by Rachel Kane
I don’t like it when people look at me, usually. One of the skills I learned in business early on is that when you glare at your underlings, they break eye contact, which is a real relief for me. So I got used to walking around the office with a sour look, even if I felt happy.
But the same trick doesn’t work with family. No matter how sour I looked, eventually all heads turned to me.
“And you, Val?” said Mother. “What’s going on in your life? Theo has his environmental work, Nick has his inner-city youths…how are you making the world a better place since you left the company?”
The smallness and futility of my life was absolutely painful to me right then. There was literally nothing I could say. Forget last night’s shopping spree, there was nothing in my life that sounded like I was functioning normally. Trying hashbrowns in the middle of the night? The accident with the spaghetti order? Everything I did lately made me seem like an incompetent fool.
“I met a man,” I blurted out.
The room got amazingly silent.
No no no, you can’t tell her that. You can’t! There’s nothing there, you already decided that!
But I had to tell her something. She wouldn’t leave me alone, it was like an interrogation. She might as well have been shining a bright light in my eyes.
“You…what?” asked Mother.
“Hear hear!” said Nick.
“About time!” said Micah.
“Oh my god,” said Theo. “Tell me it’s not the Christmas elf.”
I was so stiff I could barely move. What had I done? A lifetime spent trying to deflect attention, to avoid ridicule…and in my haste and need to say something, I’d just invited everyone to stare at me in horror.
“Did you say a Christmas elf?” said Mother.
“It’s someone else, right?” Theo asked. “C’mon, Val…”
I think it was Theo’s tone, in the end, that caused me to lie.
As a matter of habit as much as principle, I do not lie. I know some people do it frequently; they see it as a means of control, or a way to soothe feelings so that employee emotions do not get in the way of their decisions. But me? It bothers me to say something that isn’t true. People should be honest, all the time, even if it makes them feel awkward. The world would be a better place if they did so.
But when your beloved brother, the one who is getting on with his life after leaving the company, the one who has found a successful new niche for himself, looks appalled on your behalf at the idea of you dating a Christmas elf…
So I lied.
“Yes. We have seen each other several times. We are quite happy.”
“Val, we talked about this,” Theo said.
“Please do not stand in the way of my relationships,” I said. “I would never stand in the way of yours.”
“Actually, you tried to keep Theo and me apart for years,” said Micah.
“A Christmas elf?” repeated Mother.
“He’s this guy who works at the mall,” said Theo.
“The mall?” repeated Mother. “I honestly do not know what has become of this family. Valentinian, explain yourself.”
The key to lying, if I understand it correctly, is to make it plausible by basing it on truth.
“We met while I was Christmas shopping, then went out for drinks,” I said. And now that I had set down the truth, I could layer on my lie: “We are very serious about one another now. You could say it was love at first sight.”
Even I could hear the sound in my voice, the robotic monotone, the fast pace. My cheeks were hot and red.
“When?” asked Theo. “How? What—”
“If you formulate an entire question in your head before asking, it might make more sense,” I said.
But he was already rising. “Val, could I just talk to you alone for a second?”
“I’d like to hear more about this elf,” said Mother.
“Now, please?” he said.
“Seriously?” Theo said. “Seriously?”
We were in the study. This is where my father used to work when he was home, sitting at the grand old desk near the fireplace, beneath a portrait of his grandfather. When I was young, I would pull up a chair to sit nearby, which he would allow as long as I was quiet, and asked no questions. I had no trouble being quiet; I never have. I would watch him read contracts, sign letters, dictate memoranda into a large tape recorder for the secretarial pool to type up.
Now it was where Micah spent his days, helping Theo save the world. The furniture hadn’t changed, but something in the air was different. Brighter, more urgent, without the stately heft of old business.
“I don’t know what you’re asking me,” I told Theo.
“You’re dating this guy? Already? In the very brief time you’ve known him?”
Like I said, I’m not good at lying. I should have confessed, then and there.
Except how pathetic would that have looked? Not only do I spend my day in a meaningless fog, but I’m so ashamed of it that I lie and say I have a boyfriend?
I could tell Theo practically anything, but I didn’t think I could come clean on this…because I couldn’t survive his laughter.
Instead I put on my arch voice, my CEO voice, the voice I used to put him in his place.
“We can’t all fall for our highschool sweethearts, Theo. Just because you had an instant boyfriend tumble into your life, doesn’t mean it works like that for everyone.”
“You can’t do that, you know.”
“What, I can’t meet a man—”
“No, Val, I mean, you can’t use that superior tone on me. You don’t know anything about boyfriends. Honestly, I can’t even tell if you’re telling the truth about this guy. You don’t look like someone who has just fallen in love.”
“We can’t all look—”
Theo gasped. “You are lying.”
“I am not.”
“Look at yourself! You’re stiff as a board, you’re repeating yourself. C’mon, if anyone would know, it’d be me.”
I slumped. “It’s embarrassing,” I said. “Theo, I have nothing going for me. I just…exist. It’s possible I am having a personal crisis.”
His face softened and he tilted his head as though to look at me from a different angle. “You just need a little time.”
“I know you say that, but when? When am I going to figure out what I’m doing, without my company, without my office? Without an army of people around me? Honestly, Theo, the company protected me from the world, as much as I guided it through the world.”
He reached out and grabbed my shoulder. I hate when people do that. I’m not going to faint.
“Nobody is expecting anything out of you right now,” he said.
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I need their expectations to show me what to do. Otherwise I’m like a ball rolling on the floor, I’m fast enough at first, but pretty soon I slow down and just…stop.”
He squeezed my shoulder then. I’m still not sure what that was supposed to accomplish, but I knew he wanted me to feel better.
“Okay. Okay. As long as I know you’re not rushing around bedding random guys in a quest for fulfillment—”
“As though I would ever.”
He laughed. “I just needed to know for sure. Now come on, let’s have lunch. I’m sure Mother has a million critical comments to make about the both of us.”
* * *
And here I was, hours later, alone again in a dark apartment. My phone lit up again, to tell me Charlie had left a voicemail.
I didn’t really want to talk to him. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was confused, I was lonely, I was mad at myself for being lonely. I should be above all that.
But it’s rude not to listen to your voicemail. I tapped my phone’s screen.
“Hey, Val, look, I hate to ask a favor… Someone stole my bike, and now I’m stuck at the mall. The bus doesn’t go all the way out to where I live, and honestly I’m not sure I can afford a cab. I can’t belie
ve I’m asking for a ride, like I’m sixteen or something, but—”
That was the end.
I was startled, the way it was cut off. I pictured some street tough swiping his phone, or worse. With a sense of urgency, I tapped the button to return his call.
“Hello, this is Val,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“Hey!” said Charlie, and even I, someone who is not good at emotion, could hear the relief and gratitude in his voice. “Oh my god, Val, I hate to even ask, I swear I’m not a deadbeat—”
“Not at all, I’m just relieved you’re okay. I will call you a cab to take you home.”
I paused. Yes, it would be helpful if I hired him a cab. Then he would get home safely, and I would not have to leave my cold, dark apartment.
Or…
“Would it be better for me to pick you up personally?” I asked. “Are you hungry? Have you eaten?”
“Oh, I’ve got stuff at home, don’t worry—”
I cleared my throat. How do people ask these things?
Treat it like business. You have no trouble inviting people to business dinners.
“Not to worry,” I said. “I’ll pick up the tab.”
Now it was his turn to pause. Maybe he was weighing this in his mind. In many ways we were still strangers to one another. Was this a transaction? Would I expect something, for the cost of the meal and the cab?
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m not asking for…for anything untoward,” I said, my words coming out in a rush. “I promise.”
That made him laugh. “Right now, I think you’re the only person I’d believe about that. Meet me by the main entrance, okay? I’ll be the one trying to stay out of the rain.”
9
Charlie
“Hon, tell me you’re not going to order five more plates of hashbrowns then only eat one?”
Val glances up at the waitress, and Charlie is amused at the apprehension in Val’s eyes.
“No, just one, with onions,” Val says, and points to the picture on the laminated menu.
“What about you, baby?”
“I’ll just have the waffles, please.” Charlie is starving, but doesn’t want to break the bank. When she leaves, he says, “Do you come here a lot?”
Val examines the restaurant, looking back at the counter, to the noisy kitchen. “This is only my second time. But I like it. It’s comfortable here, and warm, and there are pictures of food on the menu, so there are no surprises.”
“I just figured, a guy like you, you’re probably more used to fancy places.”
A note of worry creases Val’s brow. “Would you rather go somewhere else? If you prefer poached salmon, for instance—”
“No! No, no, seriously, this is great. Give me waffles all day long.”
But that worry line won’t go away. Val looks like he’s trying to figure out what to say. He’s more tense now than he was during their last conversation.
“I don’t know whether I have any right to ask this,” he says finally, and now it’s Charlie’s turn to tense up. “I don’t want to…to violate the boundaries of good behavior.”
Charlie blinks. He’s not sure what Val is going to ask him, here in public, in a diner frequented by truckers, late-night workers and exhausted college students, but for some reason, it doesn’t worry him as much as it apparently worries Val.
This is because he trusts Val.
Which is a weird thing to feel.
It’s not something Charlie feels about…well, anyone, other than maybe Tag.
“Why don’t you go ahead and ask it,” he tells Val, “and we’ll see how, um, violating it is.”
“Do you need a new bicycle?” Val won’t even make eye contact as he asks this, and his tension is so evident.
Charlie sits back in the booth, it’s automatic, an instinctive flinch. Not the response Val expected; he looks over, his face softens.
“I didn’t know,” the man says, “whether it was appropriate to offer you a gift. I think you really need a car, but that would cross a line, and everyone would ask me why I had bought you, a perfect stranger, a car. But you do need something.”
“I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do that,” Charlie says.
“You know that I have money. Quite a bit. More than I can possibly spend. So it’s absolutely no bother. I could buy you a hundred bicycles without trouble. Not that I would!”
Charlie sips on his coffee. It’s diner coffee, it’s not exciting and primal like the espresso Val had bought for him the other day, but it’s comforting; it tastes like every cup of diner coffee he has ever had.
Buying himself a moment to think, he sets the cup down and toys with the little tub of creamer next to it.
“Here’s the thing,” he says. “Can I just be honest with you? I feel like it might get rid of some of the awkwardness, if I could just blurt something out.”
Val nods. “I’m always blurting things out. I think it’s the best way to talk.”
“So look. You’re a wealthy, established man. Guys like you don’t buy gifts for guys like me unless there’s…a motive.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. I just need everything out on the table. Are you offering me a bike because mine got stolen? Or are you offering it to me because it’s a way to get…something else?”
Val leans over the table and whispers: “Do you mean sex? Are you talking about sex?”
His tone is so damned innocent, his eyes wide with worry, that Charlie can’t help it, the laughter bursts out of him, shoulder-shaking, eyes-closing laughter. He’s got to grip the edge of the table, he’s laughing so hard. He can get his eyes open just enough to see Val’s confused face, and it makes him laugh that much harder.
“Oh god,” gasps Charlie. “Oh…my…god.”
“So that’s not what you were talking about?”
“No, no, that’s exactly what I was talking about, it’s just, we really are blurting things out, aren’t we?”
Val’s uncomfortable. Charlie realizes in a flash that Val isn’t sure whether it’s that he said something funny, or that he’s the butt of the joke. To reassure him, Charlie reaches out and grabs his hand.
It is the first time they have touched.
Something changes. Something small, a nearly unnoticeable change in the atmosphere. Val feels it too, Charlie knows he does. He knows Val’s first instinct would have been to yank his hand away.
It’s meaningful that he’s letting Charlie do this.
Val’s hand is warm, and soft, and his fingers are long and tapered. Charlie pictures himself like a palm-reader, turning over Val’s hand, tracing the lines with his own fingers. He wonders what that hand would feel like, tracing down his cheek, slipping under his shirt…
…which is exactly the opposite of where he was going with this conversation.
“It’s the problem of gifts,” says Charlie. “People say gifts, when what they really mean is trade.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” Val says, and there’s a strain in his voice that says this is not exactly true.
“We’re blurting, right? Blurting means we can tell each other anything, even if it’s uncomfortable. Especially if it’s uncomfortable. I like the truth, Val, don’t you?”
When the waitress interrupts their conversation to bring their food, it’s a welcome relief, and they both take the kind of breaths a diver takes on bursting up from the water, glad to be back in the world of oxygen.
It gives him a minute to think. And to beat up on himself a little. Why should he be hard on Val? Val’s doing this great thing, saving the day really, and yet here Charlie is, accusing him of ulterior motives.
It’s just…this always happens. So often, it starts with a gift. A watch, a pair of nice shoes, tickets to a concert. But what they want from you always turns out to be so much greater than the gift itself was worth. The gift is a trap, it’s like some cursed item from an old folk-tale, once you touch it, they’ve got you forever.
They can do anything they want, because you took a stranger’s candy.
How do you say that to someone though? It doesn’t matter what their actual motives are, if you say that, they’re going to protest. No, Charlie, you’ve got it all wrong, I never wanted anything from you, you’re a little control freak aren’t you, how did you get so messed up in the head?
That’s the sad part. Knowing that as soon as Val goes in that direction, something will break between them, and this budding new friendship will be on different footing. Charlie will have to be wary now, looking for the signs, waiting for the moment when Val will seek to take control.
Meanwhile, what is Val thinking about? He is already cutting into his hashbrowns with his fork, like they weren’t even having a conversation. The worry on his face has been replaced by an eager seriousness…the same look he had when he drank the espresso. He’s thinking again.
You’re being ridiculous, Charlie told himself. Look at him. He’s the one man on earth with no ulterior motive. With Val, you always know where you stand.
Except that he can’t just leave it there, can he? He’s got to say something, he’s got to actually finish the talk.
“I can’t decide whether to try ketchup on this,” Val says. “I saw a man put ketchup on his hashbrowns. It seems like a risk. What if the flavors are wrong? What if the sweetness overpowers the savory? What if—”
“You seem nervous.”
Val nods but he won’t make eye contact.
“You’re nervous about our conversation?”
Again that nod.
“I wish you’d just accept the bike,” Val says.
“You understand why that’s hard for me to do.”
“You’re worried I will want to sleep with you.”
It’s an interesting question, isn’t it? The fact is, Val is very warm and generous. He’s cute in that shy old-fashioned way, and better yet, he has no idea that he is. There’s no vanity there. Charlie can’t say he hasn’t thought about whether he wanted to sleep with Val.
Except that he knows you can’t think like that about people. It always leads to trouble. He has carefully trained himself not to be attracted, to always hold back.
