“Okay, big hints. Like ‘why be stuck with Gordo and Vinnie all night when you could be with us?’ That sort of thing. Part of me wants to say yes to the idea, corsage or not. I don’t like how he’s been acting lately.” That makes two of us. Ma Elena slaps the steering wheel. “Maybe I will.”

“What’ll Gordo say?”

She glances my way quickly and then looks away. “Honestly? Since you got here, and he’s had two people to pick on, it’s harder for me to keep saying he’s really nice inside, you know?”

“Wait—” I’m confused. “I thought he was kind of a jerk to everyone—not just Chaz.”

“If he was, do you think I’d date him? Like, seriously?”

“Well, I haven’t seen much of the other side.”

“He’s cocky, but in a way that just says he’s a scared kid inside—in Mrs. Ham’s psych class, she calls it overcompensating. You have no idea the things he went through as a kid. The stories I’ve heard about his dad and the way he treated the family. It roughened Gordo up. He fights against it most of the time.” I fail at not rolling my eyes. “Yes, he can be mean, but not always. He was meanest to poor Chaz.”

“And that was okay with you?”

“No!” She falls silent. After a beat, she sighs. “Why am I dating someone I have to apologize for?”

We’re driving down a street which in my time, has two coffee shops, a yoga place, three ATMs, a pet store, and competing cell phone providers. Currently, it’s mostly empty, except for a dollar store, a lunch place with floral curtains, a Sears “catalog store” (whatever that is), and a family dentist. The dentist closed when I was little, and Mom used to say my cavities (okay, I had a few) were his last.

Finally, Ma Elena goes on. “I figured I balanced things out by being nice to Chaz, and always giving Gordo a hard time about how he acted. But you’re here, and he’s worked up about you too.”

As nice as Mr. I Got the Good Corsage might be, it sounds like he officially was (or still is—who knows?) a homophobe, not an all-purpose jerk. Still an asshole, different brand. “I guess he doesn’t like gay people very much.”

“He’s been raised not to. I mean, we all are, right? Some of us just get over it.”

We turn into the parking lot of Confetti Fun City, which is kind of a fantastic name. I’m torn between the sting of my mom saying she was ever like my dad on this and knowing I need to validate that she has changed or, at least, is trying to. “I’m glad you did. The more that hets change—”

“Hets?”