24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Christian

Emil fidgets with his collar, straightening the already straight material.

“Nervous?” I ask him.

He glances at me in the mirror over his desk. “A little. I haven’t talked to my parents since I yelled.”

I hum. “Do you think they’ll be upset?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I think they were surprised more than anything. Henry said they’ve been more…attentive, though. He said it’s horrible, even though he sounded happy about it. So I’m glad they listened. That they seem to be making an effort with him.”

But not with you?

I don’t voice the question aloud, but it surprises me that his parents haven’t mentioned Emil’s uncharacteristic outburst to him. If he ever yelled in front of me or, Christ, at me, I’d be worried. I’d know something was wrong.

I’m trying to keep an open mind, but what I’ve learned about Emil’s parents so far hasn’t endeared them to me. Same with his older siblings, who seem just as aloof when it comes to their middle brother. The only one I’m excited to meet is Rebecca. Emil talks about her with warmth, same as Henry.

Pushing off the bed, I walk over to Emil and wrap my arms around his middle. He sighs as I settle my chin on his shoulder.

“You’re tall in those heels,” he says softly.

“Mm.” I kiss his cheek.

“You look great,” he adds.

“So do you. Ready to go celebrate Thanksgiving?”

He heaves out a sigh. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Emil drives us to his parents’ house across town. The bottles of red wine and the rolls we’re bringing sit in the backseat. I didn’t wear a skirt today, not because I was worried about anyone’s reaction—at least his family is open-minded in that regard—but because I wanted to dress up, and I had the perfect outfit to do so.

My slacks are a twist on a tuxedo pant. They fit my waist snugly, with just enough looseness through the hips to be respectable, but they’re slim and tapered down to my ankles. The fabric is matte black, but a small stripe along each side of my leg is shiny satin. My accompanying shirt is a white button-down, similar to Emil’s blue one, but the material is silkier and the sleeves have the slightest billow to give them shape. My boots, as Emil mentioned, have a tall heel but are otherwise simple black.

Emil gave me his fervent stamp of approval and even picked out my little white pearl belly button jewelry that no one but him will see.

Emil himself looks handsome, but he always does. His button-down is understated, his pants are simple black but fit him well, and his hair is brushed back neatly, glasses perched on his nose. I find myself smiling as I watch him drive, and he seems to sense it.

“What?” he asks, glancing over at me.

“Nothing,” I say quietly. “I just… Sometimes I look at you, and I never want to stop.”

Emil blinks, staring out the front windshield. “Shit, Christian.”

“I know,” I sigh. “It’s creepy.”

He huffs a laugh. “It’s not. It’s… I think it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“My little exhibitionist,” I mumble fondly.

He gives my thigh a half-hearted smack. “It’s not that,” he says, laughter in his tone. “It has nothing to do with being turned on. Although, yes, that does kind of turn me on.”

I snort.

“It’s just that no one else cares enough to look,” he says, nearly breaking my heart. “But, somehow, you really like what you see, don’t you?”

“I kind of hate that you even have to ask that,” I admit. “But yes, I really, really do.”

He nods, his lips forming a partial smile. Emotional happy, that’s what it is. I brush the corner of his mouth with my fingertip, laughing when Emil snaps at me playfully.

When we get to his parents’, a few other vehicles are already in the drive. Emil parks along the edge of the street and turns off his car with a steadying breath. I reach for our items in the backseat.

“Bread or wine?” I ask, hoping to distract him from his nerves.

“Bread,” he says, taking the rolls from my hand. He opens his door, and I do the same.

Emil doesn’t knock; he simply walks inside the house. Immediately, a few people look over from the living room adjacent to the entryway, and there are a couple Emils thrown out in greeting. Emil smiles as he takes off his shoes. I follow suit, leaving my boots by the door as an older woman walks over to us.

“Hi, dear,” she says, tugging Emil in for a hug.

“Aunt Lilah,” he answers, hugging her back with one arm. “It’s good to see you. This is Christian, my boyfriend.”

“Well aren’t you just gorgeous,” she says to me, holding out her hands. “Want me to take those bottles?”

I hand the wine over. “Sure, thanks.”

She hums. “Emil, I haven’t seen you since last Thanksgiving. What’ve you been up to?”

“Lilah?” someone calls. “Does this casserole need to go in the oven?”

“Oh, excuse me,” Emil’s aunt says, walking off with the wine.

Emil holds up the rolls. “Let’s drop these off in the kitchen.”

I nod, following Emil further into his parents’ house. Several people are in the large yet simplistically designed kitchen, some putting final touches on dishes, a few others standing around with drinks in their hands. Emil sets the rolls on a white marble countertop.

“Want something to drink?” he asks me. “Wine, water, hard alcohol?”

I huff a laugh. “Not right now. But thanks.”

He nods just as his name is called. With a little head cant, he leads me over to a small group of people standing beside the kitchen table. Just like before, Emil introduces me as his boyfriend, and then he goes around the circle, pointing out his brother Julian, his sister Eloise, and their respective wives.

“It’s nice to meet you, Christian,” Eloise says. Like Emil, she has brown hair and glasses, although her frames look more like a fashion statement than a necessity. “Did you two meet at school?”

“Emil graduated last year, remember?” Julian puts in before taking a small sip of his wine.

“Actually, I’m working on my master’s,” Emil corrects.

Julian looks surprised by that, but Eloise nods. “That’s right,” she says. “Are you still on track for clinical psychology?”

“Oh, um,” Emil says, poking up his glasses. “I wasn’t, uh… I was never actually…”

He peters out, and I slip my hand into his. “He’s getting his master’s in experimental psychology,” I say proudly. “And then he’ll go on for his doctorate.”

Emil gives my hand a hard squeeze.

“What do you do with experimental psych?” Allie, Julian’s wife, asks. “I’ve never heard of that.”

Emil opens his mouth to answer when another woman swoops in. “Hey, hon.”

“Mom,” Emil says, returning her one-armed hug. “Um, this is Christian, my boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says, looking at me with the same eyes as Emil. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Oh, no, thank you.”

She nods, focus shifting back to Emil. “I need to get the soup ready, but I’ll catch up with you later?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says.

His mom hustles off, and I watch Emil’s face go through a myriad of complicated emotions.

“You would not believe the surgery I scrubbed in on this morning,” Julian is saying. The conversation veers to Julian’s job, and Emil stands beside me, nodding in all the right places, clearly listening. His eyes, though, are someplace else.

I give Emil a little tug when it’s polite to do so, the others talking about Eloise’s recent trip to Africa now.

“Do you think Rebecca is here?” I ask.

His face brightens at that. “Probably. Come on.”

I follow Emil into the living room, where more of his family are gathered. He does another round of introductions. There’s Uncle Bart. Aunt Sylvia. Cousins Mark and Calvin and Jessa. Emil asks Mark about his budding agricultural business. He knows about Bart’s hospital visit for his knee. He remembers Calvin’s girlfriend Gloria, who couldn’t make it today.

No one seems to know a damn thing about Emil.

I field a couple questions, staying away from the topic of porn, since Emil told me no one in his family knows about that. But we talk about how Emil and I met—the PG version of us being neighbors. And I admit I made my clothes when Jessa asks. She seems surprised by that, but not in a bad way.

After talking for a few minutes, Emil moves us along with a polite, “Excuse us.” I follow him up the stairs, my chest tight and lungs aching, as if they don’t have enough room to expand. It takes me a second to realize what it is I’m feeling. Indignation .

We find Henry and Rebecca in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Rebecca flies right off the bed, knocking into Emil. For the first time since we arrived, Emil’s shoulders lose their tension. He lets go of my hand to hug Rebecca back.

“Hey, Bec,” he says gently. When they disentangle, he gives his siblings a reproachful look. “What are you two doing up here?”

“Hiding, obviously,” Rebecca says, plopping back onto the mattress. Henry is sitting on the floor, and Emil walks over, bumping his brother’s foot.

“Hey,” Henry says, his focus on the same handheld video game he was playing the last time we met. His eyes flick up briefly, first to Emil and then to me. “Hey, Christian.”

“Hey, Henry. Nice to see you again,” I say.

Rebecca clears her throat loudly. “ Emil . Are you going to introduce me?”

Emil snorts. “Bec, this is Christian, my boyfriend. Although you already know that.”

Rebecca gives me a big smile. “You’re really pretty.”

I let out a laugh. “Thanks. So are you.”

She beams wider.

“Why are you two hiding?” Emil asks, taking a seat on the floor next to Henry.

Rebecca gives him a look he can’t see from over his shoulder. “Uh, why are you?”

“Touché,” Emil mutters.

I sit down next to Rebecca, my leg against Emil’s shoulder. “Will we miss dinner if we’re up here?”

Everyone shakes their heads in unison, and I stifle a laugh.

“They’ll call us,” Emil says.

“Can’t miss it,” Henry answers.

“Okay, then,” I say, lips twitching.

“Is your grandma here?” Rebecca asks. Emil presses his shoulder into my leg, which I take as his way of letting me know he and his sister talked about her.

“No, she wasn’t feeling up to the trip,” I tell Rebecca.

Truthfully, I think part of it was not wanting to burden me, Emil, and the Reeds. I assured her she was welcome, but my grandma has always been fiercely independent in her own way. She had to be after losing both her husband and her son. Her decision to move into the assisted living facility was a way to ensure I wasn’t shouldering the responsibility of looking after her. I couldn’t change her mind back then, and neither could I convince her to come today.

Emil and I will go see her tomorrow.

Rebecca makes a sad sound. “That’s too bad. Well, at least take some pecan pie home for her. Mom makes great pecan pie.”

“That she does,” Emil says, giving me a little smile over his shoulder.

I push his glasses up his nose.

When Emil’s phone chimes, he whips his head back around and swears. I bite my tongue as he opens up the app he installed on his phone just the other day.

“What’s that?” Rebecca asks, leaning over to get a better view of the screen.

“It’s a pet cam,” Emil murmurs, practically holding his breath as the video loads. One of the crabs is moving, which is why it sent an alert. He has it set to chime at any detectable motion.

We all watch as the new crab makes its way across one end of the terrarium. He and Arthur haven’t had a single altercation, but Emil has been doting over them like the mothering crab daddy he is. It’s beyond adorable, but I don’t dare repeat that sentiment now.

Emil relaxes as the new crab climbs into the submersible water dish.

“Aw,” Rebecca says. “He’s swimming. Is that the new one? You never told me his name.”

“That’s because I haven’t named him yet,” Emil says.

“Emil,” his sister says sternly. “You’ve had him for over a month. He needs a name.”

“Yeah,” Henry puts in.

Emil huffs a laugh. “I don’t know what to choose. Nothing matches Sir Arthurpod, His Royal Cuteness, Burrower of Sand and Creator of Dreams.”

Rebecca clicks her tongue. “It doesn’t have to match, you doof. He’s his own crab. It just has to be right for him.”

“Well, shit,” I mutter before clamping a hand over my mouth. “ Fuck , I can’t stop swearing around your siblings.”

Emil snorts as Rebecca titters a laugh.

We all jolt when someone yells, “Dinner!”

“See?” Henry says, pocketing his video game as he stands. “Can’t miss it.”

Emil shoots me a grin as the four of us make our way downstairs. Emil’s family is so big, there’s a table set up in the kitchen and another in the more formal dining room. I follow my boyfriend, plating up at the counter where a selection of classic American Thanksgiving dishes are spread. There’s turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and cranberry sauce, to name a few. But there’s also French onion soup Emil’s mom made and a fig spread most of the family slathers on their rolls. I assume those particular dishes are part of their tradition.

Thanksgiving for me growing up was a mishmash of the American holiday and the Korean one my grandma celebrated before she and my grandpa moved to the states. Instead of turkey, my grandma prepared traditional Korean food, and we gathered at her apartment, just me, her, and my mom. It was the one time a year I swear my mother softened, just a little.

My mom stopped coming to Thanksgiving when I turned eighteen, as if her obligation to me was complete. After that, it was just me and my grandma, celebrating Chuseok in November instead of during the eighth lunar month. But it was our tradition, and we kept it going.

This was the first year my grandma wasn’t able to cook.

“You okay?” Emil asks softly.

I give him a quick nod. “Yeah, of course. Ready to eat?”

He watches me for a moment longer before nodding. We take our seats in the dining room, and I finally meet Emil’s dad, who we missed during our earlier rounds. He looks like a gruffer version of Emil, a little harder around the edges and worn by time.

“Emil, how’s your semester going?” the older man asks, cutting into his turkey.

Emil finishes his sip of water before answering. “Good. I’m taking this class on cognitive biases that’s fascinating. Like the frequency illusion? How, once you actively take note of something, you’re more likely to notice it again and again?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He turns to me. “Say someone tells you about this all-natural brand of soap they’ve started buying. All of a sudden, you start noticing it at the store and seeing advertisements for it on TV, leading you to believe you’re encountering that soap more frequently. In actuality, it’s been there all along, but you simply weren’t perceiving it because your brain was filtering out the information, not deeming it noteworthy or important enough to catalogue.”

“Like selective vision?” I ask.

“Exactly,” he replies, eyes bright behind his glasses. “The truth is we do this all the time. We can’t ever trust our own brains to be unbiased because literally everything we see, hear, smell, think is based on our own perceptions of the world and the way we filter data. Two people can look at the same exact painting and see entirely different things. Someone might see beauty. Someone might see pain. Neither are wrong. But no two people will ever look at the world the same way because our worldview is crafted entirely inside our own heads, not outside of it. Imagine what we could learn if we simply asked each other questions instead of assuming our reality was the only one?”

Ho-ly shit.

My heart hammers as I look at my boyfriend. At his soft smile and brightly lit eyes. He’s stunning.

“That’s a beautiful way to look at the world, Specs.”

He grins at me, cheeks flushed, before turning back to his dad. The man is now in a conversation with Eloise, no longer paying attention to Emil. It’s small, the flicker in Emil’s smile as he faces his plate again, but it’s there. A crack. The tiniest break in his armor.

It feels like my own chest is splitting in two.

I grab Emil’s hand, tugging it close and kissing the smooth skin. “Would you tell me more about that later?” I ask.

He nods, and, after a moment, I let his hand go.

We finish our meal with his family and stay for a while after that. Without being asked, his mom packs us a to-go bag to take to my grandma, including a piece of pecan pie. I thank her, touched by the gesture.

Rebecca hugs Emil fiercely before we go, and Henry gives him an up-nod that Emil chuckles at. He ruffles Henry’s hair, deftly avoiding the swipe Henry takes at him. Rebecca gives me a hug, too, and tells me to watch out for her brother. I decide I like her and Henry the best.

When we get to the car, Emil turns the ignition without a word. I sense his need for silence, so I stay quiet, my hand resting on his thigh during the drive. Once Emil parks behind his building, he doesn’t make a single move to get out of the vehicle. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white.

“I didn’t need to go into psychology to understand why I am the way I am,” he says. “Why I crave attention.”

I swear that crack in my chest splits wider, a fissure of aching pain. It’s confusion as to why his family seems so easily capable of ignoring Emil. Anger that they’re not there for him the way they should be. Family isn’t always perfect; I know that. But I wish, for Emil’s sake, his were better.

I lift my hand to his face, tracing first the eyebrow nearest me and then cupping the back of his head. “Emil,” I say gently, waiting for him to meet my eye. “I see you.”

There’s an intake of breath, a shuddering exhalation. And then there, in his car, Emil cries.

Fuck, does he cry.