Chapter 38

38

ALEX

I t's late when I push through the front door the evening of the day after I went to see Des. Everyone is breathing down our necks at work. The analysts got a shouty email this morning about our financial modeling, and we all had to provide a written justification for how we look at companies by the end of the day.

Mom is bustling around in an apron over a silky red dress and wearing a lot of makeup. I eye her smooth cheeks and tight red mouth then peer into the oven. A sizzling brisket is sitting in her special sauce, keeping warm. Yum.

Sharp eyes track down my suit. "Are you getting changed before we eat?"

"I can."

"Put something nice on."

"Something nice?"

"Not jeans. The Silvermans are coming over."

Oh God. Mr. Silverman is a work colleague of Dad's. Will dinner be better or worse if someone is here? I guess it might take the heat off all of us for a while. I inwardly sigh. Why am I even here, attempting to help my sisters, trying to make amends? The whole thing is making my shoulders droop. I miss my relaxed nights at Des's. Unbuttoning my shirt collar, I head for the stairs.

"They're bringing their children," Mom shouts after me.

I strip off and dive into the shower, blinking through the streaming water as soap suds and grime circle the plughole. What can I do to rescue the situation here? Staying here and participating in evenings like this lingers like an ache in my bones. How have I been here for two years ? The rut of living with my parents, of gaining their acceptance , is so seductive. But Des showed me a glimpse of something different, something shockingly liberating. As I towel off and stare at the brown-haired guy in the mirror, I fiddle with my hair trying to corral it into shape, then I pull a clean shirt out of the closet and decide I need to shave again.

When I come down twenty minutes later, the hall is full of people. Three incredibly shy-looking girls with long dark hair are standing in the hallway next to a beaming Mr. and Mrs. Silverman.

"Leah, Judith, and Amalia," Mr. Silverman says as they all step forward one by one. To say hello to me. Weird.

Mr. Silverman puts his arms around Amalia's shoulders. "Amalia's just won a scholarship to Princeton, to study law!" The pride is oozing from every pore. Amalia smiles at me shyly, so I smile back.

"Congratulations! That's amazing," I say.

Everybody beams at me like I've done something right for once. As we head into the living room, I find myself next to Amalia, and, as we sit down together, I ask her about why she chose law. She's quiet and sweet as she talks about her interest in pro bono work and giving everyone equal access to justice. And it's nice to not be tense and keyed up at dinner for the first time in forever. Even Hannah and Becs are beginning to relax over the other side of the table with my dad engrossed in work chat with Mr. Silverman.

"So, moving to Princeton?" I say.

She takes the thick locks of her straight black hair and winds them over one shoulder. "It'll be good to be close to home, but I have to admit to having some worries about finding other Jewish people on campus." She gestures toward me. "People like us."

"Like us?"

"Well, you know. I guess you can stand out in more mixed-faith environments."

I like how honest about her feelings she is. I'm assuming she went to a Jewish faith school like me. And it can be a very closeted environment, but that's also kind of the point of college. And I remember those nerves, but it feels like a lifetime ago. She's so young and sheltered from real life. In an office, nobody gives a damn about your background or religion; they just want results. I'm suddenly fiercely glad for my sisters who are terrified of my father but still forging their own way forward without his knowledge. If my dad was a decent guy like Mr. Silverman is, would we all have ended up blindly following him?

She laughs awkwardly and stares down at the half-eaten meal on her plate. A piece of long hair falls forward, and I reach out to rescue it from the food in front of her.

"I must seem so immature to you," she whispers, almost exactly mirroring my thoughts.

God . I don't want to make her feel bad. She's smart and switched on. And it's not like I don't know: the not quite fitting in at college, all the drugs and parties that were so alien to me, how everyone else seemed so sophisticated. I've felt that all over again with Des—all the experience he has. I swallow, shaking my head.

"We've all been there, and I remember it well." My eyes sweep around the room to find Mrs. Silverman watching me. Jesus. I drop my voice. "I was desperate to escape all the confines, you know?"

She inclines her head, color creeping up her cheeks.

"Confines?"

"It's a closed world, all this," I whisper, twitching a finger toward the table.

She purses her lips. "But a good one, I think."

What do I say to this after everything that's transpired with my father? After what's happened with Des? I've got nothing against my faith. Most people are kind and good, and I shouldn't let my dad taint every transaction. But perhaps I've found my freedom now, discovered my tribe. Nothing has ever felt like it did the other night in Des's apartment, the guys rallying around and Des holding my hand to comfort me. When was the last time somebody did that? I was about five years old. And I've never met someone who would understand the drama of coming out to a traditional family, but Dimitri did. My cheeks burn with the memory of my first reaction to him in the line at Crush.

And the truth is nothing is that bad or that good: Every tribe has its upsides and downsides and it's a question of whether you fit into them, if they're right for you . The patterned tablecloth and the tureen of roast potatoes swim in front of me: Des is right for me .

Blinking up, I nod and smile. "Yes, definitely. It's all good."

She seems to relax when I say this and starts talking about her mother's preparations for her going to college. When I look up again, Mrs. Silverman is still watching me.

After dinner and when the plates are all piled in the kitchen, everyone insists on taking photographs, like we don't already have a load all over the walls. Phones are pulled out, and my parents beam as Mr. Silverman herds all the children together and snaps a shot.

When I help Amalia into her coat, I give her my best smile.

"I hope we can be friends from here on out," she says. "Maybe we can connect on Facebook?"

It was great talking to her. She's interesting and smart, and I'm not going to let Dad influence who I'm in contact with.

"Of course!"

Later on, when Dad has disappeared into his study and I'm in the kitchen helping Mom do the last bit of clearing up, she corners me.

"Mr. and Mrs. Silverman said she'd give up her place if you were interested."

Whaattttt?

Is she saying what I think she's saying? "Interested in what?"

"In dating Amalia as a prospective partner."

A prospective partner? What, and sacrifice all her hard work? That would be insane. My head is going to explode.

Mom beams at me. "Mrs. Silverman said she was pleased at how well you two got along."

"Mom …"

She holds up her hand. "Now, Alex …"

Everything here is two steps forward and one step back. "You've spoken to the Silvermans? About me?"

"Well, of course, Alex! It's high time you started considering …"

Oh my God. What are they thinking ?

"Did you not listen when we talked the other night?"

She waves her hand. "We've put all that behind us now. Your father and I are eager to move on from that, and now you're back at home …"

Move on from that. Right. Dad comes to Des's apartment to apologize but somehow we're all moving on from it. I almost groan at this. Des was right. With time and patience, I hoped we could … Now they're galloping off in the opposite direction as fast as they can. They're going to blindside me at every turn. And I need to be clear here. So clear. Take a deep breath, Alex .

"You might want to put the argument behind us, Mom, and so do I, but that doesn't mean I'm not gay. I'm just not interested in women that way. As for the idea Amalia might give up her place at a top university she's worked so hard for? That's insane. It's like living in the 1950s."

"Perhaps she wants to settle down. She's an amazing woman, Alex—smart, pretty, looking for someone from a family like ours. You'd be a fool to not even consider …"

"Mom," I say softly, "I like guys, okay?"

She winces when I say this. "Maybe you think that now, but your father says …"

I fold my arms over my chest.

"… a lot of these things when you're young are a passing phase, and it doesn't mean that you …"

Given a few short months ago I thought I was bisexual, it feels amazing how certain I feel now, about Des, about the fact that I'm gay. "Mom, it's not a passing phase. I've known I liked guys since I was thirteen. We swept it under the carpet last time, and I ought to have been braver then, but it's not going change. This is who I am."

Perhaps if I can convince Mom, I can work on the rest of them.

"Your father is never going to accept that, Alex. If you persist with this, I think he's going to get more and more unhappy."

"And what about all of us getting more and more unhappy? Why should something like my sexuality revolve around him?"

Mom spreads her hands. "This is his house, Alex. He's in charge here."

"Well, he's not in charge of me," I say, and I wave my arm at her and turn, just like before. Yet, at the bottom of the stairs, I stop. Leaving immediately was a mistake last time: Who knows when I might be able to come back if I leave again without any of my stuff? Bounding up to my room, I drag a carryall out of the back of my closet, hands shaking as I shove things into it.

How long have they been scheming to fix me up with Amalia Silverman? It's insane. Does Amalia know, and worse, does she like me? And God, did I string her along? I empty drawers as fast as I can, throwing T-shirts, pants, and shirts into the bag before zipping it up. I open the door to my bedroom and listen. The television is droning on in the living room, so I walk along the corridor and down the stairs, placing my feet as quietly as I can. At the front door, I put the bag down on the mat and bend to slip on my shoes.

"Alex," a quiet voice says behind me, and I look around to find Rachel standing halfway up the stairs.

She pads down silently. "What are you doing?" she whispers, eyes darting to the living room door and coming back to rest on the bag on the mat.

"I'm sorry, Rach, I can't stay here."

She bites her lip, eyes roaming my face. And something snaps in the air, like some deep long understanding. I close my eyes as they go tight. I'm so grateful for it, for all my sisters, despite our disagreements. A soft kiss presses into my cheek.

"Keep in touch, Alex," she whispers. And I haul her into a hug before turning and opening the door and slipping out into the night.

Once I'm a street away, I slow down and suck in a thick breath. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I open up Facebook, and as I scroll I notice I've been tagged in several pictures. Hannah has posted a picture of Amalia and me, our heads bent together when we were whispering at the table. Ugh . My hand hovers over the comment button, but what can I say here that won't sound either insulting or defensive?

Instead, I find Amalia and send her a DM, saying I need to speak to her, and she responds straight away with her phone number.

"Hi, it's Alex," I say, when she picks up.

"Alex." She sounds breathless. "Thanks for calling."

"I wanted to talk to you about something." I've never had to explain this to anyone. How sheltered have I been up to now? How much pain of explaining have I got to come?

"I loved chatting to you tonight, Amalia, you're great, but I need to let you know that I'm gay." My words come out in a breathless tumble. "I don't want to mislead you."

There's a long silence, then she rushes in.

"No, no, that's okay, Alex." There's a pause. "I think my parents thought …"

"I'm sure they did. And my parents probably encouraged that, and I'm so mad with them right now."

"Your mom and dad know?"

What the hell have they said to the Silvermans? Probably a load of bullshit about what a catch I am.

"They do, but they're in denial about it. I apologize if they indicated that …"

"No, I understand. I'm sorry, Alex."

"I'm sorry, too."

She's quiet for a beat. "I like you, Alex. You're not like a lot of the boys in school."

I laugh. God, the jocks and the jokers. "Yeah, I get that. I had fun, and it was lovely to meet you."

"Me too."

"Stay in touch, okay?"

"Of course."

"And good luck with Princeton."

When she hangs up, I tap my phone against my hand. What am I going to do now? On impulse, I press Des's number, listening to it connect. But it just rings and rings as I walk up the tree-lined streets toward the station, and eventually I hang up.

There's nothing more I can do here. It was a huge mistake coming home, and I need to apologize to Des, but perhaps I shouldn't do that tonight. I've already done one distressed visit to his apartment. This time I'm more organized, or just savvier about what's happening here. Maybe I won't ever be going back. I take a calming breath. I'll keep trying Des, and if that doesn't work, I can catch him at his office tomorrow. My mind flits over a couple of guys I've used as excuses in the past, and a hotel would be easy, but staying at Nana's is probably the sensible choice . I haven't been to see her since she outed me five weeks ago. I've never left it so long.

We probably need to clear the air.