by Liz Jacobs
“Hmm? Chego?”
“Chto s toboy proiskhodit?”
“What do you mean?” He gripped the glass, then wondered if that was a giveaway.
“I mean, something’s going on with you, and I’m wondering what it is.”
“Nothing’s going on with me.”
“Lenka. What happened there?”
Nick’s heart was beating against his ribcage. Thump-thump-thump. She’d asked him this before, and he’d evaded her. For so long, he had evaded her. He planned on evading her now, except that when he opened his mouth, his tongue went on without him, and what he wound up blurting out was, “I can’t tell you.”
Shit.
“Kol’ka. You’re so unhappy. Did you know that? What can’t you tell me?”
He had always sought her attention, in the smallest of ways. Discarding it felt impossible even now.
“Look. I’ve noticed, mama’s noticed.”
“What has she noticed?”
She narrowed her green eyes at him. Nobody else in the family had green eyes. It was the strangest thing. She looked at pine trees, so the pine trees stayed in her eyes, his dad used to say about the time when he had taken her on a monthlong trip to Puschino while Nick had been sick enough that they had to be separated. That’s how she’d come back. Green-eyed, at six. “That something’s clearly happened. That you’re unhappy in London, maybe, but I don’t think that’s it.”
Nick shook his head.
“I think you love it there. So what’s going on?” It occurred to Nick how weird it was that Zoyka wasn’t considered the sensitive one of the Melnikov kids. To everyone else, she was the doer and Nick the dreamer. But not to him.
She was so familiar. Svoya. He’d forgotten what it was like to be with someone you really knew, from the inside out. Nick remembered how she had believed it was Jacek’s friendship Nick had been mourning when their Polish neighbors moved back to Warsaw, how she kept telling him, You can still email each other, or Skype. Friendship doesn’t have to end here as he slunk around the house at thirteen, knowing full well that Skype could never make up the loss. And—it had only been friendship. Just not for Nick. For Nick, it had been the worst secret he had ever had to keep.
“Kol’,” she said quietly. “You’re scaring me. You know that, right?”
He hated crying. He hated how little he could control it. He had to leave, at least run for the bathroom, but she held hard onto his hand, and they hadn’t even gotten their check yet. He squeezed her hand.
“Zoy … Zoykin, I can’t,” he managed. “Can you pay? I gotta go. I’ll be outside.” He needed air. So much air.
She’d seen this enough times to know what was happening. After a hard squeeze, she let go of his hand, and Nick almost overturned the table as he shot up out of his seat.
The cold air hit him at once, and God, it felt so good.
When Zoya found him, Nick was more in control, but he was shaking all over. Without saying a word, she extended his coat and scarf toward him. She waited until he shoved them on, then took his hand and set off at a calm pace down the street, away from the car. The silence and the walk really did feel good. The rhythm of it steadied him, as did Zoyka’s hand.
There was another parking lot down the street, and the cars sat separated from the street by a low brick wall. Whoever owned it must have had scruples—it was free of snow, and it was a matter of a hop for both of them to park their butts on it. It wasn’t late, but the dark and the relative quiet of the street made it feel like one in the morning. Most people were in bars, restaurants, their homes, or simply out of town.
“Mom’d be pissed at you for sitting on the wall,” Nick said as he looked at a darkened coffee place across the street. Dozy’s Donutz.
“I know. I’ll never have children if I freeze my ovaries off.”
Despite everything, he snickered. Their mom lived and died by the old-world rules. Zoyka bumped his shoulder, and Nick stilled. He felt it, the change in the atmosphere. Here it came. She didn’t make him wait too long.
“Kolechka, what’s the matter?” she asked. She sounded like she had when they’d been kids. She always wheedled it out of him when he cried, even when she was only ten and he six.
Chto ty plachesh? Chto sluchilos’? Rasskazhi, malysh.
She’d always loved him. Since day one.
Nick took a deep breath. It escaped him in a puff of cold air, evaporating under his nose the next moment. The tinsel around the Christmas trees at Dozy’s Donutz shivered, as if inside the darkness someone had opened a door and let cold air in. It sparkled off the streetlights.
He bent over double until he was a pretzel on that brick wall, and he thought, frantic and somehow certain, that this was it. He had to tell her. And he would just have to live with what came next.
Her hand on his back was sudden but still weirdly expected. She rubbed it up and down. He barely felt the motion of it through the parka. “Do you need more time?”
He shook his head. “I think.” He frowned, then shook his head. “No, I know. Zoy, I’m gay.”
He was intensely aware of her hand on his back. He didn’t move for fear of it disappearing. He felt his heart beating, a rushing in his ears.
“I sort of thought maybe,” she said. Nick looked at her and saw she was smiling. He startled when Zoya reached out and pushed a stray curl off his forehead. “You’ve been so freaked out recently, I couldn’t imagine what you’d have to be so scared of, and then I thought … the breakup with Lena.” She shrugged and dropped her hand. “Did you think I’d be mad?” she asked.
He nodded, then shook his head. Relief. That’s what he thought it was, anyway. A hot crashing wave of something flooded his body. “I had no clue.”
He fumbled for the words to describe what it had felt like, carrying this secret. Carrying it for so long, it became a lead balloon inside his chest propelling him backwards with every step.
“It’s not because I thought you’d be freaked out,” he finally managed. “It’s just that I had—” No words. No expectations. No way to even say it. “We’re not this.”
She was frowning, but not like she was upset. She was thinking. “I know. But you are. You’re ours. Do you think mom will stop loving you if you tell her?”
The very idea threw him into a panic. “You can’t. Zoy, please. Don’t tell her.”
“Shush, stop! Of course I won’t tell her, glupyi. Who do you take me for?”
“Okay.” He was still breathing hard. “I’m not ready.”
“I know. So you’ve got someone, then? A boy?”
His head felt so light, like he could faint. The up and down of tonight had him nearly limp with exhaustion, and now here it was again, another up and down. “Sort of,” he managed. “No.”
She raised an eyebrow. “All right, there’s a story there.”
“I like someone.”
“A boy.”
“Right.” God, this was weird. It felt weird. Why did it feel weirder than telling her about Lena all those years ago? But it wasn’t weird enough for him to stop now that he’d started. “We … I mean, he. I don’t know. I think I fucked it up.”
“Does he like you back?” she asked, like it was simple. “Have you. Have you guys—”
“We kissed,” he said quickly. “And then I ran away. And we haven’t talked since then.”
“Oh, boy,” she said, and he could hear the smile in it. Weird how it brought him more comfort than he could have imagined possible. “When was that? What’s his name, by the way?”
“December thirteenth. Dex.”
“You remember the date? That’s serious.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.” And she meant it, he could tell. “Why did you run away?”
Because he was an idiot. Because he was a coward. Because Dex had wrung him from the inside out and undone him in the span of two minutes.
“But you still like him?”
“I do.” She squeezed his
middle in sympathy.
“So, you’re really gay, huh?” she asked after a moment. Nick shuddered. “Hey, that’s fine. It’s okay. You know that, right?”
“But Mom.”
“I know. It’s gotta be terrifying, but…” Nick waited as he watched her gather her thoughts. “I guess this is really new. You talking about it is new. I feel like you’ve taken so much on, you know?”
Nick didn’t, but he nodded anyway.
“Give yourself a little break. Don’t think about Mom or what she might say right now.”
He couldn’t begin to imagine ever having the guts to tell her, feeling her confusion and disappointment and unhappiness.
“I know.” Zoyka grinned. “Worrywart. But seriously. This was a big, brave thing you just did, telling me.” She was looking him in the eye as she said it. He was the very opposite of brave, and they both knew it. He couldn’t make himself contradict her. It felt too good to be called brave.
“Relax for a bit, all right? Feel the weight off those shoulders.” She shook him a little, and he couldn’t help laughing. “Can you do that?”
Nick nodded. He felt as if some tension really had seeped from his shoulders. Then he wondered if he was just deluding himself. Probably. But for the moment, it was nice to live a different sort of lie.
Now two people knew his secret.
No. Three. Three people knew it, and at least one of them still appeared to love him.
He wondered if Izzy would ever talk to him again after what had happened with Dex. He was under no delusions. Dex would have told her about Nick’s kiss-and-run.
Dex. Best-case scenario was Dex was over him by now.
“All right. It’s fucking cold out here, and I probably am freezing my eggs or whatever off. Let’s go home and have some tea and watch Ironiyu Sud’by. Sound good?”
Nick breathed in and out. It came out fairly smooth.
Zoyka took them home via the scenic route. They were quiet in her Civic, letting the hush of January slip over them like a blanket. Zoya grabbed his hand, and Nick looked out the window, not pulling away.
23
Dex stood outside Nick’s building and breathed on his hands to warm them against the chill of January wind. He had no idea what he was doing or why he was doing it. He just knew that all the crap that he’d been feeling over the holidays had boiled over into something he could no longer contain.
He had, at least, been able to wait until Friday before his feet took him here seemingly of their own accord.
On Monday, just as he had been blearily pouring coffee into a mug, Izzy sneaked up behind him and delivered the news that Nick was back.
Turned out, Nick hadn’t received any of Izzy’s messages at all until he got back to London. Something about his SIM card. Dex didn’t care. He had yet to receive any response to his texts.
No. Nick was still avoiding him. And it was crap, because Dex had utterly failed to stop thinking about him. Instead, he was genuinely pissed off—something he hated, but also couldn’t seem to shake. It was completely unfair, he knew that. Nick owed him nothing. But it had hurt. Hurt in a way he hadn’t been prepared for. It had been monumentally stupid to go and start liking a boy before he was properly over Michael. Except, he found, he was. Over him. Because Nick.
What was worse, London felt more alive to him now that Nick was back. Even with all his hurt and simmering anger, Dex felt his heart thumping hopefully inside his chest. He’d almost turned around three times on the way here, but even as he considered and reconsidered the entire venture he knew he would go through with it. Now all that stood between him and Nick was a door, a staircase, and his own unwillingness to see what would happen on the other side.
Just talk to him babe
Izzy’s text alert sat on his screen.
Easy enough for her to say. Even if she was right. He just had no idea where to start.
He took the stairs two a time, just to get it over with.
Hey, was just passing by, thought I’d say hi, by the way, why did you run out on me when things were going so well?
No.
Fourth floor.
Oh hey, Nick, how about we try that snog again?
Ha. Definitely not.
Sorry I accosted you with my mouth and hands and stuff. Truce?
Ugh.
He pictured himself walking through the door and throwing himself at Nick. Embarrassing. Or Nick opening the door and Dex turning right back around and running off in mortification. What he couldn’t picture was Nick’s face. What he might look like when he opened his door and found Dex on the other side of it.
His heart was going overtime by the time he found himself in front of Nick’s door. He leaned in to listen, just on the off chance that maybe Nick wasn’t alone. Or maybe was asleep. Oh God, what if he was asleep? What if he was in the bathroom? Fuck, fuck.
Just talk to him babe
Not helpful, Isabel. She hadn’t been helping or had any pointers on how to start the conversation, and Dex was completely at sea.
He lifted his hand and rapped on the door.
It didn’t take long. The room was tiny, after all. It couldn’t have been more than five steps for Nick to cross it and open the door.
When he did, Dex had to force himself to breathe. Nick looked so pretty. Dex had nearly forgotten. He was barefoot, wearing a worn T-shirt and trackies. Behind Nick’s glasses was an expression of such genuine shock that Dex found himself simply saying, “We should talk.”
Nick swallowed visibly and stepped away from the door without a word. He seemed uncertain, but when Dex looked at him, Nick didn’t look away.
“Nick,” Dex breathed, and felt his muscles draining of tension. Something about seeing Nick’s face, seeing him here, right in front of Dex, felt so good, he couldn’t even hold onto his anger. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? No, I’m sorry. I didn’t…” He petered out, and Dex’s lungs burned with anticipation.
“You didn’t what?” Something about the muted light of Nick’s desk lamp and that raw, uncertain expression on his face called for quiet. The only other sounds came from the bathroom pipes and the clanging of the radiator. Dex was beginning to sweat. His skin was too aware of Nick’s proximity.
“I didn’t think you’d wanna talk to me, actually.” He sounded sad.
“Oh.” Dex swallowed. “Why?”
Nick shook his head like he was dislodging thoughts and made the three paces towards the bed. Acknowledged Dex with a shift of his shoulders.
Dex shrugged out of his jacket and let it drop to the floor. Then he shucked off his shoes one by one and made his quick way to the bed.
They now faced each other the same as they had the time when he’d cooked for Nick and only thought of what kissing him might be like. When Nick had opened up, even just that little bit, and Dex had soaked it in.
The silence between them now weighed on Dex, but he waited a full minute before saying, “So why wouldn’t I have talked to you?”
More than anything, he wanted to know that Nick was just as confused as he was, just as muddled. There was another part of him that was frightened, too frightened to admit to himself. The part of him that would hear Nick say, I hadn’t wanted to kiss you, I don’t like you, I’m not queer. Where Nick would look at him and say, I never wanted you.
Nick skittered his gaze over Dex, then looked at the wall and drew patterns with a single finger. “Because I was an asshole. And ran away.”
Dex felt hunger build in his belly. Maybe it was messy hope. Whatever it was, he drank in the sight of Nick in front of him, all bony knees and elbows, mad hair, beautiful fucking mouth, those fox eyes framed by long eyelashes. He knew the question to ask now. Should have asked it before this whole mess had happened, but he’d been too fucking scared. “Nick,” he said. “Are you gay?”
Nick visibly coloured. His throat and cheeks flushed an uneven pink, but when he met Dex’s gaze, he didn’t look away. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I am.
”
Dex felt as if his very hands were on fire. He asked, “Have you ever been with a guy before?”
“No.” His voice was barely a rasp, and Dex swallowed against the tide of regret that threatened to swamp him. Fuck.
He’d scared him. Of course he had.
“I’m sorry. I freaked you out.”
“You didn’t. You did, but … it wasn’t all you.” Nick was rubbing his face with both hands. He had nice hands. They were well-made and expressive. An artist’s hands. Dex remembered holding Nick’s hand before they kissed, sticking a plaster on his finger. A shiver went down his spine. He had to calm down. Rushing was what got them into trouble to begin with.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh God. I’m not out. I’ve—it’s—” He broke off, clearly frustrated, and Dex wished he’d thought to bring beers or wine or anything to make this easier. “This is … new. It’s hard to talk about.”
“All right.”
“Just, um. Wait here, okay?” Before Dex could reply, he was left alone in Nick’s room.
Well. He was fairly certain that Nick wouldn’t have actually run off on him again, if only because he’d have to come back eventually. Nick’s room hadn’t really changed since the last time Dex had been there. Maybe a few extra of those postcards, which were so banal it was adorable. No sign at all that Nick had been gone—not even a suitcase. Dex wondered where he even kept it. He was about to stretch out to look under the bed when the door opened and Nick walked in.
He was holding two Stellas. Nick grinned as he handed Dex a bottle. Then he plopped back onto the bed and mirrored Dex in leaning against the wall.
Dex accepted that if he wanted to get anything out of Nick, he would have to be the one to start the conversation. “So.”
“The first person I told was Izzy. She guessed on her own.”
Christ. Izzy had fucking known. He guessed she’d known something, but she never said.
It’s none of my business, she’d told him. Fucking hell.
“But that’s … that must have been just this past—”
“December.”
“And you’d never said anything to anyone before? Not ever?”