How They Met, and Other Stories(34)
Author: David Levithan

And that nod. Was he accepting me? Or was it about something else? He looked determined. But I had no idea why.

“Good night,” he said, closing the door.

I had planned on sneaking away in the morning, avoiding them all. But when I got to the kitchen, Jeremy was already there, our parents in orbit around him, trying to get their things ready for work. Neither my mother nor my father said anything about the previous night. Neither acknowledged that this was anything but an ordinary day. But Jeremy…well, Jeremy did.

He didn’t even look up from his Frosted Flakes.

“You’re going to let Jon bring Graham to the Bar Mitzvah, right?” he said between spoonfuls.

My parents shot each other a glance. Then my father said plainly, “No, we’re not.”

Jeremy, still looking at his cereal: “Why not?”

“It’s not appropriate. If this were a few months ago, maybe. If this was a longtime thing, perhaps. But not now.”

“How do you know how long it’s been?” I asked.

But my father didn’t rise to the question. He just said, “End of discussion.”

Now Jeremy raised his eyes from his breakfast and looked straight at our mother.

“I want to invite Graham,” he said.

“That’s sweet,” she replied. “But really, it’s too late.”

Jeremy went on. “If you don’t want to invite him as Jon’s date, he could come as one of my friends. I know Herschel can’t make it, so Graham can come instead.”

Instead of answering my brother, my father went after me. “What have you been saying to him?” he asked. Then, turning to Jeremy, “What did he say to you?”

“He didn’t say anything to me,” Jeremy answered. “I just think if Jon wants to bring his boyfriend, he should.”

“The answer,” my father insisted, “is no.”

He gathered up his briefcase, as if this truly was the end of discussion. My mother and I stood still, waiting—for what, we didn’t know. I watched Jeremy. He looked pained. I wanted to tell him to stop, it was okay. But I stayed silent and he did not. He looked right at my father this time.

“If Jon can’t invite Graham,” he said slowly, surely, “then I am not having a Bar Mitzvah.”

“What?” my father asked, as if he hadn’t heard right.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said.

“No,” Jeremy told me. “I do.”

Why? I had done nothing to deserve this. Nothing.

“We’ll talk about this tonight,” my father said before storming out. He didn’t even kiss my mother good-bye, like he always did.

My mother looked at me and said, “You see what you’ve done?”

I couldn’t take it. I know I should have stayed by Jeremy’s side. I should have talked to him. Maybe talked him out of it. But it was too much. I did the only thing I knew how to do—I left. I gave Jeremy a squeeze on the shoulder before I did. That’s what I could give him. And I gave my mother a kiss, probably because my father hadn’t. Then I was out of there. Free, but not.

I was in a daze through school and the trip into the city, but seeing Graham brought me to all of my senses. At first I wanted to tell him everything. Then I just wanted to tell him something. And eventually I would have been satisfied with telling him anything. We worked pretty much the whole day together, the same Blur songs playing over and over as he led me through the steps, as I showed him what I could do. His sweat on mine, his hand guiding my body. I felt such sureness there. Nobody could tell me what I was doing was wrong.

Thomas invited some of us to stay at his house overnight. His parents were away and he wanted to have a party. We didn’t trust Thomas to catch us from our leaps, to make the right entrance at the right time. But we did trust his parents to have a large, unlocked liquor cabinet and plenty of space to crash.

It was Friday. There was no reason for me to go home, and plenty of reasons for me to stay.

I called the house and Jeremy picked up.

“Tell Mom and Dad I’m staying over at my friend Thomas’s,” I told him. I even gave him the number.

He took it down, repeated it to me. We hung on the line for a second.

“Hey, Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you really going to Thomas’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Not Graham’s?”

I heard a little hope in his voice. “Nah,” I said, “but I’m hoping he’ll be there. Thanks again, by the way, for this morning. You really don’t have to do that.”

“No, I want to,” he assured me. “It’s important.”

I was trying to think of something to say to that, but Jeremy quickly told me our mother had gotten home, so he had to go.

I told Thomas I was in the clear, then I went to find Graham. He’d just changed from the shower, his hair dripping perfectly.

“A bunch of us are going to Thomas’s,” I said, all casual. “You wanna come?”

I thought for a moment he was going to say yes, his smile was such a welcome one. But then he shook his head and said he had other plans. A date? I wondered immediately.

“A friend’s birthday party,” he said, as if reading my fears.

So a bunch of us went up to Thomas’s—Miles and I were the only sleepover guests; the rest were all city kids. Thomas’s place was nearly palatial, an Upper East Side mansion-apartment. We had the run of the land. Soon we were drinking, flipping cable channels, and gossiping about all the people who weren’t there. For one night—this big city night—I was an adult and I was treated like an adult. Like my opinion mattered. Like I had things to say. Like I could do what I wanted because I could judge my own consequences. We started talking about families and I bragged to everyone about what my brother had done, made it sound like we’d both stood up to our parents. Of course, I didn’t tell them who I’d named as my boyfriend, or even that I’d given him a name. I made it an argument over principle—an argument I’d won.

“So what’s going on with you and Graham?” Miles asked later on, when we took over the bunk beds in the guest room. Everyone else had left by now, except for Eve, who was making out with Thomas. A kind of host gift. I thought Miles was a little bit drunk and I wasn’t sure whether or not I was, too. I knew Graham would tell me, if only he were here.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me and Graham,” I said—and Miles laughed. “What?” I asked.