Chapter Five
chapter five
INSIDE, DAD IS PACING NERVOUSLY, AND THE BOX OF HOLIDAYdecorations we keep in the garage is out. It’s early, but he tends to get restless around the holidays. Dad is Episcopalian, but Mom was Jewish, and he tries to make sure we still have Hanukkah this time of year.
“Emmett!” he cries out when he sees me come into the living room. He’s holding a large menorah. “Good. Do you know when Hanukkah is? We didn’t miss it, did we?”
“You can just ask your phone, Dad,” I say.
“The phones are made for Christians,” he jokes.
I sigh and look up Hanukkah on my phone. I’m pretty sure it’s the end of December this year. “First night is Christmas Eve,” I say, nodding.
“Oh,” Dad says, staring at the menorah in his hand. It was Mom’s, and her dad’s before that. It might go back further than that. And he’s waving it around the room, looking for a place for it. I sweep forward and gently take it from him, putting it in the window, where it always goes.
“Right,” Dad says, looking at it. “Well, we’ll have Jasmine, Priyanka, and Miles over that night, then, same as for Thanksgiving.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, they might want to just be them that night,” I point out. Then I think of Mom’s latkes in Jasmine’s cookbook, and I hope they’ll come over. Maybe I should tell Dad about it.
“We’ll invite them anyway.”
“I think Priyanka is back next weekend. They’ll be at the winter carnival, so you can ask them there,” I say, poking at the holiday decorations box. There’s a little stethoscope tree ornament I made.
Dad reaches into the box, too, and pulls out a dreidel. It’s glass, not usable, just a decoration. There’s a chip in the corner. “Your mother and I got this for our first Hanukkah living together,” he says softly. “The chip is from spinning it off the box we were using as a table because we didn’t have furniture yet.”
He stares at it for a moment, and I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.
He looks up at me and frowns, the grief shifting over, as it often does, to anxiety. “You’re being smart, right? Sex is so dangerous, Emmett. Cervical cancer is a result of unsafe sex practices.”
“That’s not exactly right, Dad,” I say.
“You need to be careful!” He sounds so sad. “If you’re not careful, it could be over for you, too. I can’t let that happen, Emmett. You have to promise me—be safe.” He gets closer and holds my arms tight against my body.
“Dad.” I swallow. “I promise. That hurts.”
“Sorry,” he says, letting go. I give him a hug.
“Maybe we should do that blood test?” he asks, hugging me back.
“I need to study,” I say, pulling away and heading quickly upstairs.
“Later, then?” Dad calls after me.
I stop in front of my bedroom door and take a deep breath, ignoring him. I know he’s been getting worse, so I think ignoring him is the best thing to do, otherwise he’ll just dwell on his fears more. It’s probably because I’m going to college soon. Or maybe because Priyanka has been gone for a while—having a doctor he could text at any moment who would talk sense into him was good for counteracting whatever medical fear he’d read on the internet that day. Pri will be back soon. I’ll be at college. I hope someone will be able to take care of him when I’m at college.
I go into my room and pull out my books. It’s only like five, and though I am blessed with a fine intellect, I still require constant studying. Especially if I’m going to go to one of the top med schools in the country, and after that into bioresearch. Vaccines. I want to make a vaccine for cancer. All cancer. Theoretically, it can be done—they already have a vaccine for lung cancer in Cuba. I know I won’t be the only one working on it, some savior who comes along and magically makes everything work. But I want to be part of that team. I want to know I did everything I could. So I study, a lot.
I spend the next few hours working on papers and preparing for midterms, which start a week from Monday, right after the winter carnival. Then we go right into holiday break, and I can relax for a while. Pity I won’t have anyone to relax with. I suppose I could discreetly ask around school, but I won’t have time. You’d think Harrison could have waited until January to start catching feelings. But it’s better he told me sooner than later. I like him and would have hated having to break his heart.
And there’s always West’s brother. Taylor is so keen on setting us up, maybe that’ll work out for a brief holiday fling. She doesn’t have to know it’s purely physical.
I stretch, hungry and tired of studying, and I meet eyes with the stuffed rabbit on my shelf. I feel like it’s judging me, but I’m not sure for what.
When I go down for dinner, Dad is cooking, but unusually for him, it smells like something frying—frying is definitely not healthy. I walk slowly into the kitchen, where he’s in front of the stove, a pan of latkes in front of him. Mom’s latkes. The ones Jasmine is putting in her cookbook. Only, these are looking very burned.
“Damn, damn, damn,” Dad says, trying to flip one with a spatula, but it’s stuck to the pan. “Damn,” he says again, and manages to peel it off, but with so much force it goes flying over his shoulder, toward me. I manage to dodge before boiling oil and potato hit me in the face.
“Careful,” I say.
Dad turns, surprised. “I didn’t know you were there,” he says, suddenly looking guilty. “You weren’t supposed to see…” He spins back around and turns off the stove. “Well, I’ve ruined it anyway.”
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Jasmine called me. Told me about a new cookbook. Has your mom’s latkes in it. The ones she and Priyanka made in college, you know?”
“Yeah,” I say, my stomach suddenly heavy. “I was going to tell you, but—”
“Oh, don’t worry, don’t worry,” Dad says, waving his hands. He sits down at the kitchen table with a sigh. “I felt sad at first, but then I realized I don’t have that recipe. Your mom made them every year. Jasmine, too, of course, but you and me, we just sat in the living room. Sexist, really, letting the women cook.”
“It was their thing,” I say.
“Yes…” Dad looks over at the dining room table, like he can picture us. “Well, I thought maybe I could do it, so I told Jasmine I’d like the recipe, and asked if I’d have to buy the book to get it, and she said of course not and emailed it to me. So I thought… I wanted to practice. So you and me could make them for Hanukkah this year.”
“Jasmine might come over,” I say. “I’m sure she could—”
“I wanted us to make them.” He sighs and rubs his temples.
“Dad.” I walk over to him and hug him tightly around the shoulders. “It’s okay. We’ll learn from Jasmine.”
“I should have learned from her.”
“You will.”
“No, I mean your mother. I should have… known more. So I could remember it for you.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “We can figure it out.”
“Every morning when I wake up, I still forget,” he says. “Still. Years. I expect her to be next to me.…” He puts his face in his hands and starts crying.
I feel the same as him. Every morning, I wake up and still get confused for just half a breath—why is it an alarm, the sunlight, Dad knocking on the door—and not Mom kissing my forehead? That’s what she used to do. Already dressed for work, smelling of lime. I’d wake up and her eyes would be the first thing I’d see, and her smile. “Time to get up, honey.” And she’d squeeze me around the shoulders and then go downstairs to make a quick breakfast for me before going to work. She was the doctor, but she didn’t worry about the healthy food. We had eggs, pancakes made with plain white flour, waffles topped with whipped cream. The kitchen used to smell more like sugar, I think. Now it smells like green tea.
I almost want to sob along with Dad, but then we’ll both just be sitting here crying, and that’s not what Mom would have wanted. She’d want us happy. I know that. So instead, I sit down next to him, and take out my phone and pull up the ordering app.
“Want to order tacos? We can do the new vegan one.”
He keeps crying.
I never want to be like this. I don’t think less of him for it. I know why he cries. I knew my mother fourteen years. He knew her a lot longer. She was his life. And all he has left now is me. Not nearly enough and nowhere near fair. I never want to feel that.
I go through the app myself, pick out the least disgusting of the tacos, and order more than we’ll ever eat. Then I reach out and take Dad’s hand and hold it as he cries, waiting.
I’m only a little annoyed on Monday to learn that Clarke didn’t ask Harrison out immediately. After all, Clarke is the play-it-cool type. He’ll probably bump into Harrison in the hall a few times, do some drive-by flirting, really make sure he won’t get a no before committing. Maybe Friday, for the winter carnival. And if not by then, he must just need a little more encouragement, which the carnival will absolutely provide opportunity for me to give him.
“You sure he’s going to ask me out?” Harrison says, sitting next to me at lunch.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m going to make it happen.” I’m eating a plum and take a napkin to wipe the juice from my chin.
“People are complicated,” Miles says, immediately raining on the parade. “We don’t know how they’ll act, but you’re a great guy, Harrison.”
“People aren’t complicated,” I say, taking a swig from the water bottle of green tea Dad insisted I take to school. “They feel things, they act on them. We simply have to make him feel desire for you, and the museum was an excellent first step. Look, he’s even staring at you.”
I glance up and look a few tables over, at the cheerleaders. Clarke is definitely facing our way. He smiles. Outside, the string quartet is playing, and the music drifts in, sonorous and sweet.
“See?” I say to Harrison. “Just make sure he knows you’re interested. Smile back.”
Harrison smiles broadly, horrifyingly. The cellist in the quartet hits a sour note, as if they’ve spotted him.
“Not like a possessed clown,” I say, quickly leaning in front of him so he can’t see Clarke and Clarke can’t see him.
“Sorry,” Harrison says, sighing. “I got nervous and forgot how to smile.”
“Right,” I say, as sweetly as I can. “Well, practice in the mirror later.”
“Table poll!” Taylor says across from us. “My portfolio needs a cover. I have it down to two—which do people like?” She holds out her phone, swiping between the options. Both feature her Star of David cameo necklace draped over velvet, but in one, the velvet is black and her name is in white, and in the other, the velvet is a neon pink with black cheetah spots and her name is in black.
“Pink,” I say.
“That was decisive,” Miles says. “I like them both.”
“So do I,” I say. “I just like the pink better. It’s more youthful.”
“I think it’s a bit out there,” Harrison says. “I like the black.”
“This is how you repay my setup efforts?” I ask with an arched eyebrow.
“I like the pink,” Georgia says. “Want me to send them to John and see what he thinks?”
“No,” Taylor says. “Thanks, but I need to decide by the end of the day. West likes the black. So, Miles… you’re the deciding vote.”
“I think it’s about context,” Miles says. “They’re both beautiful, but they have different vibes. What vibe do you want the school to think you have?”
“Context?” I ask, keeping the skepticism out of my voice.
“Sure. Context is king. Did you just block Harrison from smiling at Clarke because you were stopping Clarke from seeing a horrifying smile—”
“Was it that bad?” Harrison asks.
“—or,” Miles continues, “were you doing it because you don’t want them together?”
“Obviously I want them together. It was my idea.”
“Clarke might not know that,” Miles says with a smile. “He doesn’t have the context. It’s what helps you determine if someone is a friend or future boyfriend or whatever else, right? You told me yourself it’s complicated when you’re queer.”
I sigh. “Fine. Context. But we don’t know it. We don’t know what the portfolio judges will be looking for.”
“What do they say they’re looking for?” Miles asks, taking out his phone. He brings up the website for FIT. “They want something that shows your unique self-expression and special quirks.”
“Is that an academic term?” West asks, grinning. Taylor elbows him.
“So?” Taylor asks. “That’s your context, your vote is…”
“Pink,” Miles says, frowning as he says it. “Though I’m sure—”
“So I was right,” I say. “Without all the context.”
“The context is what makes it right,” Miles says. “Black is what most jewelry is displayed on. Pink leopard print is unique.”
“I was right,” I say again, smiling.
“You were right,” he says, shaking his head.
“Is this smile okay?” Harrison asks, spreading his lips again.
“Oh, honey,” Georgia says for all of us. “No.”
I know the rest of the week is going to be busy: final preparations for the winter carnival, studying for midterms, and trying to orchestrate Clarke asking out Harrison. But the most important thing is Taylor’s portfolio. We go over it again on Monday night, and again on Tuesday, which is pushing it, before she finally sends it in after school.
“It’s ready, right?” she asks me and West, who are both there. “It’s good?”
“It’s amazing,” I tell her.
“Babe. It is so good,” West says, taking her hands. “That last piece you did after the museum. And your essay? It’s amazing. If you don’t get in, that’s not because of you, it’s because they’re bad judges.”
“You think I won’t get in?” she asks, her eyes going wide and watery.
We’re sitting in her room, where she’s just hit submit on the computer. Her hands are shaking, so I reach out and take one.
“You’re going to get in,” I say. “You’re going to go to New York and make jewelry for celebrities and be famous.”
She stands to hug me, and I get up and hug her back, tackling her backward onto her bed with a laugh. “Thanks, Emmett. I’m glad you’re always here to be confident when I’m not.”
“It’s an honor and a privilege.”
“And you—” She turns on West and kisses him on the mouth. I politely look away, even though they’re directly next to me now. “Thank you.”
“That’s what boyfriends are for, right? And it’s going to be awesome. You’ll be at FIT, I’ll be at NYU studying art history… it’s going to be great.”
I turn to interrupt, but as they gaze into each other’s eyes, suddenly, through the open window, a flurry of dandelion seeds blows in, crowning them with a mist of white pollen.
“Oh for god’s sake,” I say, getting up. “These botanical flurries were cute at the museum but now they’re becoming absurd.” They don’t even seem to hear me, but they kiss again, and then an alarm goes off on West’s phone and he takes it out of his pocket to shut it off.
“We’d better get going,” he says to her, and she nods, then turns and sees me, and looks suddenly guilty.
“West got us reservations at BRUISE, that new vegan place in the city,” she says. “I bet if we show up and ask for another chair, though—”
“I don’t know if that’s right, babe.”
“No,” I say quickly. BRUISE is very fancy. He clearly has a romantic celebration planned, and I won’t interrupt that—it wouldn’t be nice. Even if I had sort of counted on spending more time here. “I won’t interrupt your celebration. Have fun and let me know how the food is.”
“I’ll send you photos,” she says, putting on a jacket and pecking me on the cheek. We all walk out together, and I get into my car, watching them get into West’s car in my rearview. They kiss before they drive off, and Taylor waves at me as they pass. I start my car up and pull away, heading home. I need to go over all my notes for the winter carnival anyway. There are vendors to follow up with, and booth placements to confirm—so much to do, I’ll be busy all night. And Taylor gets to send in her portfolio and then have a romantic night out, which is everything I want for her.
The rest of the week goes quickly—maybe too quickly. Between studying and preparing for the carnival and helping Taylor sort out the guest list for her party during winter break, the one for West’s brother, Andre, there’s too much to do to really focus on Clarke and Harrison. Though, on Wednesday, Harrison texts me to report that Clarke said hi to him in the hallway and he said hi back. And by Thursday night, I feel so energized that I practically decorate the entire school campus for the winter carnival on my own. Of course everyone else on council helps, but I’m the one telling them where to put up the beautiful handcrafted oversize stars we’ve strung with white twinkle lights, which are the focal point of the decor. Everything is white. White lights, white fake snow, white booths. Looking at it by the time we’re done, in the dark, it honestly almost makes me believe a snow flurry hit the school grounds and everything is the winter wonderland I’ve always dreamed of seeing.
“It looks great,” says a voice next to me as I survey the landscape. I turn to my right, and there’s Robert, nodding at the field. “You have an eye for this, Emmett.”
“Thank you,” I say graciously, because let’s be honest, he’s understating it. The natural flow of the booths, from the entrance, where the tickets are bought, flowing through the games, to the rides at the back, with the charity booths scattered between them, so they feel like part of the fun—it’s excellent.
“Do you think we need trees?” I ask him. “Fake pines or something? I’m sure the school has some in storage.”
“Well—”
“I think just one. Can you go get it? A big one. We’ll put it in the center. No decorations or anything on it, don’t want it to become too ecclesiastical.”
“I don’t think that’s quite what the word—”
“You know what I mean. Winter, not Christmas.”
“Sure,” Robert says, “I’ll go check.” He trots off and I look at the landscape again. I’ll have to turn the lights off before we go, but right now it glows. I almost feel chilly looking at it, even though it’s only sixty degrees and I’m in my school jacket and sweater.
“Hey, Emmett,” Harrison says, approaching me. “We’ve chalked off the spaces for the ice-cream truck; it’ll be front and center.”
“Yes, I can see it all in my mind’s eye. We’re going to put a fake tree behind the truck.”
“Cool.”
“Anything new from Clarke yet?”
“Uh… no. I texted him, though. Like an hour ago.”
“Oh?” I look away from the landscape and focus on Harrison. We did not discuss this. He’s staring at his feet. “What did you text him?”
“Hey.”
“‘Hey’?”
“Yeah, that’s what I texted him—hey.”
I swallow and turn back to the landscape. Everything there is perfect. Or will be once we have the tree.
“I know,” he says. “It’s not great.”
“No, it’s not,” I say. “But it’ll be fine. Everyone is awkward sometimes.”
Harrison’s phone beeps, and he takes it out of his pocket, then smiles. “He texted back.”
“Yeah?” I ask, excited. Maybe this will work out.
“He says, ‘Hi, Harrison! Is everyone going to be at the carnival all weekend?’”
“He wants to know if you’ll be there,” I say, excited now. “That’s good.”
“Yeah.” Harrison is beaming. “What do I say back?”
“Just tell him yes, and you’ll be sure to stop by the dunking booth.”
He types painfully slowly, each key click noise a heavy footstep, and then hits send. We wait, breathless. The phone dings again.
“‘See you there,’” Harrison reads.
“Did he add the splash emoji?” I ask, looking over his shoulder.
“No,” Harrison says. “Is that bad?”
“It would have been flirty, but it not being there doesn’t mean anything. He could be keeping it classy.”
“Do I say anything back?”
“No,” I say. “Just wait until tomorrow.”
Harrison swipes his messages closed and I look back out at the winter wonderland we’ve created. There’s an inflatable snowman to one side of the entrance, and I’m not sure I like the look of him. Maybe he should be farther in. Obviously, we have to have a snowman, I just wish we had one that looked like it was actually made of snow.
“Should we move the snowman?” I ask. Harrison doesn’t respond. I look over at him. He’s opened KamerUhh and is watching a video of Clarke doing a bouncing split and dance routine in time to, I think, one of Holst’s Planets pieces, “Jupiter.”
“I have the tree,” says Robert, dragging it behind him. It’s three times as tall as him. “Oh, hi, Harrison! How are you?”
“I’m good,” Harrison says, quickly tucking the phone away. “Do you need help with the tree?”
“It’s going right behind the ice-cream truck,” I say, pointing. I’m a little annoyed; I managed to keep them apart most of the night with setup on opposite sides of the field, but now here they are, and Robert is making big moon eyes at Harrison, and Harrison is smiling back, Clarke almost entirely forgotten. “I didn’t realize it was so large. Thank you, Robert, you should go home. Harrison and I can set it up.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“You look exhausted,” I say. “Get some rest. We have a busy weekend.”
“All right,” he says, staring at Harrison. “See you tomorrow?”
Harrison nods. Oh god, is he blushing?
“Good night,” I tell Robert, who waves and walks to the parking lot. I stare at Harrison watching him and then go to pick up one side of the tree. “Come on,” I say. Harrison picks up the other end of the tree and we bring it down into the winter scene. I feel a little bad about ruining Robert’s chances, but Robert just isn’t right for Harrison.
We put the tree down, and after ten minutes of minor adjusting, I think it’s perfect. It brings attention to the area and doesn’t feel as Christmas-specific as I feared it would. I put my hands on my hips and look around. It really is magical, especially in the thick of it. Besides the twinkle lights, we’ve made miles of strands of snowflakes, cut from a pearlescent paper, and draped them over all the booths and the entrance. They hang overlapped, creating drapes and thick ropes, shining in different colors as the twinkle lights sparkle on and off next to them. I know it’s all excessive, and perhaps I worked the arts and crafts club too hard this year, but only one of them passed out, and the results are magic.
“We should look around once more before turning out the lights, just to double-check,” I say.
“You really love this,” Harrison says. I start walking, looking at each stall, checking for a light out, a counter askew.
“I love winter carnival,” I tell him. “It was the first time I felt really at home at Highbury. Freshman year. It was just… magic.”
“Really? What did you do?”
“Oh… well, freshman year I was new. I’d gone to the Jayne School, the small experimental one, you know? Like thirty kids in my grade. And then I was here, surrounded by over a hundred classmates, and truth be told, it was a little overwhelming. I mostly clung to Miles.”
“Miles?”
I adjust a snowflake so it covers a scratch in one of the booths. “Oh yeah, he’d gone to Jayne with me, and we grew up across the street from each other and our moms were best friends.… Miles made friends here faster than I did. I think it was because I’d been the gay kid at Jayne, but here suddenly I was just another new kid, and I had to come out again and it made me feel nervous all over again. Every single person. Plus, Mom had died the year before, which made me… Anyway Miles knew all that, and he was my friend, so we spent the day at the carnival together. He even won me a stuffed rabbit at one of the booths. I think he knew I’d been lonely. He tends to do that, swoop in when he thinks I need rescuing. Condescending jackass.”
“Or very kind,” Harrison says.
I roll my eyes and adjust the white fabric hanging from one of the booths. “Anyway, he introduced me to a lot of the friends he had made, and when one got a little weird about me, he told him off. And the others backed him up. I think West was one of them, actually. But yeah, I felt like part of the gang. We spent the whole weekend here. Eating Popsicles and playing games and just hanging out. It was… nice.”
I look back at the tree. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect. “I told him when I was a senior I’d make the carnival our best yet. And I hope I have.”
“If you think he’s a condescending jackass,” Harrison asks, eyes narrowing, “why do you care if you’ve made it the best?”
“Because otherwise he’d lord it over me,” I say.
“I don’t know if he would.”
“He’s different now. He used to be…” I pause, looking for a word that doesn’t give away too much. “Sweet.”
Harrison’s eyes go wide with shock. “You have a crush on him.”
Apparently sweet was too much. I turn on Harrison, my face stone. “Harrison, if you tell another living soul I swear to god the entire school will know about that ticklish spot on your hip before lunch. And the sound you make when it’s touched.”
He blushes bright crimson. “Okay, okay, I promise.”
“Taylor doesn’t even know. We didn’t really meet until I went to the Queer Alliance meeting after winter break that year.” I swallow. “And besides, I don’t have a crush on him. I had a crush on him. Past tense and very over. It’s normal to have had a crush on the boy next door at some point.”
“So not anymore?” Harrison asks as I start walking again, this time to the circuit breaker.
“No. He changed. He used to… it felt like he believed in me, you know? Like he thought I could do anything. I told him I’d make it the best winter carnival ever, and he said, ‘I know you will.’ Now I think he’d just laugh and say, ‘Sure you will’ or something.” I try doing a haughty laugh, but it’s not right. None of this actually sounds like Miles.
“He’s hot, though,” Harrison says.
“Oh sure. He’s very hot,” I say. “But he’s a condescending jackass.”
“I don’t know. I’d totally date him.”
“Well, you need to raise your standards. And besides, he’s straight, so it doesn’t apply to either of us. He’ll make some girl very unhappy at some point, I’m sure.” I open the circuit breaker and turn off the master switch for the area. The winter festival goes dark around us. We start walking to the parking lot.
“Where is he, anyway?” Harrison asks. “He’s your VP, he didn’t want to be here?”
“His mom got back tonight. She’s been gone a year, so I told him he’d better go see her and not even show his face here tonight.”
Harrison laughs. “I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I don’t,” I say. “But I love his mom.”
We’re at my car and I open the door. He keeps walking to his.
“See you tomorrow.” Harrison waves. I wave back, then get in my car and drive home. Across the street, the lights are on at Miles’s place, and I almost want to go visit, to hug Priyanka and smell her vaguely hospital smell, but this is their night. So I’ll let them have it. Instead, I go inside, and go up to my room to drop off my bag. And for a moment, I look at the stuffed rabbit on my shelf. Then I roll my eyes and head downstairs to see what health-food horror Dad has made for dinner.