The Dangerous Art of Blending In

by Angelo Surmelis

  She glances down. Notices where Henry’s hand is. Henry is looking out the window now like it’s no big deal. “That could be cool.” He seems completely unaware that his mother is looking at us.

  She smiles politely. I can’t tell what kind of smile it is. She turns around and says, “You boys can always go out for a drive or whatever after.”

  “Sounds good.” Henry looks at me. “Maybe we can make a sundae bar.”

  What the hell is he talking about? This is the guy of the single-flavor ice cream. No nuts, no cherry, no sauce. Sundae bar? I feel like everyone’s having a conversation without me and I’m annoyed at myself for allowing it to get this far. I try to move my legs and body, but the more I do, the more Henry moves his hand under my leg. It’s so uncomfortable. And maybe even a little bit of a turn-on, and that just makes me even more uncomfortable.

  Claire says, “Maybe I’ll go over to Nate’s.”

  “Is he home? I thought he was ‘never leaving NYU.’” Her mother uses air quotes but is looking straight ahead.

  “He’s back. At least, he’d better be.”

  After all the lunches and dinners I’ve had at the Kimball home, you’d think I’d be completely comfortable with their banter. But I still find it difficult to understand how no one ever yells or says ugly things to one another. We can’t go a day in the Panos house without something being hurled at someone, physically or verbally.

  Claire and her mom are talking until Mr. Kimball makes a too-quick turn into the parking lot of Fresh Fred’s, and we all brace ourselves.

  “Damn. Sorry. Got a little lost there for a minute.” He maneuvers the car into a parking spot, almost taking out a couple of shoppers in the crosswalk. Mrs. Kimball pulls out a credit card, swivels around in her seat, and hands it to me. I just stare at it.

  “Here. You and Henry are in charge of supplies.”

  Henry takes the credit card from his mother.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Henry’s heading toward the store and turns around to make sure I’m following.

  Once inside, he turns to me. “Please don’t go missing on me again.” His demeanor has completely changed. He looks fragile, scared. “You can’t keep doing that. I know I fucked up, but please don’t take me for granted.”

  I shake my head. “Okay, but I’m having a difficult time trusting anyone right now.”

  Once inside the Kimball house, everyone scatters while Henry and I head into the kitchen. I’m whispering, “You know your mother saw your hand?”

  Henry puts the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and looks at me. “Get the bowls.”

  “Seriously, we’re just going to pretend that this is some kind of—”

  “I don’t care who saw. The last time I saw you, really saw you, was weeks ago, and I don’t want to go through that again.”

  “They’re right upstairs. You see me in school. Lower your voice.” I’m shaking and sweating. I can’t see myself right now, but I can guarantee this is not a good look. My hair is probably beginning to frizz and I just know my face is red.

  Henry looks completely calm. “You avoid me in school. I’m gay. My sister knows. My parents know. You know.”

  I just stare at him for a second. “Amanda Hester all last year.” I lower my voice even further. “You told me you had sex with her. And let’s not forget Ali or the fact that I’m so fucking pissed at you.”

  Who am I trying to convince here? What is he saying? In Ali’s house, what was that? How can he just—say it?

  “Get the bowls, Ev. The ice cream is going to melt.”

  I know where everything is in this kitchen. I’ve made Greek chicken with lemon potatoes in here. There’s a large island and stools on one side. The rest of the kitchen wraps in an inverted U shape around the island. The whole space opens into a large and comfortably worn family room. But suddenly, I have no idea where the fucking bowls are.

  “Ev, are you okay?”

  “How can you just say that?”

  “What?”

  “I’m gay. Like you’re so sure. Recent events prove otherwise.”

  Henry grabs five bowls from a cabinet and places them on the island countertop. “Because I am. I didn’t feel anything for the girls I was with that even comes close to the way you make me feel. I’m gay.”

  “Are we heating the fudge sauce?” I ask, still annoyed.

  “No question.” Henry places all the ice cream on the kitchen island. For someone who doesn’t care for sauce, he knows how sundaes should be prepared.

  “You’re on your own, kids.” Claire strides into the kitchen, looking pretty as she always does. The kind of girl my mother would love for me to date. She hugs Henry from behind and squeezes him as hard as she can.

  Henry escapes her grasp. “Ugh! Save it for Nate.”

  I look at her. At Henry. At the way he shakes the hair out of his eyes. At the way he’s smiling at his sister, with all this love.

  Claire looks at me. “I’m really glad you’re here.” She walks over to where I am and kisses my cheek. “See you later.” And then she’s off.

  Henry fills a saucepan with water and places it on the stovetop.

  “This is all bizarro world.” I open a drawer and pull out the ice cream scoop. Henry lowers the jar of fudge into the saucepan on the stove.

  “Can you hand me one of those bowls? I’m going to put the chopped nuts in there.”

  “Here.” I hand him what was to be Claire’s bowl and start in. “Aren’t you nervous? How are you so sure this time? We’ve never ever talked about this. Didn’t you have fun with Amanda? With Ali? Maybe they weren’t the girls you were supposed to be with. You can’t just know, just like that.”

  Henry looks into my eyes. “What happened with Ali—it’s not an excuse, but I was confused, freaked out, a little drunk, and I wanted to be needed. I wanted someone to want me. I wanted you to, but—there. Are you happy?”

  I shake my head. “So it’s my fault? Don’t you dare. You were drunk and you totally betrayed my trust.”

  “It’s not like that. I wanted—want you to be sure about me. It wasn’t real with Ali. I was so stupid. I drank too much.”

  I’m taking the lids off the ice cream containers. The tops are just starting to melt and get soft, the perfect consistency for scooping. For some reason, maybe nerves, I start to fan the top of the ice cream with my hands.

  “We didn’t have sex,” he says as I try to keep my face neutral. “Ali and I just made out. Things got a little sloppy, but no sex.”

  “We made out. We didn’t have sex. Is it all the same to you?”

  “Ev, what happened between you and me was more real to me than any kiss, anything, I’ve ever had.” He notices me fanning the ice cream. “What is this?” He starts laughing.

  I instantly realize what I’m doing and stop. I place both hands on the island counter and look across it in Henry’s direction. He’s at the stove checking the hot fudge.

  I whisper, “Okay. I felt something. I’ll give you that, but how can you know anything? I don’t trust you.”

  Henry looks back at me. He starts to walk over to the other side of the island. My side. Damn, it’s a long walk. My heart suddenly seems like it may not be strong enough to take this in, and my whole body is now beyond sweating. He kisses me. Softly. I don’t kiss back. He continues as he tries to place his hands into mine. I resist a little but then slowly open my palms. Our fingers intertwine and I begin to kiss him back. A little. He leans back, our hands still clasped together, and looks right at me and says, “I’m going to do everything I can to earn back your trust.”

  I take a gulp of air. “We should check the sauce.” And what if his parents had walked in? It didn’t even cross my mind during that kiss. I look at him and say, “I want to believe you.”

  “You can.” He steps away and heads toward the stove. “The hot fudge looks ready.”

  From behind me I hear, “This is the slowest service ever.”

  I�
�m jolted back into reality.

  “Oh man, I didn’t mean to startle you.” It’s Mr. Kimball.

  Damn, that was close.

  Henry hands his parents their sundaes. “Here you go, guys, two classics. One with and one without nuts.”

  “You guys want to join us? We can order a movie if you want,” Mr. Kimball says.

  “Thanks, but I think we’re going to hang out a little before I have to take Evan home.”

  We walk into Henry’s room. He closes the door behind us, puts his bowl down on his desk, and before I can speak, think, he kisses me again. I take a few steps back and say, “Your parents.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Henry?” I do want to kiss him. Oh man, I really do. The way he looks at me right now. This is the stuff you see in the movies and think how fucking corny it is, but when it happens to you—no words are flowery enough to capture that feeling.

  “Henry. You read my journals, right?”

  He nods as he pulls me closer. “I’m so sorry. Between what happened at the party with Ali and not being able to explain, and then reading all that stuff, your drawings . . .”

  “I’ve never shared this stuff with anyone. My life has been about making sure I could keep everything separate. Keep it contained. This. Us. It disrupts that. I have to be able to trust you. Now more than ever.”

  “I promise you.” He’s looking right at me. “Nothing is worth hurting you.”

  I know it’s only a few seconds, but this moment . . . this silent moment is my world.

  “Ev, I’ve seen marks on your neck. Arms. Legs. A few times on your face. I didn’t want to believe.”

  “I didn’t want you—or anyone—to. It would have only made it more difficult for me.”

  “There were a lot of tough things to read, to see them there on a page and know you wrote them. But the hardest for me was reading about you wanting to die.” He puts both hands around my waist. “Do you still feel like that?”

  I don’t say anything. I’m embarrassed. I fear that Henry will see me as weak. As someone who won’t fight for himself, so how could he ever for fight for anyone else?

  “I need you. I want you around.”

  I’m still quiet.

  “Do you still think about dying?”

  “Not anymore. I dream of escaping.” But not escaping you, I want to say but don’t.

  “Was Gaige . . .”

  “He was my first kiss.”

  “There were so many drawings of me in your journals. I didn’t see any of Gaige. . . .” He looks at me questioningly.

  “Don’t be a self-centered prick. I’ve known you longer.”

  He kisses me again. He moves to my neck and one of his hands goes toward my back. I can feel his fingers run up and down my spine. His other hand is moving up my leg. I push myself further into him, even though it seems physically impossible to be any closer.

  “Oh man . . .” I sound as if I’ve been drugged, but I don’t stop. He continues to kiss my neck and then starts to move back to my mouth.

  “We can’t,” I say quickly. “I’ve never had sex.”

  Ugh. What a completely unsexy thing to say. I pull away and try to catch my breath. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t. Look at me.” Henry’s hands are now on my shoulders. “You don’t have to tell me or do anything more right now. I just don’t want to lose you. Again.”

  The person who was supposed to love me the hardest—the most unconditionally—has always wanted me gone. No matter how hard I tried to be perfect. Now, this boy—who knows all my imperfections and has seen all my hurt laid bare—wants me to stay.

  twenty-seven

  I’m pretty useless today.

  Being at school the day after my evening with Henry is really just an exercise in finding new ways to pretend to be paying attention. I’m not exactly nailing it.

  “Mr. Ludecker, I can hear you.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Q.”

  Jeremy turns to face me and mouths something. I shrug. He mouths again. Nothing. He writes on the edge of his drawing paper, You have to do this for me! I shake my head no. Jeremy rolls his eyes.

  “Evan, can I see you for a minute?”

  “Sorry, man.” Jeremy actually looks genuinely sorry.

  I walk over to Mr. Quinones. “Do you have anything for me now?” he asks.

  I’ve been hoping he’d forget about it. “I know I’ve asked for an extension . . .”

  “Are you still interested in the internship?”

  I don’t know how to answer.

  “Your work from class is good; I was hoping to—”

  I look at the floor and say, “It’s not a good idea. The internship isn’t really for me.”

  Blank. Just an empty stare back that makes Mr. Q’s face look like someone shut him off.

  Hoping to make this better, I offer, “Maybe once I graduate. If the program is still available and art is something I—”

  “You’re not interested?” I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

  “Evan”—the switch is back on—“you don’t have to do this. Any of it. All this stuff, art and—it’s your decision. The internship isn’t a commitment for life. I think it’s a good way to figure out what you don’t want.”

  He’s right. Every choice, every decision seems so important to me. Maybe it could feel good to take on something, make a choice, as if it’s okay for it not to be perfect. I nod and say, “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.”

  I stand in line to get my lunch and notice Henry and Jeremy already sitting down. Henry smiles and Jeremy motions me over. I nod and wave, trying to seem ordinary, just in case anyone is staring and can tell just by looking at me that I’ve changed. That Henry and I are different.

  Lunchtime isn’t always a welcome break for me. The cafeteria is a social place, and stories get shared and rumors are born. Keeping a low profile has been a fairly good strategy, but the last few months I’ve had a bit more attention than I’m comfortable with. And after the very, very recent events, I’m super nervous about not just my worlds colliding but my whole universe getting incredibly messy.

  As I set my tray down on the table, Jeremy wastes no time getting the conversation started. He leans in to Henry, who’s seated across from him, and says, “Be prepared, Kimball. Panos is going to be hanging out with artsy types in the city and maybe he’ll finally get laid.” Jeremy looks back at me. “Just be careful or you may be getting sexed up by the Mr. Qs of the world.”

  Tommy Goliski walks up at that exact moment and says, “What’s this?” He’s accompanied by his usual underlings as well as Ali.

  Ali smirks at Henry. “Hi, Henry.”

  “Hi, Ali.”

  “Hey, Evan. So how is your sex life?” Tommy wraps his arm around Ali’s waist. I struggle to keep my composure. “I’m wondering, does Mr. Q like it on top?”

  Henry chimes in. Jaw clenched. “Let’s leave.”

  “We’re not having a conversation. As in you and me.” Tommy leans in toward Henry. “I’m talking to your boyfriend, who is apparently into older men.” The underlings giggle. Literally.

  I try to lighten the mood. “Hey, Tommy. Jeremy’s a moron. We can all agree on that.” I look at Jeremy. “Right?” He nods.

  “No. I’m actually curious. Is there a teacher-student scandal going on?”

  “Probably in my parents’ bathroom.” Ali thinks she’s being clever.

  Henry’s jaw continues to tighten. “Ali, don’t.”

  Tommy shoves Henry’s shoulder. “Don’t tell her what to do. Just because you’re not a real man doesn’t make it okay to talk to a girl like that.” Henry looks up and across the table at me. I covertly shake my head.

  “Evan. Answer my question,” Tommy demands.

  I’m still looking at Henry. “No.”

  “No, you won’t answer, or no, you haven’t been laid?”

  “The latter.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? ‘The latt
er.’ Of course you haven’t been laid when you talk like that.”

  “Something going on here?” Mrs. Lynwood appears out of nowhere. Now everyone’s staring at us. “Everybody should find a seat and enjoy the pizza.” Tommy and his band of zombies shuffle along. I exhale.

  “That was close.” Jeremy shoves practically a whole slice of pizza into his mouth.

  “So what was Jeremy talking about?” Henry seems to be slowly calming down.

  “His internship. Dude, where have you been? Mr. Q is all over it, and probably . . .” Jeremy’s spitting out pizza as he talks.

  Henry wipes his face with a napkin. “Hey, you’re spraying me over here.”

  “Sorry.”

  I stare right at Jeremy. “Enough with the Mr. Q shit. Okay? It’s not like that. Why are you always such a grade-A fuck? You wonder why Tess was never interested? Really? You wonder?” I get up. “I have to get to class.”

  “I’ll walk you.” Henry gets up too and we leave Jeremy alone at the table. Between Tommy’s aggression and Jeremy’s full-on stupid, I’m seething. I don’t look back to see what he’s doing and honestly, I don’t care.

  twenty-eight

  The days leading up to Thanksgiving are some of the busiest at the deli, and next week will be even worse. I work every day, which is good news for a few reasons:

  1. I can use the money.

  2. I get very little attention at home as long as I’m working.

  3. I have zero time for a social life.

  The few moments of free time I do have are spent at the monastery.

  Being surrounded by the statues gives me the illusion of not being alone, while not having to deal with actual conversations. Plus—no surprises. And it’s still nice enough out to ride my bike. Going past Henry’s neighborhood on the way is also an added bonus. I’ve tried to avoid major contact since the lunchroom incident. He understands. Right now, neither of us can risk too much drama. But my mind plays tricks and I think I see and hear him everywhere I go. I can definitely still smell him, and that makes me miss Henry even more. I pull out my journal and start to sketch him. I sketch Henry the way he looked when we were in his room. When we kissed. How his eyes looked at me as if they needed to see me in order to continue to shine.