How They Met, and Other Stories(33)
Author: David Levithan

Graham hugged us all good-bye. My hug lasted a little longer, had a little tighter squeeze at the end.

I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to want to kiss me.

But not on the street corner, not with George and Miles and Carmela and Eve there. We all dispersed, me and Miles walking together to the subway. I was practically floating—and then I realized that Miles, in his quiet way, was floating, too.

“Wasn’t that amazing?” he asked. “I mean, that place. And that drink. And everything. I can’t wait for life to be like that, can you?”

No, I told him. I couldn’t wait.

I wasn’t planning on waiting.

When it was time for us to part, he opened his arms for an embrace. I figured this was now the way we would all say good-bye.

As he hugged me, Miles said, “You’re pretty cool, you know.”

“You’re drunk,” I told him.

He pulled back with a smile and said, “In a way.” Then he said good night again and disappeared with a wave.

On the train ride home, I wondered if I should have asked for Graham’s phone number, what it would be like to hear his voice at midnight, the last sound before going to sleep. It was late when I got home, but not too late. Still, my father was waiting for me when I came into the kitchen. He did not look happy.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“A few of us went out after. For dinner.”

“Was it better than the dinner you were supposed to be home for?”

And it wasn’t until then that I remembered—a Family Dinner. I had promised, and I had forgotten.

“Your mother is very upset,” my father added.

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t sound very sorry.”

There was no winning. None whatsoever.

“I’m going to bed,” I told him.

“You will be home for dinner tomorrow. Do you understand?”

“It’s not that difficult a concept.”

“What did you say?”

“I said fine. Fine.”

The next day at class, Federica had us doing exercises most of the time, so I didn’t get a chance to have Graham Time by myself. I did notice him watching me, though. Singling me out. At one point I winked at him and he laughed.

I was home in time for dinner, but not in time to set the table. Jeremy had done it dutifully in my place.

As soon as the food was served, conversation turned immediately to the Bar Mitzvah. Reply cards were in, and with less than two weeks to go until the big day, it looked like there were more attendees than my parents had been planning on.

“All your cousins are bringing their boyfriends,” my mother said with a sigh. “I knew we shouldn’t have let them bring a guest. All it takes is one of the girls to bring a boyfriend, and suddenly they all have boyfriends to bring. We haven’t even met these boys. Except for that Evan, and he was not family material.”

I don’t know what started me thinking. Maybe it was the fact that two of my cousins were exactly my age. Maybe it was the notion of family material. But suddenly I had something to say.

“I didn’t know Diane and Liz were allowed to bring guests,” I said.

“Yes, and Debbie and Elena. You knew that.”

I put down my fork. “So I assume this means that I can bring a guest, too.”

Now my father put down his fork. “What do you mean?” he asked, with a tone of genuine mystification.

“I mean, I can bring someone. Right?”

“But these are the girls’ boyfriends,” my mother said.

“What about my boyfriend?” I found myself asking.

Pure silence at the table, loud shouting in each of our heads. Except Jeremy’s. He just watched, transfixed.

“What boyfriend?” my mother asked.

“He doesn’t have a boyfriend,” my father answered. “He’s just being stubborn.”

“His name is Graham,” I said. “He’s in my dance class.”

It was the name that did it. The name that made it real. For all of us.

“Jesus Christ,” my father said, pushing his plate away.

“There are already too many people,” my mother added quickly, somewhere between diplomatic and petrified. “There isn’t enough room.”

“There is for Diane and Liz and Debbie and Elena’s boyfriends.”

“But that’s different.”

“How is that different?”

“It just is.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Now my father looked truly pissed. My mother was still trying to salvage her argument. “We don’t even know this boy,” she said, having already forgotten his name. “It’s not like you’ve brought him home for us to meet.”

That was brilliant. “Why in God’s name would I want to do that?” I was shouting now, near tears. Trying desperately to keep those tears in, so my parents wouldn’t see them.

“Honey…,” my mother soothed. But it was too late for her to make it better.

“Don’t leave this table,” my father said, anticipating my next move.

So I left. Threw my napkin on my plate, went to my room, closed the door.

How many times had we acted this out before?

Usually I slammed the door. Locked it.

I was beyond that now. I didn’t want them to hear a thing.

Like I was already gone.

If I’d had a car, I would have driven all night. But instead I let my mind do the driving. It took me to Graham’s apartment. Into his arms.

My mother knocked and told me there was still food in the kitchen.

I didn’t answer.

My father walked by. I could hear his footsteps slow for a second, then move on.

When Jeremy came by, his knock was quiet, as if he thought I was already asleep. Because I felt bad he had to see everything, I told him to come in.

He stayed in the doorway. Was it because he didn’t want to disturb me? Or was he afraid I’d shout at him, too?

I didn’t know.

I was about to apologize for dinner, to let him know it really didn’t have anything to do with his Bar Mitzvah. But he surprised me by speaking first.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

“Who?”

“Graham.”

He was serious. I could see it on his face. He was trying to process it all, and he was serious.

“Yes,” I said. “I probably do.”

He nodded, and I knew there was something else that I should say. But once again, I didn’t know what those words were. I wasn’t used to being a brother.