I made myself check my phone. Graduation would be over by now. I imagined this whole scenario like I had thrown a grenade, sprinted away, and now I was looking back to see if it had actually exploded, or if it was a dud.

I sat there in my cramped airplane seat. I wasn’t even connected to the cell network yet. I shook my phone. Held it up in the air.

Finally, the bars popped up in the corner of my phone screen. I had service. And there they were: fifteen texts, all from my mother, father, and sister. I checked my call log. Five new voicemails. I went back to the texts and started reading. Amir, where are you? Amir, is everything all right? Amir, why aren’t you answering your phone? Amir why aren’t you home? Where have you gone? Please answer and tell us you’re all right.

I texted back immediately. I’m fine. I can explain. And then I held my breath. Because at this point, my family knew. They had to know. Last week, Jake had made it very clear that if I didn’t get him the money, he would out me during the ceremony. He had even suggested texting the picture to my parents before they started reading out names. The thought of walking across that stage, hearing silence from where my mom, dad, and sister were sitting—it had made me want to throw up.

My phone buzzed. It was Mom: Good. We love you.

I must have stared at the text for a solid minute before looking back up and around the plane. All the other passengers had deplaned.

My heart rate slowed down as I took in the words.

My family still loved me.

I took my duffel bag from the overhead compartment and held it close to my chest. All spring, I had wondered how they would react to Jake’s news. Would they think he was lying? Would they tell themselves that it was photoshopped?

Whatever they believed—they loved me.

I felt giddy as I shuffled off the plane. I thought about the rainbow scoreboard, all the positives that I had clearly discounted. I thought about how my parents had in fact raised me to treat people equally, how they didn’t subscribe to every single little piece of our religion and culture. They were complicated. They could surprise me. I should have expected better of them.

When I was finally off the plane, I called them back.

“Amir?” my mom said frantically. “Oh, Amir. We were worried sick!”

“What were you thinking?” my dad chimed in. “Where were you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can explain.” I was walking down the long hall of the airport, past Cinnabon and Hudson News. “I was just scared . . .”

“Scared of what?” my dad asked.

My heart skipped a beat. I stood outside the smelly airport bathroom, between the men’s and women’s bathrooms. I was confused. “Are you still at graduation?” I asked.

“No. We looked for you after the ceremony, but you weren’t there.”