Dreams and Expectations

by Susan Laine

  Tom had firsthand experience of how Christianity could master the double standard. His dad was a prime example. Tom had grown up to have low expectations of his one remaining parental unit.

  “Really, Dad? Is that what you actually believe—when a second ago you didn’t disapprove or condemn what I did. I hit someone, and you didn’t scold me. Not once.”

  Charles rolled his eyes as if his patience was wearing thin. “I taught you to stand up for yourself and against those who’d seek to do you harm. Sounds to me you did the right thing. Yes, you acted preemptively, but that doesn’t make it wrong.”

  Funny how even the most sensible things sounded wrong coming from Charles. Standing up for yourself was a positive character trait—except when said self-defense included violence and bodily harm. Charles should have told his son that.

  “Is asserting myself fine by whatever means necessary?” Tom asked, worried about the answer. He didn’t want to hear his dad tell him that the end justified the means.

  Charles pursed his lips. “I’d hope you exercise good judgment and self-restraint. But this bully didn’t give you a choice.”

  That wasn’t true, Tom knew. Bill had made low blows and cheap shots, but he hadn’t done anything physically harmful. Nick was right; Bill hadn’t and might never go that far.

  Tom was puzzled why he felt so strongly about this issue. When he was younger, Tom had cared about what his dad thought about things and valued his opinion. Not anymore. But neither did he usually push his own arguments, figuring there wasn’t much point creating dissension. Had he outgrown his parent and started to see his life and the world as an adult and an individual separate from his family?

  Or did Tom just want to disagree with Charles because he didn’t want to become like him?

  “Forgetting that incident with the bully for now, though,” Charles exclaimed, his tone grave and ominous. “I don’t want you to go back to that… place in Crestone. It’s not good for you. That was your mother’s thing, but it won’t be yours. You’re coming with me to church this Sunday.”

  Tom fumed. “I can’t. I have plans.”

  Charles narrowed his eyes dangerously. “Cancel them. I’m your father. I know what’s best for you. And coming to church with me will be good for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t argue with me.”

  “You can’t even answer me?”

  “Your question doesn’t merit an answer. It’s foolish. You’re coming to church to learn to become a better man.”

  “I can learn those things at the monastery too.”

  Charles slammed his fist on the table. The tablecloth rippled, and the dishes clinked. Tom started, not having expected the furious reaction. “I forbid you to go there ever again. That place got its hooks into your poor mother, but it won’t get you.”

  Tom gasped. “Mom was a devout Buddhist. There’s nothing wrong with that. Buddhism is a beautiful religion.” Unlike Christianity, he finished the thought in his head.

  “Nonsense,” Charles huffed with indignation. “The Lord’s teachings—”

  “I don’t believe in God.”

  A stupefied silence dropped between them like a bomb had gone off, deafening them both. Tom sure as shit hadn’t intended to say that. But when the words spilled out on their own, he knew they were true. He didn’t have that kind of faith.

  Charles’s face turned red, and his eyes seemed to bug out. “You. Take. That. Back, boy.”

  For the first time ever in the company of his father, Tom was scared.

  He’d always feared losing the man’s respect, that he’d disappoint him somehow, that he’d fall short of his expectations. But Tom had never had cause to truly fear what his father might do and what he was capable of.

  Tom did consider taking it back. He seriously thought about denying what he’d said. How could he not? This was his dad. And when a dad asked his son to do something, he did it.

  Only… Tom couldn’t.

  “N-no, Dad. It’s true. I… I don’t believe in God.”

  His voice broke, and he had to swallow past the lump in his throat. Was that his heart? His doubts and panic increased tenfold.

  Charles stood abruptly. His chair scraped the floor, tilted backward, and fell with a thud. His eyes stormed and raged. “Your mother and I always believed you’d amount to something. Thank God she’s not here to see what a disgrace and disappointment you turned out to be.”

  He whirled around, exited the room, and slammed the door behind him. His footsteps sounded, heavy and hard on the stairs. Finally another bang told Tom that Charles had gone to his study and shut the door—and shut out his son.

  Tom sat in place, at first frozen, then shaking like a leaf, unable to stop. Then he began to tear up. His eyes swelled with wetness, and he was helpless against them. Despair carved the inside of his heart hollow and filled it with loss, anguish, and pain.

  Tom had never felt so alone, so abandoned, so cut off from everything and everyone in his life.

  He looked up at the fireplace, above which hung a portrait of Monica McAllister, her smile as enigmatic and loving as ever, her red hair flaming, her blue eyes bright and intelligent, her body clad in a fancy trouser suit. Monica never did anything the conventional way. She’d never been a girly, ultrafeminine woman. She’d been a feminist, strong and smart.

  Tom smiled at first. Then the ache grew too strong, and he was wracked with shudders of distress. His mom was gone forever, and his dad had in effect told him he was worthless if he wasn’t a Christian.

  Getting up on shaky legs, every childlike instinct in him cried out to run upstairs to his dad and beg his forgiveness. Charles was the only family Tom had left. He didn’t have grandparents like Nick, nor a bunch of cousins, aunts, uncles, and so on. All he had was his father.

  And the whole thing was so ridiculous. Tom had defended his mom’s faith, but he hadn’t said that was what he believed in. Tom wasn’t sure what he believed in. But to Charles, if he wasn’t a Christian, he was nothing… or just a worthless son.

  It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It sure as shit wasn’t ethical or moral.

  There was only one person left who could show Tom the way and shed some much-needed light on the situation, perchance even a flicker of hope. But at the moment, Nick was mad at him. Could Tom convince him to speak to him anyway? Tom dared to hope.

  Chapter 6

  A SOFT rapping roused Nick from restless sleep. Trembling, he got up, headed to the window of his second-floor bedroom, and parted the curtains.

  Only one person ever used that route. As expected, Tom crouched on the awning over the porch beneath the window, a streetlamp shining behind him, a foggy night spreading around him like a dark shroud, tall pines adding gloomy black shapes in the background. Neither the moon nor the stars were visible.

  At first Nick was tempted to snap at Tom and tell him to go home. But then he got a good look at the guy and saw damp striations of tears on his cheeks and a haunted look in his eyes.

  Nick flipped the lock and pushed up the window. “Tom? What’s wrong?”

  Tom wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. “Had an epic fight with Dad. I… I might not have a home to go back to.”

  “Jesus. Come in.” Nick stepped aside, and Tom climbed in.

  The room had no lights, as it was the middle of the night. The only illumination came from the dreamy beams of the streetlight through the curtains. Worried, Nick guided Tom to the bed with a hand on the small of his back. They sat together side by side, Nick slowly, Tom as heavily as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  “Wanna tell me about it?” Nick prodded gently, keeping his tone low and kind. Despite the strain on their relationship, Tom was his best friend. Seeing him in distress turned Nick’s stomach and scared him.

  “After what happened earlier today,” Tom started with a hoarse voice, proof positive he’d been crying, “you know, with Bill and you and all t
hat. I took the plane and went to talk to Master Oshin at the center.”

  “In Crestone? Where your mom used to go?”

  “Yeah.” Tom rubbed his forehead like he was in pain. “Dad had found out about what I did to Bill. He didn’t say anything about it. He said I stood up for myself against a bully, and that made it okay. But… I didn’t agree with him. Then I stupidly confessed what I’d done afterward and that I thought Buddhism is a beautiful religion.”

  Nick grimaced. “Bet that didn’t go over very well.”

  “No.” Tom let out a bitter laugh that died quickly. “And then, in an act of pure and utter insanity… I told him I don’t believe in God. He was so mad, he yelled at me and stormed out.”

  “Oh my God.” Nick could have slapped himself, and he blushed. “Sorry.”

  “Just a phrase, doesn’t mean anything.” Tom sighed and slumped, every gesture and sound a testament to defeat and despair. “The thing is… he was going on and on about how Christianity is so much better than other faiths. I got so mad. I felt like he was trashing Mom.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that,” Nick offered to alleviate Tom’s suffering.

  Tom flopped down on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “He never approved of Mom’s religious views. He always thought Mom’s beliefs were wrong. And he hated whenever she went to the center.”

  “That doesn’t mean he hated your mom,” Nick denied as softly as he could.

  Tom shook his head, probably not hearing Nick’s assurances. “He’s such a hypocrite. Like I don’t know about his abuses of power, privilege, and position. And he lectures me about ethics?”

  Nick paused before speaking. The truth was, he didn’t know for certain if Charles actually was corrupt. These days it seemed like everyone was, in it just for themselves, selfish and greedy.

  “Anyway, Master Oshin advised me to… to tell you why I hit Bill.” Tom sat up again, and his nervousness came off him in waves. Nick braced for the emotional impact. “Oshin challenged me to try and see beyond Bill’s bullying. Why’s he such a dickhead? He also told me the same thing you told me: that I had no real justification to hit him.”

  Nick released an inward breath as the tension in his gut eased. Tom saw the light after all. “So why did you do that?”

  Tom picked at his cuticles, appearing embarrassed. Nick stopped his agitated movements with a hand over his. Tom jumped and looked at Nick for the first time. His eyes shone with unshed tears in the gloom of the night.

  Tom closed his eyes and exhaled. “I remembered seeing Bill in church one Sunday. It was ages ago. Haven’t gone in years. Not since Mom died. But… I remembered him sitting there in the pew, looking up at the minister, quiet and reverent. Just like… Dad.” Tom growled, his anger on the rise again it seemed. “Both of them hypocrites and liars and bullies.”

  “So you got mad?” Nick clarified. Tom’s words explained a lot. Tom held a lot of hidden resentment within him. It must have searched for an outlet and exploded at a perceived slight. Had it really been a case of transference? Perhaps. “At your dad?” Nick asked.

  “Mostly, I guess.” Tom hunched again, his ire evaporating. “It’s all for show, you know? They go to church, but they don’t really practice what they preach. After what happened with Mom, I read about religious households where kids are told their faith alone makes them ethical, so they don’t need to actually do anything ethical to prove it. In nonreligious households, on the other hand, kids are taught to show their ethics all the time, with every decision, each act, as if they renew their ethical code and moral fiber every second. Religious kids don’t. They’re fakes.”

  Nick’s brain was a muddled mess, but he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. “By that definition, you should be a less ethical person ’cause you grew up in a religious family.”

  Tom scoffed. “I reject religion. I reject God. I reject them all. It’s all bullshit.” He turned to Nick, his face solemn. “I’m going to apologize to Bill. I doubt it’ll do any good or make Bill change his ways, but I’ll do it anyway.”

  “Did Oshin teach you that?”

  Tom smiled a little for the first time. “No. You did. He just repeated a truth you’d already told me. And you’re both right. Oshin said the key is dialog, same as you. I’ll ask Bill why he’s being such a douchebag.”

  Nick frowned in disbelief. “You think that’ll make a difference?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know. We’ll see.” Tom shrugged. “Dad says only a Christian can be ethical. But he didn’t blame me for hitting Bill. That’s my point. He thought, based on his faith, that Bill was already wrong, so Dad had to be right. Therefore me hitting him was also right.”

  “But you know it wasn’t?” Nick finished for him, hopeful and relieved.

  “Yeah. Mom would have grounded me for a year and made me go to Bill then and there to say I was sorry. And she would’ve made sure I really meant it.”

  Now Nick was confused. “But your mom was religious too. Just not a Christian. She was a Buddhist. Doesn’t the thing you mentioned about religious households apply to all religions?”

  “The article was mostly about Christians and Muslims, I think.”

  Nick hesitated, seeing the elephant in the room but not knowing whether or not he should point it out to his best friend, who seemed oblivious, blind, or purposely ignorant. In the end, he had to go with the truth.

  “You’ve never liked Christianity.”

  Tom faced him in an instant, his eyes widening and burning. “You think I’m being racist or prejudiced? Sure, I hate the way my dad interprets faith, how people like him and Bill only pay lip service to its best positive tenets. But I don’t… specifically… hate Christianity.”

  His voice faded as he went on. Nick understood. Tom had probably never taken a step back to assess his animosity toward Christianity and its relationship with his father. Now that correlation had become impossible to miss and hard to ignore.

  Tom frowned, hedging, his voice cracking. “You think… I hate Christianity because deep down I hate… Dad?”

  Nick sidled closer and put his arm around Tom’s shoulder to comfort him. “You don’t hate him. Right now you’re mad at him. That’s okay. We can get angry at the people we love. Doesn’t mean we truly and deeply hate them.”

  Tom said nothing. He seemed to consider very carefully what Nick was saying. His brow scrunched in contemplation, his lips thinning, his gaze glossing over. Nick let him have a moment.

  Then Nick realized Tom had more on his mind and conscience. “There was another reason why I hit Bill.” Tom sounded ashamed, and Nick had cause to fear the worst. “What if Bill talked trash about us ’cause he thought you and I were, you know, together?”

  Nick felt a chill. He didn’t like where this was going. “So you hit him because the idea of other people thinking you’re with me bothered you?”

  Surprisingly, Tom shook his head. “No. Well, yes… sort of. At first.” His expression showed bafflement and melancholy. “Later, when you and I argued, I understood the other reason. It was what you said.”

  “What did I say?”

  “How hanging out with me made you happy.” Tom met his gaze, a pleading look in his. “I got the picture then. Because that’s how I feel whenever I’m with you. So when Bill made fun of us, it felt like he was cheapening what we had.” A pregnant pause revealed Tom’s anxiety as he paled and fidgeted in place. “What I felt for you. Do feel for you.”

  Nonplussed, Nick stared at his best friend. His jaw practically clicked as it dropped. He’d never expected this. “And, uh… how do you feel about me?”

  Tom worried his bottom lip, a deer-in-headlights fear shining in his widened eyes. “I love you, Nicky.”

  Chapter 7

  NICK’S BREATH hitched, and his heart skipped a few beats. Questions swirled in his brain, and doubts plagued his soul. “I love you too, Tom. You’re my best friend.”

  Tom frowned, clearly vexed.
“No. Not like a friend.”

  Nick licked his lips to buy time and get a handle on his emotions, hope chief among them. “Tom, you’re not gay. You’ve been with girls your whole life.”

  “They don’t make me feel the way you do,” Tom argued, getting defensive by the sound of it. “I don’t get it. Why are you trying to convince me that I’m not in love with you?”

  A panic attack drove Nick’s heart into a fit of palpitations. Cold sweat ran up and down his spine. Had Tom just said what Nick thought he’d heard? “Look, you feeling good around me is a long ways away from wanting to get hot and nekkid with me.”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “No one says nekkid anymore.”

  “And here I thought I was the one hung up on words.” They shared a chuckle, as awkward as it was. But it was a small positive sign, so Nick dared to hope. “I’m gay, Tom, but—”

  “But you don’t think I could be gay?”

  “Like I said a second ago, never seen you interested in dudes, man.”

  “Never been—until you.”

  “Oh, so this is one of those gay-for-you types of things?”

  “The what type?”

  “Argh. See? You know nothing about gay culture.”

  “I thought being gay meant you loved and had sex with guys. Or was I misinformed?”

  Nick prayed for patience. “Jesus Christ, what are you? Five?”

  “No. I’m eighteen, and I wanna have sex with you.”

  Nick gasped in shock. “What the fucking hell, Tom? A minute ago you were in love with me, and already you’ve jumped into the sex bit.”

  “I wanna jump you, all right.” Tom leered, smirking wickedly.

  Nick drooped and started to cave for no other reason than that this was his best friend, whom he adored. “Come off it, will you?”

  “Wanna come off on you,” Tom added before Nick could stop him.

  Nick elbowed Tom in the side, though not hard enough to really hurt. “Stop. Right now.”

  Tom’s smile faded, and he sagged, twiddling his fingers nervously. “This isn’t about either of us being gay, is it? This is about the fact that you’re not in love with me.”