by R. Cooper
Alex let out a breath.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Ally, or someone, did something with a pot or pan that drowned out anything else she might have said.
It must not have been the first time she’d asked. Everett’s voice went lower, quiet with desperation and warning.
“Mom.”
“There’s no such thing as perfection.” Ally went on, and Alex wondered, vaguely, if she was holding herself upright with that angle to her chin that Everett got when he was being stubborn, and if Everett was as well in that moment.
“I know that.” This was even more hushed, as though Everett had turned away.
“I think everyone knows that, Mom.” Robert piped up from somewhere farther away. Robert wasn’t seeing anyone right now that Alex knew of, so if anyone ought to be getting a lecture about his love life, it was him. Maybe Molly, but Molly was younger and still had some leeway that Everett was being denied.
Alex pictured him cornered by his mother behind the counter, sticky with dough or icing, and trying not to stare back at her. But he would eventually. They were too alike, and she’d see through his attempts to hide anything.
He wished he had her powers and immediately felt like a hypocritical ass, because if he’d wanted Everett’s few remaining secrets, he could have had them whenever he wanted.
“There will never be a time when everything is great, when everything is better. What you do have is the ability to work to try to keep things mostly good, and even that takes a lot of work.”
“I know, Mom.” Everett did. Couldn’t Ally hear it in the clawing need in his voice? “I know. I’m not—” He stopped.
“It’s a struggle.” Ally pressed. Rich cocoa scents filled the air, escaping the kitchen the way Everett couldn’t. “It’s always a struggle, but you’re strong enough—”
Everett’s sudden bitter laugh made Alex flinch and his mother go quiet.
“You think I don’t know that?” He was speaking loud enough that his siblings, if more than Robert were present, had to hear him. “I’ve been strong my entire life. My entire… I’m not sure what a help it is, but I know that. You think I’m afraid of work?”
Alex focused on the cold around him, the sting at his cheeks, the whispers of his breath vanishing with every hard push of his chest. He tossed his head. Ally was too smart for that. She had to know Everett was not the reason Everett was still alone.
“I’m not afraid. Not of that.” Everett might have been born a crusader, but he was no match for his mother.
“Then what is it? I know, I know, I’m being pushy, but I want you to be happy. You aren’t seeing anyone, and I can’t remember the last time you even mentioned anyone in your life that wasn’t about work.”
“It was over a year ago, that I recall.” Robert spoke up again, though he was choosing to be as big of a dick now as his football buddies had once been. Maybe he wasn’t, perhaps he had some other point in speaking, or just thought it was time Everett got a lecture the way the others did, but Alex missed it by not being able to see anyone’s face. But if he’d been there, walked in right now, he was aware that this would never have been said in front of him. Because he wasn’t family, or because he could break again, or because of what it might do to Everett.
“A year, Everett.” He could hear his own voice, though, in one of the adult moments between them without his family around, in a conversation for the two of them alone. A year, and Everett hadn’t….
Everett’s loud sigh broke into his thoughts.
“And I’m not getting any younger, I know. What am I waiting for? Yes, Mom, I’ve heard it before.” But he didn’t sound angry. Everett let out another breath, and it was tired more than anything else, as though his head was down, and his hands on the counter were the only things keeping him on his feet.
“You make it sound so easy,” he added, “as though I haven’t tried. As though my arms couldn’t get more open or—”
Alex was buffeted on all sides by the children as they returned. They pounded through the door and into the kitchen, shoving him to the side when he was in their way, wanting their damn cocoa and to kick off their boots. He wouldn’t have heard Everett’s last words if he had been standing next to him. Their screaming continued for a few moments, excited chatter and exclamations over their mugs and marshmallows and coats that wouldn’t come off, and then with a noise like a stampede they must have rushed back out of the kitchen.
They only gave Everett a few moments of peace; then Ally was back at him, firing away with gentle concern and guilt.
“I never said it was easy. I only want—”
“Yeah, well I want a lot of things, too, Mom.” Despair from Everett was not right. Alex sucked in a breath and put his hand to the door. Another hand landed on top of his. He jumped and turned and saw George.
George stared back at him, a measuring, hard stare, but didn’t open the door. Alex studied him, though his heart rate didn’t slow down at all, and waited, but George didn’t say a word. His face was speaking for him, saying things about bootstraps that had been harsh and wrong post-suicide attempt, but were suddenly valid now, with Everett once again in pain because of Alex.
So Alex nodded before quickly turning away to open the door and step inside.
He took some time to noisily wipe his feet and hang up his coat and gloves, and when he looked up, everyone was silent. Ally was pouring leftover cocoa into a heavy pitcher, her attention apparently focused upon the task. Everett was likewise busy with his rising bread dough, though he murmured something to his father about keeping the cold air out when George came in behind Alex.
Everett’s siblings and Rachel’s husband were sitting around the nook, icing cookies. No one was speaking.
Alex looked back at Everett, at how slow and weary his actions seemed, how red his face was. It could have been the heat of the kitchen, but he didn’t think so. He stepped forward.
“Crap, we have to get to the mall now if we’re going,” Robert said suddenly and got up. Rachel nodded and yanked on her husband’s arm.
“You coming?” she asked Alex, but didn’t wait for an answer.
“I’m tired of the sight of cookies anyway.” Her husband excused himself. Molly grinned and stole one and ate it. She skipped out right as Ty was coming in and pushed him out with her. George moved on, too, saying something to his youngest about the mess that Molly pretended not to hear.
For a moment it was just Alex in the kitchen with Everett and Ally, and then Ally put a lid on the pitcher and turned back to them.
“I’ll make them all deliver them to the neighbors before they go, if they’re finished.” Alex wasn’t sure if it was a promise or an order to finish icing the remaining cookies, but she removed her apron and kissed Everett’s cheek when he didn’t move, her movements slow for a second as though it hurt her when he didn’t respond right away, and then Everett glanced at her, and she could breathe again. Alex knew that feeling and met her gaze.
He went still when she swooped over to plant a soft kiss on his cheek as well, and felt the air leave him in a rush as she hurried out of the room to straighten up before heading to the mall with everyone else.
Alex advanced carefully into the room once they were alone, aware that he and Everett had not left on the best terms. But Everett didn’t say anything, just let Alex watch him as he pulled his hair back and washed his hands and slid down into the nook.
“Do you need help, Everett?” he asked at last. His voice seemed too loud.
Everett’s laugh was tense and bitter for a moment, but then he dropped his shoulders and glanced over.
“God yes,” he admitted, though it looked as if there weren’t too many cookies left bare. Alex exhaled.
“You had only to ask.” He kept his voice low, almost a stranger in a strange land, though he knew this kitchen well. He had never had to ask Everett for anything before. Everett laughed that harsh laugh again and shook his head, as though something about Alex’s s
tatement shouldn’t be funny but was.
“Oh, is that all? I thought I had.” He was possibly joking, but Alex frowned, and Everett went back to his bread, the set of his shoulders tense and unhappy.
Alex wasn’t sure if it was anger, but Everett didn’t say anything else, and they worked together in silence while Alex frosted the remaining cookies.
“Peace offering?” Alex held the heavy mug in front of Everett’s face until Everett reached up and took it. Sometime after lunch when he’d finally finished baking, Everett had come into the living room to rest his weary bones and take his turn to brood alone across the distance by staring moodily into the fire. It was now hours after dinner, and Everett had barely moved from the overstuffed easy chair by the fireplace in all that time. Ally had even brought him a plate out here, ignoring the sound of Molly’s disbelief.
Alex looked over at Everett’s view. Aside from the fireplace, it included the tree, redecorated yet again, and now a messy jumble of ornaments mostly along the bottom branches, and the couch and TV, which had most everyone’s attention.
“We aren’t fighting, Alex.” Everett warily sniffed the mug’s contents, and then widened his eyes and looked up again.
“There’s cocoa in there somewhere,” Alex responded preemptively, and Everett rolled his eyes but took a sip. He instantly coughed.
“You could start a fire with this,” he wheezed.
“I suppose you could.” Not that they needed one. He was warm already from being this close to the flames. Everett had changed his sweater for a T-shirt a while ago. His skin was flushed. Alex quickly raised his gaze. “Now drink up, Everett.” Everett wasn’t the only one who could use liquor to try to get what he wanted. He put a finger to the bottom of the mug to tip it further back when Everett took another drink, and then while Everett was coughing and distracted, Alex dropped down to sit on the floor.
He could see the TV from where he was, though he didn’t care about what was on. The fire was warm, and if he leaned back, he could rest against the chair and Everett’s leg. He pulled up the sleeves of his sweater and pulled out a small rubber band to tie back his hair.
“You aren’t having anything?” Everett had reason to wonder. Molly and Ty had been doing shots of something for the past two hours. Rachel and her husband were sticking to wine. Robert had some of George’s whiskey. Aunt Gigi, who was generally not considered part of the younger group, had had some too. George and Ally and some of the others were either having their cups of Christmas cheer in the kitchen or had gone to bed already, George barking at everyone to keep the noise down. Alex could have had a glass of something and sipped it.
“There’s no fun in it when everyone else is drunk,” Alex mused out loud, not quite fully honest. “How else am I supposed to observe events and use them for my own artistic gain?”
“You are truly evil.” Everett was properly awed. He even took another drink, coughing less this time. The sound made Alex sigh and lean back. Everett wasn’t angry with him anymore. He wasn’t ready to ask Everett about the poems yet, and he wasn’t going to ask what Everett had meant earlier, but for now, this was enough.
“That’s what my teachers always insisted,” he pointed out. His bones were weary, too, and they left behind an ache as he relaxed. Everett poked his head.
“That’s just because you were smarter than them and never listened to anyone.”
“To anyone but you,” Alex corrected, then swore softly to himself. Everett was slow to reply.
“Is that true?” he asked at last, hesitation that shouldn’t be there in his voice. Alex eased back against the chair and closed his eyes before reaching out. He put a hand around Everett’s leg and held it tightly.
If Everett doubted him, it was Alex’s own fault. He had said no, or said nothing, at seventeen and then again and again. Of course Everett had been left to wonder. But he clutched at Everett before nodding.
“Yes.”
There was a long sigh above him. Alex waited to speak, listening to every sound Everett made and wondering if Everett would ask him now, be as bold or reckless as Ty, or if it was Everett’s turn not to speak.
Instead, after a few moments, Everett poked his head again. Alex frowned and tilted his head back to look up at him. Upside down Everett was getting pinker and had a strange look on his face. Pleasure and pride and a wicked, wicked light in his eye.
It was Everett who could lead good men astray and had bad ones at his feet. It seemed impossible that he would have any doubts. But again when Alex opened his mouth, the damned words remained trapped.
“Drink up, and I’ll get you another Santa’s Little Helper,” he offered hoarsely and let the clumsy hand wrapped around Everett’s calf speak for him.
“To your health, then.” Everett was breathing hard, but he raised the mug and downed it in a few swallows. Alex watched his throat move, the sheen of sweat in the firelight, and then reconsidered his intentions when Everett fixed him with wide, trusting eyes. Hopeful eyes, as though aware of how their roles had reversed since that night.
Alex got up, went into the kitchen, and came quickly back with another mug for Everett. Everett took it, though Alex couldn’t hear him drinking it as he sat back down against the chair.
There was a mess of wrapping paper from where each of the children had opened their single present for the night. They were all upstairs now, probably too excited to sleep. But thinking of them wasn’t much of a distraction, and, charming though they were, the children weren’t why he was here now.
His reasoning a year ago had been a bit scattered, but his goal had been clear. If Everett still wanted him, then Alex had to be strong enough to have him, and to potentially lose him. He no longer had the false confidence that euphoria and mania had given him. He couldn’t bluff himself into thinking that that would never happen. He’d had to know, now that he was as sane as he’d ever be, if he could trust his own mind again.
For the last year he’d had to. And he’d made it, relatively unscathed, minus one wooden duck and a few other bits of crap, and the hole in him with Everett’s name on it.
“That was part of the problem, you know. My health. I never explained it to you properly. I… have a bit of a problem with that, Everett, believe it or not. You make me stumble over my words.” He stared into the fire and hoped Everett was good and drunk already.
“You didn’t have any trouble speaking last Christmas,” Everett interrupted him. “Or, I guess, the day after Christmas, after driving me home. You didn’t have any problem in telling me you couldn’t see me for a year. ‘A year, Everett,’ you said. ‘I need a year away from you.’”
“And you asked why.” He looked at the fire until the scent of hot pine and smoke made him feel ill. Alex hadn’t forgotten it either. It had been freezing outside then, too, but Everett hadn’t seemed to notice.
“And you asked me if I wanted you.” With booze in him, Everett was bringing up everything, but he might have done the same totally sober if Alex had ever had the courage before to speak this directly. “Out of nowhere you said something so stupid, so wrong, down below my apartment, where I always ask you, Alex. Where I’ve always asked you up, every time I see you, I ask, I plead—”
“I’ve always had you, Everett,” Alex rushed on. He had to get this out, he couldn’t wait, and he couldn’t say it if he had to think about what Everett was telling him now. “Through thick and thin, you have always been there. A… good friend. The best friend.”
Everett made a small, hurt noise, but Alex kept going. “So I had to ask myself, what if I didn’t?” He could barely say those unbelievably frightening words. His face was stinging, his eyes were dry, but he couldn’t even blame the fire. “I had to see if I could, Everett. If I could make it. Be strong enough. If I couldn’t… you’d be awfully disappointed in me, wouldn’t you?”
He tried to be light again. “Anyway, I couldn’t do that to George and Ally again. Your mother would never let me hear the end of it.”
The attempt at levity failed. He put his fists down into the carpet and didn’t breathe until Everett’s hand landed on his shoulder. He didn’t mind the weight. The pressure let him exhale, though he didn’t speak. Everett was silent, too, probably thinking, considering what to say.
After a while he handed the mug down. Alex took a grateful drink and handed it back. He could only guess what Everett was thinking about, but he knew where his mind wanted to go, to each and every time Everett had asked him to his apartment, how he always had, and it had only been sometime in the past few years that Alex had noticed that he wouldn’t be able to breathe when Everett was about to ask. Even when he’d accepted and gone up to watch movies on Everett’s couch or share dinner, he had stayed tense, as though he’d known all along what Everett had really meant.
Everett let out a tiny cough. “You know, this reminds me of a similar special winter drink at this bar near my apartment. It’s kind of a divey place, but you’d probably like it. We should go sometime.”
Alex put his hand up. Everett obediently handed him the mug, and he took a big swallow before holding it blindly back up. It seemed safer to distract himself with a drink while he waited for Everett to finish.
“I’ve been meaning to take you there, but of course I had to wait. I’ve….” Everett swallowed more extremely alcoholic cocoa. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you about a lot of things. I miss talking to you.”
“I miss talking to you, too, Everett.” Alex licked the same taste from his mouth. “Is this about your work?”
“Work?” Everett seemed surprised. “Some of it. There’s this boy. His mother is schizophrenic, and I thought you might have some words to offer him I don’t.”
There were bitter, darkly humorous things that he could have said to that to mask the shame and confusion that still filled him when he thought of his father. There was also a low, constant sadness that his father had never had anyone to reach out to, even when he’d tried to be good.
Alex let out a breath and leaned against Everett. He nodded, knowing Everett would see it, then frowned at the floor. “I would like very much to talk to him, and to you, Everett, if you really still want me to.”