How Green Becomes Wood

Rumy gave a bleak laugh. "You don't know the power and force of will behind a Latino mother. I came out to her as gay years ago. Over and over again. You know what she has said every time? 'That's okay, niña, you can express yourself however you like. We just won't tell your marido.' Until this last year. The pressure has been growing for me to 'move past this phase' and 'secure your future.' The future she's planned out since I was born. She's been introducing me to boys since my quinceañera, and if I don't pick one, she'll pick one for me. I'm supposed to be either married or betrothed before the end of next year, have a couple of babies, and work a steady but acceptable job as long as it does not interfere with my raising of said babies. And, yes, she will do everything in her power to do it, no one in my family sees a problem with it, and my father just smiles and nods and assures me my mother only wants what's best for me."
 
"I don't know Latina mothers, but I know Jewish ones," Sloan pointed out, "The way you describe it, it's not that different, and you literally can't get married unless you agree to it. Like what she's going to do, kidnap you and force you at the altar? Like, I get it, I'm not saying she's just going to randomly be chill, but you really can't just tell her you're going to go work with your uncle until you're already on the road? You're an adult, it's not like she can force you to stay."
 
"Yeah, she can," Rumy said bluntly. "Or she can at least try. My choices are: Wait through fight after fight for who knows how long until she reaches the end of her rope and throws me out on her terms, or leave now on my own terms. That's it. You might think I'm being extreme, but I've known those were my two choices since eight months ago when I sat down to dinner with my family and the son of one of my mother's friends sat down next to me. I told my mother after dinner that I could never marry a guy. She told me to stop bringing shame to the household and to give up my silly phases like being with girls and dressing like a mechanic from the moon. I mean, I might not always want to dress in this style, but I'm pretty sure my sexuality isn't a phase."
 
"Yeah, she can try, but she can't succeed," Sloan said, "I'm not telling you to stay, I just don't get why you can't tell her before you leave. If she's going to kick you out anyway, why all the secrecy?"
 
"Because she'll make things difficult." Rumy played with her fork, looking quiet and sad, completely unlike her usual indomitable, cheerful self. "I don't really want to talk about how. It's just better to leave. To cut all ties. I won't even be the one doing it. She'll be the one declaring I'm bringing shame to the family, scream herself hoarse, and then wipe my name from the lips of the family. She'll sit in self-righteous silence and wait for me to come crawling back and apologize. If I have a place of my own to live in, a place to stay that's mine, no one in the family can take that away from me, and I can focus on making my way in the world. I'm not doing it to prove anything - though if I do succeed and prove her wrong, it'd be a nice cherry - I'm doing it because I want freedom. I've never had freedom. I know I look like it, especially to you, but I've never really had it."
 
"Well don't... Don't say 'especially to you,'" Sloan said quietly, half turning away. The whole conversation was making her feel terrible. She was scared for her friend, and upset that she just couldn't understand why she had to leave without saying anything, but also frustrated both at herself and a little at Rumy. They were friends, but despite this building for eight months or more, she had never spoken to her about it. And it made her feel bad about all the times she had been complaining about her own mom. The situation wanted to make her say her relationship with Blair wasn't that bad, and it made her immediately feel guilty for all of her frustration, despite the fact she knew, deep down, that her mom did still treat her badly, but in that moment she felt like a stupid, selfish, spoiled girl. Especially to you made her feel sort of sick, like she had either been exaggerating to Rumy, or like the whole time she had just been ignorant and Rumy had known it. Then she felt a whole new level of guilt for the part of her mind that was making her friend's trauma about her, but the one thing she knew for sure was she wasn't hungry for any of this Chinese food anymore. "But I'm sorry, the whole thing sucks."
 
"Sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like I was trying to, you know, lessen your problems. I know your mom is hella controlling," Rumy told her. "I wanted to talk to you about it, but I was afraid you'd try to talk me out of it or try to help and get yourself in trouble. You're almost out. I didn't want to risk that."
 
"Don't think I'm a bad friend, but I wouldn't have tried to help," Sloan admitted, "but I don't think I'd have tried to talk you out of it. I mean," She waived her hand, "I'd probably try to think of something less crazy than leaving without telling anyone you're going, because... It doesn't matter. Just don't be stupid when you make the drive there, because everyone thinks they can handle themselves until they can't."
 
"Promise," Rumy assured her. "I told my brother so that he can tell my parents, and at least he's kind of invested, and my uncle's friend knows to expect me, and I'll be very, very careful and not make any stupid choices. Well, any other stupid choices," she said with a lopsided smile.
 
"Well, that's good at least," Sloan said, but despite a valiant effort, couldn't quite bring herself to smile, "It's good that your brother knows, at least. I hope your Uncle's friend is actually a good guy."
 
"He is. And his wife," Rumy assured her. She studied Sloan for a minute. "I really just wanted to tell you goodbye. When we had time to say it properly, you know? I know you're worried about me, but I've been making a lot of plans and checking them fifteen times. It's not a whim."
 
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