“Baby, I love what you make and bake. I think you stand a very good chance. Imagine an eclectic, multicultural, small café with you running it. Fuck. Even if you had four or five tables, it would give you the start because a lot of people would come for takeaways, you know. Remember Jean Pierre’s café? It’s tiny, but because of the location, people were standing in a queue to get their lunch and snacks. I think you should give it a try.”
Tears sprung to Ilhan’s eyes again and he choked up. He walked with his head down and let his tears drop discreetly but couldn’t stop his sniffle. His breath hitched when a strong arm hugged him as they walked.
“I’m proud of you, Ilhan. Remember that. Whether you open a café or not. You’re my guy, okay? We stand together. Now wipe those tears otherwise people will think I'm dumping you,” John declared and gave him a poke in the side before running off.
Ilhan shrieked and gave a piggy snort before running after his silly man. When he caught up with John, Ilhan was breathless. “Stop! In the name of love!” he croaked.
John laughed and spoke in a singsong tone, “That’s a song. Stop! In the name of love…before you break…my heart.”
“Oh. You mean cousin of Voldemort. Have you no heart, man? I’m about to die from a heart attack here and you're singing.” Ilhan held his chest as if he was in agony.
“If you fall down, I'm obliged to give you mouth to mouth resuscitation, you know that, right?” John growled.
“I think I'm about to fall down, like now!” Ilhan pretended to fall, but before he’d even reached the ground, John grabbed him and hauled him up to walk toward the park. It was dark and they took full advantage of the darkness to playfully banter and run around like children.
They sat on a park bench, there were a few families and couples walking around. Ilhan quietly watched them and leaned toward the other man to rest his shoulder.
As it got cooler, John nudged him. “Come on. Let’s go home. I want to watch TV with you. I’ll keep your seat warm while you make the popcorn. What do you say? “John opened his eyes wide to look innocent.
Ilhan snickered as he stood up. “Oh. You cute dork. I know what you're doing. Okay. Let’s go. While you're heating up my chair and I'm slaving over popcorn, do you want me to bring the drinks as well?”
All the way home, they bantered about the importance of keeping the seat warm and why Ilhan needed to pop the corn as the future café owner. Ilhan laughed as they entered the flat. “What? When did cafés start serving popcorn?”
John answered in a serious tone. “One never knows, man. You may be the first café owner to serve popcorn. I'm only trying to help you.”
“Get in there, you sausage.” Ilhan snorted.
“Oh. You want my sausage, do you?” John asked as he pretended to open his jeans’ buttons.
Ilhan gave a loud snort and walked into the kitchen.
Instead of enjoying the buttered popcorn and TV, they ended up playing with each other’s “sausages.” Ilhan whispered to John in the bed later that night, “I can’t play, we're calling our penises sausages now.”
“Sausage sounds better than the medical term, penis. Now hug me so I can sleep,” John answered as he yawned.
Ilhan grinned in the dark and spooned the muscular body. He quietly agreed that he also slept better when he hugged his man.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - John
The next morning, when John woke up to get ready for work, it was hard because of the warm body sprawled over his. He smiled and carefully lifted the slim arm that lay over his chest to rest it on the mattress, then slid off the bed.
He stretched his body to soften his stiff joints from sleeping in an awkward position all night. I’m not complaining. I'd rather sleep with him draped all over me than on my own.
By the time he'd had his shower, got dressed and made his coffee, John felt ready to leave and start work. He skipped breakfast. He'd come back later and have it with his boyfriend. Yeah. I like the sound of that. My Boyfriend. He grinned at his own fluffy thought as he opened his front door. He took a step forward, and nearly tripped over a box.
“What the fuck!” he swore as he stumbled over it. He quickly balanced himself and saw a clear plastic storage box. His surprise changed to bewilderment when he saw a piece of paper inside the box with Ilhan’s name written. There were CDs, a Kindle, chargers of all sorts, Ipod, Ipad… “I” for Ilhan, his whole life in a box; it gave him a poignant feeling. There were also some clothing neatly folded.
John picked up the box and carried it inside to the small laundry room to give it to Ilhan after breakfast. He stood by the box rubbing his chest.
“I’m so sorry, Ilhan” he whispered in sorrow. He knew his man had a close relationship with his parents, and now they didn't want anything to do with their only son because of his own careless actions.
John started cleaning the stairs with a heavy heart. Thank God, I do this early in the morning so I don’t have to smile right now. As he reached Ilhan’s apartment, he heard them moving around. He paused to knock on the door and talk to them, but changed his mind, fearing he might cause more damage than anything else. He sighed deeply and moved on.
He was tying a rubbish bag up to get ready to clean the banisters. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Shh... It’s just me, John. I’m sorry for startling you,” Alison said quietly.
John went to Alison’s rescue. “No. It’s okay, Alison. I should’ve heard you anyway. My fault for daydreaming.”
“How are you, my dear?” she asked, her eyes full of concern.
“Err, I’m fine. Thank you. How are you?” John was puzzled because this was so unlike Alison.
“Oh. I’m fine. Thank you for asking, dear.” She stood looking at him.
John felt awkward with Alison staring at him as if she was expecting something. “I’m sorry. Have I forgotten something, Alison?” he asked, looking confused.
“No. No, my dear… Look, I don’t mean to pry into your private life, but we just wanted to let you know how very sorry we are for the way things happened between you, Ilhan and his parents yesterday.” Alison spoke soothingly.
He felt shocked that the argument was heard, despite Elif’s efforts to keep everything hush-hush. “Uhh…so you heard? Everyone knows this?” he asked, his voice croaky.
“Well…not everyone, but I would imagine if everyone heard, they'd still feel for you both. Mary told me. She lives right across from Ilhan.”
“Uhh…you don’t mind that you have a gay caretaker?” he asked in the same tone of voice.
“Of course, not dear! We were wondering when you'd notice poor Ilhan’s attempts to get your attention. Some of us even had a bet on it.” Alison giggled.
He let out a strangled cry. “What! This was known by everyone but me?”
“Duh! How could we not notice the way that poor boy was mooning over you or you watching him when his back was turned. Oh! It was so romantic,” Alison almost crooned as she held her hands over her chest.
“Oh. My. God. You all knew!” John felt like a parrot, but didn't know what else to say because he was in shock.
Alison giggled. “My darling boy, why did you think we all kept talking about Ilhan to you all these months? We were trying to match make! We did the same with Ilhan, too. Why do you think Mary Jenkins kept going for walks with him? That poor woman hates walking with a passion, but she did it to play matchmaker.”
John listened to Alison with wide eyes and an open mouth.
“Now. Close your mouth and go back to your man. I saw his mother quietly dropping that box at your door late last night. Thank God she's noisy, so I missed nothing,” she whispered as if she was imparting a government secret.
John still felt speechless and let her guide him to his door.
“Don’t worry about the rubbish bag. I’ll put it aside so no one will see it.”
John did as he was ordered like a puppet. He opened the door and turned
back to see whether Alison was still watching him. Yup. She watched him like a hawk. He nodded.
She smiled and nodded, leaning on her walking stick.
He sighed inwardly and closed the door. John didn't hear anything, so he knew Ilhan was still asleep. He went to the kitchen to turn on the kettle. After washing his hands, he took a couple of bowls from the cupboard and made a fruit muesli for breakfast. He placed the coffee mugs and bowls on a tray, then went in to the bedroom.
He almost laughed when he saw how Ilhan had wrapped himself from head to toe with the blanket. All he saw was a thin lump under the cover. He set the tray down and knelt by Ilhan’s side. He gently lifted a portion of the blanket to see that precious face. He was sleeping with his mouth open, totally out to it. His hands were held under his chin and he looked like an innocent child. The messy hair only enhanced Ilhan’s innocent face.
“Psstt…sleeping beauty,” John whispered as he stroked his lover's forehead. Nope. Not a reaction, he mused.
“Wakey, wakey, handsome. I've got your breakfast and coffee,” he spoke a little louder as he continued to caress Ilhan.
When Ilhan opened his eyes, John smiled. “Good morning, handsome. You ready for breakfast?” he asked quietly. He was rewarded with a smile and John let himself be pulled down by his collar for a kiss.
“Ready?” he spoke against Ilhan’s lips and stood up when he received a nod.
When he retrieved the tray, Ilhan was sitting up in bed with a pillow supporting his back.
As they had their cereal and sipped their coffee, John saw Ilhan was awake and alert.
“This is nice,” Ilhan murmured.
“Good, cos since you showed me how fun it is to eat in bed, I'm thinking we could do this more often.” John smiled as he prepared himself to start talking about what Alison had said. Ilhan initially looked shocked and then laughed in his cute little snorts. When he was more settled, John told him about the box he'd found in front of their door.
“Where is it?” Ilhan asked curiously.
“You stay in the bed. I’ll bring it.” John ordered Ilhan as he leaned forward to give him a quick kiss.
He brought the box and put it on the bed in front of Ilhan. His heart broke when he saw the tears forming in Ilhan's eyes and his lips trembling. He watched him open the box and check inside.
John took off his shoes and jeans and got into bed beside his boyfriend for support. He let Ilhan go through the box and open the envelope to read what was written in Turkish.
He felt all the more helpless when he saw the tears rolling down his face. Ilhan put the paper back into the box, and then hurled himself into John’s arms sobbing. John hugged his slim frame and felt his own eyes tearing. This isn’t how I wanted things for you, Ilhan. I’m so sorry.
He hugged his boyfriend tightly. “We'll give them time to calm down and then we'll go speak with them together,” he said, kissing his head. They stayed locked in each other's arms.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Ilhan
It’s Monday, which mean they went back home early this morning. Ilhan felt gutted by that thought. He wasn't used to this. His heart literally ached. He just wanted his parents back in his life, but he'd agreed with John to wait and give them time to calm down. He spent the day tidying up the flat and listening to sad Turkish folk songs. I may be an Aussie Turk with more Aussie in me, but when I’m sad, I just want to listen to Turkish songs. Hmm...maybe my friends and John are right. I'm more of a Turk than I realize.
He listened to Burcin’s CD and often joined her when she sang the sad tunes. His mother always praised his voice whenever he sang in Turkish. In honor of his mum, he sang loudly as he washed last night’s dishes. John was working so he didn't feel self-conscious as he sang and occasionally danced his parent’s regional folk dance.
When he heard loud knocking at the door, he turned off the CD player and went to open the door.
He spoke in Turkish, his voice hoarse. “Mum!” He stood frozen and his mother looked ill at ease. “I thought you went back home with Dad.”
“No. He went on his own. I stayed behind. I couldn’t leave you behind.” She burst into tears. Ilhan groaned and pulled her inside. As soon as he closed the door, he hugged her tightly.
“I’m so sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.” He was crying, and his mother was sobbing now, which broke his heart.
“Come. Have tea with me.” He held her hand to walk her into the lounge. Elif’s eyes looked around curiously.
“He’s very tidy, isn’t he, kuzum,” she said in wonder. He was glad she wasn't crying anymore as he hated seeing her in tears.
“Yeah. He's tidy and cooks… Well, not as well as me,” he tried to joke, but his tremulous voice gave away how distressed he was.
He made the tea quietly, his with milk and hers without, as most Turks prefer to drink it.
Elif spoke clearly, sitting upright. “Tell me everything, Ilhan. I want to know, son.”
Ilhan took a shaky breath and slowly told her how he'd noticed his sexual preference when he was nine years old. He'd fancied a boy in his classroom. She kept her face neutral as she listened, which was better than her disgusted look, Ilhan supposed.
He told her about his dream to open a café and how he hated studying at university. His mother’s face remained neutral. When he'd finished telling her everything he needed her to know, his throat was dry. He took a sip from his mug and looked at her. She'd been quiet the whole time without asking any questions or making comments, so he waited.
“Son. I knew all this, but I was hoping I was wrong. Part of me colluded with your silence because I was scared of your dad’s reaction. I knew you wanted to open a café as you kept talking about it, but I thought it was a passing fancy… I’m sorry I didn’t support as much as I should’ve.
“I noticed you getting sweet on boys when you were about seven, but again, I thought it was a child’s response… When I saw how you used to notice boys more than girls in your teen years, I couldn’t ask you anything. I was scared. I just didn’t know how to deal with it. I thought of your dad, your grandparents and prayed you'd grow out of this whole thing. However, I can see this isn't something to grow out of, is it?”
“No, Mum.” Ilhan squeezed her hand.
“I don’t know, son. Part of me wants to hide and another part of me wants to support you. This morning the good mother in me won, and I stayed behind to support you. I told your father I refused to turn my back on you, so he left and here I am.” Elif had started speaking through tears, but by the time she'd finished what she needed to say, her voice was stronger and more decisive.
Ilhan gasped and pushed his chair back to rush to her. He went to his knees and buried his face in her lap and cried. Being without his mother had hurt him; he'd missed her. He let her croon over him and stroke his hair.
“Give your dad time, and leave everything to me, Ilhan. We'll deal with this together.” As she spoke, he nodded his head.
She lifted his face, cupping his cheeks. “Now, tell me about this man of yours.” She smiled with tearful eyes, waiting for Ilhan to talk.
Ilhan giggled and stood up. “Then, you'll need more coffee, Mum, before I start talking.”
Elif laughed loudly and shooed him in to the kitchen. By the time, he'd made the coffee for them both and returned, his mother was no longer in tears and looked happier.
They spent the morning talking about how Ilhan tried to get John’s attention, which made his mother laugh and battle to control her hiccups. She teased him about how socially awkward he must have looked to John.
“Oh, Mum. Don’t go there! I mean the dirty look he used to give me and I used to stutter around him!” He snorted with laughter.
“Does he make you happy, son? Is he good to you?” Elif asked softly.
“Yes, Anne. He's a good man. We get on so well. You'd like him if you give him a chance,” he answered with a dreamy expression on his face. As he was about to tell her more, they heard
the door open.
He saw his mother’s demeanor change from happy to unsure. Before he could say something to reassure her, John walked in to the lounge. He froze when he saw her sitting there.
Ilhan stood up and walked to John. He turned to his mother and said, “Anne—this is John…my boyfriend. John. This is my mum, Elif.”
He felt so proud of his John for taking her hand. “Ma’am. Thank you for visiting us.”
Elif stood up tearfully and grabbed John to pull him in to her arms. She spoke in English, her voice hoarse with emotion, “No, ma’am. Call me Elif, please. It’s nice to meet you.” Her accent was stronger, which showed how emotional she was.
Ilhan cleared his throat to get rid of the choked up feeling and said, “Do you want coffee, John? I’ll make toasted cheese sandwiches as well.”
“Can I please have your Turkish version, baby?” John asked with puppy eyes, which made his mother giggle.
John turned beetroot-red, and snickered. “I can’t help it if I think his cooking is the best, ma’am, I mean, Elif.”
“Yes, my son is very good in the kitchen,” she responded.
When their small lunch was over, John stood up to leave for work. He turned to Elif. “Please come whenever you want or need, okay?” He reassured her as he hugged her. When Ilhan saw his mother beaming at John, he knew they'd won his mother over.
This is incredible! John and Mum are like best friends. Far-out, who would’ve thought, these two could meet every day and never run out of topics to talk about. Fuck, I'm still in shock.
Everyone in the block knew about me going gaga over John. Ilhan reflected on the past few months and the way he was around John. His neighbors, particularly Mary and Alison, had tried their best to get him and John together. He felt touched at the level of warmth people showed to them.
He tried to call his dad on his mobile, but Ercan hung up each time. It angered Ilhan as well as saddened him. It made him feel bad that his mum was barely on speaking terms with his dad, too. They'd always had a loving relationship and this was the first time they'd barely spoken to each other.
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