Hold My Hand

by Michael Barakiva

  “I’m not from around here, in case you couldn’t tell.” Remi leaned into his vowel sounds, elongating his vowels to emphasize his Australian accent, as he launched into the story of his life.

  Alek watched in horror as everyone else at the table fell under the spell of the tan young man with perfect rows of ivory teeth and blond ringlets cherubically framing his head.

  Like an accent makes you interesting, Alek thought to himself. Like, all I’d have to do is move to another country and then—wow—I’d be incredibly interesting, too.

  “Then we moved to Brisbane, but I was only there for a few years, because I graduated from high school in three years and then came to the States to go to uni. But after the first year, things took a turn in Oz, so I went back to help my mum out.”

  “Is she okay now?” Mr. Khederian poured Remi a glass of sparkling water from the decanter on the table.

  “Thank God, yes. She had a real scare, but she pulled through.” Remi took a sip of the purified water before continuing. “I just got back to the States a few weeks ago. If I pick up an extra class every semester and do a few summer courses, I’ll be able to graduate on sched.”

  Alek knew there were details that Remi was omitting: that while living with the Novicks in South Windsor, Remi and Ethan had started dating. But it wasn’t Alek’s story to tell.

  Remi stood up and removed the three-button jacket he was wearing over the tight T-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders like a jealous lover. “By the way, happy birthday!” He reached behind Ethan’s chair and punched Alek playfully. “Sorry I didn’t bring you anything. But I promise I will next year, okay?” He swung his jacket onto the back of the chair and sat back down, propping one arm on the table. His bicep bulged obligingly.

  Alek had never been this close to someone who looked like he’d walked out of the pages of a magazine, like one of the images from Ethan’s room had stepped out of the glossy photograph and assumed three dimensions. In spite of the season, Remi was tanned bronze, and the maroon T-shirt accentuated the V-shaped torso that every guy aspired to. He looked air-brushed, down to the sculpted eyebrows and perfectly groomed stubble. Remi looked too perfect, Alek decided. Like if anyone actually touched him, he’d dissolve into a pool of red, blue, and green computer pixels.

  “You guys are so cool to take your son and his boyfriend out to a posh New York meal.” Remi turned his eyes, like spotlights, on Alek. “I hope you know how lucky you are to have folks like these.”

  Alek almost gagged while his parents basked in the compliment.

  “Your parents, are they not … as open-minded?” Mrs. Khederian gently put her hand on Remi’s.

  “That’s one way of putting it. My dad’s basically the most close-minded guy Down Under. Why do you think I went to uni on the other side of the world?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Khederian shared a look, half sympathy, half self-satisfaction for being the kind of modern, liberal parents who accepted their gay son without question. As long as he kept up his GPA, of course.

  “Sorry that took so long.” Nik finally returned carrying a folding chair far shabbier than the red-velvet chairs that populated the rest of the dining room. “This was all they had.”

  Alek waited for Remi to offer to take the flimsy chair. But he didn’t. And Nik’s joy at his own sacrifice was all the proof Alek needed that this man crush was blossoming at a dangerous speed and intensity. At this rate, Alek was pretty sure Nik was going to ask Remi to “watch the game” or “play some pickup” or any of those other things that straight guys did when they wanted to initiate a bromance.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind if I stay?” Remi asked Alek’s parents, who almost fell over themselves assuring him that his presence was welcome. And if that wasn’t bad enough, what happened when the waiter arrived a few moments later disturbed Alek even more.

  “Can you recommend a full red with body, but not too sweet?” Remi picked up the wine list, which had previously been lying ignored on the table.

  Alek expected the waiter to laugh, or at least have the decency to card Remi, who couldn’t possibly be twenty-one.

  “I like the Oregon cab.” The waiter opened the leather-bound binder and pointed to a selection. “The cab franc is also great.”

  Remi looked at Alek’s parents in the perfect act of a deferential young man.

  “Whichever you like,” Mr. Khederian responded offhandedly, as though he and his wife didn’t have a policy of not drinking in front of their children and of not providing alcohol for minors. As if this was a totally natural occurrence. AS IF IT WASN’T ILLEGAL FOR REMI TO BE DRINKING.

  Remi’s presence, like the music of Orpheus, apparently soothed even the wildest beasts, as the Khederians didn’t complain about a single thing for the rest of the meal. Alek’s mom didn’t send her pork tenderloin back. Not even once. And Alek’s dad didn’t tell the waiter which items he thought should be on the menu, the way he usually did. Nik didn’t even try to eat food off Alek’s plate.

  But Alek would’ve happily upset the karmic universe and sacrificed the waiter’s happiness if it meant removing Remi from his birthday dinner. It just didn’t seem fair that the event that was supposed to celebrate Alek had become all about his boyfriend’s ex.

  “Remember that chew and screw we did at Westville?” Remi asked Ethan between bites of rack of lamb.

  “Totes.” Ethan laughed.

  “What’s a ‘chew and screw’?” Alek hated having to ask but hated being excluded even more.

  Remi pitched his voice down so that it would be inaudible to Alek’s parents, who were currently engaged in a heated debate with Ethan’s father about why Republicans repeatedly voted against their own interests. “You know: dine and dash, eat and run.”

  “People actually do that?” Alek asked. “Isn’t that a violation of, like, the most fundamental Lockean principles?”

  “I didn’t realize you’d landed yourself such a smarty, Eth.” Remi wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Bet he’s a good influence on you.” He winked. “Unlike me.”

  While the words were ostensibly complimentary, Alek somehow felt insulted nonetheless. Alek put his hand on Ethan’s, intertwining their fingers on the table.

  One of his favorite things about being with Ethan was that they held hands everywhere and anywhere—in suburban malls, New York City subways, at family or school functions. He knew there were places in the country, and certainly the world, where it was still dangerous to be gay, let alone show it publicly. And although they’d certainly gotten their share of obnoxious looks and even comments, Alek treasured living in a place where he didn’t have to pretend to be someone else and having a boyfriend who was never scared to show the world who he was.

  But for the first time, Ethan’s hand recoiled from Alek’s. And not just a few inches away. Under the table. Out of view. Alek felt its absence even more acutely than he would’ve its presence.

  By the time that Beckett, the bushy-mustached waiter, came to ask about dessert, Alek didn’t even have to feign queasiness to bring the meal to an end. “I think we’ll just get the check,” he responded, more curtly than he meant to. “I don’t feel so great.”

  “Is it something from the restaurant?” Alek’s mom asked conspiratorially, begging for the evidence she needed to prove her theories that no restaurant could be trusted under any circumstances.

  “I think I just wanna get home, okay?” Alek replied miserably.

  “That’s too bad.” Remi's T-shirt lifted as he slipped his jacket back on, his ripped abs revealing themselves for a blinding moment. “I was going to invite you guys out to this kickin’ party in Greenpoint.”

  “Really?” The curiosity dripped off Ethan’s voice.

  “Yeah—it’s off the G, so you know it’s legit. House party called Church. Heard about it from some great peeps I met at Metropolitan a few nights ago. You know what…” Alek could see the wheels turning, and he didn’t like the direction they were going. “You wanna
come solo, E?”

  Ethan deliberated for a single torturous moment before making the only acceptable decision. “Thanks, man, I’m good.”

  Alek knew that Ethan would leave the restaurant right now and never mention Remi or the party in Greenpoint again. But he really didn’t see the point of making Ethan suffer pointlessly. Besides, Alek was so tired of disappointing Ethan that being able to give him what he wanted for once was its own reward. “You should go,” he said.

  “Really?” Ethan asked, hope blossoming in his puppy eyes.

  Alek nodded with what he hoped was a modicum of cool.

  “You. Are. The. Best. B. F. Ever!” Ethan exclaimed, slipping on his waist-length, puffy, neon-blue down coat. “Feel better, okay? And happy birthday!”

  “I’ll leave the keys with the doorman,” Ethan’s dad called over his shoulder as he put on his very professorial jacket with elbow patches.

  “Roger that.”

  “You’re letting Ethan go out by himself this late? In the city?” Mrs. Khederian tried her best to make it sound like she wasn’t judging Ethan’s dad’s parenting.

  But Ethan’s dad, protected by his perpetual cluelessness, didn’t even notice. “Of course. He’ll be seventeen soon. He can just take an early train in tomorrow.”

  The Khederians exchanged the kind of judgy look that Armenians had mastered, that somehow attributed the ills of all the world to New World parenting.

  Nik looked on enviously, like a prisoner watching his cell mate go free. “You have no idea how lucky you are,” he whispered to Ethan. “Even when I’m in college, I’m going to have to ask for permission to stay out past ten.”

  “Feel better.” Remi popped a mint from the maître d’s desk into his mouth. “And happy birthday, Alex.”

  “It’s Alek,” he corrected his boyfriend’s ex. “Alek. With a k.”

  Remi smiled. “Isn’t that what I said?”

  8

  Alek suffered through church the next day, waiting a few respectable hours before calling Ethan on his new cell phone. He left a second message that evening, hoping it didn’t sound half as pathetic to Ethan as it did to himself. He snuck glimpses at his cell phone during all of his morning periods the next day, the final Monday before winter break, but the only thing that changed on the analog device’s display was the time, mocking him with its apathy. He burst into the cafeteria, searching for Ethan so that he could interrogate him about everything that had happened after they’d parted two nights ago. Even if Ethan hadn’t gone to some cool hipster NYC party, Alek was sure that Ethan’s night had been better than his, which consisted of listening to his parents giddily extolling the virtues of Remi like he was a god who had taken the form of a human mortal and deigned to visit them.

  “What excellent manners—you can tell he’s been brought up right!”

  “And did you see how kind he was to the waiter?”

  “So few young people these days really understand the art of conversation.”

  But Ethan was nowhere to be seen during lunch. “Been MIA all day,” Dustin informed Alek. He called Ethan on his new old-fashioned cell phone, again, to make sure he was all right, but the phone went straight to voice mail. Again. He texted him, investing a full minute on the barbaric contraption that he’d received for his birthday to write U OK? Alek spent lunch with Becky, the two of them crammed at the end of the skaters’ table, catching her up on his birthday the night before.

  “I hope everything’s okay,” Alek told Becky as they walked down the locker-lined halls of South Windsor High to Health class. “With Ethan, I mean.”

  “Of course it’s okay.” Becky popped a bubble with the gum she was chewing. “I mean, what could possibly go wrong with Ethan hanging out with his ex unchaperoned at some super-cool house party in a hipster neighborhood in Brooklyn?”

  A pit of dread formed in Alek’s stomach. “I am going to revoke your best friend license.”

  “Oh, chill out, dude,” Becky said. They filed into the classroom, sitting next to each other in the second row, close to the door and opposite the windows.

  “I hope you do egg-cellent in your final assignment this marking period.” Mrs. Sturgeon giggled at her own joke, adjusting the cat’s-eye glasses she always wore. They had a long chain that looped down to her shoulders. “But as we’ve been learning all month, being a parent is an enormous responsibility, which is what you’ll learn in this egg-cercise!”

  Mrs. Sturgeon called out each student’s name, who then went up to her desk and received a hard-boiled egg that Mrs. Sturgeon had specially marked. After she handed out the last one, she detailed the parameters of the assignment, explaining how the egg had to be carried at all times, just as if it were a real baby. “If you return your child to me after break in the same condition that you are receiving him, her, or them, you will receive an A. A few cracks: B. Missing shell: C.” Mrs. Sturgeon slipped off her glasses, getting serious. “And if you lose your child, you will fail. Please don’t lose your child.”

  Alek had spent the previous night painstakingly gluing cotton balls to the sides of a tin tea box that he had deemed just the right size. He spent the rest of class drawing eyes, a nose, a small mouth, and an impressive curved mustache on his egg. “Becky, meet Señor Huevo.”

  “Hola, Señor Huevo.” Becky had stuck her egg unceremoniously in a cardboard box.

  Alek finally heard from Ethan right after school, when he got a text message back. It said Ethan had woken up feeling sick and that his dad had let him stay in the city with Lesley until he was better. Alek called him twice that night, getting his voice mail both times. He woke up the next morning to a text from Ethan saying that he was back in South Windsor but still not well enough for school. They spoke for a few minutes that Tuesday night, just long enough for Alek to hear about the details of Lesley’s beautiful apartment and the stomach flu that descended on Ethan out of the blue. But before he could get the details about Remi and the party, Ethan excused himself to get back to sleep.

  When Ethan returned to school on Wednesday, Alek finally had the opportunity to question him properly during lunch.

  But Ethan was even less responsive than the mystery meat loaf being served that day. “The party was okay.”

  “And what about Remi?”

  “You know—Remi’s still Remi.”

  “What does that mean?” Alek pressed.

  “It means all he thinks about is himself. Just like he always did.”

  Ethan’s curt tone made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about it more. And Alek didn’t make him.

  “You know what I can’t wait for?” Ethan changed the subject.

  Alek shook his head.

  Ethan flashed two Intrepid museum tickets with passes to the Starship Enterprise Simulation. “This weekend!”

  “You got them!”

  “Natch!”

  “Our first authorized trip into the city!” Alek beamed. “And guess who I’ll be bringing with us?”

  “Someone’s going to crash our date?”

  Alek opened his tin tea box and revealed the hard-boiled egg inside, cushioned with cotton balls on all sides. “Meet Señor Huevo!”

  “I just chucked mine in my locker the day Mrs. Sturgeon gave us the assignment and brought it out the day it was due.” Ethan picked up Señor Huevo and inspected the facial features and twirly mustache Alek had Sharpied on. “Hola, Señor Huevo.”

  “Hola, Señor Novick,” Alek offered in his best approximation of a Spanish accent.

  Thursday and Friday, obstacles to his first authorized unchaperoned trip to NYC and the beginning of winter break, could barely pass quickly enough.

  * * *

  Wind whipped through the train station on the surprisingly sunny Saturday, the first day of winter break and, more importantly, Alek and Ethan’s six-month anniversary.

  “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Khederian!” Ethan strutted up to the Khederians, zipping up his electric blue puffy jacket. Alek didn’t know a single
other person who could make that jacket work with thick corduroys the color of radioactive oranges, but somehow, Ethan did. A faux-fur trapper hat with the flaps pinned up sat on his head, completing the ensemble. “Hello, six-month boyfriend.” Ethan enveloped Alek in a glorious hug and kissed him solidly on his lips, as if Alek’s parents weren’t standing two feet away from them.

  The entire car ride after Saturday school, Alek had waited for his parents to rescind his new freedom. He had spent the class imagining them, upstairs, agonizing to the other waiting parents over coffee and Armenian breakfast pastries. Now, waiting with Ethan on the platform for the train, he still didn’t truly believe that they were going to let him journey into the city without them.

  “Call us the moment you arrive!” His mother had spotted the train in the distance. “Boghos, maybe we should go into New York today as well. Nik can drive himself home, and I’ve never been to the Intrepid, and…”

  “Kadarine, you hate being on ships, remember?” Her husband gently put his hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be fine, okay?”

  Alek’s mom nodded, then turned back to Alek. “Don’t talk to strangers!” she continued desperately.

  “But what if they offer me candy?” Alek couldn’t resist asking.

  “With high-fructose corn syrup? That stuff is poison!” his mother responded quickly over the sound of the train as it pulled into the station. She pulled him into a tight embrace. “I love you, honey. Don’t forget I love you.”

  “Jesus, Mom, it’s not like I’m going to war. You’ll see me in a few hours. I’ll be home by six. Just like I promised.” He unwrapped himself from his mother’s embrace and followed Ethan through the train’s open doors. Alek prayed to the gods that this train wouldn’t stall in the station, allowing his parents precious seconds to change their minds. Luckily, the doors beep-beeped closed shortly after Ethan and Alek stepped on board.

  South Windsor faded in the distance, like a memory, as the train whisked them to New York.