One Man Guy (11 page)

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Say it again.”

“This is stupid.”

“Just do it,” Alek insisted. He didn’t know why, but he knew that if he could get Becky to play along, everything would be fine.

“I can go down the rest of the way by myself,” Becky repeated flatly.

“Why don’t I walk you to your door? You know how dangerous South Windsor can be on a weekday afternoon,” Alek recited.

“That would be lovely, Alek.” Becky said it almost as playfully as she usually did.

Alek filled her in on the rest on the way to her house. As humiliating as it was, he even included the heckling from the other Dropouts, because Alek decided that best friends could tell each other about their most embarrassing moments. They reached her front door as Alek finished the rest of the story.

“So what do you think?”

“I think you like him.”

“Of course I do. He’s so cool.”

“No, Alek, I mean I think you
like
him like him.”

Alek stopped. “You think I what?”

Becky opened her front door without responding.

“Becky, what do you mean?” Alek pursued her into her house.

“Yes, Becky, whatever do you mean?” Becky’s mother’s voice echoed from inside.

Alek walked through Becky’s front door and into her living room. Becky was popping off her Rollerblades, and she had already managed to open a Diet Dr Pepper. Her parents were sitting on the backless yellow Dutch sofa.

“Alek, we haven’t seen you…”

“… in forever. Welcome back.”

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Boyce.”

The Boyces were older than Alek’s parents. Still dressed in their white lab coats, they sat in the living room sipping tea under the Ivorian tablecloth hanging above them.

“Alek, help yourself to anything you’d like…”

“… in the kitchen. You know where everything is.”

Age wasn’t the only difference between the Khederians and the Boyces. Alek’s parents would never let a guest just help himself. They would tell the guest what options were available, ask him which he preferred, and either serve him themselves or have Alek do it. Alek remembered his mother making him practice when he was barely in elementary school.

“Alek, you forgot to ask me if I wanted ice in my water,” his mother gently reprimanded him during their first session. Both he and Nik had to learn the difference between a water glass (tall) and a juice glass (short) as soon as they were old enough to drink from one.

“You never serve fruit juice with ice, because it’s always chilled. And you never serve water in a cup or mug—water is always served in a glass. With water, you have to ask if they want bubbly or flat, room temperature or chilled, and with or without ice.”

The Khederians always kept one bottle of sparkling water in the refrigerator and another in the pantry just in case a guest happened to drop by, even after his father got laid off. But Becky’s home, like most of
these American
households, was much chiller than that.

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Boyce,” Alek said.

Alek wanted to be alone with Becky so he could ask her what she meant about him liking Ethan, but he hadn’t seen the Boyces since they had returned from the Geneva conference, and it would’ve been rude to run down to the basement. So instead he helped himself to some cranberry juice, walked back into the living room, and sat down opposite them on an overstuffed chair, his feet dangling just above the floor. “How was your trip?”

“Just exhilarating, thank you for asking.”

“We got to see some…”

“… great friends at the conference…”

“… and catch up on their research at the same time.”

“Two birds, one stone.”

Since Alek had met them, the Boyces had finished each other’s sentences. Alek didn’t think he’d ever even seen them apart. His own parents had always divided their responsibilities, even if the nature of that division had changed since his mom started working. Alek’s mom might pick up groceries on the way back from work, and his dad would then cook dinner. But the Boyces would go to the grocery store together, then prepare the actual meal, and finally clean up and do the dishes together as well. He always saw Mr. Boyce in the passenger seat when Mrs. Boyce came to pick Becky up, and vice versa.

“Alek, look at…”

“… what we brought back from Geneva. It’s cast in the same mold as…”

“… the famous eighteenth-century model.”

The Boyces proudly produced a brass bell so large that Alek wondered how they had managed to carry it through the airport and into their home.

“Next time they want to get me up for school, they’re going to sneak into my room and gong it right next to my innocent sleeping head,” Becky said.

“Now, now, Rebecca…”

“… you know we’d never do that.”

“I know, I know! I was making a
joke
, guys.” Alek had never figured out how Becky ended up with her sense of humor when her parents took everything literally.

“Listen to us…”

“… rattling on like this. You young people…”

“… probably want to go to the basement and watch movies instead of…”

“… listening to two old fuddy-duddies going on and on about bells.”

“Becky, honey, we’re going to go…”

“… to visit some friends in Baltimore this weekend. We’ll leave you…”

“… the number of where we’re staying and some money.”

“Great to see you again, Alek, and please…”

“… send our best to your parents.”

Becky grabbed another Diet Dr Pepper, having already depleted her first, and Alek followed her downstairs to the basement.

“Your parents are awesome, Becky.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re just so the total opposite of mine.”

“I guess. But I’d give anything to have that homemade food around. You know, the first number I knew by heart was Scotto’s Pizzeria.”

Alek and Becky assumed their familiar places on the basement sofa in slightly awkward silence.

“Weren’t you telling me about that guy you like?” Becky asked.

“I didn’t say I liked him!”

“Alek, that’s why you overreacted in the cafeteria today. All Ethan did was ask to chill later. You have no idea what’s going on with him. You barely know the guy.”

“But—”

“I’m not done. This is the good part.” Becky paused for a second and took a deep, long swig of her Diet Dr Pepper. “This is why I know I’m right, because I know what it’s like to overreact when you have a crush on someone.” Becky paused again, just long enough to make her point. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Because I’d rather save us both the embarrassment of conjuring up the moment of me thrusting myself at you like a woman of the night, okay?”

“I do, Becky. But I know what it’s like to have a crush. I remember what it felt like when I asked Gail out the first time, or when I danced with Linsay at the Spring Fling last year.”

“And what were your two forays into the dating world like?”

“You know—sweaty palms, knots in my stomach, tongue-tied. Everything they talk about in movies. That’s not what I feel like when I talk to Ethan. And whatever I do feel, it’s not because I have a crush on him—it’s because he’s a junior and a D.O. and the kind of guy who starts an epic food fight.”

“So, are you saying you don’t feel that way around him, or you do?”

“I’m saying…” Alek started, then stopped himself. “I’m saying, I really missed you, Becky. It’s good to be here with you.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, dumb-ass.”

“Becky, I think I’d know if I was gay,” Alek insisted. “Now, can we talk about something else?”

“So you’re saying you’re not?” Becky persisted.

“Look, just because I didn’t want to kiss you back doesn’t mean I like boys,” Alek shot back.

Becky put her soda down and stood up. “Listen, it’s really good to talk to you and I’ve missed you, too, and I haven’t had anyone to see movies with and even if Mandy and Suzie were around I like you more than them, but if you say stupid things like that, you can just get out of here right now, understand?”

Alek jerked around, surprised by Becky’s outburst, and accidentally knocked over his soda.

“You dumb-ass.” Becky ran to the bathroom and returned with some slightly damp paper towels. “Now remember, dab gently to lift the stain instead of stamping it in.”

“Thanks, Martha Stewart.”

Alek crumpled the paper towels into little balls, dabbed them until the stain went away, and tossed them into the wastebasket. “I’m sorry, Becky.”

“Okay then.” Becky sat back down and, just like that, everything was okay again.

“I guess what I mean is I just don’t think about guys that way. I don’t know what else to say. I mean, I’m fourteen years old. Don’t you think that if I was gay I’d know by now?”

“I don’t know. One of my uncles didn’t come out until he was fortysomething. He was already married and had kids. I loved having Thanksgiving with him. My uncle, his ex-wife, his new partner, his ex-wife’s second husband, the kids from the first marriage, and the stepkids from his ex-wife’s second marriage. That family tree branched out all over the place.”

“Well, these days no one waits until they’re that old to come out.”

“All I’m saying is that it sounds to me like you have a crush on Ethan. I don’t even know if that means you’re gay.”

Alek looked away from Becky. The possibility that he was gay had never occurred to him. He had enjoyed kissing the girlfriends he’d had in middle school. He never checked out girls the way that some of the other guys his age did, but he had been brought up with better manners than that. And he never thought about guys that way when he was changing in the locker room for gym.

“Becky, if I were gay, and I’m not saying that I am, but if I were, would you still want to be my best friend?” Asking Becky that question directly took all the courage that Alek had been able to muster.

“Are you serious?”

“Very.”

“Alek, not to be harsh, but I don’t care if you’re gay or not. Nobody does.” Alek started to say something, but Becky continued, not giving him a chance to respond. “Because anyone who thinks there is something wrong with being gay is like those people you read about in History who believed in segregation. But I bet you Ethan cares, because it sounds to me like he has a crush on you, too.”

“Becky, you’re a great best friend.”

“And you’re a cornball. Apologize to Ethan. Since you apologized to me, there’s no reason you can’t apologize to him. I’m much more intimidating than he is.”

10

“
No
one gets to church on time
,”
Alek insisted through a yawn as the Khederians scrambled their way through the chaotic Sunday morning ritual of trying to get out of the house. It figured that the one way his parents chose to defy Armenian tradition was by insisting on punctuality. “Last week, the Hagopians didn’t even show up until we’d been there for two hours. Two hours!”

“It’s important to me to set a good example,” his mother insisted.

An example to whom?
Alek wanted to ask, but decided against risking it.

In spite of the plans, preparations, and calculations that were made each Saturday night, it always felt like the universe conspired to set a series of events into motion that would prevent the Khederians from leaving the house the following morning with the ninety minutes needed to make the trip to church comfortably. This morning, for example, every time Alek went to use the bathroom, Nik was already using it. In addition, and equally inexplicably, he spent fifteen minutes looking for the jacket and tie he’d set aside the night before, finally finding they’d somehow made their way to the basement.

And when the universe wasn’t getting in his way, his parents were. Inevitably, just as the family was ready to leave, his parents would remember something that absolutely
needed
to get done before they could depart. Today, they chose sweeping the garage.

“Are you done, boys?” his father called out. Alek knelt down, holding the dustpan as far away from himself as possible, while Nik swept the dirt in his direction.

“You’re getting me dirty on purpose!”

“Am not—you just don’t know how to hold it,” Nik protested.

“I’m sorry, Honor-Track-older-brother-of-mine. Please, show me the right way to hold a dustpan.”

Nik dropped the broom and grabbed the dustpan out of Alek’s hands. “See, you want to hold it up at an angle, like this,” he instructed.

“That’s what I was doing. And this is what you were doing.” Alek demonstrated, using the broom to kick the dirt at Nik.

“Mom, Alek’s making a mess!” Nik said as their mother entered the garage.

“Aleksander, don’t dirty your brother’s clothes! We’re already late!” She clasped a single strand of pearls around her neck and squinted at her watch anxiously.

“We’re only late because you’re making us clean the garage!” Alek cried. “I still don’t understand why this couldn’t wait until we get back!”

“Well, God forbid something happened to us and people had to come into our home—what would they think if they found a dirty garage?”

“Let me great this straight,” Alek said. “If—God forbid—we were kidnapped or got into a terrible car accident, something so terrible that people had to forcibly enter our home, the thing you’re concerned about is the cleanliness of our garage? In that scenario, I
hope
that’s the worst thing we have to think about.”

“Why are you always so morbid, Alek?” his mother asked.

“Seriously,” Nik chimed in. “Have you thought about therapy?” Nik turned around and spoke to their mother. “It’s okay, Mom—I can finish up here by myself.”

“Thanks, honey, I know I can always count on you.” Then she turned to Alek. “You can help me look for the car keys.”

Alek rolled his eyes in what he wished was surprise. The final act of the Sunday morning departure ritual was that his parents would misplace something they couldn’t leave without.

“But you guys have
three
copies! You can’t find any of them?”

“Well, I know I lost a pair when my handbag was stolen last month,” his mother recalled.