“It’s all right, Arno.” Alek forced the words out, feeling them just enough for it to be sincere. He embraced Arno, letting him cry against his chest. “It’s okay.”
Alek couldn’t make out what grateful words Arno said as he wept in Alek’s embrace, drenching his shirt in tears and snot. But it really didn’t matter.
The Virgin Mary, Jesus, and all the saints etched in stained glass glowed in jewel tones above them. Alek knew it just meant that some January clouds had parted, freeing the sun. But that didn’t stop it from feeling any less miraculous.
* * *
It was only two days: a Thursday and a Friday. It didn’t seem unreasonable to ask for them. Those two days, with the weekend that followed, of course, would have made for a truly epic break. But the gods of the South Windsor School District were stingy. And the next day, January 2, Alek had to return to school. The unforgiving fluorescents shattered any illusions: winter break was over.
Everyone else had already celebrated Christmas, or Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa. So everyone else was sporting new coats, new jeans, new shirts. But not Alek. Armenian Christmas Eve was still three days away. Alek took some comfort in the weather, which was as miserable as his mood for having to come back to school: a snow/slush dropped from the skies, the kind of precipitation designed to soak and ruin any December-gift shoes. It fell just heavily enough to fuel fantasies of a snow day, but not actually enough to warrant that miracle.
He could’ve waited for class, but he wanted to get it over with. So he got to school a few minutes early and went to Mrs. Sturgeon’s office. The door was open. He knocked on it anyway, poking his head in. “Hello?”
“Come in.” Mrs. Sturgeon sat in her cramped closet of an office, so small that he could smell the coffee in her Styrofoam cup. “How can I help you, Alek?”
Alek sat down across from his Health teacher and her severe bangs. Somehow, in spite of the room’s size and lack of windows, Mrs. Sturgeon had made it homey, keeping the horrendous fluorescent lights turned off and using an iridescent halogen torch lamp to light the room. Personal touches like framed pictures of her family dotted the crannies of the hutch on her desk. He rubbed his suddenly clammy hands against his jeans.
“It’s about your child, isn’t it?” Mrs. Sturgeon spoke without irony.
“Yes, it is. You see, Mrs. Sturgeon, Señor Huevo had an accident over winter break.”
“I was afraid of that.” She started flipping through her folder. “Can I see him?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Did you lose him?” she asked solemnly. “That would be very irresponsible parenting.”
“No, I didn’t lose him. I…” Alek took a deep breath. “I hurled him at my now ex-boyfriend and splattered him into a broken mess of shell and white and yolk.”
Mrs. Sturgeon stopped flipping through the sheets in the folder she’d procured. “You killed Señor Huevo?”
Alek nodded, feeling intensely both solemn and foolish.
“Infanticide is a very serious offense, Alek.” His teacher adjusted her cat’s-eye glasses.
“I know, Mrs. Sturgeon.”
“Do you know why I assign the egg-cersise?” Mrs. Sturgeon giggled at her own joke.
“To show us how difficult the responsibility of parenting is?”
“To put their needs before your own. And in all of my years of teaching this must be the most violent story I’ve ever heard. You realize, I will have to fail you on this assignment.”
“I know, Mrs. Sturgeon.”
“But also, you know”—she smiled as if she were telling him a secret—“it’s only a grade in Health class.”
Alek smiled back. “I know that, too, Mrs. Sturgeon.”
20
Doorbells rarely ring unexpectedly in the suburbs. Most unexpected bell-ringers turn out to be Jehovah’s Witnesses or Mormons: strangers hiding hopes of conversion behind smiles and pamphlets. On a late Friday afternoon in early January with its decidedly unneighborly weather, an unexpected doorbell is even more of an anomaly. But just a few minutes after Alek had gone upstairs to his room and resigned himself to working on his Madame Bovary essay, he heard the bitonal chime, followed by his father hollering from downstairs, “You have a visitor, Alek.”
Since Becky had plans with Dustin, there was only one person it could be. Part of him leaped at the knowledge that he’d get to see Ethan. They’d passed each other twice in the hallway in the two days back at school, both times between periods seven and eight, Alek going from Honors History to Honors Bio, and Ethan between Standard Trig and his elective in Media Technologies. As hard as he tried to just keep on walking and look straight ahead, Alek couldn’t help but cheat a glance at his ex-boyfriend, surrounded by his skater friends. A part of him yearned to reach out and touch Ethan. But he scolded that part, like a puppy that had destroyed a piece of furniture.
That was the same part he had to tamp down now. He’d make small talk with Ethan, Alek decided, before telling him that it was too early for them to see each other. Maybe in a few weeks, or months, or years, when the part of him that yearned to touch Ethan and be touched by him had finally been reprogrammed, they’d be able to hang out again, as friends.
He took a moment to make sure his hair looked good and tousled, but not like he’d worked to make it look that way, and change out of the sweatshirt he’d just put on and into a crisp button-down with pearl buttons and sawtooth pockets. If Ethan was going to stop by unannounced, he’d have to get used to waiting for Alek to get ready. And there was no way that Alek was going to look anything other than fabulous every time he ever saw Ethan again. Alek came downstairs, slowly, calmly, like he had all the time in the world.
But it wasn’t Ethan who was sitting at the kitchen table, eating sunflower seeds with his parents as if he were their long-lost son. It was the person who Alek least expected, and least wanted to see, in the world.
“Remi?” Alek felt the taste of bile in his mouth.
“Ah, finally, the young prince descends!” Remi plucked a seed from the pile in front of him, popped it in his mouth, extracted the meat, and spat out the shell without missing a beat. “Don’t tell me you forgot about our plans tonight!”
As sure as Alek was that Ben Affleck playing Batman was a sin for which the superhero gods would never forgive humanity, he was equally, 100 percent, indefatigably positive that he and Remi did not and had not ever made plans to spend the first Friday of the New Year together.
“Remi, the only thing I’d rather do less than spend time with you tonight is rot in hell.”
“Alek!” His mother stood up immediately.
“May we have a word with you in the living room?” Mr. Khederian’s smile was all steel.
Remi continued popping sunflower seeds, left alone, as Alek’s parents guided him into the living room.
“Now, Alek, we don’t know what could possibly have transpired that would lead you to talk that way to that wonderful young man.” Mr. Khederian kept his voice hushed, but that only served to increase its intensity.
“But you know how important hospitality is. Remi is a guest in our house,” Alek’s mother said. “So if you’d like to tell us what has happened, we’d be happy to hear it. Otherwise, we insist that you show him basic hospitality.”
Alek considered his parents’ offer. He was positive that if he’d told them that the reason he and Ethan had broken up was because Ethan had cheated with Remi, that his parents would’ve had his back. And in spite of how important hospitality was to Armenians, he was sure that his folks would’ve politely but firmly asked Remi to leave.
But when he worked the equation out, he arrived at the same conclusion that he imagined Remi did when he decided to come visit Alek at home in the first place: that it was easier to keep his parents in the dark. Partially for their sake, partially for his. He knew that he could tell his parents almost anything—one of the great things about having come out to them was that knowledge. But that didn’t mean he had
to. Or wanted to. Even if it meant having to endure the company of the guy who ruined his relationship.
“You’re right, guys.”
Mr. and Mrs. Khederian exchanged looks of surprise, then suspicion, at Alek’s capitulation. But ultimately, they were happy enough to get what they wanted. “Very well, then.”
Alek braced himself for another encounter with the Menace from Down Under. But maybe, Alek thought to himself as he went back into the kitchen, he could find some satisfaction from beating Remi at his own game.
“Please forgive my previous outburst, Remi.” Alek scooped the pile of sunflower seed shells into a napkin and tossed it into the garbage. “It’s so nice to see you. Can I get you a glass of water? Flat or sparkling? Chilled or at room temperature? With or without ice? And tell me, please, what have you been up to?”
Remi sat up straight in the chair, sensing his opponent’s new tactic. But he played along. “You know, the usual.”
“And what classes are you taking this semester?” Mrs. Khederian joined them at the kitchen table.
“I don’t think we even know your major!” Mr. Khederian exclaimed, sitting next to his wife, across from Remi.
“Please, tell us everything,” Alek chimed in. He sat right next to Remi, in spite of how being this close to him made Alek feel like he might catch a very contagious and lethal disease.
“I was actually hoping to spend a little time with you alone, Alek.” Remi, in the act of the perfectly deferential young man, looked to the Khederians for permission. “If that’s possible, of course.”
“As much as I’d love that, Remi, I’ve got a very important test on Monday that I have to study for, unfortunately.” Alek gave Remi as large a smile as he could muster. “I’m sorry you made the trip all the way down here for nothing.”
“That’s okay,” Remi said, getting up. “I guess my empty stomach and I will just head back to the city all by ourselves!”
Alek saw the tactic a moment too late to prevent it.
“I know!” Mrs. Khederian piped in. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”
“What a great idea, honey!” Mr. Khederian exclaimed. “That way, Remi’s trip won’t be for naught.”
“I’d be delighted!” Remi plopped back down.
“Let’s see—I’ve got some buregs that I can warm up in a jiff.” Mr. Khederian riffled through his mental inventory of the house’s food. “And we’ve got that roast chicken from yesterday, right? What about the string beans?”
“Do you think they’re still good?” Mrs. Khederian worried.
“Of course, honey. And I’ll whip up that new kale pesto recipe I’ve been wanting to try.”
“The four of us, sitting, chatting, we’ll just have the loveliest of times, don’t you agree, Alek?” Remi continued before Alek had a chance to respond. “And did I tell you how lovely you look in lavender, Mrs. K? What a beautiful color on you. It really brings out your eyes.”
“Do you think so?” Mrs. Khederian asked, blushing.
“Of course. I’m sure of it—just like I’m sure that Mr. K hits the gym a few times a week, am I right?”
Now it was Mr. Khederian’s turn to blush. “I try to do push-ups and sit-ups when I’m home, you know.”
“Oh, you don’t have to be modest. Not around me!” Remi made a show of squeezing Mr. Khederian’s bicep. “Thank goodness for this country’s Second Amendment—no way you could carry guns like those around otherwise!”
Alek performed a quick mental calculation, weighing the horror of spending one-on-one time with Remi versus watching his parents blush at Remi’s heinous flirtation all night. The sharpening taste of vomit in his mouth told him that he could survive the former, while the latter would most probably end in homicide. “You know what, Remi, why don’t we go out?” As the one person who could see through Remi’s charm, Alek felt he had a moral obligation to protect his parents. “There’s a local establishment that I think you’d just love.”
“Sounds great,” Remi said, accepting the compromise.
Sensing his parents’ disappointment, Alek moved fast, gathering his stuff and getting himself and Remi outside before they could invite themselves along. “See you guys soon. Goodbye!”
And they were out the door, where a silver-blue Tesla had materialized in the Khederians’ driveway. Remi produced a fob from a pocket in the jeans that looked so tight it was hard to believe there was enough space for said fob, and clicked it. The Tesla’s door handles actually popped up, like it was from the future.
“After you.” Remi bowed with faux deference.
“Faceplant.” Remi’s voice activated the stereo, and music Alek didn’t recognize, with a soulful, hypnotic beat, pulsed through the car’s surround-sound speakers.
Alek was unaccustomed to how low the seat was and, to be real, how freakin’ awesome it felt to be in the front seat of a sports car, let alone one of the fabled electric-powered Teslas. Remi slid a pair of reflective sunglasses on and tapped the smartscreen that glowed where a normal car’s radio would be. The car turned on without a sound.
“This is everything,” Alek whispered.
The Tesla zipped them out of the driveway.
“Where are we going?” Remi asked.
“You’ll love it. Very hip. Very cool. Very much like you.” Alek let around 15 percent of the sarcasm he felt drip into his voice.
“Lead the way.”
Alek typed the address into the smartscreen.
The Tesla, a car that relied on electricity rather than fuel to run, drove without sound, without gears, without transmission, gliding on the earth like a silent assassin, moving in for the kill.
“Remi, forgive me for stating the obvious, but I can’t help but wonder: Why did you show up on my doorstep, unannounced, in a car that we both know you have no right driving, to take me out? I mean, it really does beg an answer.”
Remi smiled into the rearview mirror, but with those damn reflective glasses, Alek couldn’t tell if the smile was in response to what he’d just said or something else entirely that had amused Remi in that moment. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Alek exhaled slowly. “No, Remi. It’s not. In fact, it’s anything but.”
“I’m going to convince you to get back together with Ethan, of course.” The car accelerated faster than any vehicle should be able to. “Now buckle up.”
21
“So really, you can drop me off back home whenever.” Alek took a sip of his now-lukewarm tea across a warped yellow Formica tabletop from Remi at the Prestige Diner. It was difficult for Alek to imagine any time that Remi would’ve fit in at the diner. But the early bird crowd that came on a Friday night at six p.m., for two dollars off entrees and a free extra side, was probably his least likely cohort.
Alek had spent the last thirty minutes watching Remi devour his turkey club with bacon, steak fries, and coleslaw, while he simply sipped his cup of Earl Grey tea.
At first, Alek had just wanted it to be over with—to get Remi out of his house, away from his parents, and back to New York City as soon as possible. He couldn’t imagine that he’d want to endure spending time with the guy Ethan had cheated on him with. But as time progressed, he found that being with Remi wasn’t as painful as he’d thought. If anything, it was fascinating. All the pain and hurt and feeling of betrayal—all of that was reserved for Ethan. Being around Remi was more curious than anything else, like getting to spy on your mortal enemy.
Alek had just finished explaining to Remi why the chances of him getting back together with Ethan were equal to him sprouting a horn and discovering he was actually a unicorn in human form. The points had come easily and effortlessly, like a defense lawyer in any of those TV courtroom dramas, presenting his argument to the jury with the confidence of certain acquittal. And whenever Alek heard a hollowness in his own words, he just plowed forward, manufacturing conviction as needed. Just like a real lawyer, Alek imagined. “You see, it’s not just that he cheated on me with you. He lied
to me about it. He lied to me after. I mean, how can I ever trust anyone like that again? Why would I even want to try?
“So as noble as your intentions are, you see why this whole facade is a waste of time. You don’t want to start your New Year with a Sisyphean task, do you?”
“A what?”
“You know—Sisyphus. He angered the gods with his craftiness, so they punished him by giving him an impossible task to perform in his afterlife. He had to roll this boulder up a hill. But the moment before he got to the top, it would slip out of his grasp and roll back down, and he’d have to start all over again. For all we know, he’s still doing it now. A truly existential, futile waste of his time. Like you trying to convince me to forgive Ethan.”
Remi devoured his last steak fry, taking the entire thing in his mouth in a single bite. “Why do you talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Using words like Sisyphean.” Remi’s question didn’t carry any judgment. Rather, he just sounded objectively curious, as if he were conducting a sociological experiment and Alek was just another subject.
“There’s a reason those stories have survived all these centuries. There’s a spark of truth in them, some profound kernel. It’s comforting, isn’t it, to think that we’ve been dealing with the same stuff for thousands of years?”
Remi nodded, apparently satisfied with Alek’s answer.
“So, should we ask for the check and get out of here?”
“All in good time.” A small smile curled Remi’s lips.
“What else could you possibly want from me? I mean, you are the reason that Ethan and I broke up. Have you no shame?”
“Shame?” Remi asked, as if it were a foreign dish he’d heard of but never sampled. “I guess I just don’t have any use for it.”
Hold My Hand Page 19