With or Without You Page 10

  I exhale. “Okay. Fine. Just … lay off the interrogation.”

  She nods. Then bites her lip. “But … I mean … Look, I don’t mean to sound like a crazy woman but I do think you should think things through. Don’t get mad. I’m trying to look out for you. This is your first time out of the gate—”

  Telling me not to get mad has the opposite effect. “That’s right. And I did better than you. Your first boyfriend got another girl pregnant while you were dating. You sure can pick ’em.” It’s been years since Shan and I have fought but slip effortlessly back into the old pattern.

  But instead of fighting back, Shan looks hurt. “Enough with the low blows. We’re past that.” I’m almost embarrassed as she kneels at my side. “Look, Erik seems like a nice guy. He’s gorgeous and talented; I can see why you’d fall for him. But he’s four years older than you and he’s got a lot more … experience.”

  I laugh. “Dad’s seven years older than Mom. And if you say ‘that’s different,’ this conversation is over.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Ev, let’s face it. You haven’t had a lot of choice here in Madison. You’ve been limiting yourself. Wisconsin isn’t the most gay-friendly state.”

  I want so much to think that Shan is doing this for my own good, that she’s concerned for me. Because thinking that my only ally in the family has turned might just push me over the edge.

  In fact, it does.

  “Erik got into a really great grad school in California and wants me to move with him.” I say it so fast, I’m not even sure she hears me. In my mind, the words felt like justification. Now they sound like desperation.

  Shan blinks, trying to process this. “And … do what?”

  Somehow words keep spilling from my lips. “Go to art school. Be with him.”

  Shan slowly gets to her feet, turns, and walks away from me. “And you said yes?”

  I lick my lips but they remain parched. “I’m thinking about it. I’m supposed to go to Chicago in the fall. With Davis.”

  Shan turns again and joins me on the couch. She puts her hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. “So that’s what it comes down to? Either Chicago with Davis or California with Erik? You’ve got so much potential. I don’t want you to jump into either situation. I just don’t think you’re being practical about this.”

  “I am being practical, Shan. So is Erik. He doesn’t want me to rush the decision. I know I have a lot to think about. But I love Erik. I know that much.”

  I know that much.

  The apartment door flies open and Erik saunters in—chest broad, tie wrapped around his forehead like a bandanna, sleeves rolled up, and soaking wet. He slings the monkey wrench over his shoulder and raises a fist in the air. “There is no problem Big Gay Handyman cannot solve!”

  I translate. “You made it worse and Cece called the plumber?”

  He nods. “Well, duh. Grab the buckets. Let’s bail water until he gets here.”

  I’m on my feet and we’re both digging under the sink for buckets we’ve used during Cece’s past water-centric problems.

  “It’s getting late.”

  As she speaks, Shan moves to the door, hitching her purse over her shoulder. Her voice warbles.

  “This won’t take long,” Erik says, waving his hand at the papasan. “Have a seat. And we can continue our … earlier conversation.”

  My sister’s smile is an apology. “Evan and I have to open the store in the morning. Thanks for dinner. Food was great.”

  She steps over the threshold and into the hall, where she expects me to join her. I stand next to Erik so our shoulders touch.

  “Go on,” I instruct quietly. “I’ll be home in time for my shift in the morning.”

  Her eyes dart from me to Erik and back. Why is she acting this way? I know she wants to rip into both of us and tell us what a mistake we’re making. And I want her to, so we can argue and get to the bottom of it. But she’s not going to do that. Shan nods and makes her way downstairs.

  “You should go,” Erik whispers. “She’s your sister.”

  “C’mon.” I tug him into the hall. “I think I hear Cece putting on her scuba gear.”

  We haul ten buckets from the sink to the bathtub before the plumber shows. He chortles at Erik’s attempts to control the situation and puts an end to the problem in just under twenty seconds. Erik lays a not-a-word stare at everyone in the room who’s not a plumber. Erik and I say goodnight to Cece, who runs off to work. We retire to his place. Before the door is shut, he has me pinned against it for a long kiss.

  “If that’s punishment for the Noah’s Ark comment, I’ll be a smart ass more often.” I smile, slipping my arms around his waist.

  “So.” He sighs. “That was your sister.”

  I nod, eyebrows raised. “Yup. I guess that could have gone better.”

  He shakes his head. “Nah. It could have gone worse.”

  As always, he’s right. “Bet you’re glad I waited this long to spring her on you.”

  He pulls me in for a tight hug. “Nope. You just don’t get it, knucklehead. I don’t want to love just Evan the Mysterious Artist. I want to love Evan the Brother, Evan the Son, Evan the Best Friend. I’m here for the full package. Thanks for bringing her over.”

  I search his face. For now, he’s content. He won’t be asking to meet my parents for a while. But I don’t know how much longer I can keep these parts of my life from him. How long before he sees the pentimento with the real me, standing in the background like a giant loser.

  “No problem,” I say, squeezing him tighter. “And maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll learn to love Evan Who Knows When It’s Time To Call The Plumber.”

  Erik sighs. “And that’s three.”

  In a blink, he bends over and scoops me up, throwing me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and twirling me around the room. I squeal and laugh. When I’m sufficiently dizzy, he marches me into the bedroom.

  Yep. Tonight could have been much worse.

  TITLE: Good Fortune

  IMAGE:

  Two chopsticks next to a broken fortune

  cookie on a white plate

  INSPIRATION:

  Munch’s Scream

  PALETTE:

  Chopsticks = sandstone

  Plate = eggshell

  Cookie = desert sand

  Tablecloth = maroon

  Long, thin lines of swirling color make up each item. As Munch used his art to express a state of mind, the cookie is broken unevenly with pieces scattered across the plate and table.

  One of the first things that Davis and I bonded over was a love of Chinese food. I’ll never be able to sniff moo goo gai pan without thinking about the nights we spent in my room, stuffing our faces from white take-out boxes and talking until sunup. Futures were forged during the wee hours when we ate ourselves into an MSG-induced stupor.

  Every meal ended with fortune cookies. Given Davis’s life, no one could have blamed him for being cynical. But he believed in fortune cookies. Believed that every message foretold his destiny. He saved every fortune in a jar. And if it didn’t seem like one would come true, he would go out of his way to make sure it did. This was how Davis kept hope alive.

  It seemed like fate when Davis got a job bussing tables at China Palace, this little place off Gorham Street. Whenever Davis worked a closing shift, Mr. Lee, the owner, let him take home as much leftover food as he wanted. I swear we both put on five pounds during our junior year.

  But so much changed senior year. We didn’t meet for late-night talks as much. Under the guise of working more hours at the store, I spent more time with Erik. Thankfully, I never had to worry about Davis finding out I was lying because he was working mega hours, trying to save up for Chicago. Our deep discussions moved to China Palace on nights Davis worked. I ate, he bussed.

  The biggest change senior year was that Davis stopped believing in fortunes. He says it’s because they stopped being fortunes—“You will meet a tall, dark
stranger”—and started being random observations—“You have keen insight.” We still ate and chatted, but he stopped collecting the little slips of paper. He wasn’t interested in anyone else telling him what his future would be.

  China Palace was dead one night last August, so I went there to hang out. I got the big circular corner booth so I could spread out my Seurat books and nurse an order of General Tso’s chicken for the night. I didn’t see much of Davis; Mr. Lee had him in back doing inventory. I sat staring at a photo of A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte when I heard two familiar voices at the booth next to me:

  “I heard the food is great here.”

  “Hope so. I’m starved.”

  I froze. Tilting my head slightly, I peered up at the mirror that ran the length of the wall behind me. Sure enough, Erik and his best friend, Tyler, sat in the next booth, poring over their menus.

  I slunk down and tried to keep from yarking my General Tso’s all over the floor. At that point in our relationship, Erik hadn’t given me my first yoga lesson. We’d only done a handful any of the scores of life-changing mini-adventures that carved out who we were as a couple. We’d been on several dates and were letting things slowly build. And I was crafting ways to keep anyone from finding out about him. The three of us—Erik, Davis, and me—in this enclosed space threatened all that. I wanted to disappear, but there was no way I could bolt for the door without being spotted.

  Plus, the desire to eavesdrop won out over the fear of discovery.

  They ordered, then Tyler launched in with, “So, are you still hanging around that kid?”

  Tyler was known in Erik’s circle of friends as Mr. Tact.

  “I’m guessing you mean my boyfriend, Evan?” The words slid glacially from Erik’s mouth.

  I sank down under the table, far enough not to be seen, not so far that I couldn’t hear. Tyler snorted. “Okay, yeah, your ‘boyfriend.’ Don’t you think he’s a little weird? He’s kind of quiet.”

  I felt dizzy. All the effort to hide what a dork I was and Erik’s friend could see right through me.

  Erik laughed. “You barely know him. Evan’s a little shy and takes time to warm up to people. And, hey, if he’s not warming up to the big lovable briar patch that is you, I can hardly blame him.”

  Tyler grunted. “Okay, fine. I just don’t want to see you go through another Colin thing, you know?” Colin, Erik’s ex, had really messed Erik up.

  The waitress brought spring rolls and they dug in.

  Between chews, Erik said, “Trust me. Evan is nothing like Colin. He’s smart, observant, he listens to me …”

  “Dude … you talk like you’re in love with this guy.”

  Erik lowered his voice. “And if I am?”

  I sat up quick, trying to hear more, and slammed my head on the underside of my table. I almost missed Tyler laughing and saying, “Dawg!” He sounded happy for Erik. I was happy for Erik. I was happy for me. My head hurt like hell.

  The waitress arrived with their main courses, then swung by my table with my fortune cookie and bill. She raised an eyebrow when she saw me hiding under the table but just shrugged and walked away.

  After that, the conversation in the next booth became less interesting—school, graduation, work. I couldn’t have paid attention if I wanted to. Erik had said he loved me. Not to me. And not exactly . But it counted.

  I crawled back onto my seat once they were gone. A few minutes later, Davis, in his messy apron, plopped down next to me, setting his bussing tray down with a thud.

  “I’m beat,” he exhaled. “Lee’s got me rearranging all the stock so it’s in alphabetical order. Huge boxes. Do I look like a body builder?”

  I nodded, too numb to speak. I reached for my fortune cookie and cracked it open. “You are loved.”

  Davis snatched it and snorted. “See? It’s not even a real fortune. That’s got to be the lamest one yet.”

  I slipped it into my shirt pocket and thought, Only if it’s not yours.

  volume

  Today, there are no code words in the grocery store.

  It’s nearly impossible to wake up next to Erik and peel myself away to go to work. But I do. At home, I sneak up the back stairs, throw some water on my face, then jog down the front stairs to the store, where I find Mom preparing to open. She doesn’t notice I’m still dressed in yesterday’s clothes and doesn’t seem to know that I’ve been gone all night.

  “Where’s Shan?” I ask. I spent the walk home preparing to continue our conversation from the night before. I was ready for a melee.

  “Not feeling well,” Mom says. “I’ll help with pre-opening. Then you’re on your own while I do interviews.”

  I can’t tell from her tone if Shan said anything to her or not. But Mom’s never been one to hold back. If she knew anything about Erik, she’d have laid into me right away. I’m hopeful; Shan hasn’t completely turned on me. Yet.

  “Got it.” I start sweeping. Something inside me roils. The courage that I built up, expecting to have it out with Shan, shouldn’t go to waste. “Oh, thanks for putting that letter from Chicago in my room.”

  I search her face for a reaction. This is your opening, Mom. If you saw the plane ticket, speak up.

  She points to the “Specials Today!” board. “Change that to ‘Asparagus, one seventy-five a pound.’”

  Mom disappears to start interviews as soon as we open. The morning flies by.

  Gina, a coworker, arrives at half-past noon to relieve me, and I head upstairs to change. Walking into the kitchen, I stop dead when I see Ross, one of the guys from the Chasers meeting, sitting at the table. He’s wearing a thin white shirt, purple dotted tie, and faded dress slacks. It’s a little surreal, him all dressed up and in my house. I haven’t seen him since we quietly bonded over our skepticism at the meeting. He’s just as surprised to see me.

  “Uh … hey.” I offer a little wave.

  He swallows and smiles. “You interviewing for the job too?”

  I hold up my apron. “I’ve got the job. All yours if you want it.” When his face crinkles, I explain. “My parents own the store.”

  He nods and I think I just made him more uncomfortable. At least, I assume he was uncomfortable before my arrival. He was just interviewing with Mom.

  I grab a glass of water from the fridge. “Anything to drink?”

  His face twists. “No thanks. Too nervous. She grilled me for twenty minutes, then just walked away. Is that a good sign?”

  “Very good,” I say, leaning on the counter. “If she hated you, she’d list your faults before saying you didn’t get the job. For Mom, silence is a high compliment.”

  I nurse my water and we just stare at each other. I can hear Mom down the hallway, fussing in her bedroom. If she’s true to form, she’s looking for the W-4s she’s constantly misplacing. Why they’d be in the bedroom is anyone’s guess.

  Ross shoots a glance at the hall, then lowers his voice. “Hey. Can we—? What did you think? About the other night?”

  “Truthfully?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not so sure about it.”

  Ross’s shoulders sag as he relaxes. “So I’m not the only one who thinks Sable was way out of line.”

  I take a seat next to him at the table. “I think we’re the only ones. I mean, I guess some of what Sable said made sense. You know, about gay history and Stonewall. But what he did to Danny …”

  Ross grimaces. “I know. That’s exactly what I tried to tell Del. But he was all, ‘We just have to trust him,’ and, ‘This guy really knows what he’s talking about,’ and I was saying, ‘Yeah, what happens when he demonstrates on you?’”

  Wow. He and Del sound like me and Davis.

  “So …,” Ross says, a little quieter, “did you catch the drugs on Sable’s nightstand?”

  I think back but I wasn’t paying attention. I smelled pot the day we moved Davis in. And there was the bag of bottles Sable had in his hand … “Pills or somet
hing, right?”

  Ross nods, his eyes narrowing. “Lexiva, Norvir, Truvada …”

  The names are familiar. I’m sure I’ve heard Erik mention them. When I stare back blankly, he adds, “They treat HIV.” Ross leans in. “Do you … think Sable’s positive?”

  I shrug. “I dunno. Is it a problem if he is?”

  “I’m not passing judgment, but … Sable’s been around. I guess that’s all I’m saying.” He looks away, frustrated. His point is clear: What do we know about this guy?

  I glance over my shoulder for signs of Mom. When she doesn’t emerge, I continue. “So … I haven’t heard anything about the next meeting but … are you going to it?”

  He looks down. “Are you?”

  Chicken shit. I don’t know if I mean him or me but it applies either way.

  I say, “Until I get a better read on Sable, I should go. Keep an eye on Davis. He has a tendency to get … involved.”

  Ross shakes his head and says, “I’m not going back. I’m taking a year off before I go to school, and I wanna work as many hours as I can and save money. I don’t have time for … that.”

  I nod. “But Del … He’s going to keep going.”

  Ross fidgets with his tie. “We grew up across the street from each other. We’ve been best friends for, like, ever. We never fight. But we went balls to the wall over this.”

  Mom comes back into the kitchen, triumphantly holding a wrinkled W-4. She looks surprised to see Ross and me talking. “You two know each other?”

  I stand, letting Mom sit at the table. “Sort of.”

  Mom hands Ross a pen and points out where he needs to start writing. “Well, good. You’ll be training Ross. He starts next week.”

  I salute, give Ross a nod, and head to my bedroom. As I peel off my work clothes, my computer chimes. I have a new e-mail. From Davis:

  Been talking with Sable. He’s awesome!! Living here at the RYC is great. Big things happening with Chasers. This is gonna be so cool.