hop up and peer out the window over the sink to the backyard, where Cleo is laid out on a lounge chair in an old-fashioned-looking black swimsuit with daisies lining the straps. She holds a big foil shield, like the kind you put in the window of your car, and is using it to reflect the sun onto her face.
“How does that white lady not have skin cancer?” asks Hannah.
Grammy takes a sip of her tea. “Cleo’s been oiling up with Crisco since we were girls and she’s already outlived two husbands and a boyfriend. She thinks she’s gonna live forever. There’s no telling her.”
I turn the faucet on. “No leak,” I confirm. Holding a hand out, I yank Clem up onto her feet. “That was fast.”
“Which means we’ve got time for pie,” says Clem as she plops down next to Hannah.
I let out a guttural groan and check the time on my phone.
Grammy takes my hand and pulls me down beside her. “Come on now, Pumpkin. Just a quick bite.” She tugs on the collar of my polo. “I swear, with these clothes your mother buys, she’s got you lookin’ like a damn insurance adjuster.”
I roll my eyes and yank my hand free of hers. When I let loose, my mash-up of a southern Valley Girl voice and animated gestures might be a dead giveaway if your only barometer of a gay guy is how femme he is. But at school I do my best to keep a low profile, and that means steering clear of most social circles and wearing all the oversized polos and cargo shorts my mom showers me with on Christmas and birthdays. Handsome and sensible, as she puts it.
Clem’s mouth is already full of rhubarb and pie crust. “Oh, God, yeah. That’s the good stuff.”
“One slice,” I say.
Clem reaches for the pie server. “That was the appetizer slice. This is my real slice.”
“And then home,” I tell her.
She winks. “Sure thing, Pumpkin.”
Three
We make it home a few minutes before the marathon begins, and even though Clem knows I’m annoyed that our detour took longer than expected, she doesn’t acknowledge it. She and Hannah disappear for chunks of time every once in a while, which definitely translates to making out in Clementine’s room before Mom and Dad get home. Dad’s got an overnight job, so he won’t be home until morning, and Mom, who does all of his admin stuff, is probably helping him make sure he’s got his crew and equipment all lined up.
After a quick bathroom break, I pound on Clementine’s closed door. “Clem! Mom’s home!”
I have to hold in my laughter as I listen to the two of them curse and tumble over each other. Clem races to the door and swings it open, straightening her T-shirt.
“JK,” I say.
Clem shoves me gently. “What the hell, Waylon?”
“Not cool,” Hannah says from where she sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing her bangs back down.
I roll my eyes. “Think of it like a fire drill.”
After the three of us heat up frozen taquitos for dinner, Mimi, my favorite queen, sits for her episode-five interview after nearly being kicked off the show.
This was the first challenge that didn’t rely on Mimi’s strengths (design/sewing and comedy) and instead was dependent on her dance skills. “Listen,” says Mimi in masculine street clothes. “I got into drag to play to my strengths. Design and comedy? Those are my currencies. People will forgive you for just about anything—including being fat—if you can make them laugh. But dancing—something plenty of fat people are great at, by the way—well, when you see me fumbling around on that stage, it reminds you that I’m fat and that’s a sin America won’t forgive me for unless I can make a pretty dress or tell a clever joke. During the dance number I was no worse than Sasha or Belle. My runway was fierce. Definitely better than either of theirs. So you tell me why I was up for elimination and they weren’t.”
Even though I’ve seen this particular moment countless times, thanks to reruns and fan recaps, it still hits me right in the gut. There are times when I feel like I can’t be me. I can’t simply exist. I have to offer something in exchange. Something that absolves me of being fat and gay and even worse—both of those things at once.
I know it sounds dramatic. Especially since my family seems very okay with me and Clem. But I can’t help