Chapter 29

29

ALEX

D es's mobile rings and rings in my ear. "Come on, come on," I mutter as I kick along the sidewalk, glancing over my shoulder back down the road. It's that dusky time of the day just before sunset, and thank God I had the presence of mind to grab my work bag and jacket as I headed out the door. Other than those things, I've only got my phone. I have no idea what time the trains run into Manhattan at this time of night, but when I glance at my wrist, it's only 8:20. By rights, Des should still be in the office.

Des's voicemail picks up:

"Hey, chickadees, it's Des! Please leave me a message."

"Hi, Des, it's Alex. I was wondering if I could stay over with you tonight." Nerves vibrate through me. "Something's happened at home, and I need a bed." My voice cracks as I tail off, mute. I can't leave a voicemail with the whole sorry story. I take the phone away from my ear, stare at it for several seconds, then hang up.

By the time I reach the station, I'm sweating in the heat of a June summer evening. The timetable board shows a train in twenty minutes, thank God, and I'm grateful for the breeze, packaging and dust blowing past and disappearing up the track. Back toward the crossing, the street toward home is empty: No one has come after me to drag me back and face the music.

"You okay, son?" a voice says, and I turn around to find an elderly gentleman in baggy fawn nylon pants and one of those Jack Nicholson polo shirts that older people like so much. Gray hair cradles his temples and he's completely bald on top, but traces of my dad sit in his face. This is where he'll be in another couple of decades.

He's waiting to look at the timetable. I step to the side. "Are you heading into the city?" I say.

"Yes." He nods.

"Twenty minutes," I add.

"Twenty minutes, Nancy!" he calls out to a woman I presume is his wife, and she lifts a hand as she walks slowly up the platform steps.

"What happened to your face?" he says, and oh God, why didn't I think about this? How bad is it? My hand comes up to touch my cheek. I'm about to get on a train. Are other people going to come up and ask me if I'm okay? My parents always stressed the importance of telling the truth. Ha! I bet they wouldn't advise that now.

"My dad hit me."

He sucks in his cheeks and glances off to the side, then his eyes come back to mine.

"Do they live around here?" he says, waving an unsteady arm.

When I nod, he mutters, almost to himself, "And you left." He purses his lips. "Of course you did. Where are you going? Do you live with them?"

I nod. "I'm going to stay with a friend in the city." Studying my shoes, I scuff a foot against the tarmac. "At least I hope I am."

When I look up his brow is creased, squinting at me.

"Will you be okay?"

"I have friends in Manhattan. I'll be fine. Thank you, though, it's kind of you to ask."

He nods, face relaxing as he watches his wife reach the top of the stairs and head along the platform.

"These family arguments …" He pauses and chews his lip. "Sometimes parents say all the wrong things."

"No kidding," I mutter.

"In the heat of the moment …" He tails off.

Pools of light illuminate the railroad crossing and the parking lot, half empty at this time of night, and I breathe the dust in the air. He seems to want to chat.

"I think it's more a philosophical difference," I say.

"I fell out with my son," he adds, a noticeable tightness in his voice. "The last time he spoke to me was ten years and one month ago."

" Ten years? "

"Every day I think about that argument and what I said, and I regret it."

"Can't you apologize?"

He runs a distracted hand over his bald head. "I have apologized many times, and written to him, too. But sometimes you go too far and speak in the heat of the moment … I said some unforgivable things. I don't blame him, I blame myself."

"What did you do? What did he do that got you so angry?"

He harrumphs. "It was stupid, like many arguments. In my mind, there were a lot of matters he was getting wrong." A derisive laugh huffs out. "For years I had not approved of how he was living his life, and it was all bottled up inside me. And who am I to be so judgmental about him? But your children? As a parent, you cannot let go. They are you, and you build them as a reflection of yourself. You play God, I think. If they do well, you more and more want to believe they are you because they are fulfilling your dream, and you didn't have the knowledge or the opportunity or the will to do as well as you hoped when you were younger. But in all this you forget they are their own people, with their own decisions, experiences, and problems. You don't allow them to have their flaws."

I nod at this.

"I found out he was having an affair, and I was disgusted with him that he would cheat on his wife and destroy his marriage. That he would put his children in that position. It didn't sit well with my values."

"Sounds reasonable," I say.

"Yes, it does, but unfortunately it wasn't. They were very unhappy. She had had affairs herself and was brutal to him. But of course I knew none of this when I opened my mouth." He shakes his head, and I'm struck with how weird it is to be having this conversation with a stranger at this time of night at my local station.

The familiar long hoot down the line tells me that the train is approaching, and he gestures toward the stairs.

"Come and sit with us. We will share this journey together, no?" He holds out his hand. "Enrique," he says.

I take his firm grip in mine. "Alex," I say.

Sliding into my seat on the train, I listen as they tell me more about their family and pull up photos on their phones. The son they no longer talk to is the eldest, but they have five children and long stories about all of them. And I'm glad to be their audience, glad of the distraction. After the fright and the flight, the sinking tide of adrenaline has left me shaky, and this is like being bathed in a warm bath of parental concern, even if it's not my own. My racing heartbeat subsides, and I relax into the warmth of the train and their genuine dedication to each other.

When we disembark at Penn Station, I touch his hand as his wife tucks her hand into his elbow. "Don't stop trying with him. One day he'll come around," I say.

He gives me a pained curl of his lips. "I hope so."

"Don't give up." I smile at them both.

"You are a lovely young man. One day, your parents will be very proud of you," his wife says.

It brings tears to my eyes. I can't visualize any situation where Mom and Dad would be happy to have a gay son.

When I'm out of the station, I drag my phone out of my pocket, and I can hardly handle my plummeting stomach when there's still nothing from Des. It's so fragile what we have; we're still feeling our way with one another and understanding each other's lives.

And I've had no word from anyone else either: not my father, my mother, or even Rachel. It's like being plunged into ice. I am alone. Alone in whatever it is I'm heading into. Am I crazy to be doing this? Throwing my life into the air with no way of determining how the pieces will land. Only days ago, I was fastening my tie, sighing about my mother clucking about relations coming around and asking me what I wanted for dinner. Now I don't even know if they'd have me back in their house. Is it even still my home?

What is family love? I could give it a definition, but it wouldn't be like anything I've experienced. To have things given with one hand but taken away for the slightest provocation. Well, okay, this was more than a slight provocation. But to have the conditional nature of it slapped in my face like that! But I'm deluding myself—it was always conditional. That's why we're all conforming, all struggling in this fight between being ourselves and hanging on to our parents' love. Am I going to be the first one to break free? The only one? Perhaps I can set an example for my older sisters and help all of them step out from under my father's shadow. The look of terror on Hannah's face when she picked up her plate and left. She didn't stay to back me up, though I don't blame her for avoiding his temper. Christ, will he alienate us all?

Before I know it, I'm heading into the subway. Sucking in a deep breath, I inhale the scent of coffee from a takeout place, so I stop to buy one. There's no rush now. Des will either be home or not, and I'll wait. I can do this.

When I arrive at Des's apartment block, the doorman—Darius, I think—remembers me.

"Mr. Alex, right?" he says. "You here for the party? Let me buzz up and tell him you're here."

A party ? That he didn't mention to me? I'd convinced myself he was in a late meeting and that's why he'd not responded to my texts. My stomach sinks.

Des's voice is an excited babble on the other end of the phone from Darius who is grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Yes, yes," he says, hanging up. "He said to send you up!"

We shift over to the elevator, and he scans his tag over the pad, pressing the button for Des's floor. When I step out, music and loud conversation are drifting down the corridor, and Des's apartment door is propped open, laughter and noise seeping around the edges. Shit.

Des materializes in the doorway, swaying slightly and grinning.

"Alex!" he says, throwing out his arms.

"You're having a party?" I can tell my face is pinched.

"A spontaneous get-together." He frowns. "I thought you were having dinner with your family? Believe you me, you would have been my first invite if I'd known you were free."

There's an excited squeak and George appears behind him, pushing past Des and rushing at me, hauling me into a warm embrace. I look at Des over George's shoulder, bringing my hands up to hug him back.

"OMG, this guy," he says, jerking his thumb back at Des. "He's been talking about you all night." Des's eyes meet mine, and he shakes his head.

George tips back and grimaces at me. "Frankly, you are setting a standard none of us can live up to."

This makes me smile.

"Believe you me, I am no one's high standard," I say.

George takes my hand and turns around, dragging me toward Des, who frowns.

"What happened to your face?" he says.

George swings back round, eyes sweeping over my face.

Of course, Des won't have picked up my messages. He has no idea what's gone on tonight.

"My dad hit me."

George's eyebrows shoot up.

"What is going on out here?" Dimitri appears in the doorway, followed by the guy I ran into at the hospital, Steve, and two other guys.

"Oh my God, the beautiful Alex!" Dimitri hoots, stepping forward and pulling me into a bear hug.

" You've met him already?" George growls. His eyes narrow. "Wait, did you meet him before me?"

Des rolls his eyes. "Why did your dad hit you, Alex?" he says, mouth a flat line.

Closing my eyes, I grimace. Can we have this conversation without an audience? My insides curl up like dead leaves on a sidewalk.

"I told him I was gay."

Des's lips part. "You came out to your family?"

"Oh yeah!" Dimitri shouts, turning on his heels and waving his hands in the air, mincing up the corridor. His ass wobbles in a pair of extremely tight shorts. Does this guy wear anything else? "Another one in the tribe!" he sings, and Des laughs.

"Shhh, Dimitri," he says.

But Dimitri carries on: "Hallelujah to that! Gentlemen, this calls for a celebration!"

And for the first time today, I laugh. "You guys are nuts."

Des grins at me. "Yes, they really are."

Dimitri swings around and points a finger. "Don't pretend you're not crazy, too, Desmond."

Steve says, "Well, if we're having a celebration, then I'd better go and buy some champagne." He disappears back into the apartment.

"Get loads, and some nibbles," George shouts after him, grabbing my hand. "Come on, Alex, we'll ice that cheek and you can tell me the whole story."

Steve reappears again, wallet in hand. "Wait until I get back, I want to hear this story, too." He leans into me as he passes and kisses my cheek. "Lovely to see you again, Alex."

One of the other guys holds his hand out when I reach the doorway. "I'm Alan, by the way, since none of these assholes were going to introduce me."

Des laughs, and as George drags me into the apartment, he snags my hand and squeezes. All I can do is make wide eyes at him.

Not long after 2 a.m., they all reel out of Des's place, and we both start gathering up glasses. And I'm warm inside with the realization that it's in both our instincts to tidy up before we go to bed. His sister Marla arrived back at about midnight, sporting a T-shirt with some fighter logo and two people's names on it and gossiped nonstop about her MMA boyfriend then disappeared into her room. Mitzi putters about sniffing at everything. It's been a blast this evening, and if you'd said earlier tonight that my day would end like this, I would have laughed in your face. After sharing the whole sorry tale of what happened at home, and then hearing all their stories, I feel like I've been washed clean of this whole night.

Dimitri's Greek Orthodox parents threw him out at sixteen when he told them he was gay, and then turned up with a priest at a friend's apartment where he was staying to "exorcise his demons." They are only just on speaking terms with him eight years later. Dimitri solemnly informed me that's why the gay community was so strong: It had to stand in for all the families that behaved like assholes.

Any time he sat down with me, Des held my hand, and something about the strong solid presence of him helped me tell everyone what happened. But he's been muttering about Dad and Nana and how it must have been deliberate ever since I told him what she said.

"Why would she say that? I'm so pissed at her," he says for about the fifteenth time tonight as I load the dishwasher. "Ruth's in the doghouse as far as I'm concerned. Someone as sharp as your grandma must have understood exactly what she was doing."

"Yes, I don't think I'm going to forgive her any time soon," I reply, waving some leftover chips in a bowl at him, and he points to a drawer which I find is full of Ziplock bags. He keeps leftover chips? He really is the perfect man.

"You're her favorite grandson, aren't you? Very involved in her life? Walk her dogs, the whole shebang?"

"Yeah, I always thought so. Why did she say what she did? She's never dropped me in it like that. Just the opposite actually."

Des washes a few glasses and puts them on the counter to drain.

"Can I stay here for a bit? I don't know what I'm going to do …" I trail off. It's the only conversation we haven't had tonight.

Des waves his hand. "Stay as long as you like. You know I wanted you to move in anyway." He winks at me. "You'll have to share my bed, though, and I can't promise you won't be molested. Also, I need to warn you that my sister's a terror."

Blushing, I stack some plates in the dishwasher. "Fine by me," I say.

Later we lie in bed, oddly both on our backs beside each other with our hands behind our heads, only our elbows touching. Heat radiates from where Des is stretched out, but somehow sex strikes me as inappropriate right now.

Des rolls onto his side and tucks his hand under his temple, looking at me, and I turn my head on the pillow. His face is a shadowy outline, light seeping in from the streets and buildings around us. Despite the middle-of-the-night quietness, Manhattan suddenly feels so vibrant, so full of people of every background, race, and orientation.

"It's a big thing, coming out to your family. Just hearing Dimitri's fiasco made me realize how lucky I've been. I'm sorry your dad reacted the way he did."

"You haven't heard Dimitri's story before?"

Des shakes his head.

"I could have planned it better. Nana kind of forced my hand," I say on a long sigh. "I'm still surprised he hit me. I didn't see that coming."

Des runs a finger down the sheet at my side. "I'm mad as hell, Alex. It's all my fault."

"Your fault?" I say incredulously. "No way, Des. My father's an asshole."

"But if I hadn't been so obvious with your grandma … It seems so stupid now. I'm always too fucking blatant. I've been told off about it before."

"That's other people's problem, not yours."

"Is it, though? I should pay more attention to how I come across. I can be a bit much."

I laugh at this. "It's not too much for me, and all your friends love you the way you are. You've got a big personality, Des. Don't hide that."

He nods and props his head up on his hand.

"Anyway, I invited you to meet her," I add. "I knew what the risks were. In some ways it's not a bad thing, being forced into it. I could have let it roll on for way too long until they had possible partners lined up, and ended up offending my family and another family. Far too often, I take the path of least resistance. Deep down, I think I was hoping I'd never have to tell them, which, of course, is stupid."

"But I get that. I never told my mom. My gayness was so obvious that it was never in question. I brought a guy home when I was sixteen, and everybody understood immediately he was my boyfriend."

"Wow."

"Right? That sounds insanely easy when I say it out loud. My family is crazy, but God bless them in this." He rolls onto his back.

"Your friends are awesome," I say.

"You think so?" He turns his head to stare at me, eyebrows raised.

I laugh. "Yeah. They cheered me up no end tonight."

"They're a bit inconsistent."

"Isn't everyone?"

"What do you mean?"

I roll over to face him, and he reaches out to push a strand of hair off my forehead that's flopped down in my eyes. "We all change our minds about things all the time: New information comes in and we adjust."

"I don't know," Des says with a sigh, staring out the window at the apartment block behind his building. "Despite what I said about how sex brings us together, it also gets in the way. It's too easy to hook up with one another sometimes, and you've helped me see how it changes the dynamic of a relationship. Jealousy creeps in and gives you no time to enjoy each other as friends—if that makes sense."

"Yeah, it does." I laugh. "I can't believe I've made you realize anything with all my awkward fumbling. And I'm certainly envious of how familiar George is with you."

Des shakes his head. "You shouldn't be. That boat has well and truly sailed. I think George, when he isn't in melodrama mode, would admit that, too. But he likes creating drama, and if he can create some around the idea that I've got a new boyfriend, then he'll do it. He was watching every time I held your hand."

"It doesn't matter if the boat has sailed, Des, he's still done way more with you than I ever have."

Des rolls into me with a groan and buries his face in my neck, kissing me and sending shivers down my spine. "I want to do it all with you, Alex."

I put my hand on his soft curls, and he draws back, tracing my lips with a finger and giving me a light kiss, mouth curling up against mine.

"God, I'm looking forward to having you living with me. It's like an unexpected treat."

A warmth that's been building all evening explodes in my chest. But so much is still hanging in the air. "All my stuff is there."

"At your parents? Yeah, I was thinking about that. If you want to collect what you need and don't want to go back on your own, I could come with you."

"That's generous, Des, but they'd probably have a conniption. I've got work on Monday, though, and I've got nothing with me. No toiletries. No clothes. No anything."

"We can go out tomorrow and buy you some things. You can borrow whatever you want of mine. I've got a couple of suits, some smart shirts."

I close my eyes. "Sounds amazing."