“That Mohammed would be crazy not to like you, to feel something for you.”
Isaac knew Josh was speaking the truth. He had felt it in Mohammed’s caress and saw it in his gaze. Secretly, and with time, Isaac was hoping that their affair would develop into a relationship, but after what happened that day, the opportunity was now lost.
As if reading the dialogue running endlessly in his head, Josh said, “Wait and see.” He retrieved the television remote from the coffee table and juggled it in his hand. “Want to get lost in Tivo’d Vampire Academies? I promised Mitch I’d watch them and clear some space.”
Short of making love to Mohammed for the rest of the night, which he doubted would ever be an option again, Isaac couldn’t think of anything else he would rather be doing.
“Do you have enough episodes to last until sunrise?”
Turning on the television and snuggling into the seat of the couch, Josh answered, “If I don’t, I have at least two seasons of Real Housewives of New York we can make a dent in.”
“Sounds perfect,” Isaac said before tipping back the rest of his beer. And it was.
* * * *
Mohammed couldn’t leave it until the next day—although he wanted to. But could he risk that Emma wouldn’t tell his parents? And if she did, wouldn’t that make everything that much worse? He was normally so careful, better at covering his tracks. So why and how did he fuck up so damn badly this time? It was a question he’d been asking himself since he asked Isaac to leave … or better stated, kicked him out. He regretted doing it, but at that moment, he was panicked and having Isaac standing there looking at him with those sympathetic eyes was a reminder that he had played with fire, and he was now burned.
While driving to his parents’, he rehearsed what he was going to say, but every time he got to the part of admitting being gay, the words stuck in his throat. He just couldn’t say it aloud. It made it too real. It made it too final.
But he had no choice. And if he was being totally honest with himself, a small part of him was glad that it was over. He was tired of living a lie—a lie that wore heavy on his soul. Now it was time for his parents to take the burden of his homosexuality. He felt it was a burden because it had been for him for far too long, and he was handing it over for them to deal with it. It would no longer be his responsibility.
He found them in the living room, the television illuminating the dark space that had no lights on. When he walked in, Patrick roused, and Parveen turned down the set with the remote that was on her lap. They both scooted up in their seats, Patrick in his favorite chair and Parveen on the sofa.
She patted the space beside her. “Come. Sit.”
“Would you like something to eat?” Patrick added.
“No. I’m fine,” he replied, before sitting and turning on the nearest lamp. He took the remote from his mother’s hand and shut off the television. Mohammed was aware that they were watching him closely with funny expressions on their faces. He felt slow and awkward. His mouth was dry, and his hands began to shake. Briefly, he tried to remember a moment when he was this nervous. He came up with nothing.
Mohammed took a noticeable deep breath, ignoring his mother’s furrowed brow.
“Are you sure everything is all right?” Parveen’s words sounded distant. Muffled.
He nodded. “I have something to tell you. It’s very important.”
“We can see that, Son.” Patrick leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No. Nothing like that … at least I don’t think I am.”
Parveen grabbed Mohammed’s hand. “You’re scaring me, sweetheart. Please tell us this important thing because I’m getting very nervous.”
He couldn’t look his mother in the eye. “That makes two of us,” he mumbled under his breath, more for his benefit than for hers. He felt the weight of her hand and the weight of their stares. He went to open his mouth, but there was silence. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he found the words he should have said long ago.
“Mom. Dad. I’m gay.”
There was no emotional floodgate, no revelation, only a deafening silence.
Patrick spoke first. “Is this a joke?”
Mohammed realized that he was now gripping his mother’s hand, no longer the other way around.
“Are you laughing?”
“You’re serious,” Patrick said. “This isn’t some kind of phase or crisis or something?”
“No. Pretending I was straight was the crisis. Me … here … now … this is who I am. I’m gay.” He said it with more confidence this time.
Then came silence, insecurity.
Mohammed found it in him to look at his mother. She was pale and appeared thinner in the dim lighting.
“Is this why you couldn’t talk about marriage, or having children?” she asked.
“Yes. I was doing enough lying, and I couldn’t tell another one. My life has been a lie up to now, and I’m done. Having a grandchild is important to you, I know. But how could I promise you a grandchild when I know deep down it was never going to happen?”
“Never?” Parveen’s voice was reedy and breathless.
“Maybe never.” Mohammed shrugged. “Who knows what will happen. I never thought I would be doing this. Telling you the truth.”
Patrick stood from his chair to sit beside Mohammed. “You’re our only chance at having grandchildren, but we don’t want you to live a life of unhappiness just because of guilt and sense of duty. That’s no life for anyone to lead, for you, your wife, or your children.” Patrick took his free hand. “That’s a life of sickness and regret. We love you and would never want that for you.”
“It’s safe to say that we are shocked,” Parveen said, her words measured and purposeful. “And although we still have many conversations to have, what you need to know right now is that we love you more than life itself. You’re our son. Our joy.” Her tears flowed freely. “Nothing that you could ever do would disappoint us.”
Holding his parents’ hands, Mohammed cried. They were tears of relief and sadness, but mostly they were tears of hope and of healing.
He didn’t know how long they stayed huddled on the couch holding hands, but what was important was they did. His fear of harsh, horrible words, and ultimately, abandonment, never occurred. Above everything, he was ashamed that he hadn’t given his parents, who always loved him, enough credit. Mohammed now realized it wasn’t their hate and rejection he had feared most but his own. He was now free to live his life on his own terms, and the prospect was petrifying.
* * * *
Mohammed stepped out into the cool, night air. It was laced with night-blooming jasmine and hibiscus combined with a hint of salty ocean. He itched to experience new horizons, but no matter where he would visit or end up in his life, he knew that he’d miss the magic of a Florida night. He inhaled deeply and held it as if it would create a stronger, more accurate memory. This scent would define the night he came out to the most important people in his life, and now it was time to move on and start anew. As he walked to his car to drive to his apartment, he began to plan his future. For his parents’ sake, he would wait to leave until after Christmas. But for his sake, Mohammed promised himself to be at a destination unknown to celebrate the New Year.
Chapter Ten
Hanukah had passed, Christmas too, and not a single word from Mohammed. No text telling Isaac if he was alive, no call stating that he would like to see him again. Isaac would have settled for smoke signals, but the days had been crystal clear, and none appeared on the horizon. He had hoped that their relationship would survive, but Isaac had come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t. He needed closure to mend his wounded heart, so he had to create his own by moving on, and Mohammed’s silence was just that. Closure.
It was going okay until his smartphone chimed, signaling an incoming text.
“Meet at Siesta Beach. 3? Want to say goodbye.”
Isa
ac wanted to text back, “C ya” but his fingers had ideas of their own.
After agreeing to meet Mohammed, he counted the minutes until he pulled into public parking. Cars and trucks with out-of-state license plates scattered the sandy lot. It was easy to spot Mohammed. His almost blue-black hair in need of a haircut caught the breeze, and his golden skin beckoned. Now out of his car, Isaac jogged up to Mohammed who was standing by his own vehicle. He looked happy, serene, Isaac thought, as Mohammed casually leaned the weight of his body on the open door frame with his elbow, his legs crossed at the ankles.
“Hey,” Mohammed said, speaking first.
Isaac was grateful that he did because he feared what he would say after days without seeing Mohammed. “Hey,” he answered back, wanting to say so many things but deciding instead to keep it to himself.
“Thanks for coming. And thanks for giving me the space I needed these last few days.”
“How is”—Isaac faltered unsure what to say next—“everything?” he decided on.
“Could be worse.” Mohammed smiled a crooked smile. “Could be better.”
“That sounds encouraging.”
“It is.” Mohammed shifted out of his stance, standing erect. He slid his hands into the front pockets of his denim shorts. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I treated you the other evening. It wasn’t personal. I was frightened and angry and confused.”
“And you don’t feel like any of those things anymore?”
Mohammed chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far … but I do feel better.”
“How’s Emma?”
“She’s hurt. Sad.” He lowered his head before returning his gaze. “With time, maybe we can be friends, but I don’t really see that happening soon.”
“Did she tell your parents?”
“No. I did.”
“You said you wanted to say good-bye. Is it because of them, because they don’t accept you?”
“They’re being great. They are great. I never thought that they would be as accepting as they are. It’s baffling.”
“I’m glad to hear. Some people aren’t so lucky.”
“Thankfully, I’m not one of them,” Mohammed said. “Are you good with your parents?”
“Yeah. We have other problems, but being gay is not one of them.”
“Good.”
There was a silence that lasted a few ticks. They looked at each other, both smiling. “Your text?” Isaac said.
“Yeah. That.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll know when I get there. I’ve decided to head north on the highway. As of yet, I don’t have any definitive plans except for driving.”
“Will you be gone long? What about school?”
“I’m taking the semester off. I might be back, but I might not. I need time to discover who I am.”
“Alone?” Isaac’s tone was more hopeful than he wanted to express.
Mohammed’s smile grew. “Yeah. Alone.”
Isaac stuck out a hand for a shake. “Then I want to say good luck. You won’t need it because I already know you have everything going for you, but I’m wishing it anyway.” Isaac hoped his expression would not give away his conflicted emotions.
When Mohammed took his hand, Isaac felt something hard and cold against his palm. When he released Mohammed’s shake, he opened his hand to see a silver key shining in the afternoon sun. “What’s this?” he asked, truly confused.
“My apartment key. I thought you could water my plants.”
“Uh. Okay.”
“I also figured it would be a great place for you to stay. I’ve paid the lease, and I ran it by the landlord. If you want it, it’s yours for two months and two weeks.”
“But I can’t?”
“But you could.”
“But what if you come back?”
“Then you’ll have to make room in my bed that’s now your bed.”
Tears welled in Isaac’s eyes, and he curled his fingers around the key.
Mohammed placed his hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “Please don’t be sad.”
“I’m sorry … it’s just—” Isaac’s voice cracked. “I’m going to miss you.”
Mohammed enveloped him in a hug. Isaac swam in it for as long as he could. “I’ll miss you too,” Mohammed replied. “But I’ll be back. I have some nice things in that apartment, and I plan on keeping them.”
“I’ll take good care of everything.”
“What I want most is for you to take care of yourself. That’s why I’m giving you the keys to my place. Use it as if it’s your own personal road trip. Everyone needs their own space, and now you have one.” Mohammed stepped back and gave Isaac a reassuring shake. “Promise me you’ll do that?”
“Promise,” Isaac said, nodding.
“It’s time for me to go.”
Isaac watched as Mohammed got into his car. He turned over the engine and looked up at him through the already open window. “One last thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Thank you for giving me life.” Mohammed’s eyes sparkled with tears. “That’s a great gift to give, Isaac Bronstein, and I will always be grateful.”
Isaac could only nod as he fought back sobs that would come later. And as Mohammed drove away, he managed to say, “You’re welcome.”
* * * *
“Brains!”
Josh and Mitch stood at the door, party shirts on and their almost identical hairstyles shooting in every direction.
“Are we the first to arrive?” Mitch said, looking around the empty room.
“You could say that,” Isaac returned, then stepped aside to allow his friends to pass into his apartment.
“What do you mean?” Josh asked.
“We’re the party.”
“We always knew that,” Mitch stated matter-of-factly.
“Allow me to clarify,” Isaac began. “The three of us make up the party. I only invited you two.”
“Why’s that?” Mitch scratched his head, redesigning his rumpled but still sexy look.
“Because I couldn’t think of any others I’d rather be with for the night. I thought we’d sit back, play some games, watch a movie. Chill.”
“Sounds good, dude,” Mitch said.
There was a silence between them, but Isaac knew what they wanted to ask. “I’m fine,” he assured, deciding to put them out of their misery. “Really.”
“Really?” Josh said, sounding doubtful.
“Better than I thought I would be.”
“Do you know how he’s doing?” Josh asked, referring to Mohammed.
“I do,” Isaac said. “He texted to ask how his plants were right before you got here, and he said he was in DC. He likes it, and he’s even looking at schools.”
“Weren’t you thinking about going to school there once?” Mitch asked.
“I was.”
“Are you thinking about it again?” Josh said.
“Maybe. Possibly,” Isaac answered. “Since getting this place, I’ve had time to sit and really think, ask myself some really hard questions.”
“And what have you come up with?” Josh said.
“That I don’t want fear to rule my life.”
Mitch cocked his head, brows knitted. “But I thought you liked it here?”
“I love it here, but maybe my parents are right. Maybe I should think about going somewhere else for school.”
“Did I really just hear you say that? That your parents are right?” Josh said.
“Scary, huh?”
“I’ll say,” he replied.
“I’m not going to do anything drastic, only entertaining the idea. I’m going to stick to the plan and finish out the year here, but I’ve started to look into other schools, George Washington and American University, both which are in the nation’s capital.”
Mitch chuckled. “How can you go wrong living in the nation’s capital? Sounds way too grand to fail.”
“I don’t want to get ahead of m
yself, but it’s not so scary to imagine moving somewhere else as it once was. In a roundabout way, Mohammed has given me the strength to not be afraid. Right before he left, he said I helped him find life, and maybe he’s doing the same for me.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, but what I do know is that the world is a big place and I wouldn’t mind seeing some of it.”
“And will you be seeing it alone?” Josh’s smile was sly, and there was a hint of playfulness in his powder blue eyes.
“Mohammed did happen to mention that he wouldn’t mind seeing me if I made it to DC.”
They both groaned.
“Don’t worry. If I do this, I won’t be doing it for Mohammed. I’ll be doing it for me.”
“Our little boy is growing up,” Mitch said in his best motherly tone.
Josh followed his lead by knotting his hands into fists and screwing them below his eyes, pretended to cry. “I’m so proud of our baby. We’ll miss you, my darling.”
Isaac shoved Josh. “I’m not going anywhere yet. You’re still stuck with me for a few months at least.”
“All kidding aside,” Mitch said. “This is great news, but there was some loose talk about a party. Where are the drinks? I’m thirsty.”
“They’re in the fridge,” Isaac said. “Just pick your poison.”
“And the nibbles?” Josh asked.
“I just finished telling you that I was thinking about moving. Do you know how expensive it is to feed you two? You’re a couple of locusts. And my car doesn’t run on sunshine and air, you know. I have to seriously start saving my money.”
“So what you’re saying is—if we’re expecting to eat, which we are, we’re footing the bill for the pizza?”
“I like mine with extra pepperoni.” Isaac winked. “Black olives too if you can stand it.”
“Anything for you, bro,” Josh said. “Anything for you. One thing, though.”
“What’s that?” Isaac asked.
“My phone died on the way here, so you’ll have to make the call.”
“I can do that.” Isaac went to retrieve his phone, which was sitting on the kitchen counter and he noticed a text from Mohammed.
The Boys of Banana Court: Box Set Page 23