Pulling one of his feet into my hands, I gave the arch a squeeze.
He closed his eyes. “Do that again,” he demanded. Rikker was kind of a sensualist. He liked to be touched, even if it wasn’t sexual.
Maybe I’d be a sensualist too, if I weren’t so goddamn uptight.
I massaged both of his feet. And after a time, he picked the book up again and kept reading. I did a decent job of paying attention, closing my eyes to try to picture the ancient buildings that Rikker described. I didn’t think anything of it when he removed his feet from my lap mid-paragraph. He kept reading, though, as my room door opened and my mother walked in.
“…in contrast to the three-dimensional Second Style. Yada yada yada,” he finished. “Hi, Mrs. G!”
“Johnny Rikker!” she said, walking over to kiss him on the cheek, before doing the same to me. She was holding a bag from the Chinese restaurant. “Have you eaten dinner?”
“Actually, I’m on my way to the dining hall,” he said, standing up to stuff his feet into his shoes. “My Spanish class has a language table once a week. And thanks to hockey, I’m usually a no-show.”
I hoped to God that Rikker was telling the truth about his dinner plans. Because I suspected that he ate alone a lot of the time. Apart from his peculiar relationship with me, and the rest of his somewhat-friendly teammates, he didn’t have a social life.
Rikker pulled on his jacket. He’d just spent five hours with me, and I still had to stop myself from begging him not to go.
“Thanks for taking a shift with the history book,” Mom called after him as he went the door. “The psych class has been fun, but that one is killing me.”
“Yeah? I’m going to borrow that book next time I can’t fall asleep.”
Laughing, Mom wished him a good night. After the door closed on Rikker, she opened the bag of Chinese food on the desk. “What a good friend he is to you,” she said, pulling out a white cardboard container.
That was the moment when I was supposed to say, “yeah,” and then change the subject, like I always did. But just then, my head gave a lurch of pain. Because it just felt so
wrong
. Every time I ducked the truth, it was like betraying Rikker all over again. Not to be dramatic, but I kept thinking about Peter’s denial of Jesus. Except I was worse than Peter. Instead of denying Rikker three times, I denied him every fricking day.
I put my hands to my temples.
“Michael?” my mother asked. “What’s wrong?”
I was too caught up in my own misery to answer her.
Worried, Mom abandoned the take-out order to come over to me. She sat beside me on the bed and cupped two hands under my chin. “What is it?”
I’d finally reached the point where I didn’t want to lie anymore. But I wasn’t capable of speaking the truth, either. So I was just stuck there, the words choking me.
“Sweetie, please. You’re scaring me.”
“He’s not…” My voice cracked.
She held me a little tighter. “He’s not
what
, Sweetie?”
I wasn’t making any sense, and I knew it. It’s just that I wasn’t sure I could do any better. Not with the hot, crackling ball of fear lodged in my throat. “He’s not…” I gasped the last part out, “
just my friend.
”
For a second, nothing happened. I waited for my world to cleave in two, like the San Andreas fault. I’d spent my entire life trying to choke it all back. But I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I’d had
enough
. But that didn’t mean I was ready to face the consequences.
My mother didn’t breathe for a long time. And when she finally did, it was in one great gust. “Michael,” she gasped. Her eyes began to fill with tears. “How long have you held that in?”
“So damn long,” I said immediately.
“Oh, Sweetie,” she said, pulling me to her. “My poor boy. So hard on yourself.”
And then I just couldn’t hang on anymore. I leaned into her shoulder, and a giant sob came heaving out of my chest.
“Shh,” she said, rocking me. “Shh.”
But I’d kept it bottled up for so long that I couldn’t stop. Another sob followed the first one, and then another after that. There was just no containing that flood. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, just like a kindergartner.
I think Mom cried too. And when I finally began to calm down, my head balanced in my own hands, my breath stuttering, she got up to find tissues for both of us. I felt her sit down beside me again. “You are all the son I’ve ever wanted,” she said in a shaking voice. “Please don’t think you could disappoint me with this.”
“Dad,” I choked out. It was just a single word, but it was a big one.
“He may not be as surprised as you think,” she said quietly.
I raised my eyes to her red ones. But I couldn’t even make myself ask why. I wasn’t any good at this.
“When John moved away, you barely came out of your room for months,” she said. “And that’s what heartbreak looks like. We were both worried about you. At the time, we wondered.”
Holy shit
. I never saw that coming.
“Your father loves you,” she said. But then there was a pause. “I’m not saying that he won’t struggle. He’s going to have to adjust his… vision for your future.”
I could feel how much effort it took her to avoid using the word “expectations” in that sentence. And that’s just what I’d always feared — becoming second best in everyone’s eyes.
“…But your father loves you.
So
much, Sweetie. He will always be proud of you. Always.”
“I don’t want to tell him,” I said.
Mom studied me. “But how does
not
telling him feel?”
“Awful.”
She gave me a watery smile. “Rock, meet hard place.”
“We are already acquainted.”
At that, my mother actually laughed. “Oh, Mikey. Just
breathe
. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”
It wasn’t, actually. But telling her hadn’t killed me. At least I had that. I still didn’t want to be… that way. I didn’t want people to see me as a stereotype. Faggot. Queen. Fairy. I didn’t feel like any of those things, and I didn’t want to be called those names. I just wanted to be Michael Graham. It’s just that Michael Graham was attracted to men. And always had been.
By then, I’d had just about as much drama tonight as I could take. “Can we eat Chinese food now?” I was completely wrung out. Eating would be better than more talking.
Mom looked at the food on the desk as if she’d never seen it before. “I guess we can.” She fixed the plates, and I turned on the evening news. Though I’m pretty sure neither of us heard a single word of it. We were both lost inside our own heads.
Eventually we gave up on the food. When I came back into the room after throwing the cartons away, mom hit me with the question that I’d been avoiding for more than five years.
“What happened to Johnny back in Michigan?”
My eyes burned again just from thinking about it. “I can’t talk about that tonight.”
She looked so sad. “You blame yourself.”
“I have reasons.”
I watched her struggle with her desire to press me on it. “His parents weren’t good to him when it happened, were they?”
I shook my head.
She pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “Please tell me that you didn’t think we’d send you away like that? Like they did to him?”
“Aw, no Mom! His parents are assholes.”
She smiled at me, but she looked pained. “Sending you to that Christian school was a mistake, wasn’t it? I can only imagine what they preached about…” she swallowed.
Shit
. Now Mom was sitting here, blaming herself for my troubles. And that made no sense at all. “This isn’t the school’s fault,” I told her.
Though it didn’t help
.
“We only sent you there because the public school was struggling.”
“I
know
, Mom. It’s okay.”
“If it was okay, you wouldn’t have waited years to say anything.”
“That’s on me,” I said. “
All
on me.” But it was finally dawning on me that keeping secrets hurt people. I already knew that it hurt Rikker. I saw it in his eyes every day. But it hadn’t occurred to me that my parents deserved to know the important things in my heart. They were honest with me, and I hadn’t given them the benefit of the doubt.
Looking at my mom’s face right then, I saw a lot of hurt. And here’s the crazy thing — I knew without a doubt that her sadness had nothing to do with the fact that Rikker was my boyfriend. And it had
everything
to do with my not telling her sooner. “I wish I’d said something before.” Not that I’d ever had the urge to. But I was beginning to understand why she deserved it.
“Me too,” she said, pulling me into another hug. “But I’m glad you told me now.”
My phone buzzed with a text, and after I untangled myself from Mom, I checked it. It was Rikker saying he’d left his Spanish book next to my bed, and asking if he could come over later. I told him yes, without giving any other details. Man, he wasn’t going to
believe
what I’d done tonight.
For a little while, Mom read me some more Roman history. But both of us were too exhausted to take it in.
“I might go to the hotel,” my mother said on a yawn. “Unless you don’t want to be alone.”
“I’m good,” I said.
And I won’t be alone
. This was going to get weirder before it got easier.
She closed the book, grabbing my face in two hands. “Mikey, are you sure you’re okay right now? Would you tell me if you weren’t?”
“Yeah, Mom. I’m tired, too. But I’m okay. Are you going to talk to Dad?”
She hesitated. “He’ll probably call. What am I allowed to say?”
I just shrugged. “I’m not going to call him myself right now. I’m too exhausted. You can say something or not. Whatever seems right.” I didn’t want her to have to do my work for me. But I couldn’t ask Mom to lie, either.
She squeezed my arm. “Try to get some rest.”
“I will.”
She hugged me one more time. Hard. And then she was gone.
—
Rikker
I’d texted Graham earlier asking if I could come by later. He had replied immediately.
Was hoping U would.
Well, shit. That made me feel like a million bucks.
Awesome. I’ll txt b4 I come up
.
After I did some studying my room, I threw on my hockey jacket, patting my travel toothbrush to be sure it was still in the pocket. Graham wasn’t the sort of lover with whom you could take the liberty of leaving your toothbrush in his toiletry tray. He’d develop some wild theory about what the neighbor might think if he saw two blue toothbrushes together, or some shit. So I packed mine in and out with me, the way you handle refuse on the Appalachian Trail.
Walking over to Beaumont House, another student was exiting the iron gates just as I arrived. So I had no trouble getting in. I stopped there on the flagstone path, and pulled out my phone to text Graham.
“
Mister
Rikker,” came a voice in the dark.
I looked up to see Graham’s mom walking toward me. Well, crap. Graham wasn’t going to be happy about the fact that I’d run into her here. “Hi, Mrs. G,” I said as casually as possible. I shoved my phone into my pocket, like the guilty man that I was.
She marched up to me and threw her arms around my neck. Then she kissed me on the cheek. “I love you. Always have. Always will. No matter what.”
Then, as I stood there, speechless, she let go. Without another word, she walked away into the night. I still hadn’t moved a minute later when I heard the iron gate open and shut again as she left the Beaumont courtyard for the street outside.
Okay…
Collecting myself, I walked to Graham’s entryway, following another student inside. Taking the stairs two at a time, I opened Graham’s door without knocking. Inside, it was dark except for the desk lamp, lonely in its corner. Graham was lying on his back on the big bed, his arms out in submission, like Christ on the cross.
“Hola, Miguel.” Kicking off my shoes, I crawled onto the bed beside him, looking down at him from hands and knees. His eyes were red and swollen. “What happened here tonight? I just got hug-mugged by your mother in the courtyard.”
He reached up to catch the back of my head in one of his big hands. Guiding me down onto his chest, he said, “I guess you don’t need to text before you come up anymore.”
“I see,” I said, snuggling up to him. Although I didn’t, really. Did Graham actually
tell
his mother? That seemed categorically impossible.
“She’s taking notes for three courses for me. She read four hundred pages to me this week,” he said.
“Yeah?” I whispered, hoping that he’d keep talking. Graham’s arm looped around me, his fingers swishing through my hair. I leaned in, wanting this unbidden affection from him almost as badly as I wanted to find out what had happened.