Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit

by Jaye Robin Brown

  Chaz laughs. “Y’all were talking about me, weren’t you?”

  At this I speak up. “Yep. No doubt. It’s all about you, Chaz.”

  Betsy elbows me in response and for a split second part of me thinks everything might work out great for Mary Carlson. And maybe, eventually, me.

  Until Jessica crosses her arms and turns toward Chaz. In a whisper, loud enough for us all to hear, she spits out, “Lesbians. Gross, right?” Then she grabs his arm and hauls him out of the room.

  Gemma’s and Betsy’s mouths drop open, but neither one of them jumps to go after Jessica or make her take back what she said. All that’s left is this awkward silence between the three of us, as we stand, kind of shell-shocked, around the kitchen island.

  “To hell with Gatorade.” Betsy puts it on the counter and grabs a hard lemonade and a beer out of the fridge. “I’m going to find Jake.” She disappears.

  Gemma and I stare at each other, neither knowing what to say. It must be kind of wild to find out your best friend, who you thought was straight, is not, in such a dramatic way.

  George comes back into the kitchen looking for Gemma. I use it as my out. “Um, I’m going to go home. I promised Dad I’d only stay an hour so he could leave for the station while I take care of Elizabeth.”

  Gemma doesn’t fight me like she usually would, and as I step toward the door I see her slump into George. I hope he has the strength to bolster her. I don’t know how she’s going to react, to Mary Carlson or to his moms. This might be their end, too.

  Twenty-Nine

  SUNDAY NIGHT, I’D TEXTED MARY Carlson to see if she was okay. When she didn’t answer me, I thought about texting George, but then I worried it would open up a whole line of conversation I wasn’t ready to participate in. He was bound to be suspicious of me. Which is why I couldn’t bring myself to text any of the other girls either. What if they’d started putting two and two together? In the end, I texted B.T.B. a link to a video of baby elephants in a plastic swimming pool, but even he hadn’t responded, which had me the most freaked out of all. Our texting game is always strong.

  So when I get to school Monday, I make a point of looking for him first. I find him standing near the door where the handicapped bus pulls up, no doubt waiting for Zeke.

  “Hey, buddy, where’s your sister?” My breath beats hard in my chest.

  He grins and I gulp a huge sigh of relief. It’s a normal B.T.B. smile with no glimpse of him knowing my secret. But my heart also breaks because that Bailey smile floods me with all the stinking emotions I’ve been trying to tamp down.

  “Auditorium!” he shouts. “The cast list was released last night. She got a speaking and singing part in Seussical! She went with her new friends to a morning meeting.” He waits for my reaction.

  I try to be happy. “That’s fantastic.”

  “And know what else?”

  “What else?”

  “She promised to find out if I can help work backstage moving props and stuff. She promised that.”

  “I can’t imagine the drama teacher could say no to a guy like you.”

  He whispers, “That’s what Mary Carlson said.”

  I start to make my way to class. “When you see her, tell her I said congratulations.”

  At this his brow furrows. “But you’ll see her. You’re her best friend, aren’t you?”

  I hesitate. What do I tell B.T.B.? But he keeps talking. “She told my parents that she is going to have a wife someday instead of a husband. They told her she would lose some people. You’re not one of those people, are you?”

  Tears spring to my eyes and something about the unguarded expression in B.T.B.’s face, and the fact he’s more concerned with her losing people than the gender of her future spouse, makes it hard to stop from letting a few run down my cheeks. “No, B.T.B., I’m not one of those people. But Mary Carlson was mad at me before she told your parents that.”

  “Oh.” It seems as if he doesn’t know what to do with my answer. Then, “I’m not mad at you.”

  I wipe my cheeks. “I’m glad, B.T.B.”

  He cocks his head and a smile lights his face. “I know! You could be Mary Carlson’s wife. Then you’d be my sister, too.”

  I lean over and hug him. “You know, B.T.B., I’d love to be your sister.” The bell rings. “Come on,” I say. “I’ll walk you to class.”

  At lunch, I’m struck with the complete and utter irony of my life. Mary Carlson, in total avoidance of our table, settles with the drama crowd—Kiana and Bethany across from her—and Deirdre right by her side, looking more than happy to fill the shoes I vacated on Saturday. Me? I’m sitting with the straight girls who have not put two and two together after all.

  Jessica whispers, “Do you think she’s going to kiss one of them?” Then she shudders. “Guess this is what the pastor means when he talks about how the devil can slip into your house in disguise.”

  “Loving someone is not a sin, Jessica. It’s a blessing.” I can’t help myself. Besides, I did promise I’d be Mary Carlson’s ally, and a good ally speaks up in the face of bullshit.

  She holds up her water bottle and points it toward me. “Oh, so, preacher’s daughter, your dad would be perfectly fine if you came home and told him you were woman lying with woman?”

  “That’s not how the passage goes.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” She twists the cap closed and primly crosses her hands on the table. “Gay is gay, is gay, is disgusting.”

  Betsy slurps her chocolate milk, then cuts in. “Jake asked me once if I’d ever consider being with a girl.”

  “What’d you say?” I figure I know the answer, but hope conversation will buffer the pokers of jealousy irritating my skin and the plain old irritation of Jessica.

  “I said if she was hot, then I totally would. But more for the experience than for the lifestyle.”

  “Ho bag,” Gemma mutters.

  “Slut shamer,” Betsy fires back.

  “Shut up,” I say.

  This does shut everyone up. I’m usually the fly on the wall, the observer, the one who speaks only when spoken to. “Have y’all even talked about what Mary Carlson said? Thought about it? Don’t you think she’s in pain?”

  Gemma looks over at the drama table. Mary Carlson is animated with her five-hundred-watt smile shining on her new friends. “Seems like she’s already moved on. That doesn’t look like pain to me.”

  “Our friendship is over,” Jessica says. “It’s a sin. It’s disgusting and I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Betsy’s mouth drops open. “Really, Jess. We’ve been friends since fourth grade. You’re okay with walking away from that? I mean, yeah, it’s weird and all, but to just ax her out of our lives?”

  “I’m just pissed,” Gemma says. “I was too mad to call her last night. She has to have been thinking about it for a while. Nobody has that sort of revelation overnight. It’s like she didn’t trust us. She could have trusted us. We wouldn’t have told a soul.”

  Chaz and Jake plop down next to Betsy and Jessica. Jake looks over at the drama table. “Is it true? Bailey’s a carpet girl now?”

  Gemma mutters, “Well, I wouldn’t have told a soul.”

  George arrives. “Told a soul what?”

  Chaz opens his chicken-filet-filled mouth. “Bailey. She’s turned Lebanese.”

  George stills and glances over at me. Gemma glances between the two of us. “What? Did y’all know? Is there something you’re not saying?”

  Most of the time I enjoy Gemma’s uber intelligence, but today it’s working against me. “No.” I pop all the knuckles on my left hand. “Y’all are being assholes. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Reverend Wilson will think it’s a very big deal, and Pastor Hank, there’s no way he’ll be able to include her in some of the stuff. They may not even let her come back to Foundation at all. I think we should pray for her.” Jessica, the hypocrite, says this as her hand, in a Betsy move, slides between Chaz’s thighs.r />
  I can’t take any more and stand up with my tray. “You know, y’all are damaging my calm.” I stick a forefinger out and point it at Jessica’s hand. “Pastor Hank is not so close-minded, but he’s close-minded enough that he wouldn’t allow whatever’s happening with your hand and Chaz’s lap either. The Bible’s only explicit reference to homosexuality is that passage in Leviticus you misquoted, and even it is sort of vague. Man shall not lie with man. Says nothing about sex or love or long-term commitment.” Or women, I think.

  I grip my cafeteria tray so I don’t fling it at the unsuspecting table of sophomores who are side-eyeing my outburst. I point at Betsy. “That tattoo of a unicorn on your ankle, that’s a sin according to Leviticus.” I turn to Gemma. “As is your love of shellfish. So y’all need to quit gossiping, act like you live in the twenty-first century, and get over yourselves.”

  Then what’s really bothering me pushes its way out. “Do you know how lucky you are? To have such a tight-knit group of friends? You’re seriously going to let this split you up? Because of something so minor?” I walk away before I make it worse, and as I pass behind Mary Carlson’s back, I want to say, “I’m so sorry.” But I don’t. I just have to get out of there.

  The secretary falls for my stomach grab and moan and picks up the phone, dialing home. “Okay, hon,” she says to Elizabeth. “I’ll send her on, then.”

  I’m tempted to drive straight to Atlanta and find Dana and drag her to Hellcat. But the weird thing is—I’m not sure she’ll understand. This total assimilation idea of hers started out as a joke, a way to fill ten months without dying of boredom, a peek into the other side. But beyond the fledgling relationship with Mary Carlson, I really like hanging out with Gemma and Betsy, even Jessica before she started acting like an overzealous turd.

  My whole life, I’ve been so tucked away, me and Dad, me and Dana, that the idea of a group of friends, a community that wasn’t about hooking up with each other, never registered. It wasn’t until I started to have it that I realized what was missing. I guess part of me fantasized that now that they knew me, I’d be able to tell my truth and Mary Carlson and I would be just another flavor of couple in the high school grab bag. But I’m not sure that’s what’s going to happen now that I’ve fucked everything up and none of them seem okay with it.

  When I get home, Elizabeth’s tucked onto the sofa. Dad finally listened when the doctor said she could move around a bit in the house, just no lifting, no stairs, nothing more than walking to and from the bed to the couch. “Don’t come near, okay?” She looks terrified, and I suppose the idea of getting a stomach bug clashes entirely with the idea of hanging on to her baby.

  “I’m not really sick.” I throw down my bag and keys on the island and sit on a stool, swiveling right and left.

  “What happened?”

  I’m not going to tell Elizabeth about Mary Carlson, because all that will do is make her feel guilty about her part in my needing to call it off. But narrow-mindedness? That I can talk about.

  “People are stupid.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Ignorant. Dumb. Trapped in the dark ages.”

  She waits.

  I sigh. “Just some kids mouthing off about homosexuality being a sin. I couldn’t take any more today.” Elizabeth and I have never had this talk. I was part of the package when she walked into my dad’s life, and all I know is she needed me to turn down the volume for her family. Maybe it was really for her. But she was so cool that day at Hellcat. I look at her. “Do you think it’s a sin?”

  “Would you come over here and sit with me?” She pats the cushion next to her.

  I slide off the stool and go and perch on the edge of the couch.

  She clears her throat. “Joanna. My beliefs were founded in the same church you’re going to now. Their interpretation of the dogma is older, stodgier, and just that—an interpretation.” She reaches out for my hand. I let her take it. “Part of my growth was watching the world around me change. It made me question some of those ideas I’d been taught were true.”

  I feel like I’m going to be sick. Does Elizabeth think I’m a freak, too?

  “But.” She squeezes my hand. “I discovered that I think God is a more generous savior than some would want us to believe. Ultimately, none of us can truly know how we’ll be judged. And any mere human who thinks their judgment is somehow mightier than another’s, well, they’re in the wrong.” She smiles at me and it’s like being wrapped in the softest cashmere throw. “Is it a sin? I can’t answer that with a yes or a no. I’m not the one deciding. There are certainly people in the world making dreadful choices who love people of the opposite sex. Are you a beautiful person who is kind and true and dear and deserving of faith and justice just like the rest of us? Absolutely. I don’t think God would have put you here only to torment you.” She squeezes my hand again. “So my short answer is, don’t worry about it. You’re perfect as you are.”

  And Jesus H. Christ, here come the tears again. I’m such a fucking girly girl these days. Elizabeth opens her arms, beckoning for me to fall into them, and I do. I cry and she strokes my back and somewhere up in the heavens, an angel shaped like my mother finally feels satisfied. When my tears are spent, I sit up.

  Elizabeth wipes my face. “Okay now?”

  “Pretty much.”

  And she’s savvy. She’s not going to let me linger and feel awkward about our shared moment. “Good. I’m dying to decorate this house for Christmas, but your father won’t let me lift a finger and he’s been too busy. Can I boss you around for the rest of the afternoon since you ditched school?”

  I bow. “At your service, Madame.”

  Before I drag unfamiliar boxes marked “CHRISTmas” down from the attic space, Elizabeth has me put on Dad’s favorite Harry Connick Jr. Christmas CD and heat up water for tea. She points and I hang garlands and place knickknacks on shelves and string twinkly lights around the curtain rods until the whole family room looks like elves threw up on it.

  Dad comes in around six, dragging Althea and a huge tray of takeout lasagna, garlic bread, and holiday packages filled with goodies sent from faithful listeners.

  “Well, would you look at this?” Althea’s hands are on her hips as she surveys the room. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Gordon house looking so festive.”

  I laugh. “We’ve never had an Elizabeth Gordon at Christmas before.”

  Dad frowns at his bride. “You didn’t hang this stuff, did you?”

  Elizabeth tsks from her throne on the couch. “I did not. The lovely Joanna Gordon was my minion.”

  Dad smiles at both of us. “So you had a good day.”

  I’m the one who answers. “Elizabeth made it good.”

  Althea grabs the countertop and fans her face like she’s drying off tears. “Well, isn’t this the moment of your Althea’s dreams.”

  Only one thing could make it better.

  Thirty

  THE DOORBELL RINGS AS WE’VE started to slip into post-lasagna comas. I get up and answer it. On my front steps are Gemma, George, and Betsy.

  “Oh. Hi.”

  Gemma’s hands are on her hips. “You disappeared.”

  “I didn’t feel good.”

  She corrects me. “You were pissed.”

  I shrug and hang on to the door. “Okay, I was pissed.”

  Dad calls from inside, “Invite them in or go outside, I don’t want to heat the front yard.”

  I motion for them to come in. “Dad, Elizabeth.” Althea’s already headed home. “These are . . .” I hesitate, then go on. “My friends. Gemma, Betsy, and you’ve met George.”

  Dad stands up and shakes hands. “You’ve arrived just in time. Have you eaten? There’s enough lasagna still to feed a small army.” He laughs and looks at George. “Or a teenage boy.”

  I roll my eyes. I love my dad to pieces but he is still such a dad sometimes.

  Betsy eyes the counter. “Or me.”

  Gemma side whispers t
o Dad, “One day all her eating’s going to catch up, but right now she’s got the metabolism of six teenage boys. We hate her for it.”

  Elizabeth stands up. “Well, don’t let us get in your way. Anthony, let’s give them some space.” She winks at me on her way out of the room. “Nice to see you all.”

  I pull out plates and fill them to keep myself busy. This is obviously not a social call, but for now we’re all acting like it is.

  Gemma speaks first. “I bet you’re wondering why we’re here.”

  “Unless you had a tip we had an overage of lasagna.”

  Betsy looks around. “Isn’t your dad super rich? I thought your house would be bigger.”

  “Betsy!” Gemma glares.

  Betsy shrugs. “What? I’m only saying what I’m thinking. He is? Isn’t he? That’s what my mom says. Anyway, your house is gorgeous. It’s just kind of normal.”

  I shake my head. “Thanks? I guess.”

  She grabs the plate I hand her. “No problem. It’s about time you finally let us come over.”

  “Um. You showed up.”

  Betsy nods but her face is full of cheesy pasta and she holds up a finger for me to wait while she chews.

  Gemma slaps down Betsy’s finger. “Girl. I love you like a sister but you can irritate the piss out of me like nobody’s business.” Then she faces me. “Look, I won’t beat around the bush. We need help.”

  “Help?”

  “Yes. Help. We’ve thought about it, and we don’t care who Mary Carlson wants to love. Harry Potter here seems to think that with you having lived in the big city and your dad being the moderate flavor of evangelical ministers, you can help us sort out this mess.”

  I don’t say anything. What else has George told them?

  Betsy swallows. “We tried to talk to her today. But she was super busy. Between her disappearing into the theater and disappearing into class, there was never a minute we could get to her without making a scene.”

  George clears his throat. “I, um, told them maybe you could help.”