“My mom and I used to come here once a week,” Chris mumbles through the crumbs of his pastry. “She loves this tea, so I kinda got attached to it. Now, I can’t get anything else.”
Wiping the frosting from my fingers on the white cloth napkin, I’m drawn to the massive white and blue striped oil paper umbrella above us. It’s tattered, and bits of the beautiful design hang from the frame.
“So, you must be wondering why I wanted to bring you here?” Chris pulls me away from the absurdity of the scenery.
“Mildly curious would be the best description.”
He squirms in his seat, pulling at the ends of the tablecloth. “I was hoping, if we came someplace like this, it would be easier to talk.”
For some reason, my heart leaps into my throat. I have to clear it before I can speak.
“And what is it you want to talk about, exactly?”
“I think you already know.”
So, that’s his play. This has all been an elaborate trap set to ensnare me into discussing details about myself I don’t ever care to disclose.
“Maybe now is not the best time.”
“Why not?” He leans forward, dark eyes watching my every move.
“Because it’s not something I want to talk about.” I inject as much finality into my tone as possible.
“Oh.” His back hits the chair, shoulders slumping as he lets out a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, it’s just…”
No excuse comes to mind. I look around. No one is paying us the tiniest bit of attention. Why can’t I talk about this? A switch flips and suddenly, I’m the one leaning forward.
“Actually,” I say and set an elbow on the table, “I am uncomfortable. I’ve been uncomfortable in my own skin for the last sixteen years. So, it may take me a minute to get used to it, but… Why shouldn’t we talk about it?”
Chris smiles, reaching for the tea pot. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
He pours a cup of the dark liquid, and floral aromas waft towards me. I take the delicate porcelain him, filling my own cup before setting the pot back down on the plate.
“Fair warning.” Chris sips his own tea. “It’s really strong. If the taste doesn’t appeal to you, just try adding cream and sugar.”
Water wells in my eyes after a sniff. Downing a horrible sip, I reach for the sugar. Chris chuckles while I pour almost half the container in.
“I told you.” He passes me the dish of what I thought was whipped cream. “It’s clotted cream,” he explains, “just like they use in Britain. Authentic, huh? It’ll help take some of the edge off.”
I stir a huge dollop in before taking another sip of the newly sweetened drink. A bitter aftertaste still lingers, but it’s not so unpleasant.
“It tastes like licorice.” I realize after another sip. The more I drink, the better it tastes.
Chris lifts his own cup, taking a sip of the straight stuff. He doesn’t even make a face.
A minute of silence feels like an eternity.
Questions buzz around my head in a swarm, stinging the edges of my brain until one forces its way out.
“When did you know?”
His eyebrows rise, cup clinking back onto the saucer.
“You’re going to need to be more specific.”
I lean forward, my voice involuntarily lowering. “When did you realize you were…? You know.”
“Alarmingly attractive?” Chris leans back in his chair. “From a young age. I’ve always suspected my dashing good looks would be the downfall of countless men and women alike.”
I roll my eyes. “You know what I’m saying.”
“Do I?” He folds his arms.
“Jesus, fine!” I blurt out. “When did you know you were gay?”
“If we’re going to talk about it, there was no point in tip-toeing around the subject.” Chris drinks from his mug.
“Fine, whatever. Answer the question.” You could fry an egg on my forehead.
“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you when the thought first popped in my head,” Chris says, eyes drifting from me and out the window to the right. “All I remember is that, one day I woke up, and suddenly, it was like I was seeing boys for the first time.
“I had a best friend when I was nine. His name was Russell, and we used to spend every minute together. That was until the day I decided we should paint our fingernails with watercolor paint. Well, after we showed my little art project to our parents, suddenly Russell didn’t come around anymore. I remember Mom and Dad talking about it one night when they thought I was asleep, but it wasn’t until two years later I understood what they’d been saying. And it’s been one cautious step after another to keep my secret.”
The story sounds familiar, even though I’ve never heard it.
“Was it the same for you?” Chris asks.
“I guess.” I reach for another cupcake, peeling the wax paper slowly. “For the most part. Except, I can remember the first time I realized I might be different. My brother’s friend actually made me start thinking about it.”
Blond curls and tanned skin flash through my mind, and I take a second to let the details resurface.
“His name was… I mean is Phillip. He’s not dead of anything.” A nervous laugh escapes, and I feel like an idiot. “I just haven’t seen him in years. Anyway…he was spending the night with Tommy one week, and the two of them were jumping on the old trampoline in the back yard. And I just kept staring at Phillip. The way his shirt would ride up, or how his muscles would contract each time he landed. And there was this feeling in my gut I couldn’t figure out. Did I want to be like Phillip, or did I want to be with Phillip?
“It was a very long, hot summer.” More nervous chuckles overtake me, and my cheeks fill with searing heat. “After that point, I just kind of knew. I’d heard of gay before, but it was never discussed in my family. Just swept under the rug like the majority of serious issues, I suppose.”
Taking a bite of the cake, I chew slowly, glad to have something other than awkward topics to keep my mouth busy.
“Crushes are the worst,” Chris says, filling the silence before sipping his horrifyingly unsweetened tea. “Especially for us. I mean, straight guys can walk into any place, flirt it up with a girl, and not worry about being punched in the face. At least, the majority of the time. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jackie has slugged a douchebag or two.”
I snort, lips spreading with a smile. “She much prefers a swift kick to the dick. It sends a clearer message.”
“Jesus.” Chris cups his crotch. “Remind me not to piss her off.”
We both chuckle before our eyes drift to the window. The sun has begun to set behind the buildings across the street, and golden beams of light stream in through cracks and gaps. It’s kind of beautiful here. I would never have guessed we were so close to the city.
Another question threatens its way out of my head. One I’ve been dying to ask the entire afternoon but haven’t been able to think of the words to say. Then again, tact has never been my strong suit. So, I ask anyways.
“So, not to be rude,” I start, which universally means I’m about to say something incredibly rude. “But how can you stand to live with that hateful piece of shit you call a dad?”
Fuck, Mike. That wasn’t even close to chill.
Chris blinks a few times, his head giving a little twitch as if trying to shake off what I said. “Excuse me?”
“S-sorry.” I attempt to save face. “That didn’t come out right. I mean, I just wanted to know—”
His laughter stops me.
“It’s fine.” His shoulders still shake. “Honestly, there’s nothing you can really say about him that I haven’t already thought. I just wasn’t expecting you come right out with it, I guess.”
“Yeah, sorry again.”
“Don’t be,” Chris says. “As you can imagine, my relationship with him is strained at best. And, to answ
er your question, it’s very difficult. I would love nothing more than to tell him to go fuck himself and then bounce. But that would mean leaving my mother alone with him, which is not exactly something I’d want to do.” His eyes drop to the table, fingers circling the edge of his mug. “She means too much to me. I know she’d choose me over him in a heartbeat. But, when it comes down to it, I don’t think she has the strength to leave him.”
“Well, shit.”
That sums things up nicely. His situation is all kinds of fucked up.
“My sentiments exactly.” Chris nods. “But what’s even more annoying is it’s not just my sexuality I have to keep hidden from him. These days, it’s almost everything about me. My writing, my college plans, my faith issues—”
“Faith issues?” I pluck that one from the list.
“Yeah,” he replies. “Don’t you have them too? They kind of go hand in hand with our situations.”
“I mean, sure, there’re days I don’t know what to believe. But I didn’t think you’d struggle with that too. You are a P.K. for Christ’s sake.”
“And that means I automatically have a bulletproof faith?”
“Well, yeah. I guess.”
“That’s ridiculous.” He scoffs. “I have more reasons than anyone to struggle with this stuff. I’ve seen it all from the inside for so long I’m not even sure I believe in anything anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
Chris doesn’t respond right away, just traces a pattern into the white tablecloth with his index finger. When he does speak, it’s hushed. “I just can’t believe. Not right now, at least.”
Is he serious? Here I was hoping that he’d be able to quell the raging thoughts in my head. Guess that was wishful thinking.
“Well, fuck!”
He jumps as I bang my hand on the table, nearly tipping my cup over.
“Some preacher’s kid you are. You’re just as fucked up as the rest of us!”
He gives a small smile, and he looks like his mother. Her face is still fresh in my mind.
“So, not to change the subject,” I say even though that’s exactly what I’m doing, “but do you think you could bring me that portrait of your mom tomorrow? I want to finish the details.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to finish it.” His eyes widen.
“What, and leave Vanessa hanging for her fake birthday? What kind of friend do you think I am?”
“Friend,” Chris repeats. “I think I’m even more surprised you’d want to be that, all things considered.”
“Well, I’m just full of surprises,” I tell him before taking another sip of my tea. “And, as your friend, can I be completely honest? This stuff still tastes like shit. I’m gonna grab a cup of coffee.”
“Sure.” Chris refills his cup. “More for me.”
Getting up from the table, I find a way back to the counter where the teal-tinted lady waits for me.
“Not a fan of the dandelion?” She grins as I make a face.
“There’s not enough sugar in the world,” I reply, looking back to the chalkboards hanging from the wall. “Can I get a latte, please? Extra sugar?”
“Coming right up, sweetie.” She winks at me then sets to work on my beverage.
I lean against the counter, surveying my surroundings as I wait. The rest of the tables are filling up. Apparently, afternoon tea is very poplar around here.
At the table in the corner, there are two boys that look to be about my age sitting across from each other, one with blond hair, and the other with red hair that has been cropped short. They lean in close, talking just low enough I can only hear a murmur. The blond one reaches across the table and twists his fingers around the other boy’s with a smile.
The gesture is so innocent, and yet, I feel my cheeks flare with unexplained heat.
Why am I like this, Big Guy? They’re just holding hands, but I feel like I’m watching them go at it on top of the table. We both know I’ve watched far raunchier things happen between two guys.
Maybe that’s the reason. This isn’t something I’m seeing under my blanket at midnight. This is the real world. And these are real people, just drinking tea and holding hands.
So, calm down, Mike.
“Here you go.” The barista slides my drink over the counter.
“Thank you,” I say, balancing the saucer as I retrace my steps back to our table.
“I’ve officially used all the orange jam,” Chris announces, staring sadly at the empty plastic container. “Hope you didn’t want any.”
“That’s okay,” I tell him before sipping foam from my latte. “I won’t hold it against you.”
“You’re a saint,” he quips, eyes drifting back to the window.
And, just like that, I don’t know what to say next. So, I sip my coffee and grab a cookie from the tray.
I’m going to have the worst breakout of my life after all these sweets. I’ll have to wash my face three times a day.
“Can I ask you something?” Chris looks at me.
“Sure,” I answer.
He hesitates, fingers tracing the tablecloth again. “Never mind. Forget I said anything….”
“Are you asking if I’m a virgin?” I joke, breaking the tension.
Chris’s pale cheeks turn scarlet as his head drops.
“Oh, shit.” I laugh. “You were really going to ask me that, weren’t you?”
“N-not if you were a virgin,” he stammers. “Jesus. I’m not that bold. Just…you know, if you’d done anything with a guy before.”
My heart does this weird fluttering thing, and I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is within earshot. “I mean, yeah. Duh. Haven’t you?”
Chris shakes his head, looking like he’s about to die from embarrassment. “How could I? Almost every spare moment of my time leading up to this point has been spent at the church with my parents. Not exactly a ton of opportunities for…that.”
We share another awkward laugh, and a thought hits me like a truck. My stomach tightens. “Hey, the other night… That wasn’t your first kiss, was it?”
He looks away from me, and I have my answer.
“Whoa.” I sigh. “That’s pretty shitty. I would say I was sorry for hitting you, but you really deserved it.”
Chris nods his head. “What was it like for you? Your first kiss, I mean.”
“Ugh, I’d rather forget it.”
Neon braces and zits. Not the best combination.
“It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“You didn’t have to kiss him,” I retort as vivid details of that day race back in. I start reluctantly. “I was thirteen, and it was a game of truth or dare at Jackie’s birthday party. His name was Freddie, and he had a mouthful of braces. It was my turn, and I picked dare, so Taylor Shay made us kiss. It was terrible on so many levels. Yet, I found the idea of kissing Freddie more exciting than kissing any of the girls at the party. Poor guy was mortified, and I had to pretend to be just as opposing.”
“Okay.” Chris is trying not to laugh. “I take it back. That sounds awful.”
“Thank you.” I take another swig of my latte.
“Well, at least he didn’t slap you because you were being a dick.”
“That’s true.”
“I imagine thirteen-year-old Jackie must have laughed her ass off.”
“She was pissed actually.” I grin. “She had a thing for Freddie.”
Jeez, I haven’t thought about that in forever. An age of my life I’d rather forget.
“What drama.” Chris leans on an elbow. “I’m glad to see your friendship didn’t suffer.”
“She didn’t talk to me for a month.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” He chuckles. “She’s ridiculous.”
And I thought you wanted to get in her pants. Boy, was I wrong?
“I have a confession to make,” I tell him, taking another sip of my coffee.
“That’s not terrifying at all.”
“I
t’s actually pretty funny,” I say.
Chris exhales his tension.
“But, until yesterday, I thought you had a thing for Jackie.”
Chris blinks. “Really?”
I nod, draining the last of my latte. “I know right? Ironic I have a faulty gaydar.”
Chris explodes with laughter, and the group of people from the other side of the room crane their heads to see the ruckus. It goes on for a little too long in my opinion.
“Oh, my gosh.” He wipes a tear. “I’m sorry. But that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a really long time.”
“You don’t get out a lot, do you?”
“Well, I don’t know about you,” Chris says as he claps, giving me a start, “but I’ve had enough tea. Let’s get out of here.” He rises to his feet, dusting crumbs off the front of his shirt.
“Oh.” I stand too, my knee knocking into the table. “Sure, I guess it is getting late.”
“Don’t worry, the night’s just getting started,” Chris says, a glimmer of mischief in his eye.
“Uh, what are you talking about?” I ask, but he’s already moving for the door. “T-Thanks!” I call to the teal-haired woman behind the counter as I follow him out to the sidewalk. The deep orange sun is hot against my skin, and the heat shimmers up from the ground with such intensity I swear I’ve stepped into an oven.
“Where are we going?” I call after Chris.
“Somewhere.” He smiles, crossing the street without a care.
I hurry after him, passing colorful shops at a breakneck pace. A steady flow of people fills the sidewalk now the heat of the day has passed. They walk dogs, jog by, or move in tandem with fingers linked together while laughing.
This neighborhood is teeming with life, and it’s infectious.
Chris comes to a halt in front of the store front, and I almost run into him. A metal sign above the door reads Piercing Experience.
“You can’t be serious.” My eyes widen.
“Come on, you big baby.” He laughs, pulling the glass door open. He disappears inside, leaving me alone.
Hesitating, I glance down the sidewalk. If he thinks I’m letting anyone near me with a fucking piercing gun, he has another thing coming. But, after a deep breath, I push the door open and step into the cool air of the shop.
There Goes Sunday School Page 11