16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Luke

Cody looks a little shell-shocked. It’s not like my parents don’t have a filter or that they don’t acknowledge personal boundaries. They’re just very interested. They always have been. Very interested in your life, your thoughts, and your dreams. Unless you’ve grown up with them, I guess it can be somewhat overwhelming. And Cody looks overwhelmed right now as my mom looks at him curiously, her chin resting on her clasped hands, her elbows resting on the pristine white tablecloth of the upscale restaurant in Aurora. I can’t help grinning into my right hand as I cover my mouth. Cody looks adorable, like a deer caught in the headlights, as he blinks at my mom. We’ve both swapped our usual sweats and hoodies for neat button-ups, Cody a light blue one that makes his eyes pop, while I’m in charcoal gray. I told Cody not to bother with dress pants since my parents are pretty laid-back, so we’re both wearing dark jeans instead. Cody looks fucking hot. I mean, he looks amazing in sweats and a hoodie, too, but there’s just something about him tonight that makes my entire body buzz.

Clearing his throat, he speaks shyly.

“I… I don’t know, ma’am, to be honest. Never really thought about it. Never been anywhere really.” A pink flush that’s become so familiar to me—and if I’m being honest, I sometimes find myself trying to provoke it to appear—dances across his cheeks. My mom doesn’t correct the ma’am . If Cody wants to refer to her with this formal title, then that’s his prerogative. My mom isn’t one of those please call me Cindy/Julia/Debbie kind of moms. If calling her ma’am makes Cody comfortable, then that’s the way it’s going to go down. “Maybe Finland. Yeah, I think Finland. Or some other Scandinavian country. Denmark, perhaps. It doesn’t matter. Scandinavian.” Cody sweeps his blond hair out of his forehead, looking directly at me.

“Interesting,” my dad hums, but I recognize the admiration in his eyes. My dad’s a socialist in a country where being a socialist is mostly frowned upon. Because over the years American politicians have taught us that socialism equals communism. And that consumerism is going to save us all. It’s different in Europe, though. Europeans still haven’t forgotten what fascism cost them in blood, sweat, tears, and humanity. They won’t ever forget. Being a socialist or a social democrat in Europe simply means that you care about someone other than yourself and that the state takes care of you when you are unable to do so yourself. In America, we’re taught to believe that you can do anything you set your mind to. It’s a noble thought, but no man is an island, and, frankly, it’s bullshit. Most people can’t for various reasons.

“Why Scandinavia?” my father asks, his voice neutral. My dad’s funny like that, never one to put words in your mouth. He wants you to reflect on your own, where my mom is more, ‘ This is the truth .’

“I…” Cody looks around the room. I can tell that he feels insecure. Inferior perhaps. He knows my father is a professor, and that I went to college. So did my mom. He licks his bottom lip carefully as he plays with his napkin. “Have you heard of the Nordic model , sir?” He tilts his head at my father. Well, Cody has just proven the truth behind never judge a book by its cover. I think when most people look at Cody, they see a blond jock out of rural America. Beef over brains. I know that it’s far from the truth. A lot of the guys on the team have opinions about everything from politics to legislation to global affairs. We’re not just dumb jocks , although we do act stupid sometimes. Just ask Coach.

“Sure,” my father nods, sending a wink my way. Oh, he likes Cody. I can tell. My father very rarely winks—he’s not your average let’s-put-a-hamburger-on-the-grill-and-watch-some-ball dad. When he winks, it’s because something—or rather someone —has his attention. Cody’s eyes skate to mine and I smile at him reassuringly. I know it can be a life-altering experience the first time you meet a grown-up who actually cares about what you have to say.

“To be frank, sir, I think there’s no other society structure or ideology that makes sense,” Cody says. A loud “hah!” bursts from my father’s lips as his palm connects with the table, our half-empty wineglasses rattling ominously. Cody looks confused and seems about to add something when my father starts, “You are absolutely right, Cody. How refreshing to talk with a twenty…?” He looks directly at Cody.

“Twenty-three, sir,” Cody gulps.

“Yes. A twenty-three-year-old who can think for himself.” My father reaches for his wineglass and holds it out in front of Cody, who still looks confused. “I salute you, young man,” my father says, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a wet sheen to his eyes. “I salute you,” he repeats, but this time his voice is gruff, clearly affected by Cody’s words.

“Richard,” my mother coos, placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it fondly. The contrast between my father’s navy wool blazer and my mother’s mandala-tattooed hand is striking. She’s a real hippie. My dad is, too, in a way, but you would never be able to tell just by looking at him. He just looks like your average dusty literature professor, his hair starting to thin around the temples, his belly a little soft. My mom looks like the yoga enthusiast she is, her long, dark brown hair braided, wearing some flowy, flowery dress showing off her toned, tattooed arms.

“I know. I know,” my father waves his hand in front of him. “It just gives me hope, is all,” he looks at me and I can tell that he’s emotional. “When young people put humanity and compassion over personal success and wealth. When they use common sense and listen to their heart instead of some self-proclaimed TikTok guru.” He again looks at Cody, whose cheeks are in full bloom by now. “Because that is the core of the Nordic model ; wouldn’t you agree, Cody? To work toward an equal society based on the idea of the welfare state.” Cody nods slowly, contemplating something.

“Yes, sir. That and the separation of the Church and the State.” I notice a relaxed eagerness in Cody’s voice. He’s entering the phase where he’s realizing that my father is being genuine. There’s no mockery or hidden agenda. No judgment. He respects Cody’s opinion and from what Cody has told me about his mom, he isn’t used to being listened to. He’s used to being dismissed. There’s nothing dismissive about my father.

“Go on,” my father leans back in his chair, motioning with his hand. I know how my father feels about religion. It’s the same way he feels about Aspartame, fast food, and power. It’s addictive, dangerous and superfluous.

“Well,” Cody says, his voice steady, his eyes bright. I can tell that confidence is slowly building inside him and I love that look on him. It’s the same look he has when he’s on the ice, making one save after another. “It’s the only society model that makes sense,” he continues. “Equal access to free education—including higher education—and free healthcare is the only way to ensure social mobility and a homogenous society,” Cody licks his lips, looking at my father. “And homogenous countries are much less prone to conflict, violence, and crime. Scandinavians don’t need something like the Second Amendment because they don’t fear their neighbor. People shouldn’t need guns to feel safe. They should be able to trust their state to keep them safe.” He sighs as if it took a lot of effort to speak those words. I bet it did. If you say them out loud in certain parts of this country, people will, in a best-case scenario, laugh at you. Worst case… yeah… “Socialism is not in opposition to capitalism,” Cody shakes his head, a crooked smile playing at the right corner of his mouth as if he’s heard this stupid argument one too many times. “Finland is a capitalist country. All the Scandinavian countries are. Greed, however, opposes solidarity. And religion should never play a role in politics. Religion should be a private matter only.” My father nods in agreement and I can’t help but wonder how Cody knows all this. And before I know it, the words slip from my mouth.

“How do you know all this?” I blurt, immediately regretting my words. I don’t want to appear patronizing, but even I don’t know that much about this topic, and I studied history and international conflict management. But Cody just smiles shyly, still playing with his napkin.

“I read papers. I watch the news. I know what they’re trying to do. It doesn’t matter what they call those book bans in some states. Or what they call taking away people’s rights to decide over their own bodies. It doesn’t matter that they give it different names. It’s still the same. It’s the face of fascism. It’s when fear turns to hate. When ignorance turns to violence.”

My mother gazes at me, a knowing smirk on her lips. She knows if I’m not already, then I’m one step away from being full-on besotted with Cody. And I am. He’s fucking amazing. Not only is he among the top 5 goalies in the League—there’s no doubt about it, he is—but he’s so fucking bright and compassionate and sweet. The guy didn’t go to college. He has no fancy diploma to show you. And yet, he seems to understand what most people in this world still refuse to accept. That poverty and inequality are the cause of most despair in this world. And that there is more than enough for all of us if we weren’t so goddamn greedy. More than enough.

“When you come to visit us,” my mom says, reaching for Cody’s hand, “you’ll have to tell me more about the Scandinavian countries. I know very little of them.” She chuckles. “I’m afraid it’s pretty much limited to H.C. Andersen, Kirkegaard, and the Vikings.” She’s not patronizing him. My mom isn’t like that. I’m pretty sure she knows next to nothing about the Scandinavian countries. Cody nods and his blush is somewhat under control now.

“I can do that,” he murmurs, gazing at me quickly. I just smile stupidly as I pick up the menu.

“Dessert anyone?” I continue to smile, my stomach doing a ridiculous number of somersaults, as Cody just nods at me, seemingly oblivious to the way he just turns me inside out.

“I really like your parents,” Cody says much later as we watch an episode of Sex Education. We’ve moved through Heartstopper to another British show. I swear by the end of the year I’ll be able to pose as a British person.

“Yeah, they’re alright, I guess. I mean, as far as parents go.”

“Are you kidding?!” Cody sits up, his eyes ablaze, the bowl of popcorn resting between us on the couch flying to the floor. “They’re fucking awesome.” I laugh at him as I try to save some of the popcorn. I’m not anywhere near being done with it. The dessert at that fancy restaurant was so goddamn small that I inhaled it in 0.5 seconds.

“Yeah, you’re right. They are,” I smile.

“Dude, you won the parent lottery. That’s what you did.” A shadow flashes across his face, his eyes serious. “I could never have a conversation with my mom like that. She’d call me ungrateful and unpatriotic.” He shakes his head, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips. “Don’t you just get sick of it sometimes? The division. The prejudice and discrimination minorities face daily in this country.” I nod, because I do. I often lose faith in the future of my home country. But then I remind myself that if those of us who believe in compassion and tolerance leave, then who will be left? There are a lot of good people in America who just want to live their lives in peace, just like everyone else.

“I do,” I shrug. “We just gotta keep pushing back, you know. We gotta keep challenging those voices that try to create division and hate. We have to.” Cody nods, wiping at his eyes. “Hey. Hey, man, it’s okay,” I reassure him, wrapping my arm around his shoulder.

“It’s not even that,” he sighs. “It’s my mom. Being with your parents tonight. Watching how they listen to you. Like really listen. It just made me realize I don’t have that.” He pauses, looking up at me, his gray eyes swimming. “I’ll never get that from my mom. Acceptance. And I fucking miss my dad and Danny. So much.” A tear slips from his left eye and trails down his cheek. His chin trembles and he looks so heartbroken. At this moment, he looks like a little kid who’s lost his way. Maybe he has. I pull him against me, resting my chin on top of his head.

“It’s okay. You’re not alone,” I whisper into his hair as I feel Cody’s hands grabbing at my shirt. He fists the fabric as he breathes against my neck, his breath small puffs of warm air against my skin. He’s shivering in my arms, and I hold him tighter against me. He mumbles something against my skin, but I can’t make it out, his voice distorted. “What?” I speak against his temple, his skin salty on my lips. He releases himself from me, his face so close to mine that I can make out every dip and curve, every slope and shadow. His eyes are two gray pools pulling me in, his eyelashes fluttering as he takes me in.

“I said,” he swallows, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down behind his corded neck, “I like you so much, Luke.” Another tear escapes his eyes, its sad, solitary journey down his cheek causing a similar sadness to gather in my chest.

“I like you, too,” I whisper, the rightness of the words settling inside of me. I do. I like him so very much.

“You don’t understand.” He shakes his head, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. I reach to sweep it away, but he grabs my wrist, holding my arm between us. “I like you in a way that I shouldn’t,” he rasps. “I have no business liking you this way,” he mutters, mostly to himself, I think.

“Why not?” I ask, although I know why. He’s already told me why. And still, I find myself asking, hoping that his reply has changed. “Why not, Cody?”

“Because… Because I promised myself once that I wouldn’t ever fall for someone again unless they were ace.” That little word— fall . It lingers between us, threatening to disturb everything while, at the same time, promising more. So much more. So, I ask him the very same question that I’ve been asking myself repeatedly lately. Since our kiss.

“But what if I am?” I release my hand from his grasp and move it toward his face. He lets me and I cradle his chin in the palm of my hand, my thumb brushing across his clean-shaven skin. “What if I’m ace too?” I counter. He shakes his head, but as he closes his eyes, I feel him leaning into my touch, a small, tormented hum leaving him. Turning his face, he whispers against the palm of my hand, “I want you to be. So much. But I’m afraid.”

“I’m afraid, too,” I say, and he looks up at me in shock, a puzzled frown between his brows.

“You are?”

“I am,” I nod.

“What are you afraid of?” he murmurs, his gaze flickering.

“The same thing that you are. That I’ll get hurt. That I’ll hurt you. That I’m ace. That I’m not.” I lick my bottom lip, Cody’s eyes tracking the movement. “Although, I think I am.”

“Those are a lot of things to be afraid of,” he smiles weakly.

“I know,” I groan. “It sucks.”

“Oh, shit,” he laughs half-heartedly, his eyes sad as he reaches for my face, framing it with his warm palms, a static building where his skin meets mine.

“What?” I frown.

“I wanna kiss you so fucking bad right now,” he grits, resting his forehead against mine. “Why do you have to be so…” he sighs deeply.

“So what?” I whisper.

“So everything.” Everything. Cody thinks I’m … everything? He’s the one who’s fucking everything.

“Sorry,” I smile, my lips so very close to his that I can almost taste him, feel him, have him. But I’m not going to. If we’re going to kiss tonight, it needs to be Cody’s decision. Not mine. If we are to take a chance and see where this thing between us can go, it needs to be on his terms. At his pace. I may suspect that I’m on the asexual spectrum, but I can’t know for sure. And the last thing I want to do is to hurt him. So, it has to be him.

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, and it’s like a wall coming up between us, his eyes wary, his posture once again guarded. “I think I’m just… worn out,” he says, breaking away from me, avoiding my gaze. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna go to bed.” He gets up from the couch and I want to reach for him and pull him back against me. But I can’t. I won’t. Although Cody has just admitted that he feels the same as me, I can’t pressure him or try to persuade him into doing something that may end up hurting him. As much as I think I may be asexual, I can’t know for sure. Not yet anyway.

“Okay,” I murmur, getting up too. “I’ll just clean up. You go ahead,” I motion at the spilled popcorn. Hunger has been replaced with a hole in my stomach that can’t be sated.

“You sure?” He shifts on the plush carpet, avoiding my gaze.

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. I’ll see you in the morning.” He nods at me, and it looks like he’s about to say something, but then he turns and heads for the bathroom. As he reaches the door, he calls out over his shoulder, “Goodnight, Luke.”

“Goodnight, Cody,” I reply, the words getting stuck in my throat.

Goodnight.