Blue, Chapter Five
On Wednesdays, my mom leaves for work an hour after I leave for school. I’m not sure why; it’s just always the way it’s been. She told me when I was younger that it was because it’s hump day, and she needs to be able to sleep in a little later and leave a little earlier to be able to get through everything she has going on during the week. Whatever her reasoning, it’s my favorite day of the week. She makes my dad pancakes before he leaves so as I’m waking up, the house smells like maple syrup, and then after he’s gone, I get to eat breakfast with her and talk about everything happening in our lives.
The fact that I found out about Nick’s lies on a Tuesday has to be pretty serendipitous since the next morning, I’m sitting at the table swirling my spoon around in my oatmeal, using the brown sugar to make little designs on the surface, and my mom is sitting beside me drinking her coffee and humming quietly, waiting for me to speak. We both know I have to speak. We both know that what happened last night can’t go without some explanation. I just don’t know where I can possibly start.
“I’m gay.” I think that’s a good place. And I say it with all the hoarse terror that I’ve always imagined I’d say it to my parents.
My mother sighs, letting her coffee rest on the table. I’m studiously looking away from her, but I know the expression on her face: her eyes closed, mouth relaxed, composed and thoughtful. It’s one of those things that can be terrifying and lovely at the same time. I know she’s going to spare my feelings no matter what she says, but it may not be what I want to hear even if it’s said nicely. “I had a feeling.”
I look up, stare at her, rub my eyes wearily. “Really?”
“Yes. You’re sixteen. You’ve never brought a girlfriend home, or even seemed to show any interest in having one. Plus, Nick is gay, and I thought that maybe you two were so close because you had that in common, and you could support each other through it.” She looks down into her coffee. “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me. Your father and I decided a long time ago that it wouldn’t change anything about our family, if you were. You’re still Joe.” I want to cry again, and my lip is trembling, and she touches my cheek. “Oh, baby. He broke your heart, didn’t he?”
I just nod, and then she leans in to hug me again, and I wish it made me feel better to be held by my mother. “He was… We were… He was lying to me the whole time. I just wanted to be his, and he just… wanted me to be his. He didn’t want to be mine. I don’t know what to do.”
“I know it hurts, baby. It’ll heal though. It’ll get better.” She pets my hair, rocking me lightly until my crying subsides again. “Tell me what happened. Maybe I can help make it better for you? I’ve had my heart broken a few times, so maybe my expertise at it can make it easier for you?” I laugh softly at the words and on the end of them spills out the whole situation, minus all the sticky details, and I tell her about going to his house and talking to the guy who works at the bookstore, and I hate that I start crying again. She makes little hushing sounds. “So you haven’t talked to Nick yet?”
“Not yet.” I sniffle. “I mean, I have two classes and lunch with him, so it’s not like we can really not talk today, so I guess I’ll confront him about it when I get to school.” I laugh softly, scrubbing my tears away with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “I just hope I don’t cry like this again, because I’d rather not come across as quite this pathetic when I talk to him. I mean, he broke my heart, so I should make him feel like crap. But not because he broke my heart.”
“Exactly. Make him feel like he’s scum.” I know my mom will be my best friend for the rest of my life when she says that. Her hand touches my cheek. “Go wash your face and get your backpack and I’ll drop you off on my way to the office, okay?” I nod and head up the stairs. When we pull up to the front of my school, my mom runs her fingers through my hair and smiles at me. “You’re out of his league anyway, you know. Remember that.”
Somehow, despite sitting next to me on three occasions today, Nick manages to completely avoid making eye contact with me and doesn’t offer more than a couple words of greeting and goodbye. The reaction to me certainly tells me a lot about what went down when Nick got home last night. Clearly, his brother or whoever that guy is that he lives with told him that I stopped by and that he told me where Nick was. At least my “friend” has the decency to be ashamed of himself for being such an asshole. And the pain of it all is quickly being overrun by anger. I know I’m going to confront him eventually, even if it’s just to kick him in the balls.
He obviously doesn’t escort me home, and our usual time spent hanging out (more recently, making out), I spend lying on my bed staring at the ceiling and wondering if the fury roiling in my chest is normal or if I should still be sad. But that only lasts for half an hour before I’m on my bike heading to his house again, determined to talk to him about this, determined to make him own up.
The bookstore guy answers the door again, and the smile he gives me is full of apologies that I don’t need from him. “I’m sorry. Nick’s not here.” His voice is quiet, and I feel awful for putting him in this awkward, awful position. “By the look on your face, I assume you know I told him that I told you. I’m sure he’s been completely useless about communication today. He’s… not always the best with that kind of thing.”
“I know.” I scuff my shoe on the wood of the porch and stuff my hands in my pockets. “We’ve been friends for five years. I know how he is.” I stare up at him, and I don’t want to be angry at him, but for whatever reason, it’s very frustrating knowing that he’s been in the know about all of this and he hasn’t bothered to inform anyone or intervene. “Who are you anyway?” I ask suddenly. “Are you, like, Nick’s brother or something? Because he always told me he was an only child.”
“He is, technically.” He tips his head from side to side. “I’m Kevin. I’m his god-brother.”
“God-brother?”
“Yeah. Like, my parents are his godparents?”
“I know what it means.” A blush rises in my face. “So, like, do you live here with his family then?”
“Well… no. He lives here with me. This is my house.” He shifts slightly and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Do you want to come in? I can make some coffee, if you want.”
I nod before I think about it and step past him into the front room. Maybe it’s just because I’ve met this guy twice and he’s invited me in, and I’ve known Nick for five years, and he never did. The room looks nothing like I imagined, but I suppose I assumed it would have a motherly sort of touch. There’s a white leather couch and a blue recliner, and those seem to be the theme colors of the room. The walls are striped wallpaper, and there are lots of photographs. Some of Kevin and Nick, some of them with a family, some of people I assume are friends. “Why does Nick live with you?”
He beckons me into the kitchen, which I like even more. It’s decorated in red, white and black and has a Coca-Cola theme, complete with vintage ads framed on the walls and salt-and-pepper shakers. It’s quirky. Kevin fits in it. He sets about making coffee and I sit down in one of the red chairs at the table. It creaks. “I suppose Nick hasn’t been very honest with you, if you don’t know about me.” He offers quietly, pressing a button to start the coffee brewing and pulling down a pair of mismatched mugs. “He used to live with my parents across town, but I think after I moved out, he felt lonely there, so when I got settled and had a job and everything, I invited him to live with me.”
I trace a grain of the wood on the tabletop. It looks like it’s been recently stained, and I look up at Kevin’s back, admiring the sharp jut of his shoulder blades through his dress shirt, wondering if he did it himself. It’s easy to imagine him with a paintbrush. “Where are his parents? Why doesn’t he live with them?”
He sighs and turns to look at me, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure if it’s my place to talk to you about that.”
“Well, Nick’s sure as hell not going to tell me.”
“He might, if you ask the right questions.”
I sigh and rub my face. “Alright.”
It’s quiet. I listen to the clock tick and the coffee drip into the pot. The mug he sets down in front of me has a picture of Cinderella’s Castle on the side and says, “Magic Kingdom” in an arch over it. Nick’s name is painted beneath it. I try to ignore it. “So you’re a junior too?”
I nod, tracing the rim of my mug. “Yeah. Almost there, you know? I’m more than three-quarters of the way out of this town.” I smile at the chuckle he gives. It eases the tension. “How old are you?”
I like the way he lifts his eyebrows and lets his forehead crinkle over the edge of his mug, so that I know he’s heard my question and that he will answer once he swallows. When the cup is on the table, he says, “Twenty-five.”
“You don’t look it.”
“Thank you.”
“Why do you work at the bookstore?”
“I wanted to.” He shrugs. “I have an English degree. I like books. I’d like to write one someday. But I can settle for being around them constantly. I’ve seen you in there from time to time, drinking one of those frozen frappaccinos and reading.”
I blush and I’m not sure why. “I’m sure a lot of people do that.”
“Yeah, they do. But you’re the only one that buys the book afterward, even if you’ve finished it.”
“I think it’s only fair.” My shoulders lift and fall. “I don’t read in there because then I don’t have to pay. I do it because… well, where else should someone read? Besides a library.”
“Good thought.” He sips his coffee again. I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “I’m sure Nick will be home later if you want to stick around.”
I shake my head, though I’m tempted just by the idea of talking to him for a while longer. “I should be home for dinner. It’s in an hour. You were wearing glasses yesterday.”
“I’m wearing contacts now. I’m sort of useless without some kind of optical assistance.”
I grin at the word choice, and it feels good to have someone making me smile. “You’re interesting, and I’m surprised by that.”
“I don’t know if I should thank you.”
“It was a compliment.” I assure him. “I just… Nick overshadows everyone in his life. It’s just the way his personality is. He’s best with people who he can treat as… less than him, like his little minions. You don’t seem like you’d be like that.”
“Neither do you.” He offers gently, smiling, and I notice his teeth are like Chiclets, tiny white squares that fit his mouth shape perfectly. “But I think I serve Nick’s need to be a subordinate from time to time.”
“I didn’t know he had that need.”
“Well,” he shrugs. “It’s not one he shows often.”
The fact that I found out about Nick’s lies on a Tuesday has to be pretty serendipitous since the next morning, I’m sitting at the table swirling my spoon around in my oatmeal, using the brown sugar to make little designs on the surface, and my mom is sitting beside me drinking her coffee and humming quietly, waiting for me to speak. We both know I have to speak. We both know that what happened last night can’t go without some explanation. I just don’t know where I can possibly start.
“I’m gay.” I think that’s a good place. And I say it with all the hoarse terror that I’ve always imagined I’d say it to my parents.
My mother sighs, letting her coffee rest on the table. I’m studiously looking away from her, but I know the expression on her face: her eyes closed, mouth relaxed, composed and thoughtful. It’s one of those things that can be terrifying and lovely at the same time. I know she’s going to spare my feelings no matter what she says, but it may not be what I want to hear even if it’s said nicely. “I had a feeling.”
I look up, stare at her, rub my eyes wearily. “Really?”
“Yes. You’re sixteen. You’ve never brought a girlfriend home, or even seemed to show any interest in having one. Plus, Nick is gay, and I thought that maybe you two were so close because you had that in common, and you could support each other through it.” She looks down into her coffee. “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me. Your father and I decided a long time ago that it wouldn’t change anything about our family, if you were. You’re still Joe.” I want to cry again, and my lip is trembling, and she touches my cheek. “Oh, baby. He broke your heart, didn’t he?”
I just nod, and then she leans in to hug me again, and I wish it made me feel better to be held by my mother. “He was… We were… He was lying to me the whole time. I just wanted to be his, and he just… wanted me to be his. He didn’t want to be mine. I don’t know what to do.”
“I know it hurts, baby. It’ll heal though. It’ll get better.” She pets my hair, rocking me lightly until my crying subsides again. “Tell me what happened. Maybe I can help make it better for you? I’ve had my heart broken a few times, so maybe my expertise at it can make it easier for you?” I laugh softly at the words and on the end of them spills out the whole situation, minus all the sticky details, and I tell her about going to his house and talking to the guy who works at the bookstore, and I hate that I start crying again. She makes little hushing sounds. “So you haven’t talked to Nick yet?”
“Not yet.” I sniffle. “I mean, I have two classes and lunch with him, so it’s not like we can really not talk today, so I guess I’ll confront him about it when I get to school.” I laugh softly, scrubbing my tears away with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “I just hope I don’t cry like this again, because I’d rather not come across as quite this pathetic when I talk to him. I mean, he broke my heart, so I should make him feel like crap. But not because he broke my heart.”
“Exactly. Make him feel like he’s scum.” I know my mom will be my best friend for the rest of my life when she says that. Her hand touches my cheek. “Go wash your face and get your backpack and I’ll drop you off on my way to the office, okay?” I nod and head up the stairs. When we pull up to the front of my school, my mom runs her fingers through my hair and smiles at me. “You’re out of his league anyway, you know. Remember that.”
Somehow, despite sitting next to me on three occasions today, Nick manages to completely avoid making eye contact with me and doesn’t offer more than a couple words of greeting and goodbye. The reaction to me certainly tells me a lot about what went down when Nick got home last night. Clearly, his brother or whoever that guy is that he lives with told him that I stopped by and that he told me where Nick was. At least my “friend” has the decency to be ashamed of himself for being such an asshole. And the pain of it all is quickly being overrun by anger. I know I’m going to confront him eventually, even if it’s just to kick him in the balls.
He obviously doesn’t escort me home, and our usual time spent hanging out (more recently, making out), I spend lying on my bed staring at the ceiling and wondering if the fury roiling in my chest is normal or if I should still be sad. But that only lasts for half an hour before I’m on my bike heading to his house again, determined to talk to him about this, determined to make him own up.
The bookstore guy answers the door again, and the smile he gives me is full of apologies that I don’t need from him. “I’m sorry. Nick’s not here.” His voice is quiet, and I feel awful for putting him in this awkward, awful position. “By the look on your face, I assume you know I told him that I told you. I’m sure he’s been completely useless about communication today. He’s… not always the best with that kind of thing.”
“I know.” I scuff my shoe on the wood of the porch and stuff my hands in my pockets. “We’ve been friends for five years. I know how he is.” I stare up at him, and I don’t want to be angry at him, but for whatever reason, it’s very frustrating knowing that he’s been in the know about all of this and he hasn’t bothered to inform anyone or intervene. “Who are you anyway?” I ask suddenly. “Are you, like, Nick’s brother or something? Because he always told me he was an only child.”
“He is, technically.” He tips his head from side to side. “I’m Kevin. I’m his god-brother.”
“God-brother?”
“Yeah. Like, my parents are his godparents?”
“I know what it means.” A blush rises in my face. “So, like, do you live here with his family then?”
“Well… no. He lives here with me. This is my house.” He shifts slightly and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Do you want to come in? I can make some coffee, if you want.”
I nod before I think about it and step past him into the front room. Maybe it’s just because I’ve met this guy twice and he’s invited me in, and I’ve known Nick for five years, and he never did. The room looks nothing like I imagined, but I suppose I assumed it would have a motherly sort of touch. There’s a white leather couch and a blue recliner, and those seem to be the theme colors of the room. The walls are striped wallpaper, and there are lots of photographs. Some of Kevin and Nick, some of them with a family, some of people I assume are friends. “Why does Nick live with you?”
He beckons me into the kitchen, which I like even more. It’s decorated in red, white and black and has a Coca-Cola theme, complete with vintage ads framed on the walls and salt-and-pepper shakers. It’s quirky. Kevin fits in it. He sets about making coffee and I sit down in one of the red chairs at the table. It creaks. “I suppose Nick hasn’t been very honest with you, if you don’t know about me.” He offers quietly, pressing a button to start the coffee brewing and pulling down a pair of mismatched mugs. “He used to live with my parents across town, but I think after I moved out, he felt lonely there, so when I got settled and had a job and everything, I invited him to live with me.”
I trace a grain of the wood on the tabletop. It looks like it’s been recently stained, and I look up at Kevin’s back, admiring the sharp jut of his shoulder blades through his dress shirt, wondering if he did it himself. It’s easy to imagine him with a paintbrush. “Where are his parents? Why doesn’t he live with them?”
He sighs and turns to look at me, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure if it’s my place to talk to you about that.”
“Well, Nick’s sure as hell not going to tell me.”
“He might, if you ask the right questions.”
I sigh and rub my face. “Alright.”
It’s quiet. I listen to the clock tick and the coffee drip into the pot. The mug he sets down in front of me has a picture of Cinderella’s Castle on the side and says, “Magic Kingdom” in an arch over it. Nick’s name is painted beneath it. I try to ignore it. “So you’re a junior too?”
I nod, tracing the rim of my mug. “Yeah. Almost there, you know? I’m more than three-quarters of the way out of this town.” I smile at the chuckle he gives. It eases the tension. “How old are you?”
I like the way he lifts his eyebrows and lets his forehead crinkle over the edge of his mug, so that I know he’s heard my question and that he will answer once he swallows. When the cup is on the table, he says, “Twenty-five.”
“You don’t look it.”
“Thank you.”
“Why do you work at the bookstore?”
“I wanted to.” He shrugs. “I have an English degree. I like books. I’d like to write one someday. But I can settle for being around them constantly. I’ve seen you in there from time to time, drinking one of those frozen frappaccinos and reading.”
I blush and I’m not sure why. “I’m sure a lot of people do that.”
“Yeah, they do. But you’re the only one that buys the book afterward, even if you’ve finished it.”
“I think it’s only fair.” My shoulders lift and fall. “I don’t read in there because then I don’t have to pay. I do it because… well, where else should someone read? Besides a library.”
“Good thought.” He sips his coffee again. I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “I’m sure Nick will be home later if you want to stick around.”
I shake my head, though I’m tempted just by the idea of talking to him for a while longer. “I should be home for dinner. It’s in an hour. You were wearing glasses yesterday.”
“I’m wearing contacts now. I’m sort of useless without some kind of optical assistance.”
I grin at the word choice, and it feels good to have someone making me smile. “You’re interesting, and I’m surprised by that.”
“I don’t know if I should thank you.”
“It was a compliment.” I assure him. “I just… Nick overshadows everyone in his life. It’s just the way his personality is. He’s best with people who he can treat as… less than him, like his little minions. You don’t seem like you’d be like that.”
“Neither do you.” He offers gently, smiling, and I notice his teeth are like Chiclets, tiny white squares that fit his mouth shape perfectly. “But I think I serve Nick’s need to be a subordinate from time to time.”
“I didn’t know he had that need.”
“Well,” he shrugs. “It’s not one he shows often.”