“… and catch up on their research at the same time.”
“Two birds, one stone.”
Since Alek had met them, the Boyces had finished each other’s sentences. Alek didn’t think he’d ever even seen them apart. His own parents had always divided their responsibilities, even if the nature of that division had changed since his mom started working. Alek’s mom might pick up groceries on the way back from work, and his dad would then cook dinner. But the Boyces would go to the grocery store together, then prepare the actual meal, and finally clean up and do the dishes together as well. He always saw Mr. Boyce in the passenger seat when Mrs. Boyce came to pick Becky up, and vice versa.
“Alek, look at…”
“… what we brought back from Geneva. It’s cast in the same mold as…”
“… the famous eighteenth-century model.”
The Boyces proudly produced a brass bell so large that Alek wondered how they had managed to carry it through the airport and into their home.
“Next time they want to get me up for school, they’re going to sneak into my room and gong it right next to my innocent sleeping head,” Becky said.
“Now, now, Rebecca…”
“… you know we’d never do that.”
“I know, I know! I was making a joke, guys.” Alek had never figured out how Becky ended up with her sense of humor when her parents took everything literally.
“Listen to us…”
“… rattling on like this. You young people…”
“… probably want to go to the basement and watch movies instead of…”
“… listening to two old fuddy-duddies going on and on about bells.”
“Becky, honey, we’re going to go…”
“… to visit some friends in Baltimore this weekend. We’ll leave you…”
“… the number of where we’re staying and some money.”
“Great to see you again, Alek, and please…”
“… send our best to your parents.”
Becky grabbed another Diet Dr Pepper, having already depleted her first, and Alek followed her downstairs to the basement.
“Your parents are awesome, Becky.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re just so the total opposite of mine.”
“I guess. But I’d give anything to have that homemade food around. You know, the first number I knew by heart was Scotto’s Pizzeria.”
Alek and Becky assumed their familiar places on the basement sofa in slightly awkward silence.
“Weren’t you telling me about that guy you like?” Becky asked.
“I didn’t say I liked him!”
“Alek, that’s why you overreacted in the cafeteria today. All Ethan did was ask to chill later. You have no idea what’s going on with him. You barely know the guy.”
“But—”
“I’m not done. This is the good part.” Becky paused for a second and took a deep, long swig of her Diet Dr Pepper. “This is why I know I’m right, because I know what it’s like to overreact when you have a crush on someone.” Becky paused again, just long enough to make her point. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Because I’d rather save us both the embarrassment of conjuring up the moment of me thrusting myself at you like a woman of the night, okay?”
“I do, Becky. But I know what it’s like to have a crush. I remember what it felt like when I asked Gail out the first time, or when I danced with Linsay at the Spring Fling last year.”
“And what were your two forays into the dating world like?”
“You know—sweaty palms, knots in my stomach, tongue-tied. Everything they talk about in movies. That’s not what I feel like when I talk to Ethan. And whatever I do feel, it’s not because I have a crush on him—it’s because he’s a junior and a D.O. and the kind of guy who starts an epic food fight.”
“So, are you saying you don’t feel that way around him, or you do?”
“I’m saying…” Alek started, then stopped himself. “I’m saying, I really missed you, Becky. It’s good to be here with you.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, dumb-ass.”
“Becky, I think I’d know if I was gay,” Alek insisted. “Now, can we talk about something else?”
“So you’re saying you’re not?” Becky persisted.
“Look, just because I didn’t want to kiss you back doesn’t mean I like boys,” Alek shot back.
Becky put her soda down and stood up. “Listen, it’s really good to talk to you and I’ve missed you, too, and I haven’t had anyone to see movies with and even if Mandy and Suzie were around I like you more than them, but if you say stupid things like that, you can just get out of here right now, understand?”
Alek jerked around, surprised by Becky’s outburst, and accidentally knocked over his soda.
“You dumb-ass.” Becky ran to the bathroom and returned with some slightly damp paper towels. “Now remember, dab gently to lift the stain instead of stamping it in.”
“Thanks, Martha Stewart.”
Alek crumpled the paper towels into little balls, dabbed them until the stain went away, and tossed them into the wastebasket. “I’m sorry, Becky.”
“Okay then.” Becky sat back down and, just like that, everything was okay again.
“I guess what I mean is I just don’t think about guys that way. I don’t know what else to say. I mean, I’m fourteen years old. Don’t you think that if I was gay I’d know by now?”
“I don’t know. One of my uncles didn’t come out until he was fortysomething. He was already married and had kids. I loved having Thanksgiving with him. My uncle, his ex-wife, his new partner, his ex-wife’s second husband, the kids from the first marriage, and the stepkids from his ex-wife’s second marriage. That family tree branched out all over the place.”
“Well, these days no one waits until they’re that old to come out.”
“All I’m saying is that it sounds to me like you have a crush on Ethan. I don’t even know if that means you’re gay.”
Alek looked away from Becky. The possibility that he was gay had never occurred to him. He had enjoyed kissing the girlfriends he’d had in middle school. He never checked out girls the way that some of the other guys his age did, but he had been brought up with better manners than that. And he never thought about guys that way when he was changing in the locker room for gym.
“Becky, if I were gay, and I’m not saying that I am, but if I were, would you still want to be my best friend?” Asking Becky that question directly took all the courage that Alek had been able to muster.
“Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“Alek, not to be harsh, but I don’t care if you’re gay or not. Nobody does.” Alek started to say something, but Becky continued, not giving him a chance to respond. “Because anyone who thinks there is something wrong with being gay is like those people you read about in History who believed in segregation. But I bet you Ethan cares, because it sounds to me like he has a crush on you, too.”
“Becky, you’re a great best friend.”
“And you’re a cornball. Apologize to Ethan. Since you apologized to me, there’s no reason you can’t apologize to him. I’m much more intimidating than he is.”
10
“No one gets to church on time,” Alek insisted through a yawn as the Khederians scrambled their way through the chaotic Sunday morning ritual of trying to get out of the house. It figured that the one way his parents chose to defy Armenian tradition was by insisting on punctuality. “Last week, the Hagopians didn’t even show up until we’d been there for two hours. Two hours!”
“It’s important to me to set a good example,” his mother insisted.
An example to whom? Alek wanted to ask, but decided against risking it.
In spite of the plans, preparations, and calculations that were made each Saturday night, it always felt like the universe conspired to set a series of events into motion that would prevent the Kheder
ians from leaving the house the following morning with the ninety minutes needed to make the trip to church comfortably. This morning, for example, every time Alek went to use the bathroom, Nik was already using it. In addition, and equally inexplicably, he spent fifteen minutes looking for the jacket and tie he’d set aside the night before, finally finding they’d somehow made their way to the basement.
And when the universe wasn’t getting in his way, his parents were. Inevitably, just as the family was ready to leave, his parents would remember something that absolutely needed to get done before they could depart. Today, they chose sweeping the garage.
“Are you done, boys?” his father called out. Alek knelt down, holding the dustpan as far away from himself as possible, while Nik swept the dirt in his direction.
“You’re getting me dirty on purpose!”
“Am not—you just don’t know how to hold it,” Nik protested.
“I’m sorry, Honor-Track-older-brother-of-mine. Please, show me the right way to hold a dustpan.”
Nik dropped the broom and grabbed the dustpan out of Alek’s hands. “See, you want to hold it up at an angle, like this,” he instructed.
“That’s what I was doing. And this is what you were doing.” Alek demonstrated, using the broom to kick the dirt at Nik.
“Mom, Alek’s making a mess!” Nik said as their mother entered the garage.
“Aleksander, don’t dirty your brother’s clothes! We’re already late!” She clasped a single strand of pearls around her neck and squinted at her watch anxiously.
“We’re only late because you’re making us clean the garage!” Alek cried. “I still don’t understand why this couldn’t wait until we get back!”
“Well, God forbid something happened to us and people had to come into our home—what would they think if they found a dirty garage?”
“Let me great this straight,” Alek said. “If—God forbid—we were kidnapped or got into a terrible car accident, something so terrible that people had to forcibly enter our home, the thing you’re concerned about is the cleanliness of our garage? In that scenario, I hope that’s the worst thing we have to think about.”
“Why are you always so morbid, Alek?” his mother asked.
“Seriously,” Nik chimed in. “Have you thought about therapy?” Nik turned around and spoke to their mother. “It’s okay, Mom—I can finish up here by myself.”
“Thanks, honey, I know I can always count on you.” Then she turned to Alek. “You can help me look for the car keys.”
Alek rolled his eyes in what he wished was surprise. The final act of the Sunday morning departure ritual was that his parents would misplace something they couldn’t leave without.
“But you guys have three copies! You can’t find any of them?”
“Well, I know I lost a pair when my handbag was stolen last month,” his mother recalled.
“It wasn’t stolen. You left it in the cart at Whole Foods.”
“Well, yes, but nobody turned it in to the lost and found, right? That means it was stolen.”
Alek put his head in his hands. “Well, what about the spare set?”
“We gave those to the Eisingers in case of an emergency.”
“So why don’t I just run over and get them?”
“Honey, do you know how early it is? On a Sunday? I’d hate to disturb them.”
Alek contemplated calling his mother’s attention to the ridiculousness of asking neighbors to hold on to keys in the event of an emergency and then deciding not to claim them in an actual emergency, but decided on a more practical tactic.
“What about Dad’s keys?”
“Well, I’m sure I put them right here when I came in last night,” his father said, inspecting the empty bowl on the semicircular table just inside the Khederians’ front door.
“Did you retrace your steps after you came in?” his mother asked.
“That’s a good idea, honey! Let’s see, I came in, took off my shoes, then went to the bathroom,” Alek’s father said, re-creating each incident as he was describing it. “Then I washed my hands, went to the basement—no, wait—the kitchen first—and poured myself a glass of water. Or was it Pellegrino?”
“I don’t think you actually need to narrate every detail,” Alek said through clenched teeth. “Just see if the keys somehow ended up somewhere else.”
“Now you’ve broken my concentration and I’m going to need to start again,” his father said. He walked back to the front door. “I came in last night, took off my shoes, and then went to the bathroom. After that I went to the basement—wait—no—the kitchen, and then—”
“I found the keys—they’re in the car,” Nik yelled from the garage.
“Yes! That’s it! I must’ve left them in the car!” Alek’s father exclaimed. They filed into the garage, and Alek silently prayed thanks that Nik didn’t ask to drive. His brother wasn’t a bad driver, but the way their mother clenched her knuckles as if she were on a roller coaster whenever Nik practiced with his permit increased everybody’s stress level.
A few miles later, right before they were about to turn onto the highway, his mother asked, “Did someone remember to bring the tabbouleh?” They collectively groaned and, a sharp U-turn later, were heading back home to pick up the bulgur wheat/parsley/tomato salad that his dad had prepared the night before for the potluck following services.
And they were back on the road, the Tupperware of tabbouleh sitting on Alek’s lap because their father was worried that it would spill in the trunk. Alek had given up pointing out that the plastic container could safely hold liquid when it was properly sealed.
Alek looked at the car clock. The seven forty-five seemed to be mocking him, because he knew instead of just showing up late like everyone else, his father would insist on speeding to try to make up the lost time. Alek just prayed they didn’t get pulled over like they did last year. Seeing his mother coerce, beg, and threaten her way out of the ticket was fun, but he’d rather not risk an encounter with the law again.
They arrived at the church just as the service was starting and sprinted into the cathedral, handing the tabbouleh off to a volunteer like a baton in an Olympic relay. Alek had to employ his entire arsenal of activities and mental exercises to keep himself awake during the service. First, he counted the number of people in attendance—this Sunday, 157 Armenians and their loved ones had woken up early to make the nine a.m. service. Or rather, that’s how many people were sitting in the pews by the end. Just as Alek had predicted, most of them trickled in sometime over the course of the next hour.
Next, he started naming all of the scenes depicted in the stained glass windows: the archangels, the Holy Family, the Ascension. Last, he came to the patron saint of the church, Saint Stephen, the first Christian martyr, who allegedly prayed to Christ to forgive his murderers as they were stoning him to death. Alek’s eyes lingered on Saint Stephen, hoping that Ethan would be as kind to him tomorrow as Saint Stephen had been to his killers. After all, freaking out in a cafeteria had to be a lesser offense than stoning someone to death. Even if after that freak-out, you sat next to the person in Algebra for two days wanting—but not finding—the courage to apologize. Right?
Alek watched the priests walk up and down the aisles, swinging metal globes filled with smoky incense attached to rods on chains. Every time, Alek hoped that one of the chains would snap, sending the metal orbs and burning incense all over the congregation. He didn’t want the cathedral set ablaze, but he did think it would provide a welcome distraction.
The priest was finally wending his way to the communion, which would be followed by the sermon. After the sermon had been delivered in Armenian, the priest would repeat it in English so all the faux Armenians like Alek who couldn’t understand Armenian could still benefit from the wise words. Nik always made a point of reacting to the first delivery of the service, so the whole congregation could see he understood Armenian. Sometimes Alek would react along, nodding knowingly with the adu
lts or looking solemn for a certain passage, just to irritate Nik.
Two and a half hours later the service finally ended, and the families filed out of the cathedral and into the potluck line. When the weather permitted, like today, they sat outdoors on the great lawn behind the church. This time was also used to keep the congregation abreast of various church-related organizations, like Saturday and Sunday school, Armenian conversation and Bible studies classes, and the Armenian Church Youth Organization of America (ACYOA) chapter, of which Nik was, predictably, an active member. Alek dreaded the day his parents forced him to join one of the church youth groups.
The Khederians were one of the last families to get to the potluck, since Alek’s mother liked to sit up front for the service. By the time they reached their tabbouleh dish on the food table, it was almost gone. Alek could see his father smile proudly, especially because a neighboring tabbouleh dish had remained untouched. After piling their plates with lamb, pastries, yogurt, and salad, the Khederians joined Nik’s girlfriend’s parents, the Hovanians, at a large round table.
“Do you want any more lemonade?” Nik asked Nanar before he sat down.
“No, thank you,” Nanar replied formally.
Alek had never been able to get a read on Nik’s girlfriend. She was almost as tall as Nik, but curvy where he was beanpole straight, with the prerequisite dark brown Armenian hair and eyes. Although she was just a few months older than Nik, she almost looked like a woman, while Nik still straddled that awkward space between being a boy and a man. The only thing that Alek could tell she and Nik had in common, besides being Armenian, was wanting to please their parents.
“Are you sure?” Nik asked her again.
“Yes, I’m sure. Thank you, Andranik,” Nanar replied.
Nik sat down next to his girlfriend. But instead of immediately digging into his food, he took a moment, looked at her, and smiled. Nanar smiled back and put her hand on his. The entire exchange only took a few seconds, but reminded Alek how much more Nik smiled when he was around Nanar.
Mrs. Hovanian took a bite of her bureg, a savory pastry triangle, and started coughing violently. She was a plump woman, shorter and darker than most Armenians, with a pronounced nose and bright red cheeks. For a moment, Alek thought she was going to commit the unpardonable Armenian sin of spitting out food, but she managed to swallow it down with a large gulp of water.
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