Chapter 4
4
ALEX
I grab a piece of toast from the pile on the dining room table and butter it while I'm still standing. We always eat in here because it's the only table that fits us all.
"Would it kill you to sit down?" my mom says.
"Late for my train, gonna have to take this with me."
"How was last night?" My sister, Rachel, smirks at me as she spoons cereal into her mouth, Hannah chewing silently beside her. I scrape the knife across the bread, leaning over the embroidered tablecloth to pick up the jam. Questions like this always make the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but I don't think she knows where I was. Just don't say anything.
This is the game, the fit-in-and-let-everyone's-gaze-drift-over-you game. Other members of my family do this, too. What are they hiding? We're the quiet ones, not shouting for attention in a large family. Staying under the radar is deliberate, even vital. The perfect survival strategy. I snort. Our eldest sister, Cara, never got it. She was always waving her hands, saying, over here! over here! The dramas she created … That time she crashed her car, did a whole song and dance on the cop, and ended up getting arrested. My parents grounded her for months after that.
I tell them I'm working late when I'm out for drinks. A few select friends let me stay over with them in town, so my parents know as little as possible about who I'm seeing or where I'm going. My friends play the same game, except that I'm living at home and can't return the favor. After studying economics at college, I moved back here as a stopgap, and I've been able to save so much money, but I've ended up stuck. And I'm still so far from having a place of my own.
When I was young, my mom and dad lived in Brooklyn, so I chose to live there when I went to college. I couldn't wait to escape the suburbia of Great Neck and move closer to the city. But confusion dug its claws in through all those years of so-called freedom. Everyone seemed so confident . The jocks, the hooking up, the parties, drugs, and booze: I never fit into any of it. Ever since high school, girls have made me nervous. I dated girls but I always felt like I was doing the wrong thing, and I probably was. It felt like a whole period of my life when I could never relax.
When I focus on the table again, Rachel is staring at me, waiting for my answer. What did she ask me again? Oh yes, how my evening went.
"Good. It was fun to go out with the guys and Mei for a drink."
If I give them something close to the truth, then it's easier all round. And I was out with one guy. Hiding in plain sight. My mom gets up and heads into the kitchen returning with a paper bag.
"Mei?" my mother says.
"Chinese analyst at work. She's a badass," I say. "Mind you, she needs to be." I spread the strawberry jam over the toast.
"I don't know how a woman could do that job."
God, my mom. It's like she lives in the 1950s. Cutting the bread in half, I fold the two sides together and slide it into the bag Mom's holding out for me.
My friendships with guys have always been close. When I began working downtown, I suddenly met so many people of all different kinds of sexualities who were out and relaxed about it that I started to wonder what all the fuss was about. I wanted to experiment. The first time I kissed a guy was a revelation. It felt nothing like kissing a girl. A man from work, Aaron, invited me to a house party, and it felt at once like college and not. We hung around in the kitchen chatting, and as the night wore on and he made no move to mingle, I got more and more nervous about what this was and what I should do. Then he leaned over and put his mouth on mine and I opened my lips and kissed him back. When he pulled back, he gave me a half smile. "Okay?" he said. All I could do was nod, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I wanted to say, Please do that again. When I went home later, I jacked off imagining his hands all over me. It felt right. Of course, it would never be right with my family.
But then Aaron's desk was suddenly cleared, and despite messaging him a few times, I never heard from him again. Apparently, he messed up some calculations. That happens at the company I work for: One fuckup and you're gone.
"Where'd you stay last night?" Hannah asks, eyes narrowing. Her question jerks me back into the room.
Messing around on Grindr wasn't the most sensible thing to do, but Des's message about his Sunday felt like a dream. A shiver runs through me. What am I doing? I've already been on the receiving end of what happens when you step outside the family's expectations.
Is Rachel checking up on me? Or trying to land me in trouble? Hannah and Rachel are both involved with prospective partners from local Jewish families, all encouraged by my parents. It's what I should be doing, too.
"Nana's."
"She said she didn't hear you come in," my dad grunts, and I eye him over the table.
"Good. I'd hate her to lie awake because she's worrying about me. That woman goes to bed at like 7 p.m.," I say. "I took the dogs for a walk, and I don't think they'd been walked all day. Does she still have her dog walker?"
My dad harrumphs. "She won't let me find her a new one. Anna takes them out."
My mom smiles nervously like she always does when I talk directly to my dad. "And how are the terrors?" she says.
"Betsy wanted to go after every dog we met. A surprising number of people are out walking at that time of night on the Upper East Side. Anyway …" I glance down at the toast in my hand. "Gotta dash."
In the hallway, I grab my bag from where I left it when I came downstairs.
"Have a good day!" My mom's words follow me as my dad appears at the end of the corridor, glasses perched on his nose.
"Impress them today, Alex. You're the man of this family—you need to be setting an example. Work hard."
Every day he likes to impart his words of wisdom. I nod my head and slip through the door, slamming it behind me. My family are close-knit and caring, but I always feel like I've escaped an inquisition.
As I walk up the street, I thumb through to the app: Still no response from Des after the photograph I sent him. And God, that tight shirt and tumble of blond curls, the way his pants outlined every muscle in his … Stop, Alex! Why would he be interested in someone as fumbling and inexperienced as you?
I'm an idiot. I sent him a picture of my ankle like some maiden aunt from the 1800s. That tattoo I had done when I was at college in a pitiful act of rebellion. And I thought my mom was bad. Why am I even surprised he's not responded?
In my mind's eye, I can still see Des's hair gleaming under the lights at the cocktail bar and my heart aches. He made it perfectly clear what he was looking for, and I wasn't it. What a ham-fisted mess I made of meeting him. We exchanged numbers, and God, do I want to call him! But deep down I know I can't have this. I've just got to forget I ever met him.