The Dangerous Art of Blending In
Page 21
On my early-morning shifts, I see my dad. It’s weird to be on the other side of the counter waiting on him. Linda lives in the duplex in the front. My studio is in the back; it used to be storage, but it has a bathroom. I’m not sure if it’s a legal rental, but it’s a palace as far as I’m concerned. Linda stops by from time to time to make sure I’m eating. I get a lot of day-old doughnuts and bagels.
I see my dad about once a week. I haven’t seen my mother since I left. I know it’s going to sound odd, but I miss my family. Not my actual family, but the idea of what my family could have been. I wonder sometimes what would have happened, where we’d be, if just one thing were different—if somehow one of the bad things that took place never existed. Would that have made a difference? Would we still be together?
My phone buzzes.
When ru coming over?
I text back: Leaving soon.
Henry texts back: Merry Xmas
Henry is the first to greet me with a hug and peck on the cheek. His parents are great, but real kissing is still not something we’re comfortable with in front of them. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas.” I hug him back.
Claire and Mr. Kimball are already at the kitchen island.
“Mom, you have to make more bacon. The rest of the family and Nate are not going have enough when they get here.” Claire adds three more strips to her plate.
“Merry Christmas.” Mrs. Kimball puts her arms around me.
“What time is everybody coming over again?” Henry asks.
“Just before dinner, like around fiveish?” Mr. Kimball comes over and hugs me with one arm.
“Evan and I are going to go for a drive. It’s really clear out there today.”
We are?
I look at him, a little perplexed. He raises his eyebrows at me and grabs a single pancake from the stack. “Let’s go!”
In Henry’s car I resist the urge to ask where we’re going. Instead I say, as casually as I can, “This is my first Christmas with your whole family.”
“Feeling the pressure?” He looks over at me. His hair is extra floppy today.
That’s a problem. I sit on my hands.
“Nervous?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“You should be. I’m kinda the golden child. The expectation is high.”
“Claire is the golden child. You’re a child.”
We both laugh.
“It’ll be great, and whatever isn’t, we’ll make great. Honestly, there are only two idiots in our family and even they won’t say anything. If they do, you know Claire will shut that shit down.” He reaches for my hand.
We’re parked as close as we can by the rocks that meet the lake, right below the Field Museum. We sit there with the car running and look at the skyline.
“It’s magic, right?” I can hear the awe in Henry’s voice.
“Yep.”
He turns to me and smiles a soft, even smile. Maybe it’s the sun reflecting off the frozen lake and bouncing in through the windshield, but his green eyes look bigger and brighter than I’ve ever seen them.
He takes my left hand in his right and our fingers grab on so tightly they begin to feel numb. But this kind of numb is the good kind. The last thing I want is for this moment to end, but I made a promise to Mr. Kimball. “We should get back before it gets too late.”
“Stay here a minute. I have to get something.”
He climbs out of the car, and the cold air comes in like a blast. He jogs to the trunk, and I can see him in the side mirror. He’s pulling something out, but I can’t make out what it is. The door opens again, and the cold comes back in with Henry. He sinks into the driver’s seat and hands me a package wrapped in brown paper. It’s rectangular and about the size of a shirt box.
I say, “My gift for you is back at the house. I thought we were all doing presents tonight. With your family.”
“This is for you. I didn’t want to give it to you with anyone else around.”
The light shining into the car is casting this glow on Henry’s face. Every feature looks like it’s sculpted from perfect, flawless stone, except that he’s real.
My hands are shaking. I run my fingers over where he’s written EVAN on the top right-hand corner of the package. Just to make sure it’s really there. I turn it over and slowly tear at the seam.
Inside is a brown cardboard box. I flip the box, place it on my lap, and lift the lid.
I look back up at Henry. His eyes are wet.
I look back down at the box. I peel away the white tissue paper. Inside are ten black and white composition notebooks. Each one has a title box in the center with a few wide-ruled lines.
On each book cover, in the title box, he’s written: For Every Normal Day.
I feel the tears come rushing down. “You remembered.”
He nods. Softly he says, “It’s a start.”
And then he reaches for me and pulls me to him.
Author’s Note
“If you want to be loved, never show people who you truly are.”
I first heard those words from my family when I was five years old. They would be repeated often and have haunted me for most of my life. I believed and lived by them. Eventually I grew to hate what they stood for.
In this book, Evan is terrified about being found out. About the abuse at home and about his sexuality. As many of us do, he tries hard to compartmentalize the different pieces of his life to cope. But eventually, he can’t do it any longer, and all the pieces come to light.
In my own life I spent many years trying to hide like Evan. I grew up in a small midwestern town in a strict Greek household, and I was terrified of being found out. Would being “found out” make my family love me less? Would I lose the few friends I had worked so hard to make in high school?
When my family and I arrived in America, like most immigrant children, I had one goal: to fit in. To try to be a part of this new world. Standing out was never a goal, but it was almost impossible not to. I didn’t look like all the other kids in our small town. My home-packed school lunches smelled weird. I barely understood this new language, and when I did eventually speak it, it was with an odd, stuttering accent. There were unexplained bruises on my face and body. And I was gay.
All this added up to a portrait of someone who wasn’t doing a great job blending in. But I tried, working hard at being a good student, a good Christian, a good son. I failed miserably at all of it, until I no longer could fake it. I no longer wanted to. My own personal coming out was slow, over time, and not as bold as Evan’s. I struggled with accepting myself, but once I did, my life took on real meaning.
Even though I had been encouraged by therapists to write down my experiences as a way of healing, I could never get beyond the first page. It was too painful. I had gotten to a place where I could talk to a professional, but putting it down on paper felt too revealing, too raw.
My best friend, Jennifer Niven, suggested I give the story to someone else. That night I started writing and Evan suddenly appeared.
I’ve been incredibly fortunate in the way my life has unfolded over the years, but that hasn’t happened by accident. There have been a number of amazing people who have shown me the true meaning of unconditional love and support. People who have become my chosen family.
Feeling isolated, afraid, suicidal, wrong, and unworthy are all things I have wrestled with. Thankfully, I learned that I’m not alone. I know there are many kids out there who are struggling—I’ve met them when I’ve traveled across the country for my work. Please know that there are people and organizations that are there to support you. They want to help. Let them. Reach out and show the world who you truly are.
LGBTQ ORGANIZATIONS
The Trevor Project—www.thetrevorproject.org
It Gets Better Project—www.itgetsbetter.org
LGBT National Help Center—www.glbthotline.org
GLSEN (Gay, Lesbian & Straight Education Alliance)—www.gls
en.org
PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays)—www.pflag.org
ABUSE
National Child Abuse Hotline 1-800-4-A-CHILD (1-800-422-4453) and its affiliate, Childhelp—www.childhelp.org
BULLYING
Stomp Out Bullying—www.stompoutbullying.org
StopBullying—www.stopbullying.gov
Acknowledgments
When I lived in NYC, I walked every day for at least eight miles. A lot can be worked through on a great walk. Even more can be discovered, not just in the physical world around you but also in the one in your head. When I started writing The Dangerous Art of Blending In, I often would drift off to those NYC walks in my head. They held a lot of memories of personal experiences I was working out. When I finally finished putting them into a story, it was frightening to think that someone else might actually read them. That someone was my strong, smart champion of an agent, Kerry Sparks. Her wisdom, care, and editor’s sensibility gave me the courage to write from a very authentic place. Thank you, Kerry, and everyone at Levine Greenberg Rostan for being such incredible champions.
Thank you, Alessandra Balzer, my genius editor at Balzer + Bray. Without your insight, intelligence, and complete confidence in this story, I’m not sure that I would have had the courage to dig deeper. Thank you for “having my back” and for being a fellow lover of meats and cheeses. Alessandra, you and the entire team at Balzer + Bray/HarperCollins make me look good: Kelsey Murphy, Renée Cafiero, Alison Donalty and Michelle Cunningham, Jenny Sheridan, Kathy Faber, Jessie Elliot, Kerry Moynagh, and Andrea Pappenheimer, Cindy Hamilton and Stephanie Boyar, Nellie Kurtzman, Sabrina Abballe, Bess Braswell, and Jace Molan.
Thank you to all my family of friends who never judge, always champion, and are more than ready to find the next great hole in the wall for food and beverages. Especially the immensely gifted and gorgeous Jennifer Niven, who listened to every far-flung idea and gently nudged me to be better. You, dear friend, my sister, my best, will never fully know what you mean to me.
Thank you to Judy Kessler for feeding me the best pasta dinners in Los Angeles. Ever. And for believing and seeing something in me all those years ago when I couldn’t see it myself.
Thank you to one of my first readers, Beth Kujawski, for your wise words on a very rough initial manuscript and for all your baking genius. Seriously, what this woman can do with flour, butter, and sugar is nothing short of a miracle.
Thank you, Josh Flores, for being my first teen reader and for your contagious enthusiasm, not only for this story but for books and authors in general. I cannot wait to read your first book.
My dog Baxter, who sadly passed away six months before this book came out, was a grumpy rescue who rescued me. For anyone who has a pet, you know all too well the power they have over our souls. Thank you, Baxter, for making it not easy but always worth it.
A big thanks most of all to Ed Baran (and his family) for taking such good care of my heart and always making sure that I knew how much I was loved. Such unconditional support and love has made so much possible, including this book.
Lastly, thanks to the number of people I spoke to who have thrived on the other side of childhood trauma. You are all my heroes.
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About the Author
Peter Konerko Photography
ANGELO SURMELIS was raised in Greece until he immigrated to Illinois at the age of five. He currently lives in Los Angeles. An award-winning designer, Surmelis has been featured on over fifty television shows, including the Today show and Extra, as well as in magazines such as InStyle, TV Guide, and Entertainment Weekly. He has worked as a host on networks like HGTV and TLC. This is his debut novel. He can be found online here: www.angelohome.com.
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Books by Angelo Surmelis
The Dangerous Art of Blending In
Credits
Cover photography by Christine Blackburne/MergeLeft Reps Inc.
Cover design by Michelle Cunningham
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE DANGEROUS ART OF BLENDING IN. Copyright © 2018 by Angelo Surmelis. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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EPub Edition © January 2018 ISBN 9780062659026
ISBN 978-0-06-265900-2
17 18 19 20 21 PC/LSCH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
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