“Well—that’s all sorted out. Apparently, Ryan, your father wanted to drive over here to pick you up—but I convinced your mother that would be a bad idea. I don’t think they understood how far away we live. But no matter—they’re now on board. I promised to take care of you, so please, no knife juggling or putting your head in any plastic bags.” (She did not mean this as a sexual reference. Ryan and Avery totally heard it as a sexual reference.)
“And,” she continued, “I also promised that you’ll stay in the guest room. Which in this house means the couch. The good news for you is that it opens up.”
Avery knew better than to challenge this decision, but was already strategizing ways around it. The idea of sharing sleep with Ryan was undeniably appealing.
Ryan wondered if he should call his parents back, apologize. What would make it better?
Nothing, his instincts told him. Just be happy you’re not there. Be happy you’re here.
Avery touched him on the back and he startled. He couldn’t appreciate Avery’s affection as much with Avery’s parents watching. It felt…wrong. Not bad—just something that had to be worked up to.
Sensing this, Avery put his hand down. His mom, meanwhile, cursed loudly and made a lunge for the oven, sighing with relief when no smoke billowed out as she opened it.
“Dinner,” she said, “will soon be served.”
* * *
—
During dinner, Ryan observed the way that family shorthand could be used not for accusation but for humor. There were things they were saying that were perfectly understandable on their own—Where’s the avocado?—but didn’t make much sense for an outsider within the context of the conversation.
During dinner, Avery observed how shy Ryan became, how reactive. Avery was keenly aware of how ridiculous his family was, and he made sure to fill Ryan in whenever what they were saying made no sense. (“There was this deeply unfortunate period when I was eight that I wanted avocado on everything. Since avocados are not cheap, and are not something you just pick up at 7-Eleven, this was a royal pain for Mom and Dad. They’d give me a steak and I’d say, ‘Where’s the avocado?’ Or spaghetti. Or, I don’t know, a hot dog.”)
During dinner, Avery’s mother also observed how shy Ryan became, although she had much less to compare it to.
During dinner, Avery’s father tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Avery had brought a boyfriend home for them to meet. It felt like a big step, but since Avery wasn’t acting as if it were a big step, his father tried to keep his feelings to himself.
Outside, it continued to snow.
* * *
—
When dinner was over, Ryan stood to clear the table. Everyone else told him he didn’t have to, that he was the guest. But he refused their refusal, unable to explain to them that he felt he had to contribute in some way. Avery and his parents relented, working Ryan into their routine of clearing and scraping and rinsing and drying. There were some hiccups, but for the most part, Ryan worked in well. And in this way, he stopped feeling like such a guest. In this way, he started to feel like he belonged in this kitchen, with these people. They talked to each other instead of watching TV as they did the dishes. He answered questions when he was asked, but didn’t have any questions to ask of them.
This changed when it was back to him and Avery, back to them alone. Avery’s mother and father beat their retreat—even though it wasn’t even eight o’clock, they said they were going to turn in. Probably watch a movie. Go to sleep early. Avery’s father joked that he’d be waking them up at dawn to help dig out the driveway. Ryan was going to say that was alright with him—it only seemed fair to reciprocate the hospitality—but Avery, sensing this voluntary spirit, said, loudly, “No, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
Ryan never would have talked to his father like that.
Avery’s father laughed.
“Alright, alright,” Avery’s mother said, shooing him out of the room. Then she turned to Avery and said, “I’ve put out towels for Ryan in the bathroom and sheets for the sofa in the family room—I mean, guest room.” Then she got more thoughtful, and looked at them both in turn. “I’m right to trust you two, correct? Keep it PG. Maybe PG-13. You’re just getting to know each other and—”
“We know,” Avery interrupted, mortified. “PG-13.”
(For his part, Ryan wanted to sink through the floor.)
“Okay,” Avery’s mother said. “We have an understanding.” She looked squarely at Ryan, who somehow managed to match her eye. “Here’s the thing—I promised your mother that you would sleep in the guest room. So you have to sleep in the guest room.” Then she turned to Avery. “I did not, however, make any promises about where you would sleep. Because I trust you both to…take it slow.”
“Mom! We get it!”
Avery’s mother smiled. “Good. And if you go outside, for heaven’s sake, wear boots.”
* * *
—
They did not go outside at first. Instead they went to the family room, as if that was expected of them. They sat on the couch and watched the Weather Channel on mute, face to face with the satellites’ rendering of the storm. Avery picked up the remote control and was about to ask Ryan what he wanted to watch…but Ryan was already watching something: a photograph of Avery and his family at Disneyland, the summer before third grade. Avery was wearing Mickey Mouse ears and his expression was, frankly, goofy. He had no idea who’d taken the photo, who’d allowed their molecular family to retain its formation—Avery the middle smile, bookended by his parents.
“It’s so corny,” he said now. “I begged them to take it down, but they like to taunt me.”
“I like it,” Ryan said quietly. “It looks fun.”
We learn each other by listening, and in this moment, Avery learned volumes from just six words. He learned that Ryan had never been to Disneyland, and probably not anyplace like Disneyland. He learned that this wasn’t an option, this wasn’t the way Ryan’s life worked. He learned that the things that might be embarrassing to him might not be embarrassing to Ryan. He learned that while he didn’t have to be careful with Ryan, he also had to try to avoid being careless.
“It was fun,” he admitted. “I kept correcting people—they wanted me to be Minnie and I was like, no, do you see any bow on this head? I’m Mickey.”
Ryan reached for his hand. Held it.
“But you’re so much cuter than Mickey.”
Avery laughed. “Oh, thanks!”
The photograph no longer had their attention. Now it was their hands, their fingers. The epicenter of their calm, the point of most connection.
Each in his own way felt a small shock of surprise within the comfort of their pleasure. When you have to fight for your identity and win your identity, there is always a part of you that thinks there has to be a trade-off, that by stepping away from the norm you have been prescribed, you risk stepping away from the normal happinesses as well. You feel you will have to fight harder for someone to love you. You feel you will have to bear the risk of more loneliness in order to be who you need to be.
And yet.
Much more often than not, with that small shock of surprise, the fight will come loose, and the risk will fall aside like a broken cocoon, and you will find yourself completely un-alone, not only seen by someone else, but felt. This was part of what you were trying to get to, and now it is here.
Avery closed his eyes and leaned into Ryan. Ryan closed his eyes and leaned into Avery. For a few minutes, they let that be their lives. From the parents’ bedroom, there was the indistinct sound of some TV show. Outside, there were the fairy footsteps of snow. Avery could feel Ryan breathing. Ryan’s eyes were closed, but in his mind, he was seeing them on the couch, was imagining what it looked like with Avery’s head on his shoulder.
Then: A squeeze on Ryan
’s hand. Avery sitting up. Ryan opened his eyes, turned to him, and saw him smiling.
“Outside,” Avery said. “We need to go outside.”
* * *
—
There was no way Avery’s old boots would fit Ryan, so Ryan borrowed Avery’s father’s from the bottom of the closet. (Avery swore it was okay.) They bundled one another as best as they could—Avery wrapping the scarf around Ryan so fervently that his neck was temporarily mummified; Ryan insisting on zipping Avery up, on putting the hat on his head. Just so his hands could linger on Avery’s cheeks. Just so it could lead to a kiss.
All the paths—even the driveway—had disappeared with the hours. When they stepped outside, it was into a crystalline silence, a white darkness. The snow still fell, but almost as an afterthought now, a gentle patter.
Avery took Ryan’s mitten in his own mitten and led him into the yard. Ryan thought for a moment of the neighbor across the street, of any neighbor…but then he chose to put those thoughts aside. He focused on the way his boots sank into the surface with every step. He focused on the frosty filaments that landed on his cheek. He focused on mittens, and Avery, and on the depth of the quiet around them. This was a world without cars, a world without an alarm set for the next morning.
Avery let go. He couldn’t help himself—the snow was just too perfect to be ignored. Ryan didn’t understand until too late what he was doing. By the time Avery had formed the snowball, Ryan was only just reaching for his own scoop of ammunition. Avery took aim. Fired.
Bull’s-eye.
Ryan retaliated, but Avery dodged, then fired again and hit. Ryan assembled a snow boulder and moved in at close range to pounce. Avery tried to wriggle away, but was only half-successful. More shots were fired. More footsteps covered the yard.
Finally Ryan couldn’t take it any longer, and tackled Avery to the ground. Their coats were so thick, it was almost like a pillow fight, only with the boys acting as the pillows. It was a soft landing, a soft tackle. Avery tried to wriggle out of Ryan’s grip, and then he stopped trying. He lay there in the snow and Ryan lay there next to him, and then they were kissing again, snowflake eyelashes and cold-flush cheeks.
Ryan rolled onto his back and they both faced the sky, watching the snowflakes fall. Like stargazing, only with the stars coming when they were called. Ryan’s head was next to Avery’s head, his hip next to Avery’s hip. Avery put his legs together, in the shape of one leg. And Ryan, knowing what Avery was doing, did the same. His left mitten found Avery’s right mitten and they held. Then, on the count of three, they extended their other arms, lifted their way to wings. A single snow angel, larger than either of them could be on his own.
“This is not what I thought I’d be doing right now,” Ryan said. Had it been a regular night, he probably would have been driving back at this hour.
“I know,” Avery whispered.
Ryan could feel the damp cold seeping into his jeans. He could tell his nose was unpleased and runny. The line between the bottom of his hat and the collar of his coat was allowing an unkind chill to set in at the back of his neck, despite the scarf. Still, he had no desire to move.
Avery blinked away the snow that gathered around his eyes. He listened hard and couldn’t hear anything but snow language (faint), tree language (fainter), and the tiny rustle of Ryan’s jacket against his.
“We are the only people in the world,” he said.
“We are,” Ryan agreed.
They moved their legs. They pulled in their wings. They turned in to each other. And as they did, they lightly altered the surface of the ground, the shape of the world. They didn’t realize this, not in these terms. But they felt it nonetheless.
Strands of pink hair peeked out from underneath Avery’s hat. Damp pieces of blue hair clung to the side of Ryan’s face, curving around his right eye. Ryan wanted to kiss Avery again, but his nose was too runny. Avery was happy to listen to the quiet, to look at this boy in front of him.
They held there.
Snow absorbed into their jeans. Snow gathered on their coats and their hats. Ryan wiped his nose with his mitten, then wiped his mitten off in the snow.
“If I’m not mistaken,” Avery said, “I think this is how people die of hypothermia.”
He sounded exactly like his mother. He did not notice this. Ryan did, in a good way.
“Time to return to the real world,” Ryan said.
“No,” Avery corrected. “This is the real world, too.”
Is it? Ryan asked himself, not entirely free from doubt.
“It is,” he answered aloud.
Avery stood up, then extended a mitten to help Ryan up. Ryan didn’t really need the boost, but took it anyway.
He also used it as a decoy to take Avery’s attention away from the snowball he’d formed in his other hand.
* * *
—
Coming in from the snow outside: At no other time does home seem so much like hearth. Avery and Ryan didn’t appreciate how wet and bedraggled they were until the door was closed and they were shucking off their coats and slicking off their boots. Their shirts were fine—maybe even a little sweaty—but their jeans and socks were soaked through.
“Let’s get those pants off of you,” Avery purred, and they both laughed, because neither of them had aspirations to turn this moment into porn. Eventually, yes. But not right now.
It’s not that Avery wasn’t curious. It’s not that he hadn’t scrutinized every bare moment of skin that Ryan had ever shown.
It’s not that Ryan wasn’t tempted. He was so far away from his parents, so far away from any restriction. But he was also wearing an embarrassingly shoddy pair of briefs. And it was so quiet that he felt if he undid his fly, the sound of the zipper would fly throughout the house and cause Avery’s parents to come running.
“I’ll be right back,” Avery said. He ran to the small laundry room off the garage, and was relieved to find the dryer had been run, not yet emptied. He pulled out a pair of his father’s sweatpants and a dry pair of his own jeans. Quickly, he changed into this new pair of jeans, then emptied out the dryer and put the old pair inside, along with his socks. Then, barefoot, he returned to Ryan, offering the sweatpants and pointing him in the direction of the bathroom, where a dry towel waited. Now it was Ryan’s turn to say, “I’ll be right back,” as he tiptoed off to change.
They weren’t separated for longer than five minutes, but each of them felt the separation, felt the other one in another part of the house, waiting. In the bathroom, after bunching up the ankles of the sweats so they wouldn’t drag on the floor, Ryan looked at his watch and was amazed to see it was ten-thirty. But he couldn’t figure out if he was amazed that it was so early or already so late. They seemed to be the same thing in the snowbound night.
When Ryan returned to the family room, he found Avery had transformed the sofa into a bed, and was be-sheeting it. For a second, he stood in the doorway and watched as Avery threw his body over the bed to try to make the fourth corner of the fitted sheet stretch. Ryan put his wet clothes on the floor and went over to help.
“Here,” he said.
Avery unfolded the top sheet and threw half of it over to Ryan. The truth was, he never, ever made his bed if he could get away with not making it—but since this was where Ryan would be sleeping, he felt he should make it right. So there they were, smoothing the surface, making parallel movements to tuck in, make it even.
Next, the blanket. The same teamwork of two.
This blanket only came out for relatives, rare guests. Avery had never noticed it so much before.
Pillows were put in place, and the job was done. Avery looked across the bed at Ryan and he wanted to crawl right over, pull Ryan right down, mess up everything they’d just made.
But Ryan didn’t catch the signal. He felt bad about his wet clothes sitting
on the carpet. So he moved and picked them up again, asked Avery where they should go.
“I got it,” Avery said.
“No, no, it’s fine—just tell me where they go.”
“In the dryer. Here.”
Avery walked Ryan to the laundry room and opened the dryer for him, as if he were its doorman. Ryan bowed his thanks and threw his jeans and socks on top of Avery’s. With the press of a few buttons, they began to tumble.
“So what now?” Avery asked, hoping the answer would be a return to the bed they’d created.
“I want to see your room,” Ryan replied. His way of saying I want to know your room, which was another way of saying I want to know you.
“Okay.” If there was any disappointment in Avery’s voice, Ryan didn’t hear it. Which was good, because if Ryan had heard it, he wouldn’t have understood that the disappointment was a compliment to him, too.
Once they were in the room, Avery expected Ryan to sit down, stay awhile. But instead he remained standing, looking around at everything.
“What’s the most embarrassing thing that you’re proud of here?” Ryan asked. As soon as he said it, he didn’t think he’d made any sense. But Avery knew what he meant.
“Over here,” he said. He walked over to his bookshelf, where a pink plush unicorn was guarding the collected works of Beverly Cleary. “This is Gloria. And she was, without question, my best friend for a very long time. We were never apart for long. She used to be much brighter, but she’s mellowed. I guess we both have. My parents did not know what to make of my deep affection for her. They thought I should aim higher in the best-friend department. There was no way for them to understand that I’d made her into the part of me that I needed to hear…even if it was in unicorn form. But hey, my parents had to unlearn a lot of things. Which is just another way of saying they had to learn a lot of things. We all did. We all still do. You do. I do. We’re all really new at this.”
19 Love Songs Page 14