Page 25 of Gay for Pray (Arport Sacred Sacrament University #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jude

WHEN PROFESSOR DEMSKY SUMMONS Theo and I to her office, I don’t know what to make of it.

Things have settled into a quiet, steady rhythm.

The choir performance went well, I thought, despite that little moment in the hall and whatever Theo was feeling.

Then we went back to our normal classes and project meetings, like every other week of this semester so far.

He didn’t text or talk to me otherwise, but that didn’t come as a surprise.

Seeing his family clearly shook Theo up, and while it hurts, I expected nothing better than silence after the concert.

So I truly have no idea why our philosophy professor would want to see both of us after class. As far as I know, nothing has changed. We’re well ahead on finishing our project before midterms, in fact, and I have no doubt we’ll do well on it.

As we sit in uncomfortable chairs in front of Professor Demsky’s desk, I sneak a look at Theo. He hasn’t met my eyes since the choir performance, even when we got together on Tuesday to talk about our project. He kept his head down the whole time, answering in single words.

He doesn’t look at me now either, focusing on his hands folded in his lap. My heart sinks. Surely he doesn’t know what this is about. How could he? Unless…

Professor Demsky begins the meeting with a sigh. “I’m sorry to call you two here this way, but I needed to discuss the project with you.”

I tense. Theo sits there with his head hanging. Professor Demsky seems unfazed by this, focusing on me and ignoring Theo entirely.

“I’m sorry,” Professor Demsky says, “but you’ll each be completing the project individually.”

“What?”

The word bursts out of me, accompanied by way too much blinking.

I keep trying to clear my eyes and my head, but the world doesn’t suddenly make sense no matter how hard I try.

I look to Theo, but he’s hunched in even more on himself, visibly shutting down right before my eyes.

He might as well be a bank vault for how tightly he’s locked up.

Something has clearly happened between Friday and now, something I had no say in.

A rush of anger sweeps in to brush aside some of my confusion and hurt. Someone has been making decisions about my life without considering me for a second, and I’m starting to get a sneaking suspicion about who it is.

“I’m still working on adjusting the requirements and grading rubric accordingly,” Professor Demsky says, “but I wanted to let you both know about the change before you put in too much more work.”

“But we’ve already done most of the work,” I protest. “We’re practically done. We just have to finish it up.”

“I’m sorry,” Professor Demsky says. “You’ll have to finish your essays on your own.

You’ll both also present your projects individually rather than together.

It’s okay if they’re similar, but try to ensure they aren’t exactly the same.

Again, I’ll alter the requirements accordingly.

I’ll send you both an email by the end of the week so you can proceed. ”

I shake my head in disbelief. This is absurd. This woman is a professor. It’s her class, her assignment, but someone was able to swoop in and force her to change everything, and for what?

My anger turns cold and hard as I contemplate that answer. There can only be one reason, and it’s written all over Theo’s wilting posture.

“Professor,” I say, “you can’t possibly allow this. It’s absurd. We did everything you required for the project. We’re nearly done. You’re really going to change it now?”

Professor Demsky has the decency to look ashamed.

I can only imagine the pressure she must be under in order for something like this to be possible.

Still, I can’t believe she would actually bow to some hysterical parent making demands.

Everyone in this room realizes Theo’s father is behind this, and all of us also realize why he’d force Professor Demsky’s hand like this.

It’s because of me.

He must have seen me at the choir performance and made the obvious assumptions. Unlike Theo, I don’t hide who I am. I never have, and I never will. His father won’t be the first man of his ilk I’ve encountered, and I’ve yet to let a single one of them stop me from being myself.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Did Theo push back? Did he try to defend me? Or is he secretly relieved to have such an easy, convenient way of avoiding me?

I’ll probably never know. In fact, as Professor Demsky dismisses us, I’m tempted to storm away and refuse to speak to Theo ever again. I never thought this would have a happy ending with how closeted he is, but he could have been less of a coward than this .

As much as I want to run, however, this could be my last chance to confront him.

Once we’re alone in the hall outside Professor Demsky’s office, I grab him by the shoulder and spin him toward me.

He startles. The hall is empty, but doors line both sides of it, and it’s narrow to boot.

If anyone is in those offices, they’ll hear a screaming match.

I don’t owe it to him, but when I confront Theo, I therefore do it in a whisper.

“What the hell is going on?”

He scowls and looks down. I tighten my grip on his shoulder, all but shoving him against the wall. I want to shake the words out of him to get him to admit what he’s done, but hold myself back with gritted teeth.

“It’s…” he says, voice faint, “it’s my dad.”

I expected this, but it still hurts when he confirms all my worst fears. It really was the choir performance then. It really was the mere sight of me being myself, not hiding, living authentically instead of cringing and concealing like Theo.

“Why does your dad get to say we can’t finish a philosophy project together?” I press.

“It’s…it’s complicated.”

Theo speaks at his feet, and my anger flares. If he’s going to let his father walk all over him like this, he could at least look me in the eyes while it happens.

I release his shoulder, but when I set a finger under his chin, he goes as still as a butterfly pinned to a board.

It’s a more firm restraint than that hand on his shoulder.

When I tilt his head up, he freezes, and the eyes that finally meet mine are wide with terror.

I don’t think it’s me he’s afraid of, though.

I think he’s far more afraid of himself in this moment.

That fear, and the faint flecks of gold in his gaze, cool the edge off my fury.

Does anyone know about that treasure hiding in his eyes?

Certainly no one else knows how bright it is in the dark, in the heat of the moment, in the throes of something he can run away from, but can’t truly deny.

“Theo,” I say softly, “are you really going to let him do this?”

His eyebrows curl. “I can’t do anything about it.”

“Bullshit.”

He flinches. “He met with Professor Demsky before I even knew it was happening.”

“Then tell her no. Tell her we’re going to finish the project together. It’s a philosophy project, Theo. We aren’t doing anything wrong.”

Except my finger is still under his chin, tilting his face up so he has to look at me, and we both know this project means way more to us than a grade.

“I can’t,” he says, weak and breathy.

I take my hand away, unable to bear the warmth of his skin when I know how fleeting it is.

I’ll probably never touch him again, not now that his father has intervened.

How could there be anything between us, even in secret, when his father went to such lengths after one look at me standing in the choir?

“You’re really not going to fight back?” I say. “You’re really going to let this happen?”

“There’s nothing I can do, Jude. He…”

“He what? He doesn’t want you working with me? He doesn’t want you anywhere near me? Is that what you were going to say?”

Theo’s flinch is answer enough. The confirmation burns a hole through my chest. The place where my heart should be is an aching, open wound.

“I’m sorry,” Theo says. “I’m really sorry, Jude.”

His eyes go back down, and I fear I may never see them again. That might be it, the last glimpse I ever get.

“I shouldn’t have…” Theo says before trailing off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done any of this. I should have known this would happen. He’s my father, and he’s a deacon, and I’m supposed to be the one who goes and becomes a priest like he never could, and I knew that from the start, but I still…”

He still wanted me. He still came to my bed when I offered. He still gave in to those desires simmering under the surface.

The struggle plays itself out on his face, and it’s a battle so familiar he hardly seems to notice it.

My heart breaks at the sight, but I steel myself against the temptation to comfort him.

He could have stood up for himself. I know his circumstances are difficult, but it’s not like I’ve had an easy go of it.

Mom and I have had to take care of each other for a long time, and me being queer didn’t make that any easier.

Unlike Theo, however, I refused to back down.

I stood up for myself. I lived my life out loud no matter who it pissed off.

Then again, I always had Mom by my side.

We might have been poor, but we loved each other.

We supported each other. No matter what happens to me in life, I know she’ll always be there for me.

From what I know, it’s been exactly the opposite for Theo.

He has money and comfort, but not a drop of love.

Not unconditional love, in any case. His parents’ approval comes with strings attached, strings that bar him from doing something as simple as a homework assignment if they don’t approve of it.

“It’s just a stupid project,” he says.

Any pity evaporates.

“It’s not just a project,” I snap, struggling to keep my voice down. “You know this isn’t about the fucking project.”

“I can’t change it,” he says miserably.

But he could. He could change it. He could at least try. If I mattered to him at all, he could say or do something instead of nothing.

That’s the truth though, isn’t it? I don’t mean anything to him. I’m not worth the risk. I’m just his college experiment, a mistake he’ll forget when he moves on to his “real” life dictated by his father.

“You’re really going to go on obeying?” I say. “You’re really going to contort yourself for people who don’t love you the way you are? You’ll never be enough of what they want. You’ll always be trying to twist yourself into something they deem acceptable. Is that really how you want to live?”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t look up at me, but I see his throat working. I’ve hit a nerve, said aloud something he’s buried deep inside. I should leave it at that, but I can’t resist a parting shot as hurt claws its way through me.

“You told me no one’s ever loved you the way you are,” I say, “but maybe you’ve never let them.”

I step away before he can respond, not that he’d even bother trying. As I storm down the hall and away from Professor Demsky’s office, all that chases after me is silence.