Astrid Amara (5 page)

I gulped. “Yikes.” We sat in relatively companionable silence, although the noisy

chattering of Ethan’s teeth was getting to me.

“Why don’t you go inside before you chip a tooth?” I told him.

“I will when you’re done.”

“It could be a while. This is the nicest moment I’ve had all evening.”

Ethan smiled. “Yeah. Your family is a handful.”

“And quick to blame me with crime, I am disheartened to see.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “I assume, of course, that you didn’t take the pushke.”

“Of course not!” I whispered. I took one last drag and then crushed my smoke into the

snow. “Doesn’t seem very charitable, stealing a charity box.”

Holiday Outing

33

“Who do you think took it?” Ethan asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t think anyone took it. I think it got misplaced during the blackout,

in which case we’ll find it in the morning.” I took pity on Ethan’s trembling body and stood.

“Come on, let’s go inside. If you see my mother, tell her I was taking out the trash.”

“Daniel just took out the trash ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, well, lie. It’s something you’re going to have to get good at if you like hanging

out with the Levinson family.”

“I do like hanging out with the Levinson family. It’s novel.”

“That’s one thing to call us.”

“I like you.”

I froze in my process of opening the back door and frowned at him. “Why?”

Ethan laughed. “Have you looked at yourself recently? You’re the best-looking guy I

know.”

I scowled to hide my blush.

“Besides,” Ethan continued. “I’m your biggest fan, remember?”

“Yeah, well, don’t ask for a sequel. I killed all the characters off for a reason.” I opened

the door and we quietly made our way upstairs so as not to wake Rachel.

We shuffled around in the darkness of my room. I was grateful for the lack of power; I

didn’t have to undress in front of Ethan. For that matter, I wouldn’t have to be distracted by

the sight of him undressing either.

“Do you want the bed?” Ethan asked. His face looked chiseled and ethereal in the

candlelight. The room cooled rapidly, but the bed looked warm and inviting.

“No, you have it,” I said, hunkering down into the sleeping bag.

“We could share the bed,” Ethan offered quietly. He stared at me pointedly.

34

Astrid Amara

I admit, a rush of sheer anticipation and delight filled me, made me momentarily

speechless. The idea of nestling under the covers wrapped in Ethan’s strong arms sounded

too good to be true.

Which is why I said “no,” and turned on my side, away from him.

Because things that are too good to be true usually are. I have been disappointed

enough to learn that life isn’t fair, and that’s especially true in the matter of love.

There had been a time in my life when I would have sacrificed everything to be with

Ethan. But he was the boy who stole my secret. And he had shattered my fragile sense of self,

so simply, one afternoon.

And even though I believed it when he said he was sorry, even though I was coming to

terms with the fact that his cruelty was a way of coping with the struggles of his own sexual

orientation, and even though it was ancient history, stuff that happened so long ago neither

of us should have remembered any of it, it didn’t matter. I still said no.

Because I couldn’t believe in a happy ending. I couldn’t have Ethan. Even with him

offering, I couldn’t have him. I was certain of that. I had wanted him too much and for too

long to ever get him.

Ethan said nothing. He climbed into my old bed silently and blew out the candle.

“Good night,” I said softly.

A moment later, he responded. “Good night, Jonah.”

Tension steamed in the air, but luckily, it was so cold it never heated up enough to boil

over, and we were both asleep in moments.

Holiday Outing

35

I awoke to the unmistakable sound of someone attempting to be quiet.

It was a common enough occurrence in my childhood home. My mother and father

were always trying to keep their voices down so they wouldn’t wake me when they rose at

the godawful hour of five-thirty every morning.

And, like clockwork, they would initiate their quiet ritual by slamming the back door,

running the dishwasher, using the blender for their morning smoothies, and speaking in

violent whispers that reverberated through the floorboards and guaranteed that I would

shoot awake as assuredly as if I had swallowed a mouthful of speed.

My first hint that the power was still off was that the dishwasher didn’t turn on at its

accustomed six a.m. hour. However, the noises emanating from downstairs were loud and

destructive as though someone was in the midst of pillaging.

It was cold and a pale, snow-infused light drifted into my room through the curtains. I

remained in my sleeping bag as I stood, hoping to maintain the illusion that I was still

unconscious.

36

Astrid Amara

I quietly opened the bedroom door and shuffled in my sleeping bag to the hallway.

Peering over the banister, I saw my mother tearing the house apart as my uncle and father

pried at the door.

“What’s going on?” I asked, voice cracked with sleep.

Everyone turned up to face me. My father’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, did we wake you?” he

asked, shovel in hand, banging the door and the wall as he attempted to scoop out all the

snow that poured in when they opened the door. “Too much snow piled up outside.”

My uncle glared at me.

“I still can’t find it,” my mother lamented, holding an armful of tea towels. “I’ve looked

everywhere!”

I couldn’t see down into the living room, but I assumed poor Rachel had also been

awakened by the chaos of our collective progenitors. Grumpily I hopped back into my

bedroom and shut the door.

Ethan slept, curled in a fetal position, face smashed deep into the pillows, mouth

slightly open.

I stood in my sleeping bag and stared at him. His lips were soft and red. Light brown

stubble sprouted along his cheeks. His hair, usually so coiffed, was mussed and stood up at a

rakish angle.

He looked fucking gorgeous.

I sat beside him on the bed. His body radiated heat. He smelled musky and masculine.

Did he really mean it when he said he hadn’t meant to hurt me?

It was both hard to imagine, and yet logical. I knew firsthand how difficult it was to

realize one was gay in high school. It couldn’t have been any easier for Ethan, especially

under intense scrutiny from everyone -- he always lived in the limelight. And he had

powerful jock friends with whom his reputation needed to be maintained. At least I had

huddled in the shadow of anonymity to hide me from questioning eyes.

Holiday Outing

37

It made sense that he would hide his nature. It even made sense that he would mock

someone who bore too close a resemblance to him, who shared his little secret. And I could

recall, even now, that look of sickness on his face when his friends had turned away.

How much of my life had been spent in awe and fear of this man? I had dreamed of

having him like this, lying in this very bed, looking so completely at ease. And here he was,

but I felt no sense of accomplishment, only confusion.

I’ve read all your books.

Regardless of his abrasive and unpolished flirtation, the fact that he’d read my books

warmed me more than I cared to admit. He was the only person from my past who admired

my present.

His bangs hung in his closed eyes. I wanted very badly to reach up and brush them

aside. But as I lifted my hand to do so, the movement stirred him and he turned over and

blinked at me.

“Morning,” I said.

He scowled at the blank clock. “Still no power?” His voice was rough and broken with

sleep.

I shook my head.

He burrowed back under the covers. “Wake me when it’s back.”

I whipped off the cover. “Come on, get up. Don’t make me face them all by myself.”

Ethan’s eyes remained closed. “What’s that infernal racket?”

“My father’s trying to break open the front door,” I said. “Though he should know by

now, escape from this family is impossible.”

Ethan grunted something under the covers.

“Come on, get up.” I shook his shoulder

“No.” He burrowed deeper.

38

Astrid Amara

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not a morning person.”

Ethan stuck his head out from under the sheets and glared at me. “I’m not.”

I grinned madly. “A flaw!”

He scowled, eyes barely open. “That’s not a flaw. It’s a trait. Now leave me alone.”

I shed my sleeping bag shell and made my way to the bathroom. Indeed, it was clear

that our house was snowed in. The cars in the street were mere lumpy suggestions under a

shroud of white. Every nuance of the landscape was buried. The snow had frozen in the

night and now the ground looked glossy, deadly in the early light. Smoke rose from several

houses across the street, and I admired those families for their priorities. They woke up at the

crack of dawn to light fires, whereas my family woke up to pry doors open with heavy

equipment and to search the towel drawers for missing heirlooms.

My black hair looked particularly spiky this morning, and the stubble was dark on my

pale skin, making me look like a thief. There was no hot water so I briskly splashed my face

before returning to change. I looked at my one outfit and realized the airline would clearly

not be dropping off my missing luggage any time soon.

I went to my old wardrobe. As I feared, my old clothes were still there, hanging as

though my mother could transport me through time and once again dress me daily.

Ethan’s head reappeared from under the covers. He smirked at me. “Look, your high

school clothes are still in the closet, just like you.”

“Shut up.” I reached for a rugby shirt that looked like it would still fit. I noticed Ethan’s

eyes never strayed from my torso as I changed.

“You’re thirty,” Ethan reminded me so helpfully. “When are you going to tell them?”

“None of your business,” I replied, but my answer was muffled by the shirt. It was

tighter than I remembered. Years of rowing had bulked up my chest and arms since the time

I had been a skinny high school geek. “Did you ever tell your parents?” I asked.

Ethan nodded. “Back in college.”

Holiday Outing

39

“How’d they take it?” Ethan’s mother was a lot like mine. It couldn’t have been a pretty

sight.

Ethan shrugged. “At first they were upset, but they came to terms with it. By the time

my mother died, she was a card-carrying member of PFLAG and setting me up on blind dates

with local men.”

I found a pair of trousers from high school and pulled them on. They were a bit tight in

the thighs, but at least they were clean. “I don’t think mine will react the same way.”

“Your mother doesn’t seem to have a problem with me being gay,” he said reasonably.

My eyes widened. “She knows about you?”

Ethan rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face. “Yeah. There were no secrets

between our mothers, you know.”

I frowned. “She never mentioned it to me.” I felt hurt that my mother wouldn’t share

this intriguing piece of gossip about Ethan, considering that she told me everything else

about his life in great detail.

The only reason I could explain for why she wouldn’t mention Ethan’s orientation was

that she disapproved of it, which increased my apprehension about telling her the truth

about my own proclivities.

“There’s only one way to find out what they’ll say,” Ethan said, as if reading my mind.

“I know, I know.”

“You’re right, it’s none of my business,” Ethan said. “But it drives me crazy to hear

them talk about you like you’re unsuccessful.” He stared at me hard. “You should be really

proud of your writing, and they have a right to know how good you are.”

I sat down on the bed as I pulled on socks. “I am proud of my writing. It’s just…it’s

complicated.”

40

Astrid Amara

Ethan still stared at me meaningfully, but the entire conversation made me feel like I

needed to puke, and so I stood up, holding my arms out, and changed the subject. “How do I

look?”

Ethan grinned sleepily. “Really handsome.”

“Flatterer,” I told him.

“I think I remember you in this outfit,” Ethan mused.

“No way. I was nowhere this fashionable back then.” I shuddered at the memory of my

gothic phase.

“You were cute as hell in high school,” Ethan said. “I had a crush on you.”

“Oh yeah? Found a funny way of showing it, didn’t you? Calling me fag and pushing

me into lockers.”

“I didn’t know what I was feeling at the time.”

“Oh yes you did. It was called aggression.” I slapped his leg, hidden under the blankets.

“Get up.”

“I will in a minute. Hand me my laptop, will you? Let’s see what’s going on out in the

real world.”

I handed him his computer from the floor. As he moved to grab it I saw a glimpse of his