Love Ahead: Expect Delays (11 page)
blond, liked to work out, all muscle and attitude.”
Austin held his breath, cheeseburger in his hand.
Zach watched football. “He was a violent man, Austin. It started small, kind of
playful slaps, aggressive foreplay, pulling me around as a sort of joke. Then it
stopped being funny, but I didn’t know when to call it quits.”
Sickness filled Austin’s throat.
“He wasn’t the only guy either,” Zach continued. “I seem to have a penchant
for picking men with a bit of rough. Steve was an asshole. And Aaron, while never
physically violent, was a mean person who liked to hurt me with words. Neither of
them were as bad as Ed, but all of them represent a pattern.” Zach swallowed and
stared down at the bedspread. “I make bad choices. I’m like a moth to a flame. My
desires draw me to the worst kind of men, and I’ve paid heavily for it.” He took a
deep, shuddering breath.
Austin felt his heart breaking before the words were even out, but he forced
himself to remain still, to keep the tears in just a bit longer, so that when Zach
broke up with him, he wouldn’t fall apart completely.
“And then there’s you,” Zach said, letting out his breath. He made eye contact.
“And I’ve been so afraid to trust you after what I let Ed get away with. I know what
men like you are capable of. I know what could happen.”
“I’m not like any of those bastards,” Austin broke in, incapable of not
defending himself. “I’d kill myself before laying a finger on you!”
Zach’s eyes were wet, but he gave a small smile. “I know. And I believe that.”
Austin swallowed. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m repeating what I said earlier today. I love you, and everything else is in
the past. You have a temper. You are a large, strong man. And that’s where
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comparisons between you and Ed end. Because where his strength left me feeling
vulnerable, yours makes me feel safe.”
“I’m sorry about what happened in Idaho.” Austin put his hand on Zach’s
naked thigh. “If you want me to take anger-management classes, I’ll do it. Hell, I’ll
take up knitting if it would help me keep you.” Austin winced, cursing his stupid
words. “I’m sure those other fuckers who hurt you made promises as well. But all I
can do is swear I’ll never betray the trust you put in me.”
“I know that.” Zach nodded. “I wanted you to know where my hesitations are
coming from. A future with you isn’t what I’m afraid of, Austin. It’s a repeat of the
past.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Austin said vehemently. “And I won’t push you.
You
make the decision when you want to live with me, Zach. I’m willing to wait. I’ll
wait as long as it takes, because there isn’t a single person on this earth who I’d
rather be with, and if I have to bide my time alone until you trust me, I will.”
Zach kissed him, pulled him closer, and Austin felt like falling apart, relief and
grief and fury toward the men who’d hurt Zach in the past coalescing into an
explosive emotion that was stronger than joy, more gut-wrenching than regret. It
was love in its raw form, and it left him stunned and assured that the future
promised something greater than he’d known before.
They stayed until evening in the dark embrace of that seedy motel, and then
they headed on their way.
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Chapter Eight
Wednesday, December 8
Zach and Austin reached Boulder around noon the following day. It was the
last day of Hanukkah. Zach already dreaded the grief his family would dole out for
missing most of the holiday.
The snow wasn’t as thick in Boulder, and the skies were clear, highlighting the
impressive Flatiron Mountain Range, jagged, razor-edged peaks jutting from the
earth at haphazard angles. Traffic in downtown Boulder was heavy with early
holiday shoppers, and they suffered through strip-mall congestion until they
reached the outskirts of the city and turned into the community of Gun Barrel.
Zach’s parents had purchased an attractive, modern, two-story, cream-colored
home with a suite above the detached garage. The planner within Zach winced at
the cul-de-sac and the lack of sidewalks on the main road, but the neighborhood
seemed friendly, and he noticed his parents’ house wasn’t the only one lacking
Christmas lights.
Austin had changed clothes three times that morning, rejecting and eventually
reselecting a dark blue button-down shirt to go with his jeans. He even ironed it.
Zach wasn’t sure what surprised him more: the fact that Austin knew how to iron a
shirt or that the Budget Chalet provided ironing boards and irons in its guest
rooms.
Zach knew Austin was tense, but he didn’t focus on it. He was too excited
about seeing his family again. The last year had been weird, not having dinners
with his parents, not running errands every weekend for his grandmother. He
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hadn’t noticed what an impression his family had made on his life in Seattle until
they were gone.
Colored black with road filth and salt, windows grimy with deicer, insides
stained with chicken grease and Zach’s blood, the Geo Spectrum had nevertheless
survived the journey. It had fifteen hundred extra miles, but a new head gasket and
passenger window.
Two of Bubbie’s polka cassettes didn’t make it.
The second Zach turned off the engine, the front door of his parents’ house
opened, and his family spilled out. His mother, father, and grandmother burst from
the door. Zach hugged Bubbie first, feeling her age in the thinness of her flesh, the
prominence of bones. But her eyes still twinkled, and her hair was tastefully coiffed
in a bun. She wore her fanciest gold earrings, a sign she was truly excited about
Zach’s visit.
As the family swarmed Zach, he glanced back to see Austin cautiously get out
of the car. He looked awkward, and Zach didn’t blame him. As questions flew at
Zach, complaints about the state of the car, inquiries into what he’d been eating, he
broke free of his family and stood protectively at Austin’s side. He put his arm
around Austin’s shoulders.
“Mom, Dad, Bubbie, I want you to meet Austin.” Zach gave Austin’s shoulder a
squeeze.
Austin blushed bright red. “Hi…”
He wasn’t given a chance to speak. Zach’s father shook Austin’s hand. “Come
in! Come in, both of you, for crying out loud! What are we all standing out in the
cold for?”
“Do you know what day it is?” Zach’s mother complained.
Zach shouldered his backpack and grabbed his suitcase, while Zach’s father
grabbed Austin’s belongings. “Yeah, Ma, I know.”
“It’s December eighth, in case you forgot.”
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“I didn’t forget, Ma.”
“It’s the last day of Hanukkah.”
“Well, I’ve always saved the best for last.” Zach winked at Austin, who made a
hopeless attempt to take his bags from Zach’s father. Zach’s father practically
shoved Austin out of the way and carried them in.
“Don’t try and help him. With anything,” Zach warned Austin under his
breath.
The smells of dinner cooking, the sights of all his family’s trinkets—his
Bubbie’s menorah in the window, the strange wooden elephants from some
Indonesian tourist trap his father adored above the living-room sofa, his mother’s
knitting needles, his Bubbie’s dog-eared book of crosswords—it all brought Zach
soaring home, regardless of the fact that he’d never stepped foot in this room before.
Home
was clearly not a physical place as much as an idea, and the idea here was
that he belonged, that the childhood memories he held from their house in Seattle
still lived in this random collection of family traits, these signs of Roth-family
habitation.
“I’ve got you two all set up in the basement,” Zach’s mother said, touching
Zach’s shoulder. She looked older as well, but apparently he wasn’t the only one
taking in the changes.
“Something’s happened to your nose.” His mother reached up and gently
touched his face. “And a bruise! Has someone hit you?” She immediately turned to
scowl at Austin in the hallway.
“Yeah, but it’s a long story,” Zach told her. “Let’s get settled, and we’ll tell you
all about it at dinner.”
Austin still looked dazed. Zach pulled him aside to whisper, “They’re nice
people. They may shout a lot and talk at the same time, but remember no one’s
angry. This is just how we communicate in this family.”
“Now I see where you get your bubbly enthusiasm,” Austin said.
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After dropping their belongings downstairs, Zach and Austin gave Bubbie a
rundown of the health of her car. Then they all sat down for an early dinner. Zach’s
mother handed the large match to Austin and asked him, as a guest, to light all the
menorah candles for the family.
Austin blinked and, for a moment, looked too stunned to react. But he quickly
recovered his wits. To Zach’s relief, Austin remembered to light the shamash candle
first and use it to light the others, although he went in the wrong direction. Bubbie
scowled, but no one said anything.
His entire family recited the prayers, speaking in orchestrated unison. Austin
mumbled along with them, trying to keep up. When they all finished at the same
time, Zach caught Austin’s eye and smiled.
“I didn’t know you were Jewish,” Zach’s mother said to Austin, passing a
heaping bowl of mashed potatoes.
“I’m not,” Austin said. “Zach taught me some of the prayers on our way here.”
Zach’s mother seemed to find this impressive and began lecturing Austin on
the meaning of each word.
Over the course of dinner, Zach detailed the many horrors and few wonders of
their journey, complete with a blow-by-blow of his time as hostage. Austin chipped
in a few details here and there when asked but otherwise remained silent, watching
the family warily.
Zach’s family, at first annoyed by his late arrival, capitulated instantly as soon
as they heard what the two men had endured. They lavished all sorts of concern
upon them, to the point that Zach’s father threatened to sue Wyoming for releasing
such a violent offender, and Bubbie wanted to send Austin to the hospital in case
his ankle had been permanently damaged.
It was a boisterous dinner, and afterward Zach’s family exchanged gifts. His
parents gave him a digital photo frame loaded with pictures of their family; Bubbie
got him a set of oven mitts in the shape of Stars of David.
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“Wow. Thanks,” Zach said. He saw Austin trying not to laugh on the other side
of the table.
His parents and grandmother also had gifts for Austin. Austin received an
expensive bottle of wine from Zach’s parents. Zach’s father was an amateur
connoisseur of wine, so Zach had no doubt the bottle was valuable. Therefore he
decided not to mention they weren’t planning on checking bags and wouldn’t be able
to take it back with them on the plane.
“Thank you. We should open and share this now,” Austin said, clearly thinking
the same thing.
Bubbie thrust her wrapped gift forward. “Zach told us you like football, yes?”
“I do.” Austin nodded.
“So I hope you can wear this happily!”
Austin unwrapped a Denver Broncos hat. His face momentarily darkened.
Zach knew his grandmother liked to watch everything on television, including
football, and was surprised she didn’t know better than to assume a fan of one
football team would appreciate paraphernalia from another team. But then he saw
the wicked gleam in his grandmother’s eye and realized it was deliberate.
Austin recuperated politely. “Thank you so much.” He pushed the hat aside as
if it were a distasteful thing and reached for the wine.
They opened the bottle and moved into the living room. Of course Zach’s family
had to regale Austin with their classic memories of his childhood. The “fell in a
manhole” tale was an old-time family favorite, along with the “vomit onstage in fifth
grade” and “plastic gun dart stuck up left nostril” stories. The time Zach got food
poisoning, the day he got on the wrong train and headed to Vancouver, British
Columbia, instead of Vancouver, Washington, and yes, the time he got left behind
on the band bus. All his worst moments were shared like favorite scenes from a
comic movie. And after several glasses of good wine, Austin finally began to relax.
He offered his own making-fun-of-Zach stories that had Zach’s family rolling in
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laughter. Then Austin was dragged to the family garage by Zach’s father for a