Christmas Kitsch (Hol) (MM) (14 page)

I remembered all the times he’d seen me, half-naked by the swimming pool, and realized that he’d liked what he’d seen. I relaxed then, laughing with the family and eating my dinner, and the conversation moved on to other things.

I helped with the dishes because Estrella had taught me right, and Oliver dished up pudding and whipped cream for dessert. The twins were in the living room, tearing it up with the dogs, and the adults were in the kitchen, talking. Oliver gave everyone their little bowl before grabbing my sleeve and dragging me around through the back way from the kitchen, down the hallway, and to his room.

“We’ll see these jokers tomorrow,” he said quietly, nodding to the ferocious amount of noise coming from the other room. “I thought you might want to come in here and decompress.”

I nodded and followed him meekly, shoveling pudding in my mouth. He must have given me like three cups of it, and I didn’t want to protest that pudding had never been my thing.

His bedroom was small and eclectic. He had a raw sanded-wood twin-sized bed with a brightly woven wool blanket on top of a
Star Wars
comforter, and an IKEA desk made out of black metal and Formica. He had posters on his wall of
The Nightmare Before Christmas
,
Princess Mononoke
, and
Bleach
, and an art print by the guy without an ear that featured a vast, starry sky, with stars bigger than the sun and darkness that didn’t seem so dark.

He hopped down on his bed and sat cross-legged, then patted the space next to him for me to sit. I did, but I backed up against the wall, kicked off my shoes, and propped up one knee so I could lean my arm on it and eat.

His grin was quick and brilliant, and for a minute, neither of us said anything. We just sat there and ate pudding.

“You should take them up on it,” he said quietly, and I licked my spoon and felt some of the day plop on my shoulders like wet snow.

“Take who up on what?”

“Manny can get you a good car for cheap. Gloria can find you a decent apartment for cheap too. You should let them help you. They sort of keep an eye out for me and my dad since my mom died. It’ll make them feel like they can help.”

I nodded. “When’d your mom die?” I asked, thinking. I couldn’t remember him ever talking about it before, but suddenly it seemed really important.

“When I was about eight. Cancer. My uncle Manny, he got his divorce about then. He kept telling
Papi
to date, but my dad never did.” Oliver shrugged. “I’m not sure, you know? Is he waiting for me to move out, or waiting until it stops hurting?”

I thought about a world without Oliver, and how I never would have gotten out of that bed. “Until it stops hurting,” I said quietly. My pudding was about two-thirds done, and I had to take a break. I set it in my lap, and then leaned my head against the back wall. “I hope it does soon. He’s a good guy.”

“He is. Did you mean it?”

I opened one eye and tried to think. “That your dad’s a good guy? Of course.”

“No, did you mean it when you said it was the best kiss ever, and it was worth it?”

I opened both eyes now and saw that he was worried. Well, he’d been worried I wouldn’t like his house, too.

“Totally,” I said, trying to cover up the hurt and the sadness and the uncertainty. This was something I was certain of. I’d stand by that.

Oliver’s lips quirked up at the corners. “Would you like to do it again?”

I smiled at him. “Well, yeah, but someone made us bring pudding, and I don’t want to get it all over the bed.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Ha-ha, very funny, smartass. Besides, you’re half-asleep. I’m not going to try to woo you with my best kiss only to find you asleep at the end.”

I shook myself and moved the pudding from my lap to the little IKEA computer desk, and tried to look awake and alert. “Not asleep,” I said seriously. “I defy sleep. I’ll—”

Mr. Campbell’s voice echoed down the hall. “Oliver, your cousins are ready to take stuff to the shelter.”

My eyes must have widened or something, because Oliver laughed softly. “You’re napping,” he said quietly. “I’ll wake you up when I get back.”

“I’ll come,” I protested. “Seriously, I’ll—” Yawn. “—come.” I finished weakly. Well, shit. It had been something of a day.

He laughed and pushed me down, and I realized I’d be in here, in his room, in the quiet, and suddenly wanted nothing more out of my life. Oliver’s stuff, Oliver’s
smell
, Oliver’s home, but I didn’t have to talk to another person on the planet.

“You’re a good person to offer.” He pushed my head gently to the pillow and bent down to get the wool blanket folded at the bottom. He tucked me in like a baby bunny in one of those Peter Rabbit books and kissed my forehead. When he switched the light off, I spent all of a minute thinking that I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I was out before I heard the voices fade from the living room.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of Oliver and his dad arguing over how long to cook a turkey.

“I’m saying it’s too long!” Oliver snapped. “You don’t understand how bad these things get!”

“And I’m saying give it time. Jesus, Oliver, you were always so patient as a kid, and you’re going to blow it now?”

I rolled out of Oliver’s bed partially clothed and yelled, “Fifteen minutes per pound!”

There was the pounding of feet down the hallway, and Oliver poked his head into the room. I was standing up, looking blearily around, wondering when I’d taken my jeans and sweater off in the night.

“What?” he said, eyes huge.

“That’s how long you cook a turkey.”

“Oookay.” He looked
really
confused.

“Isn’t that what you and your dad were arguing about?”

Oliver laughed a little. “Uhm, yeah. Sure. How about you come into the kitchen, and we’ll give you some coffee, and we’ll do the math.”

I perked up a little. “You have coffee? Wait. Let me put on my pants.”

Oliver snorted and went through his drawers. He came out with some sweats that looked way too big for him. “Here, they were my dad’s. They’ll be short, but they’ll cover your ass.”

I felt a little better after some coffee and oatmeal. It was the same kind in a package that I ate at home and in my dorm, and for some reason that was reassuring. As I was sitting there, polishing off my bowl, I took a deep breath and smelled not just turkey, but everything else. The kitchen had two stoves, and both of them were on, and there were pies on the counter. I squinted at the clock and saw that it was after ten, and felt really bad.

“Jeez, guys. I’m so sorry. You’ve been up doing all this stuff, and I’ve been sleeping. Lemme take a shower, and I can help. Is there anything left to do?”

Oliver’s dad laughed and then ruffled his son’s hair. “And you were worried. I told you, Oliver, he was
tired
. What’d you say, four hours in the car? Give it a rest. He’s not fragile.”

Oliver nodded a little and glanced guiltily at me. “Yeah. You’re right
Papi.
He’s stronger than he looks.”

I sniffed. “I can still bench-press
you
,” I told him, trying to hold on to my dignity. Oliver grinned, and I felt warm to my toes.

“Someday,” he said mildly, “I’d like to see you try it.”

“
Oliver
!” his father snapped, looking uncomfortable. “Even
I
know what you’re trying to say there.”

“He’s saying that I need to work out,” I said with another yawn. “Or at least get to work. When did you want me on-site?” I stopped for a moment and remembered my planning from the night before. “I’m going to need to go back to Berkeley and get my stuff and check out of school this weekend—”

“Go to Berkeley Monday, the traffic won’t be quite so bad,” said Mr. Campbell.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said, “but I need to go apartment-hunting—”

“You can do that Tuesday or Wednesday,” he said confidently. “Gloria told me she was setting some time up for you in the middle of the week.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “You know, Mr. Campbell, I feel bad taking all your hospitality as it is. I don’t want to put your family out or any—”

He smacked me upside the head. “Oliver’s right. You
are
stubborn. Not stupid, but
Dios
, like talking to a wall. Take the help, Rusty. But first, go shower.”

“Yeah,” Oliver said, and he put my cell phone down on the table. I guess I’d left it in my jeans the night before. “I charged it,” he said, “but it was going off a lot when I got back last night.” He looked up and nodded at his father, who quietly left the room. “It’s your sister. I checked. She’s been texting me too.”

I swallowed. “What’d she say?” I asked. Somehow it had been so peaceful here, unanticipated help or not, that I’d been willing to forget about the mess I’d left behind me.

“She was glad to know you’re staying here.” Oliver’s voice dropped. “She says your parents put all your clothes and stuff from your room in boxes out on the porch. They’re going to have someone haul it away tomorrow.”

I swallowed. “That sucks.” But it also made it easier. It was easier to walk away from my home if they’d already shoved me out the front door. That’s what I told myself anyway. I mean, I could remember Mom and Dad and being happy, right? Before I hit high school, we used to take trips together, without Estrella—educational, museums and stuff—but they’d loved me, right? They must have. There must have been hugging and kissing and . . .

I swallowed. I was stalling.

I checked my messages, all from Nic.

God, that was intense. Let me know if you have a place to stay tonight. I’m worried.

Oliver says you fell asleep in his room. Nice move! Are you going to let him tuck you in?

Mom and Dad are packing up your things and putting them out on the porch. We’re eating dinner at three tomorrow. I think you should show up with a backhoe and some sort of forklift, and embarrass the shit out of them.

Dad’s including the car keys in the boxes of stuff. Don’t take it, Rusty, I think it’s a trap.

They’re on the phone to the lawyers now. They’re both PISSED that they can’t stop your access to your savings account. Good job, Rusty! You’ve got over 10K in there. You’re not a poor orphan on the street after all.

Morning, big brother. Just text me back when you get my messages, okay? I’m the invisible woman here, and I can’t believe how fucked up our parents are. They keep thinking you’re going to get all not gay. Don’t they read?

I laughed at the last one.

If it’s not the financial pages, I don’t think so.

Her text was immediate and startled me so bad I dropped my phone.

Go get another phone. They’re cutting off your data plan right now. And get your clothes before tomorrow.

Will do. Love you. Chat later.

<3<3<3

I turned off the phone and sighed. Would I have said anything like that a year ago? I thought of the boy I was, the one who sat at the lunch table and let Oliver take shit because I thought my friends were including him. No, that Rusty would not have told his sister that he loved her.

Well, that Rusty had never gotten a kiss that turned him on, and that Rusty had never almost passed Berkeley.

Maybe home was no big loss if the guy who would say I love you was the one on the end of the phone now, right?

Yeah, I talked all bad in my head, but it was a whole other thing when I was sitting in Oliver’s truck, looking at the neatly stacked cardboard boxes
literally
on the porch and the front lawn.

“I’m half-afraid it’s a trap,” I said glumly. “We’re going to go out there and start moving shit, and they’re going to call the police.”

Oliver snickered. “I’d love to see that happen. They call the police, and I call the press.”

“Great. Tell my sister that.” It was Thanksgiving. Who was open to service your phone account on Thanksgiving?

“Yeah.” Oliver put the truck in park and let it idle for a second before texting Nic. His text alarm sounded almost immediately. She must have been sitting on the phone.

“It’s from your mom,” he said grimly. “She says to come get whatever trash you want.”

God. “They can
not
mean that!” For kissing a boy?

“They don’t,” Oliver said quietly, patting my knee. Suddenly I was aware of him,
really
aware of him, right next to me, both of us in the truck with our Starbucks (because they
were
open on Thanksgiving) and both of us . . . I don’t know. Warm. Human. Male. I grabbed his hand, and he looked at me quickly and squeezed my hand back.

“They don’t,” he reassured. “They’re hurt. You chose me instead of them, and they don’t understand.”

“That sounds real fuckin’ wise,” I muttered, but I didn’t let go of his hand. He turned in the seat and I looked at him, and he grasped my chin and pulled me down for a kiss.

This one bloomed—a few quick kisses here, a slip of the tongue there. I took his face between my two hands and deepened it, opening his mouth and only pulling back when he let out a whimper of need and clutched at my chest.