction.

“She said she wanted to thank me in person?” My heart flutters and I feel a smile working its way up my cheeks. I'd sworn never to go back to the main services at Foundation, but this changes things.

Betsy butts in. “What's this? A love-struck smile?” She
elbows Gemma. “Is our magic working?”

“Our magic always works.”

“I like magic tricks.” B.T.B. takes my hand.

We pack tight into the recording studio. Elizabeth and I are at the main microphones. Everyone else is in chairs with their own mics. We're still and silent as we count down to go.

Elizabeth nods and I lean in.

“Welcome to a special live broadcast of
Keep It Real
. A program where we'll be figuring out how to be a teen in the twenty-first century and still hold true to our faith. I'm Joanna Gordon.”

Elizabeth leans in. “And I'm Elizabeth Gordon.”

“And together we'll be throwing out ideas, taking your responses, and answering your questions. Remember, keep it real and keep it kind.”

I wait a beat and then jump into our prepared talk about the holidays and consumerism and how really the season should be about holding those who are near to us dear. Then I introduce the panel. “On today's show I'm really excited to introduce some friends of mine who've agreed to come in and share what's so special about the holiday season to them. When we're finished we'll open up and take your calls so you can share with us, too. First up is my friend Betsy.”

Betsy tells a story about her grandmother and the knitted stockings she made for every family member and how one year, when she heard about families that didn't have stockings, she started knitting them for every baby born at the Rome hospital and how eventually the idea started a community of knitters at the senior center. With a lump in her throat, Betsy continues. “This is the first year without my grandmother, but I'm happy because they're now knitting in her honor. And each stocking has a little tag with her name on it. I even went and knitted with them this year. Sorry if your family got one of my stockings.”

Jake talks about the football team and how he was surprised when his coach insisted they all go serve at the homeless shelter after their trip to state two years ago. “Since then,” he says, “I realize how lucky I am, but also how fleeting it can be and how it's important not to get stuck on all the crap you want.” Then he laughs. “Um, sorry about saying ‘crap.'”

I lean in. “You're great, Jake, and these are fantastic stories. How about you, George?”

He speaks into his mic. “This Christmas I'm grateful for friends who can believe in the teachings of love, not hate, and accept my moms. It's this time of year when I really get to see the people who care about us.”

Here's a chance for me to speak my truth and see what
happens. I know I'd promised my dad the New Year's recording, but it's only a week away. He's not going to fire me now. There's a thud of fear in my veins. I channel the Ellens (Page and Degeneres). If they can be out to millions of television viewers, I can be out to my dad's listening audience. I take a deep breath and strengthen my voice so that it comes out strong and confident. “I appreciate that, George, as you know I'm not only a Christian, but I'm also a lesbian, and it fills me with such gratitude to have friends who understand my struggles and love me the way God made me.” Oh my gosh, this is really happening.

Elizabeth smiles at me and leans in, not even pausing on what I just said. “I bet there are more of you out there with two moms, or deceased family members, or struggles of faith, real or imagined. Let's take a couple of callers.”

We hear from a boy who says Christmas is hard for him because they have no money but listening to this show is making him feel better. Gemma wipes the corner of her eye after he's done talking.

A girl tells the story of getting to travel on mission to Honduras for last year's holiday season and what struck her was that even in extreme poverty, the kids seemed so happy with their Christmas pageants and homemade toys. This year she'd asked for donations to the orphanage
instead of presents.

Gemma tells a story about how every year her family sings together and it's her absolute favorite part of the holiday.

Jake chimes in again, sharing that he's Jewish. “My favorite part of the holiday is getting to hang out with my girlfriend and her family, and her hanging out with mine for Chanukah. It's faith in action. We may not believe in the exact same things, but the belief in doing good and being grateful is the same.”

Elizabeth leans in again. “Why don't you and B.T.B. take it from here, Joanna.” B.T.B. is bug-eyed. She pats his hand and nods. “Any parting words on faith and the holidays?”

I speak clearly and keep smiling at him as I talk, hoping he'll remember his part. “The main thing is to remember yourself. When the bombardment of media overwhelms you, it's time to put your phone down and take a step back. Spend some time writing in a journal, or reading a book. Go play a ball game with friends. Remember what it is to laugh and joke around—”

B.T.B. manages to interrupt as planned. “Hey, Jo . . . anna?”

“Yes, B.T.B.?”

“What do you call an elephant at the North Pole?”

“Um. I don't know. Santaphant?”

“No. You call it Lost!”

Elizabeth hits a laugh track button. Which makes all of us laugh for real.

I lean over to his microphone and speak into it. “Very clever, B.T.B. Besides jokes and elephants, what do you love about the holidays?”

“I love my family. I love my friends. I love my sister.” He pauses, and I nod for him to keep talking. “But you love her, too.”

I'm stunned. This isn't the plan.

Elizabeth's eyes get very round and she glances at my friends, who are all smirking with self-satisfied expressions. But she doesn't pull the mic from me.

Finally I'm able to talk. “You're right, B.T.B., I do.” I channel my dad's skills and roll with this unexpected development, my brain whirring with how to say everything I need to say and praying hard that she's listening.

“It goes back to what I was saying when I started, B.T.B., it's important to remember yourself and be honest. Earlier this year, I wasn't. I told lies and made mistakes, especially where your sister was involved. But I'm hopeful that she'll forgive me. For all of you, if anyone out there has messed up with their parents, friends, boyfriend, or a girlfriend, take the time to say you're sorry. Seek out the
people you might have wronged during the year, hold out your hand, and say, ‘It was me. I did this and now I'd like to make it better if you'll let me.'” I take a sip of water and go for broke. It's totally off topic, but I hope the message lands where it needs to. “So that's it. Will you let me? Make it better? I want to be with you in Paradise.”

Elizabeth cocks her head in confusion. Betsy and Gemma cross fingers at each other.

I lean in again. “Be sure to tune in every other week when we'll be sharing issues and taking your thoughts here on
Keep It Real
. Remember, keep it real, keep it kind. And have a merry Christmas.”

When the broadcast goes off the air we all blow out a collective sigh.

Elizabeth hugs me. “It got a little murky at the end, but you recovered well. Your dad is going to be so proud. You came out. On the air!” She cocks her head, but when I don't offer up any further information, she doesn't press.

Dad's waiting for us as we exit the back of the station, his big hands clapping a thunder for all of us.

I walk into his arms and squeeze. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, Joanna.” He holds me away from him. “You're right, you know.”

“About what?”

“The importance of apology. Will you ever forgive me
for what I did to you this year?”

“I'm way over it, Dad. You made it right.” He tries to kiss my forehead, but I wriggle free. “There's something I need to do now. Be home in a bit.”

The drive up is nerve-racking. It's a shot in the dark. Even if she was listening, who knows if she'll even show up? But it's my only chance to start over. A real start. An honest start.

I park my car and get out. The gardens are closing soon, but I slip in and head for the same sheltered building where we shared our first kiss. It's turned chilly and I pull my puffy jacket closer around my body. Empty tree branches clatter and the whole place looks a little less festive than my first visit here. I try not to stare at the clock on my phone too obsessively, but it's not working.

Minutes tick by and nothing stirs.

My brain slips into frantic mode. She's not coming. She wasn't listening. This won't work.

I hear footsteps on the path and scooch up from where I'm leaning against the Coke bottle mosaic wall.

“Park's closing in twenty minutes,” a voice calls. A man's voice. Not Mary Carlson.

I try desperately to stuff my doubt away. But I give her a little more time.

The man's voice calls out again. “Five minutes.” He
rounds the corner and sees me. “You there, you need to head on out.” He glances at my hands and behind me, like he thinks I was digging old Coke bottles out of the mosaic walls or something.

“Yes, sir.” I pick up the wrapped box I'd set down and slip past him. The oak tree Mary Carlson climbed when she first told me she
liked
me stands staunch and somber as I pass it. Even the branch that held her looks more like a rigid arm upheld in a stop signal than a cradle. I grab my keys out of my pocket and pull at the sinking gravity of disappointment threatening to swallow me. I thought for sure she would come.

When I get to my car, I sit, letting the heater warm my hands. This is stupid. I should be at home with my family, preparing for a night of board games and hot chocolate, the first of a new Gordon family tradition.

As I reach for the gearshift to back out of the lot, my phone buzzes.

There's a text.

From Mary Carlson.

If you're at the gardens, I think that's what you meant, don't leave. I'm almost there.

I put the car in park. The box with the wrapped charm bracelet sits on top of my emergency brake. Maybe I'll be able to give it to her after all.

Behind me there's a slight squeal of tires as Mary Carlson takes the curve into the lot too fast. She pulls into the spot on my passenger's side. My breath ratchets into overdrive. Will this be sweet reunion or something else?

The answer comes when she slides into my passenger's seat. Her face is not the beatific smile of some girl in a movie running toward her apologetic lover. It's hurt. And tracked with evidence of recent tears. Tears I put there.

“I heard your show,” she says, barely looking at me.

“Yeah?”

“I wasn't going to come. But B.T.B. made me.”

“Oh.” Cold, hard chunks of concrete settle into my veins. She doesn't love me.

“It was brave what you did, Joanna. Outing yourself on the radio like that.” The use of my full name instead of Jo doesn't escape me, and my soul rends in slow motion. “And I appreciate the apology.” She finally looks at me. “But you lied. You seriously bald-faced lied to me from the very beginning. How could you hide the fact you were already out?” Tears well up in her eyes again and she looks away from me before wiping them off.

“Mary Carlson, I can explain.”

“Is that girl really
only
your friend?”

“Who? Dana?”

She takes her glasses off and wipes them on the hem of
her shirt, more from nervous energy than a need to clean them.

I hit speed dial.

Dana starts talking before I can say a thing. “'Sup, beyotch. You rocked that shit today. Man. My BFF, the queer evangelical superhero. Wait, aren't you supposed to be having some big romantic rom-com moment with golfer girl? Shit.” She pauses for half a second. “Are you okay? That girl is fucking stupid if she can't see how awesome you are.”

“Thanks, D. Still working on it. Um, listen I've got to go.”

“Wait, you called me, I want to hear the deets.”