Remy Walsh is buried in secrets. The big ones he keeps from his friends are his maman, the Cajun beauty Aurore, is housebound and trapped in her own world, and his runaway father left seven years ago without a word to Remy. He hates him.
But Remy has another giant secret. Even though he and his boyfriend Trung are a popular couple at school, Remy is afraid to tell his mother he is gay. The last thing he wants to do is hurt this fragile being he loves so much.
So he retreats into the cocoon that being an actor is, starring in his school’s musical and forgetting for a time each day, during rehearsal, that he has so many problems eating at him.
His home is about to literally come crashing down on him. He well knows, but doesn’t believe, that secrets have a way of coming out.
Will anyone come to his rescue?
“Whoa.” Trung whistles. “That’s heavy.”
It hits me. Where’s the outrage? Where’s the disgust? Where’s the walking away? This isn’t the response I figured I’d get.
“Trung --” I can’t help myself. I begin to cry again. Huge sobs. Like a water main breaks in me, one that I’d patched and patched for years, and the patch won’t hold any more.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Trung says, grabbing me and holding me tight. “It can’t be that bad, người yêu.”
That phrase stops me. He’s never said that before.
“Huh? What’s that mean?”
“Vietnamese for lover.” Trung has a wicked smile on his face.
We are in love, but we’ve never had any nicknames. Trung is Trung; Remy is Remy, and sometimes Rem.
Lover. And in Vietnamese. I like it. It gives me courage.
He pulls away and dries my tears.
“Lover? I like it --Vietnamese or English.” I kiss Trung. “Now what do I call you?”
“How about Royal Shit for not sensing the pain you’ve been in?”
I put my fingers, again, on Trung’s lips, holding them there. “No, no, no. Don’t ever think that about yourself. My keeping secrets is my doing. But I couldn’t keep that secret any more. I’m glad I told you.” I take my fingers away and brush a kiss on Trung’s lips. “I know --I’ll call you Bé.”
“Bae? You been listening to the hip-hop crowd?”
“Not bae. Bé -- half of bébé, a Cajun thing you call someone you love. And I do love you.”
“I love you too. And don’t ever keep a secret from me. I’ll love you no matter what’s going on in your life. I know you kept this from me because you love your maman so much, and that makes me love you even more. And, by the way, I like it. Bé.” He smiled. “And now, what can I do to help?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. You helped just by listening. It feels like a weight off me. But as for saving our house, it’s hopeless.”
“It is, Bé. Oh, it is. It’s that bad and worse. For the last week and a half, we’ve been sorting and cleaning and donating every night.”
“So that’s why your texts have been few and far between.”
“After the first night, and I saw you’d texted five times without me answering, and I saw how worried you were, I made it a point to at least respond a few times, even if I had to tell you some lies. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t tell me any lies, lover. You threw out life preservers.”
I look into Trung’s eyes. The afternoon sun glints on the polished edges of the lenses, and with all that’s going on, I nevertheless feel aroused. Trung puts his hand on mine, and thank God the parking lot is deserted.
I kiss Trung, over and over and over.
Coming up for air, he laughs. “Not the best time for this, is it?”
“No, but it’s an honest reaction,” I say, adding, “Bé.”
“Well, save it for another time, lover. Right now, we got cleaning to do. I’m gonna text Mama that I won’t be home for dinner, and then we’ll head out to your place.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I do. You’re part of me. I can’t let you sleep on the sidewalk. Even if holding you tight under the stars doesn’t sound tempting.”
I smile. “Okay. Be prepared, though. It’s worse than you could ever imagine. Let’s stop and get dinner to take home. BBQ okay? Maman likes BBQ.”
“Perfect. I’ll follow you, since I’ve never been to your house.”
“Now you know why.”
