When Sascha eventually had come home from Adelaide, after a full year, it got even worse. His parents overflowed with admiration for their son, the first one in the village to go overseas for such a long time, speaking English fluently, coming home with that beautiful tan.
“Why don’t you get a tan, Mike?” his mother had teased him. Mike didn’t catch the loving undertone in her voice, her concern. He only heard disapproval, felt hatred for his brother, Saint Sascha, the poof.
The day after he graduated from high school, Mike had moved out of the house and moved in with a friend of his in St. Gallen, where he’d take up his studies in the fall.
He couldn’t live in that house any longer, couldn’t stand his mother’s temper tantrums, couldn’t stand the smell of strange women’s scents on his father when he’d come home from work late.
It had all been Sascha’s fault. Had he not been queer, had he been normal, nothing like this would’ve happened.
* * * * *
Mike
Sascha didn’t know what to say. When he had come out to his family, even before that, he had never felt he fit in. Sometimes it had felt to Sascha as if he was the cuckoo egg laid in his parents’ nest, the one who didn’t belong. He couldn’t quite fathom how Mike could feel that way, Mike who had always been the perfect son, studying business, being straight, getting married early, a beautiful, wealthy wife, three great kids. Everything had always come easy to Mike, often enough to make Sascha jealous. And now this?
“Come on, bro, don’t be an ass. You know that’s not exactly true. After all, I’ve always been the black sheep of this family. I’m the oldest one, and I had to pave the way for you, getting into all sorts of trouble so things would be easier for you. There are two sides to the story, you know?”
* * * * *
Sascha and Mike
Sascha remembered the first time Mike had received pocket money. It had hurt him, when his dad gave Mike the same amount that Sascha received, ten Swiss Francs, and not the five Francs he’d gotten when he was Mike’s age.
It had been so unfair. Just like the fact that Mike didn’t have to go to bed at seven as he had to last year. No, Mike got to stay up until eight, just as he did.
Little things like that had contributed to Sascha’s envy of his little brother. Although only one year older, Sascha felt that he always had to work hard to open doors, and that Mike could just walk right through them.
His parents would be disappointed if he ever came home with grades lower than an A. Mike could get away with a C, and they didn’t care.
Once he came out, he had lost any and all favor he had ever held with his parents. His mother hadn’t spoken to him for three days, his father had threatened to put him away in psychiatric care if he ever spoke about being gay again, and when his diary went up in flames in the living room that night, Sascha knew that an important part of his life was lost forever.
His parents had always been hard on him, testing their parenting skills on him, making mistakes, fixing them with Mike.
Many years later, Sascha had realized that he had forgiven his parents for the past and reconciled with the fact that he wasn’t the perfect parent, either. He now understood just how difficult it was to raise children, not to play favorites, to treat them all equally. Yet it struck him as odd that Mike had such a vastly different recollection of their youth.
I just hope we can fix this, he thought.
* * * * *
Mike
Mike looked at his brother, as if hearing something completely incredible. For a while, they both stood there, staring at each other. Who would make the next move? Would there be more hurtful words said? It felt like an eternity to Sascha, but he was at loss. He, the expert, the psychologist, didn’t really know what to do in this situation, unable to read his brother, unable to offer solace or advice.
Instead, it was Dan who broke their stand-off, coming in from the kids’ bedroom. “Hey, what’s going on? There are children trying to sleep in this house. Would you two mind keeping it down a bit? What’s the matter with you anyway?” he said to no one in particular, still not in the loop of what had transpired between Mike and Sascha that afternoon or just now.
But Dan wasn’t the kind of person who’d let any sort of wrong simmer and get infected. Dan would bring it out into the open, talk about it, and resolve it. Once out into the open, the ugly face of whatever was eating at people often didn’t feel so scary anymore. That was his motto, except of course, when it pertained to his own little dark secret.
“Why don’t we sit down and talk?” Dan offered, “I’ll get us a couple of beers.”
Sascha knew better than to argue with his husband. Mike just stood still, unaccustomed to Dan taking charge like this.
When Dan returned a minute later with three bottles of beer in his hand, he gestured to Mike to take a seat, handed each of them a bottle, and took a large gulp from his own.
“So, would someone mind telling me what the fuck has been going on here today? You two are acting like a couple of adolescents, not mature adults.”
Dan was using his teacher voice now, Sascha thought, no chance to get anywhere arguing with him. He looked to Mike, hoping he’d start talking, but Mike was staring into his bottle, holding it in both hands, legs spread wide, making him appear as if he were praying, beer in hand.
“Helene has left Mike.” He gave Dan a look saying please, Hon, go easy on him. He’s hurting.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Mike. I really am, but why were you yelling at Sascha just now? I don’t get it.” Dan stared at Mike, as if trying to make sense of the conflicting data presented to him.
“Look, Dan, I don’t want to drag you into this,” Mike finally said, quietly. “And I’m sorry I raised my voice, bro.” He turned to Sascha. “It’s just been a bit too much recently. Helene, the new deal with the Indians, Mom’s death. I haven’t had a day off in months. I’m tired and irritable. I’m sorry.” Taking a deep sigh, and another gulp from his beer, Mike looked at both Dan and Sascha in turn, misty-eyed, a broken man.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Dan asked.
“I offered to talk to Helene on Mike’s behalf,” Sascha said. “I’m not sure she’ll listen to me, but I’m happy to try.” Turning to his brother, he added, “Do you want me to try to send her a text? See if she responds?”
When Mike nodded slightly, Sascha fumbled in his pocket to pull out his phone, quickly keyed in a few words, and sent a text to his sister-in-law.
Hey there, sis, funeral was okay. Missed you. Mike’s a mess. Talk? Hugs, Sascha
With a final click, he sent the message across the airwaves to Darmstadt. I think, Sascha wondered, not sure where Helene might really be right now.
He didn’t have to wait for a long time before his phone vibrated. Helene had replied.
* * * * *
Helene
Call me! I’m at home… Helene.
Well, that’s quick. I think there’s hope, Sascha thought.
He got up from his chair, beer in one hand, phone in the other, and walked back out onto the front porch.
Dan smiled, and Mike shrank into his seat, afraid to move a muscle.
Helene answered the phone after just one ring.
“Hey there, Sascha. So he’s told you?” Helene’s voice came quietly through the phone.
“Yeah, he did,” Sascha replied, waiting for her to continue, the professional in him kicking into gear.
“I’m so mad at him. Why did he have to do this? I’m sure this wasn’t the first time either. God, I feel so dirty. I’m sure he and that floozy were at it the entire time they were in India, behind my back.” She sounded hurt but mostly angry, which, for him, was a good sign.
“You know Mike better than that,” he said. “He could never keep a secret from you, not as long as you’ve known each other. The man adores you. Why do you think he came back that night from the party and told you?”
Helene didn’t answer,
but he could hear that she was breathing flatly. “He loves you, Helene, and yes, he fucked up, but do you know how he’s been? I mean do you know what it’s like to live up to Paul’s expectations? Your dad isn’t one to make anybody’s life easy, let alone the poor schmuck who had the audacity to marry his little girl.”
Through the phone, Sascha could hear Helene chuckle through her tears.
“Well, you might be right about that, Sascha.”
“I know how much you love Mike, and I know how much he loves you,” Sascha said. “Even though he may be a complete idiot and a fool, he deserves that you listen and talk to him. Don’t give up, Helene, not like this, not this easily, okay? I know you’re hurt, but hiding is not you. You fight for what’s yours, and Mike is yours.”
Sascha paused to let the words he spoke take hold in Helene. He knew that he was already more than halfway there. The mere fact that she had answered his text so quickly was sign enough that she had probably been sitting by her phone all day, just waiting for a signal, anything that would give her hope.
Sascha had always been one of her best friends, never afraid of standing up to her father, not respecting him because of his power or wealth, but because he was family. She found that quality very endearing in Sascha. Mike was different, but then again, Mike had much more at stake. She knew that her father loathed Mike for taking his little girl away from him. As nuts and cliché as it may have been, there was a part of Helene that treasured her father’s protectiveness toward her, even after a decade of marriage and after three children.
She was still—and would always be—his little girl. There was a part of her who enjoyed to play that role, and when Mike had come home that night after their office Christmas party, all tears and upset, and after he confessed to her about his chance encounter with that intern from India, she snapped, taking refuge with her parents. Her father finally saw a chance to get even, to get his little girl back, a chance to rid himself of that imposter, that no good Swiss mountain goat of a son-in-law.
That was more than three months ago, and Helene’s pain had since subsided. She’d had ample time to think, and she was willing to give her husband another chance, if only he would take the first step. Her pride expected nothing less, particularly since her ego was rubbed daily, and massaged smoothly by her parents. She saw that now. They made sure the wound in Helene’s heart would stay open and bleeding. But her love was stronger. Mike needed to take a first step.
She was disappointed when Sascha had texted her, but then again, that was typical of him, taking charge, fixing things, mending hearts. He couldn’t help himself. Besides, she had missed him, missed talking to him, to Dan, to the boys, hearing how they developed and grew, the tricks they were up to. She really admired their little rainbow family, how they stuck it out, against all odds. And she recalled more than a couple of instances when Sascha was close to wrecking his own life.
* * * * *
Sascha and Mitch
Helene remembered the story as if it were yesterday, in part because it had surprised her so much. The guy’s name was Mitch.
Sascha had met him in one of those gay saunas, a concept somewhat alien to Helene. She couldn’t fathom that guys would go to a public place to have sex. Then again, men were pigs most of the time—focused on nothing but sex all the time, she fumed, thinking of Mike and that Indian slut.
So I guess Sascha’s got it in him, too, she figured, disgusted. She knew that her brother-in-law and his husband, Dan, had an open relationship, although she didn’t fully understand the concept nor really approve of it.
I guess it’s their lives, but it almost ruined everything they have, she thought.
Sascha had been seeing this Mitch for a while, while Dan was at home, taking care of the boys. It was their biggest crisis ever. Eventually, after a couple of weeks, Sascha had come to his senses and crawled back home, tail between his legs, and apologized to Dan for having been such an idiot. Apparently, it had become clear to Sascha that Mitch wasn’t really interested in him except for the quick sex, and had stood him up a couple of times.
Luckily, Dan was the forgiving type, and they somehow managed to sort it out. She’d had a small part in their making up, talking to both of them, texting them, supporting them, gently pressing the buttons she knew would get the two of them to see clearly, to understand what a great couple they were, that they didn’t want to just give it all up, not to mention the boys. It had hurt Sascha greatly that he wasn’t the boys’ father, that he didn’t even have custody and couldn’t adopt them. Living in Singapore, he had to be glad to be allowed to live unharmed without having the local government breathe down their necks. I wonder if they are completely past that incident, Helene thought. It had happened only a few months ago, actually just a couple of months before Mike screwed up.
Legally, the situation with the boys was a mess. Sascha was Swiss, and Dan was American, and the boys, technically Dan’s offspring, were American citizens. Since Dan was from California, there had, for the longest time, not been any way for Sascha to marry him in the United States, and then legally adopt the boys, and while they could get married—and had also done so—in Switzerland, that country did not allow for partner adoptions yet.
It’s all very complicated. Maybe my problems with Mike aren’t so enormous.
While both Shane and Pascal considered Sascha their dad, and although both spoke Alemannic as well as English fluently, they really were not his children, not in the eye of the state or any other state for that matter. He had no legal rights, no legal protection. Helene knew that it had been a big part in driving Sascha away from Dan at the time, still to this day, a gaping wound in her brother-in-law’s heart. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like if someone were to take her babies away from her, yet that was exactly what she had done to Mike for three months now.
At least Mike was the father of his boys; there was no question about it. The sudden realization of this hit her hard, and she felt the pain of having deprived Mike the chance to see and be with his children as well as keeping her children from being with their dad. She had put the kids in harm’s way, and she was ashamed of that.
* * * * *
Mike and Helene
“Listen, Sascha, how long will you be at your parents’ house? By the way, I’m sorry about your mom. I know you loved her dearly.” Helene tried to think of a way to make amends.
“I don’t know yet.” Sascha replied. “We have to meet with our family lawyer tomorrow and go through some of the paperwork. We also need to start thinking about selling the house, since no one is living here anymore. I doubt that Dan and I will ever move back here, and you and Mike are in Darmstadt, so that just makes no sense. But we haven’t really spoken much about it. And then there’s Dad’s company. We can’t keep running it like that, with Mike flying in every few days. It’s not good for Mike and certainly not for the company.”
Sascha was thinking about the fact that Mike had to attend meetings every now and then to sign important papers that their local foreman, whom Sascha didn’t trust, couldn’t sign. Although their father had been dead for almost four years now, they had never really dealt with the company. As it was owned by both their parents, the legal situation had been complicated. They would’ve had to remove their mother’s power of attorney and make her legally incompetent. Neither was willing to do that, although they could’ve. Now, things had changed. Their mother was dead. They each owned fifty percent of the company, and they could do with it as they saw fit.
“Sascha, listen,” Helene continued, “don’t do anything rash, okay? Promise me that.”
“What do you mean?” Sascha asked. “Don’t you have other things on your mind?”
“Just promise me you won’t do anything rash, okay? I’ve got to run. But I’ll call you in the morning, and then I’ll talk to that idiot husband of mine, I swear.”
Helene sounded more upbeat than she had during the entire conversation, her resolve strengt
hened, and Sascha was at a complete loss as to why.
“Sure, if you feel so strongly about that. Are you certain you don’t want to talk to Mike a little bit now? I’m sure he’d appreciate hearing your voice.”
“No,” she cut him off, “not tonight, but tomorrow. I promise, okay?” Then she hung up.
Sascha was utterly confused. That was not how he had imagined the conversation would go. Why was Helene so upbeat toward the end? Her voice sounded almost mischievous. Sascha tried to picture her sitting in her childhood bedroom, in her parents’ huge villa in the outskirts of Darmstadt, smiling, almost bouncing as she was talking to him, so different from the hurt woman he had first spoken to. What had happened in those few minutes? Did he say something? Hmm, women, he thought. I guess I’ll never really understand them.
Sascha returned to the living room, where Dan waited, a loving smile on his face. Mike was still locked in his downbeat position, clutching his bottle of beer as if it was a life buoy.
“Did you talk to her?” Mike asked. “Is she okay? Are the kids all right?” He turned to look at his brother, his eyes glazed and hopeless.
“Yeah, she’s fine. Believe it or not, she’s missing you.” Sascha smiled and patted his brother on the shoulder. “She wants to talk to you in the morning. I think you might just have another chance. Don’t fuck it up, okay?” Sascha could see the conflict raging in Mike’s eyes, the sudden hope welling up along with the tears. “Come on, get up, give me a hug,” Sascha demanded, and Mike did as he was told.
That’s a first, Sascha thought and gave his brother a long hug.
Family Ties Page 8