Christmas Kitsch (Hol) (MM) (10 page)

“Rex. And I thought we were celebrating your coming out?”

I looked up at him, because he
was
six five, and shook my head. “No. It’s my little sister. She’s the last person who hugged me.”

So that’s what was happening when Professor Pritchard came in with my guidance counselor. We were standing in the middle of the room and Rex was hugging me, and
he
was crying. I couldn’t ever get him to say why.

The professor brought us pie. I don’t know why I remember that, but I do. Banana cream pie from the grocery store. Oh, man—it was like the
best
pie. We sat around the dorm and ate pie for no reason at all, and the guidance counselor—a short, round Asian woman with a mouth that formed a flat line when she was thinking—made polite talk. She sort of looked scary, but she was very nice, showed me pictures of her grandkids, who she said were all going to be doctors. For a minute, I felt bad—they were going to be doctors and I was going to be no one—but she didn’t come across like that. It was more like, they could be doctors because they could be
anything
.

That was nice. I told her that sincerely. That permission to be
anything
, that was a big deal.

“So,” she said innocently, taking a
very
large bite of pie, “what do you want permission to be?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. “I want to work construction,” I said. “I want to be a contractor, like Oliver’s dad. I want . . .” My face got hot, and I took a bite of pie to hide.

“You want what?” she insisted, and I sucked every last calorie of happy out of that pie before I answered, and when I
did
answer, I was pretty much studying my pants across my legs. There were wrinkles across my thighs, when there didn’t used to be. I guess I
had
lost weight.

“I want to kiss Oliver some more,” I mumbled, and Rex heard me from across the room and guffawed.

Professor Pritchard smiled, and then took that as his cue. He stood up and started gathering plates, and said, “Rex and I are going to leave, because Rex is going to try to make it to class. And Rusty?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’ll see you Wednesday, okay?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you for the pie, and for . . . you know. Coming to see me.”

Pritchard’s look was . . . well, I guess it was uncomfortable, really. “Thanks for not screaming obscenities in my face,” he said after a moment. “And thanks for writing me a really good paper.”

I smiled. “It
was
good, right?”

“Yeah. Whatever you decide, you may want to make sure you write more of those, okay? A college education—that doesn’t come to everyone. Whatever happens, tell me you won’t just throw it away.”

I nodded. “Thanks, professor. I won’t.”

They left, and I don’t even want to know what Rex was saying to Professor Pritchard, but they were sort of laughing like equals. I guess Rex did that to people—lucky him. Some of the rest of us had to earn that feeling some other way than just by being awesome.

Squat little Mrs. Li waved good-bye while she was eating another piece of crust, and then she said, “So, Oliver. Tell me about him.”

And that was when the hard shit started, you feel me? ’Cause I for damned sure started feeling it myself.

The next three weeks weren’t easy, but they weren’t the cesspool of misery that I’d been in, either. I talked to Mrs. Li a
lot
, and I realized somewhere in there that Rex, being the Superman he was, had completely bypassed about six dozen people in his quest to get me help. Apparently I
should
have seen my RA first, and then the school shrink and
then
gone up and talked to actual professors and counselors and stuff—but not with Rex. With Rex, you get your professor dragged out of a lecture and hand-delivered to you on a platter with pie. Just as well, our RA was a weaselly little guy with a chia beard who smelled—you know the aroma where you can’t decide if it’s pot or body odor? In his case, I think it was both.

And in the end, after all that talking and stating the obvious—my parents were sort of cold, Berkeley was sort of hard, and Rusty was sort of gay—we came to the same conclusions I’d known when I’d graduated from high school: I shouldn’t be here.

But, on the side of progress, I guess now I knew where I
should
be.

Oliver, you there?

Define “there,” Rusty. I’m at the other end of the phone.

I don’t know if you’re being a smartass or what. You just had to say yes.

Sorry. Fighting with my dad again.

About what?

Nothing important. It’s just irritating when he’s right.

You were right the last time. I DID need to figure stuff out.

Yeah? What’d you figure out?

I want to kiss you again. And feel you up this time—I totally missed my chance.

Nope. I’m pretty sure you’ll get a few more chances over Thanksgiving break.

Awesome! What about Christmas?

That depends.

On? ’Cause I have the feeling I’m going to want more.

That depends on what you’re doing
after
Christmas?

Well, according to my guidance counselor, I’ll be signing up for classes at Sierra.

Excellent! In that case, you can feel me up a
LOT
over Christmas. What are you going to tell your parents?

I sighed. The guidance counselor and I had gone over this too. She seemed to think my folks would be all right about it, but if Professor Pritchard had taught me
anything
, it was never to underestimate the stupidity of people in power.

I’m going to tell them I’m in love.

Because that was the truth. But when he texted back, I realized I hadn’t said it out loud since the day I’d gotten out of bed.

With me, right?

Yeah. Is that okay?

Can’t text now. Crying like a girl.

I’ve never seen Nicole cry.

That’s because you didn’t see her freak out over you.

I’m sorry.

I’d actually texted Nicole a lot, and she seemed all happy and shit. I had no idea she’d been losing her mind. Well, maybe I wasn’t the only one who was repressed.

You should be. You stupid white people.

Man, my family, we’d never let that shit happen.

I’d never thought of it before.

Why? What would your family do instead?

I told you. My dad was going to drive down there and get you. And I don’t mean talk you out of bed. He would have put you in the shower in your clothes and thrown you in the truck all naked and not stopped until he got you food.

Well, yeah. But that’s your dad. He likes me.

My Aunt Gloria would have been in the backseat. She’d be looking up directions to the health food store, and we would have fed you the good stuff. Your peanut butter would have been organic and your bread whole grained.

Your aunt knows about me?

My mom had an obnoxious older brother who had two obnoxious daughters and a trophy wife. They would probably
love
to hear that I was a big, fat failure. And my parents hadn’t known the names of the
girls
I was dating.

Yeah. Whole family knows about you. Man, they got me through some rough moments this summer. There I was, eating my heart out, and they were telling me to give you time.

Wait. How did they know I was gay?

There was silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Oliver?

My dad told them.

How did HE know?

He said it was the way you looked at me. It was like how my mom used to look at him.

I got asked out on a date when I was at the library. My dad said that was fine, just don’t do anything I couldn’t tell you.

That was so close to the reason I’d never taken Rex up on his offer that I got the chills.

Your dad is scary awesome, you know that?

Stop fighting with him.

Explain that.

I can’t. I’ve got to write this paper so I can go have Thanksgiving break and not work the whole time.

Look at you, being a good student.

Yeah, well, we finally figured out what my major should be.

It’s not pre-law.

What is it?

Liberal studies.

I don’t know if your folks will like a degree that starts with liberal ANYTHING.

Well, if they want to dictate my life, they actually have to be in it, ya think?

O.M.G. You’re like a whole new Rusty. I hope you still look the same.

I took a picture of myself there in the library. I’d meant it as a joke, and I was going to smile all cheesy and shit, but at the last moment my eyes veered off, and I remembered that the last time Oliver had seen me, I hadn’t been out of bed in three days, and my teeth had been
gross
and my hair had been falling in my eyes. It was longer now, like his, and my teeth were clean, and my complexion had cleared up (because it does that when you wash your face), but I was still thin, and I was still pale. I’d woken up three days earlier with Rex smashed up against my back, just holding me. When I asked him what the hell he was doing there, he’d mumbled something about me making noises.

My head had been achy, and it hadn’t taken a genius to figure out I’d been crying in my sleep.

But I didn’t tell Oliver that. I just took the picture, and my smile was shy and my eyes were far away, and I sent it anyway, because I figured he wouldn’t care.

You need to come home.

Well duh! That’s what break is for.

That’s not what I meant.

And you know what?

What?

You were right. My father is seven kinds of scary freaking awesome.

It was funny, though. I was sad, and sometimes every step out of my dorm felt like a baby’s first step into the world, but I was still better than I had been when I’d crawled into my bed with the intention of never getting out.