11. Xander

11

Xander

With an audible exhale, I press play on the voicemail. “Xander, dear, it’s your mother.” Her pristinely practiced Mid-Atlantic pronunciation hides most of her native New York accent, though it slips out now and then. “I believe you might remember me. I’m the woman who suffered through seventeen grueling hours of labor to give birth to you. I was hoping to have a few minutes of your time to chat and find out how you are, darling.” And people wonder where I get the drama from. “It’s been three weeks since we last spoke, and I know it’s an awful hardship to converse with your parents, and utterly unreasonable that we always want to know how you are and what you’re doing, but regardless, we love and miss you.” Ouch. Direct guilt hit to the heart. “If you could spare a moment to call, we’d appreciate knowing our only child is alive. Dad says hello, and he loves you. I love you too, sweetheart. Call us.”

I toss my phone onto my desk and pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting the headache that’s been threatening ever since my conversation this morning with that asshole, Alfred Koontz. Was that only four hours ago? God. I’ve been walking on eggshells around the jerk since last spring, and I’m exhausted. As Dean of the Humanities Division, Koontz is someone whose approval I need, if I want my tenure application to have a favorable rating with the provost. I’ve already submitted my application and received approval from the division committee. The deadline for having everything to the provost is this Friday, and as my division head, Koontz’s accompanying letter will be make or break, and he knows it. It’s rare for the provost to go against the recommendation of a division dean. And Koontz has been riding my ass all year. Not in the fun way. Not that I’d want him to. Eww. I shudder at that mental image.

He and I have never seen eye to eye. He’s old school. A veritable dinosaur when it comes to anything academic. I assume it’s the same with his personal life, but I’ve successfully avoided finding that out by keeping our conversations strictly professional. It hasn’t stopped him from conveying his disapproval of me, my appearance, and my lifestyle. I don’t flaunt my sexual orientation, but I’ve also never hidden that I’m gay. And he’s never hidden his disapproval of that. The only thing he seems to like about me is my teaching style. Adherence to strict rules of testing for actual knowledge regarding course subject matter, and not giving extra credit, are things he’s completely on board with. And that, hopefully, outweighs the rest, because his endorsement of my application would greatly increase my chances of achieving tenure.

And tenure is why I’ve been avoiding calling my parents. They’ll ask about it, and I don’t have anything to tell them. The outcome has been out of my control since I submitted the original application months ago. I’ve tried explaining that to them, but they’re excited and impatient. Just as I am. But there’s nothing new to report.

Groaning, I pick up my phone and dial.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Who is this?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s Xander, Mom. Your only child.”

“Xander? I had a son named Xander once. He disappeared long ago, and we haven’t heard from him since.”

“Funny, Mom. Is this how the entire call will go, or have you chastised me enough?”

“Oh, Xander, there’s never enough chastisement. Especially when you abandon your parents.”

“Mom.”

“Okay, fine. How are you, dear? Have you heard anything about your application?”

Inwardly, I groan. “I’m fine. And no, not yet. Applications go to the provost this Friday, and then she’ll review them, and we’ll know something in late May or early June.” It’s not like I haven’t explained this to my parents at least a trillion times. When I submitted my application, I gave them the timeline and stressed it would be at the end of the spring term before I’d know anything. It’s been a long six months.

“Oh.” The disappointment in her voice would be sweet and comical if we hadn’t had this same conversation almost every time I call.

“Enough about me.” Not something I normally say, but I need to get this conversation on a different track. “How are you and Dad? What have you been up to?”

My mother easily slides into a monologue that includes the changes to the menu at the club, her latest purchases at Bergdorf, and how traffic is so bad in the city that it’s not even worth going out anymore. This is a lie. Her social life would put some celebrities to shame. She’s always shopping, dining, or attending another charity gala. Just listening to it is exhausting.

“And Enid had no patience for that kind of ridiculousness and took her business elsewhere.”

It’s at this point she winds down, and I assume it’s my turn to contribute more than supportive “oh”s or “of course”s. “Well, it sounds like you’ve been very busy, as usual.”

“Your father thinks we should slow down. I told him that’s what old people do. We’re not old. We’re only in our sixties.”

Intellectually, I know this. But having her toss that out there, randomly, is a rude awakening that makes the child in me balk. My parents are getting older. I’m getting older. And I don’t like it. “You’ll both be around forever. Who will take care of me and fuss over me if you aren’t?”

“Speaking of which—” Oh hell. Leave it to me to open that door and wave my mother through it. “Are you seeing anyone?” I open my mouth to say no, but pause. I’m not actually sure what the answer is. She takes my silence for affirmation and inhales audibly. “You are! Who is he?”

“Mom.”

“No, no waffling. You paused, and that means there’s someone. As your mother, the woman who labored for almost a full day before you deigned to make an appearance, I insist you tell me.”

I rub my eyes and slouch in my chair. “Seriously, Mom. There isn’t any one.” I do make a slight pause between any and one. Since I find myself attracted to both Kaino and Bjorn, I’m not technically lying.

“Alexander Johannes Neilsen, do not lie to your mother.”

“I’m not!” There’s an excruciatingly long pause where neither one of us speaks, and then I cave. “Fine. In point of fact, I’m not dating anyone. But there are two people I’m interested in. And quite honestly, I have no idea what to do with that.”

There’s another, shorter pause this time before my mother speaks. “So you have two men you’re interested in, and you’re not dating either of them?”

“Two people. One of them is Bjorn Osouf. You remember I dated him a few years ago, but schedules didn’t mesh.”

“Oh!” There’s genuine excitement in her voice. My mother, like every other person on the planet, looooooves Bjorn. “Bjorn is such a sweet man. And so handsome.”

That he is, Mom. That. He. Is. “And the other person is named Kaino. They’re an ASL interpreter, and we actually met through Bjorn, but they interpret for a student at the university, and we’ve had several coffees together between classes.”

“They?” The confusion in her voice makes my temple throb. I don’t want to explain pronouns to my mom. “You mean they’re non-binary?”

Shock has me sitting bolt upright in my chair. “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.”

“You can remove the surprise from your tone, Xander. I may be of a certain generation, but that doesn’t mean we’re all ignorant or obtuse. The New York Metro area has the highest concentration of LGBTQ adults in the US. At least according to a UCLA study.” Who is this woman, and what has she done with my mother? “Don’t move to Tulsa, Oklahoma, dear. You’ll never find anyone there.”

I’m about to ask her why she thinks I’m moving at all when my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen and grin when Kaino’s name appears. I don’t hesitate to swipe open the message.

Kaino : Would you like to have dinner with me?

I re-read the text. Are they asking me out on a date? Or is this friends having dinner?

Me : I’d love to. When?

Kaino : Friday? I was thinking Mediterranean food.

Me : Friday is perfect. And I love Med food

Me : I have class til 5 but I’m free after that

I need to know if this is a date.

Me : Meet there or do you want to go together?

That’s fairly open-ended. It doesn’t look desperate, and it’s a valid question.

Kaino : I don’t drive

Kaino : I’ll take a ride share

Okay, that’s not the answer I wanted, and they might be trying to be polite. It doesn’t have to mean they aren’t interested. Holding my breath, I type out my response. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

Me : Text me your address. What time I should pick you up

Kaino : You don’t even know where I live

Me : I enjoy driving. If you’re willing to uber it can’t be too far

My nerves are buzzing with excitement, and I fight down the giddy laughter that wants to bubble out of me.

“Xander? Are you still there? Did we get disconnected?”

Oh, shit. “I’m still here, Mom. Sorry. Got a text.”

“Mhmm. And who was it from? Bjorn or Kaino?”

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it like I’ll be able to tell how she knows. “What?”

“Your voice has an animated quality to it that you most certainly did not have prior to this text. So, which of them is it?”

I hate how she knows me so well. “Kaino. We’re going to dinner on Friday.”

“A date?”

Wouldn’t I like to know the answer to that, too. “Maybe? I think so?”

“Well, you’ll just have to call me on Saturday and tell me all about it.”

I stare at the phone again, wondering when she thinks we developed that kind of mother-son relationship. “We’ll see.”

“Okay, love. I have to go. Your father is giving me the tap the watch gesture. I assume that means he thinks I’ve taken up enough of your time.” I’ll have to send my father a box of Davidoff cigars as a thank you. “I love you, Xander. I wish you weren’t so far away from us. Come home and visit soon. Or we could come out there and meet your beaus.”

“Why don’t we wait to see if things get past the interest stage before we start planning family visits to meet. But I love you too, Mom. Tell Dad I love him. And I’ll talk to you soon.”

We hang up, and I switch back to my text with Kaino. They’ve sent me their address and asked me to pick them up at seven.

Me : Do I get to know the name of the restaurant?

Kaino : I think I’ll keep that as a surprise

Me : That’s not nice

Kaino : Don’t you like surprises?

Me : If they’re good surprises

Kaino : Well this one is

Me : man pouting emoji

Kaino : Don’t be a brat or I’ll spank you

Me : Promises promises wink emoji

Kaino : Be careful what you wish for

A shiver of anticipation ripples down my spine. I’ve never been into pain play, but something about Kaino in disciplinarian mode is arousing.

Me : If you only knew

Kaino : Oh really? We’ll have to talk

Me : Over dinner

Kaino : It’s a plan

I set down my phone and rub my temple, unsure what this back and forth with Kaino is. We’re definitely leaning into the kinky side of things, which I’ve never been into before. But something about them makes me want to act out, push things a little more than I typically do. And that same part desperately wants them to do something about it. I’m just not sure what. Yet.