by Adib Khorram
My breath hitched. It was the weirdest thing I’d ever felt.
Weird and excellent.
I finally had to break the kiss and catch my breath. Landon’s cheeks were flushed. His eyes shone.
“Someone’s excited,” he whispered, and poked at the weird pooch my jeans made in the front.
“That’s a joner,” I whispered back, and Landon giggled.
I mean, I was hard, but it was trapped against my left thigh.
Landon used his thumb to trace my lips. I kissed the little pad of it, but then he stuck it into my mouth and rubbed it against the inside of my cheek.
It was the kind of thing you would see in porn.
(If I’m being honest, it was the kind of thing I had, in fact, seen in porn.)
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t think I like that.”
Landon blanched. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I kissed his shoulder.
He rested his hand on my thigh (my right one, thankfully) and rubbed it back and forth. He leaned in for another kiss, and he did that tongue-sucking thing again.
My skin tingled all over.
This time it was Landon who broke the kiss.
I was pretty sure he was excited too.
“My dad won’t be home until late,” he said. “What should we do?”
“You could play for me. You never let me hear you play bassoon.”
Landon stared at me.
“Or we could just stay like this. Cuddle for a while.”
Landon kissed me and rested his head against my chest again. “I like cuddling with you.”
I took his hand off my thigh and brought it up to my lips. I kissed his knuckles, one after another.
Landon shifted a bit, his hair tickling my chin, as I wrapped my arms around him and laid us across his couch.
I took a long, deep breath.
And then Landon snorted and muttered “joner” under his breath, and we both started cracking up.
THE SECOND STEEPINGS
That night, after Dad and I watched “Indiscretion,” a kind of trippy episode of Deep Space Nine, I tried Sohrab. Again. But the little green CALL icon kept flashing, and the doot-deet-doot, deet-doot-deet music echoed in my bedroom. And Sohrab didn’t answer.
I didn’t know what to do.
Sohrab was the one who always helped me figure out what to do.
I hung up and tried again. And a third time. Let it ring until it timed out.
Nothing.
I chewed on my lip for a little while, and then tried Mamou instead.
I hated how selfish I was, calling my grandmother because I couldn’t get ahold of my best friend.
How was I supposed to talk to Mamou now that Babou was gone?
She picked up almost instantly. There was a second of weird, ringing feedback, and the screen flashed black and then white as we connected.
“Hi, Darioush-jan.”
“Hi, Mamou.” I almost cried, I loved my grandmother’s voice so much. “How are you?”
She sighed. “I am doing okay, maman. You know, it’s hard.”
“Yeah.”
“I miss you. I wish you could come visit again.”
“Me too.”
At that I think I did start crying. Just a little.
“Is Dayi Jamsheed around? Or Sohrab?”
I hated the thought of Mamou being alone in that house.
And, I thought maybe Sohrab was there.
“No. Just me. Zandayi Simin is coming later to make ab goosht. You know ab goosht?”
“Yeah.”
Ab goosht more or less translates to “meat water.” But it’s actually a stew, made from meat braised until it falls off the bone, and eaten with crusty bread.
“You know, it was Babou’s favorite.”
I sniffed.
“How are you doing, Darioush-jan? How’s school? How’s soccer? How’s your job? How’s your dad? Your mom?”
“Um. They’re okay. Everyone’s doing okay.” I couldn’t tell her about how Mom was tired. Or how Dad was depressed. Or how I was beginning to hate going into work.
I had to pretend like everything was okay here, because I knew that it wasn’t over there.
“Hey, Mamou?”
“Yes?”
“You haven’t seen Sohrab lately, have you?”
Mamou looked off to the side.
“It’s just, I haven’t heard from him in a while.”
And I needed him.
I hated how selfish I was.
But I needed my best friend.
“You know, he is very busy right now. With school. And his mom.”
“Oh.”
“I will tell him you called. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“It was nice talking to you, Darioush-jan.” Mamou’s voice was different. Higher.
I didn’t know what was happening.
What was it that Mamou wouldn’t say out loud?
“I love you, Mamou.”
“I love you too, Darioush-jan. Bye.”
* * *
I wished Dad could’ve stayed longer.
I wished he could’ve told me what to do about Rose City. About everything.
But instead, I got a minute to say goodbye before he drove to the airport Monday morning.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Come back soon.”
“As soon as I can.”
He held my face between his hands. The circles under his eyes had darkened again.
I would’ve done anything to erase those circles.
“Love you.”
* * *
“You okay?” Chip asked me as we walked out of the locker room Monday afternoon.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You keep playing with your tassels. You do that when you’re nervous.”
I dropped my tassel.
I didn’t know it was the kind of thing people had noticed.
I didn’t know Chip was the kind of guy who would notice it.
“You want to hang out or something? Evie really likes it when you come over.”
“Can’t.”
“Oh.”
Chip ran a hand through his hair.
“I’ve gotta go to work.”
“Oh. I thought maybe you were still mad at me.”
“I’m not. Just . . .”
“Just what?”
“I don’t know.”
Chip leaned against the bike rack and looked at me.
He didn’t say anything.
And for some reason, I said, “I just don’t want to go to work today.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know.”
“You still like it there?”
“Yes,” I said automatically. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“It sounds like you do know.”
I shook my head.
And then I said, “I’ve wanted to work there forever.”
Chip said, “You know why I tried out for soccer this year instead of football?”
I reached for my tassel but stopped myself.
“’Cause I hated football. I’d been playing since I was a kid and every year I liked it a little less. Last year I dreaded going to practice every day. And Trent was the only friend I had on the team. The only thing that got me through the season.”
“Oh.”
“It was hard quitting. Coach Winfield is still mad at me. Mom’s kind of mad we spent all that money on pads and helmets and stuff. Sorin used to play too, you know?”
Chip swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
He had a really pronounced Adam’
s apple.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is, if something’s not making you happy, doesn’t it make sense to let it go?”
My chest felt warm again. That pulsar feeling was back.
Could I really let go of Rose City?
Just like that?
I cleared my throat. “I have to have a job, though. My parents are both working overtime and they’re still worried about money.”
“There are other jobs.”
“But I’m not good at anything else.”
Chip gave me this look then. Like it hurt him when I said that.
I don’t know why I felt so ashamed.
“Sorry. Um. I better go. Don’t want to be late.”
“Oh. Yeah. Hey, you got your tickets for homecoming?”
“Got them today.”
“Cool,” Chip said, but there was this thing in his voice.
I didn’t know what it was.
He unlocked his bike.
I unlocked mine.
“See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
He helmeted up.
“And Chip?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
* * *
As the bus rumbled toward downtown, I gnawed on my protein bar—a peanut butter one Coach Bentley recommended—and turned over what Chip had said in my head.
I felt that pulsar inside me flare back to full intensity as I tucked my stuff into my cubby.
“Hey,” Kerry said. “Can you take over the register?”
“Sure.”
It was a slow day—Mondays were usually slow—but a steady trickle of customers made their way through the store. I rang up growlers of Nitro Earl Grey, and tins of Darjeeling, and big fifty-count bags of Genmaicha sachets.
In the tasting room, Mr. Edwards and Landon were steeping some Bai Mu Dan to try.
I wondered if maybe Chip was right about everything.
I thought maybe he was.
That pulsar inside me flared out.
And I knew what I had to do.
Eventually, Mr. Edwards came out of the tasting room and headed to his office.
“Can you cover me for a few minutes?” I asked Kerry. “I need to talk to Mr. Edwards.”
“Sure.”
I rubbed the back of my head and knocked on Mr. Edwards’s door.
“Darius,” he said. “Come in.”
“Thanks.”
“Everything all right?”
My throat clenched up. I swallowed.
“Um. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Sure.”
“Um,” I said.
And then I said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about some stuff lately.”
And then I said, “I’m really sorry. But I think I want to quit.”
“Oh.”
Mr. Edwards sat back in his chair and looked at me.
“Did something happen?”
I shook my head.
“No. It’s just. I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so perfect for this job.”
“I’m not, though,” I said. I felt myself tearing up and fought it. “I get all the tastings wrong. I get overwhelmed with stocking and inventory and everything. I just . . . I love tea. But I don’t think I want to sell it.” I tried to keep going, but my throat had pinched shut.
Mr. Edwards let out this chuckle.
It wasn’t a mean one.
It was more like he was remembering something.
“You know I play guitar?”
I nodded. Landon had shown me his dad’s guitar collection.
“I’m pretty good at it, you know. I always hoped Landon would pick it up, but he liked bassoon better.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway. I was in a band for a while. The Second Steepings.”
I giggled at that.
“Hey, give me a break. We were pretty good. We put out an album. Did shows. Made some money. But you know what?”
“What?”
“After a while it stopped making me happy. I loved playing guitar, but I didn’t love being in a band.” He leaned forward and patted my knee. “It’s okay to keep something you love just for you.”
“Really?” I squeaked.
“Really. It’s okay.”
And I got this feeling. Like I could breathe again.
“Thank you.”
“Of course. I’m sure going to miss you, though.”
“I’ll still come in and get my tea here. I love this place.”
Mr. Edwards beamed.
He had his son’s smile.
“I’m really glad. I wanted this store to be a place for people who love tea.” And then his smile faltered a little bit. “Do you want to tell Landon or should I?”
I chewed my lip. “I will.”
* * *
“Was it something I did?” Landon asked.
“No.”
“Something someone else did?”
“No. I promise.” I pulled my bag out of my cubby. “It’s me. I can’t do this anymore.”
“Why?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
Landon studied his feet. I reached for his hand, rubbed my thumb over the top of it in little circles.
Finally he asked, “Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay.”
I kissed him on the nose. He giggled.
“Hey.”
“Hey what?”
“I got our tickets for homecoming today.”
Landon’s whole face softened. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
“What’re you going to wear? Should we match?”
“Mom’s taking me shopping this weekend.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Oh.” I don’t know why it struck me so much, Landon asking me my favorite color. “Blue.”
“Easy enough.”
“Easier than orange, at least.” That was Landon’s favorite.
He smirked. “That would definitely get us noticed. But I’ve got a gray suit that still fits.”
Landon Edwards looked perfect in gray.
It brought out his beautiful eyes.
“What about . . . after?” he asked.
“After?”
“Yeah. We could go somewhere.”
“Um.”
“I know it’s cliché, but. Well.” His smirk slowly faded, and a blush crept up from his jawline to his cheeks. “Sometimes couples will, you know. Get together. After a dance.”
His face was nearly glowing.
“Oh,” I said.
My stomach did a little flip.
I didn’t know what to say.
And I got this really ugly feeling.
Like Landon only wanted sex from me.
I knew that wasn’t fair. I knew he really cared about me. But I couldn’t help it.
That’s normal.
Right?
“Think about it,” Landon said, and kissed me on the shoulder. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
IN THE GOLDEN LIGHT
“Are you nervous about homecoming?” Mom asked as she pulled her car into a parking spot.
“Hmm?”
She turned off the car and looked at me. “Are people giving you a hard time at school?”
“Oh. No.”
I couldn’t tell Mom that I was worried Landon thought we were going to do stuff afterward.
Sex stuff.
I never wanted to talk about gay sex with Shirin Kellner.
“Hm,” Mom said, but I unbuckled my seat belt and opened the door befo
re she could say more.
The Dragon & Phoenix Consignment Shop + Boutique (a name that sounded more suited to oolong than gently used fashion) was this huge store at the corner of a strip mall in Beaverton. The inside was practically glowing from the eclectic collection of ceiling lamps, and the scent of incense tickled my sinuses.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?”
“Not really.”
I showed her the picture Landon sent of his suit: a gray one with thin, slick lapels.
“Nice,” Mom said.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Let’s see what they have.”
Mom wandered around, pulling nearly every suit off the rack to examine it, while I went straight for the big and tall section. I traced my fingers along the rows of hangers. Most of the suits were black, or brown, or too tall, or not big enough.
And then, as I turned a corner, I saw it.
The perfect suit.
Bright blue, not quite pastel but nearly. And it was shiny, like there was something metallic in the threads.
It was like nothing I had ever worn in my life.
“Oh,” Mom said. “What’ve you got there?”
I held it up. “I like it.”
“You do?” There was this thing in her voice. “You sure it’s okay for homecoming?”
“Yeah.” It was bright, and colorful, but I knew it would be okay.
Mom grabbed the wrist to look at the price.
“You sure you want to spend this much?”
“Yeah.” It would eat up most of my final paycheck, but still. “I can wear it again.”
Mom held the sleeve up to the light and watched it shine. “Can you, though?”
“Why?” I asked. “Is it too gay?”
Mom blinked at me.
“No.” She blinked again and let the sleeve fall. “No.”
I wondered what Shirin Kellner considered “too gay.”
I wondered why I thought that.
It was an ugly thought.
“You’ll look very handsome in it,” she said. “Come on. Let’s try it on and see if you need it altered.”
* * *
