Waterways (43 page)

Kory didn’t answer. Samaki persisted. “Wear masks? Do you want to dress up as a woman?”

“No,” Kory said, and took a breath. “Can we maybe go out to dinner instead of the prom? Just a nice night out privately? We can still wear the tuxes.”

There. It was out. He waited for Samaki’s answer, hoping it would be more accommodating than he thought it would be. The fox had waited for this prom for so long, and now Kory was threatening to yank it away. Even replacing it with a nice, formal night out was probably not going to be good enough.

“You really don’t want to go to the prom with me?”

“It’s not that it’s you,” Kory said. “It’s…”

“It’s all the other people. It’s being seen in public again.”

“Yes.”

“But it’s not about me. It’s about you. You don’t want other people to see that you’re gay.”

Kory couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He held the phone to his ear, thinking about Father Joe, about Flora, about Perry, about Sal, and about Nick. If only he could predict how people would react, it would all be easier. When he had overcome his initial fears about telling those closest to him, he’d been able to gauge their reactions as he talked. What had unnerved him about his outing at school was the idea that everyone was watching him, judging him, behind his back. But he wasn’t worried about Samaki’s classmates judging him tomorrow night.

“I’m worried about what might happen to you.”

He knew as soon as he’d said it that Samaki would say, “But I’m not worried about what happens to me, so you shouldn’t be,” and in fact, the fox did say that, almost word for word. It didn’t please Kory that he knew Samaki that well; it frustrated him because he didn’t have an answer for it.

“I know that,” he said, to stall. “But I am anyway.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know! Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Kory didn’t know why the silences were more painful than words, but every time Samaki wasn’t talking, he wanted the fox to say something, anything. Finally he heard a sigh. “This is hurting me worse than anything they could do.”

A vise clamped around his heart. He felt pressure behind his eyes, and squeezed them. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he gasped out.

“I don’t want to force you to go with me,” Samaki said. “If you really don’t want to.”

“I want to,” Kory said immediately. “Just… it’s just…”

“If you want to,” Samaki said, “then we can leave from the Rainbow Center tomorrow. If you need to talk about it, we can talk about it then.”

“I don’t know if that will help,” Kory said, tears leaking out around his fingers.

“I don’t know what else I can do,” Samaki said. “I want to be with someone who wants to be with me…”

“I do!” Kory yelled.

“… and isn’t afraid to be out in public,” the fox finished, as though Kory hadn’t spoken. “I thought you knew that.”

“Yeah,” Kory said, “I know it, but…”

Samaki waited, and then said, “But what?”

“It feels…” he groped for words, which was frustrating in and of itself. He was more used to having too many words crowding his mind. “There’s so much out there that we can’t control, people who hate us just for being together. You haven’t seen that. You’ve got great friends, a great family, you’ve always been accepted. It’s always been easy for you. I don’t want you to get hurt when something happens.”

“You think it’s been easy?” Samaki’s voice had grown sharper. “Did I tell you about getting punched when I was thirteen just for resting my head on another boy’s shoulder? Did I tell you about Alex Henderson, whose mom wouldn’t let him hang out with me anymore when I asked if I could kiss him, even though he said no and we didn’t do anything?”

“No,” Kory whispered. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because there’s enough hate and fear out there already. Things are getting better. I just didn’t want to scare you.”

“But why do you still want to go through that?”

Samaki’s response came after a second of silence. “We can’t let them intimidate us, can’t let them tell us how to live.”

“See?” Kory said. “You want to be a symbol, you want to be in their faces. I just want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you, too,” Samaki said, this time immediately. “I want everyone to know how much I—how much I want to be with you.”

“Isn’t it enough that I want to be with you too?” Kory’s cheeks were now damp. He could feel the tears leaking into his voice as well, no matter how hard he tried to keep them down.

“It’s not that,” Samaki said. “Don’t turn this around. You know how I feel.”

“You know how I feel, too.” Samaki didn’t answer. “So why is this so hard?”

“We shouldn’t be doing this over the phone.” The fox sounded tired.

“I’m sorry.” Kory’s voice sounded small and weak to himself. He wondered whether Samaki was crying, too. Maybe the fox was better at hiding it than he was.

“Let’s talk at the Rainbow Center.”

He sniffled, and nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you then.” There was a long pause. “I love you, Kory.”

Kory worked against a sudden blockage in his throat. The pressure of tears seemed to have doubled, swamping his head and tongue. If he said, ‘I love you too,’ was that meaningless, a rote response? But how much worse would be to say nothing? He wanted to say it, but he’d wanted it to be meaningful, and now he couldn’t think of any way to say anything that would let the fox know how he really felt that wasn’t either ignoring what had just been said or mechanically responding to it.

“I…” he said, and then choked back a sob.

“Bye,” Samaki said, quietly.

The line went dead. Kory said, “Wait!” but the fox didn’t answer. He hung up the phone and stared at the picture of Santa he hadn’t taken down from his bedroom wall. Had Samaki misheard and thought he’d said, “bye”? What had he been going to say, when he started? He wasn’t even sure.

He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. Had Samaki said that just to convince him to go to the prom? Or had it been reassurance that it would be okay either way? He threw the tissue away, looked up, and saw Malaya in his doorway, her small snout wrinkled in embarrassment.

“I heard,” she said, indicating the open bedroom door. “I mean, a little. And you’re…” Her fingers began to point at the tissue, then stopped as though she realized it wouldn’t be polite. “Um, you okay?”

Kory shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Well, I, uh, you know, I never had a girl I was so into that she made me cry,” Malaya said. “Not just with words, anyway. But if there’s something you wanna talk about…”

Kory shook his head. “I don’t think so. Thanks.”

“Sure. You know where I am.” She turned, stopped, and turned her head. “Look, for what it’s worth, I think you guys will work it out.”

“Thanks,” Kory repeated.

“And if you don’t, you’re a good guy. You’ll find someone else.”

That failed to raise Kory’s spirits as no doubt she intended it to. He smiled weakly and grabbed another tissue.

Even though he turned out the lights early that night, he didn’t get to sleep until well past one in the morning, tossing and turning and replaying the conversation over and over in his mind. What had Samaki meant with that ‘I love you’? What had he thought Kory had said in response? What had Kory meant to say in response? What did he want to say? What would he say tomorrow at the Rainbow Center? He played conversations over in his head a million times:

“I love you, so I’ll go with you.” 

“Well, if you’re not comfortable, I don’t want to force you,”

“I’ll do it even though I’m afraid.”

“I’m so lucky to have found someone so brave.”

“I love you, too, Samaki, but I’m not ready to go to the prom.”

“That’s okay, Kory, we’ll just go to dinner.”

“I just can’t do it right now.”

“That’s okay. I can be patient.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. We love each other. That’s what matters.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“That’s okay.”

But then… 

“I love you, too, Samaki, but…”

 “If you love me, why won’t you go to the prom?”

“I just can’t do it right now.”

“Will you ever? I can’t sit around and wait all my life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I thought we had more.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If you were sorry, you’d go with me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

His conversations kept coming back to that good-bye, those frightening two words. What frightened him most was that the more he thought about them, the more he wondered if that would be for the best. Would Samaki keep pressing him to expose their relationship in public? No matter how many times he told the fox he was uncomfortable, it didn’t seem to matter. Maybe he’d be better off finding some nice closeted boy who didn’t mind remaining closeted.

Who wouldn’t have a keen mind, a bright spirit, and soft violet eyes that, more than anything Father Joe had preached, made Kory believe in God.

Then maybe he should change, he should get over his fear of exposure. He forced himself to play the image of himself and Samaki dancing at the prom over and over in his head, but his stomach churned just as fiercely the twentieth time as it had the first. And when he finally managed to sleep, his rest was plagued by dreams of running through alleys and abandoned buildings with Samaki at his side while angry mobs yelled and shot after them.

In the morning, he felt as though he hadn’t gotten any sleep at all. He stumbled through breakfast, grunting monosyllabic responses to Malaya’s questions until she stopped asking them. The clock inched inexorably toward 8:30, when he would have to leave to start walking to the Rainbow Center. In his weary fog, he felt it would just be easier if he stayed home and avoided the entire situation. It would be safer, for sure. He wouldn’t be risking having those terrible conversations that ended with “good-bye.” He could just claim to be ill—at this point, that would only be a half-lie—and he and Samaki would get through this.

But the thought of basing the rest of their relationship on even that half-lie (more than half, if he were honest, because his condition was directly a result of the situation he was trying to get out of), the certainty that the problem would come up again, and, beyond that, a need for coffee, drove him out the door. Malaya shrugged on her jacket and walked out with him silently when he said he was going for coffee, but said nothing on the way to Starbucks, sucking on a cigarette she’d lit up as soon as they were outside and blowing the smoke carefully away from him.

Memories hit him as soon as he walked in: their first drink together, the daily stops on the way to the Rainbow Center, the taste of his first latte, Samaki trying the different flavors before settling on hazelnut. Kory stopped and breathed in the sweetness of the coffee and pastries, but they seemed fainter today, harder to capture. He followed Malaya to the counter and stepped in front of her when she deferred to him.

“Tall black coffee,” Kory ordered, and then said automatically, “And a grande nonfat hazelnut latte.”

“I don’t want that,” Malaya said.

Kory shook his head. “It’s for…” He stared at the barista, a young ferret with piercings in her small ears and through her lip. “What do you want? I’ll get it.”

“Coffee,” Malaya said. “Small, whatever you call that here.”

“Another tall coffee,” Kory said.

“Room for cream?”

Malaya shook her head. Kory paid for the coffees and took his, inhaling the deep, rich aroma. He didn’t drink coffee often, but it seemed like the right thing to do this morning. Starbucks reminded him, always, of Samaki. If they broke up, he wouldn’t be able to go into one again and face the overwhelming press of memories. That thought nearly brought him to tears again.

His coffee was too hot to drink, but the smell alone opened his eyes, cleared his head. He took Samaki’s latte when it was ready and followed Malaya outside. She didn’t follow him as he turned left, toward the center, but she did say, “Hey.”

Kory stopped and turned. Malaya made a face. “This coffee sucks.”

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Fuck, don’t apologize, you didn’t pick the beans. Listen, it sucks right now because I’m in the mood for something strong enough to knock me on my ass. This wimpy-ass gourmet coffee…” She sipped it. “I dunno, it’s like someone told a cup of hot water about coffee.”

When he just nodded and started to turn again, she said, “Kory. It’s not bad coffee. And it’s sure as hell better than no coffee at all. You know?”

He shook his head. “Mine’s too hot to drink.”

She stared back at him. Slowly, she raised her free wing to him. “Take care of yourself,” she said. “If you don’t like the coffee, then, y’know, don’t drink it. There’s always places to get more. Maybe you aren’t ready to drink it yet.”

Kory stared down at the steaming cup. “I think I really need it today, though.”

“Don’t burn your mouth.” She sipped hers again. “Fuck, this sucks. I’ll see you tonight.” She turned back toward home, lighting another cigarette.

The coffee was almost drinkable by the time he reached the Rainbow Center. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the shadow in the corner of the porch until he was at the door, when it spoke.

“Is that for me?”

Samaki slid toward him. Kory nodded and handed the latte over.

“Thanks.” The fox sniffed. “You’re drinking coffee?”

Kory nodded. “Didn’t sleep too well.”

“Me neither.” Samaki sipped the latte. “I didn’t want to talk in there. I mean, I thought we should talk out here first.”

Kory stepped back from the door, leaned against the wall. The sight of the fox was sharpening his senses more than the coffee was, every part of him waking some memory in the otter. The paws curled around the Starbucks cup like they’d curled around Kory’s arm or tail; the soft black fur whose texture he knew almost as intimately as his own; the long tail whose soft touch he sometimes felt even when the fox was nowhere around; the slender muzzle whose heat he knew well. He bent his muzzle to his coffee and took a sip, wincing at the bitterness.

“Did you make a decision?” Samaki said finally.