Matt promised he wouldn’t fall for me, and as far as I can tell, he hasn’t broken that promise. So I need to keep up my end of the bargain and not break the confidentiality agreement.
“I said that stuff in the interview because from a publicity perspective, saying we’re in love is better than saying he’s the guy I’m doing until he gets an NFL contract.”
“You don’t want him to go to Chicago though. It’s obvious in the way you tense whenever the contract is mentioned.”
I look at my feet. “Like you said, Matt is football. No way he’d choose to stay with me over his dream.”
“He might. You don’t know if you don’t ask.”
“Okay, this convo went wayward, and you need to shut your mouth about what I said. Matt and I have always been temporary. Now, back to this idea. I have the funds to make something like this massive and nationwide. I mean, we’d have to start off small first and make sure it’s viable. The people taking others in would have to be heavily vetted, and it’d be a lot of work, but I want to do this.”
“You’re serious.” Jet states it as if someone just told him the zombie apocalypse has started. It’s a mix of disbelief and misunderstanding.
“I want to at least talk to my father about it.”
Jet slumps. “Well, there goes that idea.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve seen your dad on TV. I don’t know how to say this without offending you, so I’m just going to say he looks like the type of politician who spouts family values and then gets caught in a seedy motel with a prostitute.”
I laugh. “So glad you tried not to offend me, Jet.” God, I love this kid … like a brother, that is. And I can’t be offended if it’s the truth. I mean, I don’t know for sure if Dad has affairs, but I doubt it. He’s too worried about his image. Having grown up in our cold house, though, I know there’s no shared love between Mom and Dad. Their happy marriage is a political arrangement. A lot like Matt’s and mine.
“You’re welcome,” Jet says, either not picking up on my sarcasm or not caring.
“How about this, then; I’ll take my idea to my father, and if he says no, I’ll see my financial guys and work out if I can do it on my own.”
“Financial guys,” he scoffs. “Who talks like that?”
“Uh, your brother, for one. He’s been talking to his guys about the future of his portfolio.”
“Ah, the fancy lives of the rich and famous.”
“And what are your plans for the future, musician boy?”
“Worst superhero name ever.”
“Do you hope to be rich and famous one day? Singing to your millions of fans? Screwing every fuckboy in sight?”
“Wouldn’t be much of a difference to my life now … well, minus the millions of fans.” Jet waggles his eyebrows.
“If you say so, stud.”
“Okay, fine. You can count every fuckboy in my hometown on one hand. It’s not much of an accomplishment.”
“Did the college tours change your mind about enrolling?”
“Nope. Cemented college isn’t for me.”
“Do me a favor?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“Break that news to Matt while I’m at work tomorrow.”
Jet laughs. “Deal.”
“I want to start an LBGTQ charity,” I blurt out.
Dad’s advisors look at me as if I’ve grown two heads, so I repeat myself but slower this time.
“We have the Huntington Foundation that gives to many charities, including numerous LGBTQ causes,” John—Dad’s campaign manager—says.
“I’m thinking more along the lines of a homeless shelter for teens. It’s more complicated than that, but that’s the best way to describe it. Or, rather, it’s more like a couch surfing app for homeless teens.” I knew that one would go over the old guys’ heads, but I say it anyway, and yup, confusion all over their faces. Should’ve kept with the shelter explanation.
Rob, an advisor, leans forward in his seat and looks at Dad. “I don’t think it’s the best move for the campaign right now. You’ll already have the LGBTQ votes because of Noah.” He tips his head in my direction. “Pushing it too far could lose the conservative democrats.”
“Okay, let me put it this way,” I say. “I’m going to start this charity, and this campaign can be as little or as much involved as you want. This is more of a heads-up.”
“How do you propose you fund this project if I’m not involved?” Dad asks.
It’s hard not to laugh at that. He knows I have my own funds, but he likes to keep up the pretense that I’m his heir and not worth as much as him. “I’ll talk to my financial guys and make it happen.”
Dad rubs his chin like some caricature of an evil villain. “I’m all for it.”
I fully expect him to fight me on this, so the prepared argument is ready to let loose, but then I realize what he said. “Huh?”