The Dangerous Art of Blending In

by Angelo Surmelis

  eleven

  Entering my house is always a tricky proposition.

  I never know when she’s going to be home. Also, this is the day after an incident. The day after is always up for grabs. I’m halfway up the staircase and so far no noise is coming from upstairs. I exhale, quietly.

  “I’m in the living room.”

  Shit.

  “Come here.” Her voice sounds like it’s coming from the sofa.

  I’m at the top of the stairs now and I can see her. She’s on the sofa, legs off to her right side and slightly tucked under one of the sofa cushions. All the drapes are closed and she only has one table lamp switched on. There is a dish towel draped over the shade, and what’s left of the daylight is streaming in from where the drapes don’t meet. She’s wearing her dark-blue terry-cloth bathrobe with a light-pink nightgown underneath. When she’s in this outfit midday, it’s a sure sign that she’s not feeling well. She must not have gone into work today. The belt of the bathrobe is wrapped around her head. She uses it to help alleviate migraines.

  “Sit down, please.” She motions to the chair next to the sofa. Her voice is calm and collected, which is even more scary. I take a seat.

  “How was school?”

  “Fine.”

  “Your uncle Tasos called. He met one of your Christian friends from Bible camp. Greg?”

  “Gaige.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about him? Why not give him your number? He has to track you down at your uncle’s?”

  “He lives in California.”

  “He’s a good Christian boy. Not Greek, but at least a Christian. Right?”

  Ugh. The fuckery. On so many levels.

  Being a Christian makes up for so much that even if you happen not to be Greek, you’re still in the running to be accepted by the Panos Family.

  “The Lord helped him remember that you mentioned your uncle’s restaurant. The boy is here for a tour of the Loomis Bible College in Chicago.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  Not good.

  “You should see him while he’s here. Maybe bring him over for dinner while we still have this house. Has he ever had Greek food?”

  So completely not good. “I think he has. He likes it.”

  “Who doesn’t like Greek food? You even like it.” Under her breath: “You don’t like anything.”

  “I like a lot of things.”

  “Nothing your father and I do. This is the kind of people you should be hanging out with. Gaige. This kind of influence.”

  She looks at me for a second with her mouth so straight and flat. Then, the corners turn up slightly. She leans in. “You can’t hide.”

  I want to get away but I force myself to try and act casual. “A bunch of kids from school are going out tonight. It’s the last week that Bugle’s will be open.”

  It’s like she hasn’t heard me. “Your father can pretend or genuinely not know . . .” Her voice is calm.

  “What?”

  “But I know you have evil in you.”

  The palms of my hands are drenched in sweat. “Mom, I’m trying. I don’t . . .”

  She leans back and continues to speak calmly and with purpose. “You have to be willing to do the work. It’s heavy lifting and it requires constant attention. You can’t be lazy.”

  “No.” Anything to get her to agree to my getting out of here.

  “I want you to see Gaige. Show him the you that is good.” She looks toward the kitchen, lifts her hands, and runs them through her hair. “Who is going out tonight?”

  She’s still looking away.

  “Um, you know. The usual. Jeremy, probably Tess—the girl he likes—and Lonny Cho, Scott, Gabe, their girlfriends . . .”

  “Beans too?”

  My parents tend to describe people before they even try to remember their names. They find the one defining characteristic and then call them that from that day forward, even after they’ve learned their real name. To this day, my mom refers to Henry as “Beans” because she thinks he’s built like a string bean. (This was prior to his new, more muscular physique, of course). My dad used to call our immigration lawyer “Onions” because he would smell like onions in the summer when he sweated. Jeremy is “Fire Hair.” Red hair. Original.

  “Yes. Probably Henry’s sister too.” I’m sure Claire’s not coming. She’s away at college. As far as I know it’s just Henry and me, but it helps to have a solid male-female mix when trying to get permission to do something with secular, non-Christian friends.

  “I can help with your hair tomorrow?” I offer with as much warmth in my voice as I can muster. “Friday is enough time to help relax the curl by Sunday.”

  She’s looking down at her robe and picking at the little worn fabric balls that accumulate on any old piece of clothing. “Not too late. Invite Gaige. He left his number with your uncle.” I have his number.

  Okay. I can handle this compromise—I’ll text and invite him. Also, I’m doing everything in my power to not express any sign of excitement about her allowing me to go out. After an incident like yesterday’s, her behavior tends to go one of two ways.

  She feels guilty and will agree to a lot in order to make up for what she did.

  Or she is in such a downward spiral that anything, anything, will set off a greater and more intense scene.

  Thankfully, number one is where we are right now.

  She looks down at the sofa cushion and brushes the fabric with her hand. All the fibers need to be lined up in the same direction. “I wept the whole train ride to Greece from Austria on our way to pick you up.”

  I’ve heard this story my whole life. My first four years were spent with my father’s parents, in Greece. My parents both worked and lived in Austria. They went there because jobs were hard to come by in their own country.

  “You were so small. Maybe your grandmother didn’t feed you properly, or you wouldn’t eat. I don’t know. Do you remember?”

  I nod. I do remember.

  “You were scared to come to us. You held on to your grandmother’s apron with one hand and your grandfather’s pant leg with the other and just looked at your father and me as if you didn’t know who we were.” She starts to cry. “Your eyes were big. So wide. I’ll never forgive myself for leaving you.”

  “Mom . . .”

  “It’s why you’re not close to me. You didn’t want me. You resented me.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You still do. It’s my fault. We needed the work. I didn’t know what to do with you, and when I finally got you, it was too late. You had already decided to hate me.”

  I think about how all I wanted was to feel safe. To be loved.

  She’s so small when she’s like this. So vulnerable. So harmless. She looks right at me. “You still have big, beautiful eyes.”

  twelve

  I can sense her looking out the window at me. She’s waiting. Waiting to see if Henry pulls up by himself. Even if she can’t see all the way to the end of our street, she’ll still look as if she can. I head to the corner with my notebook tucked deep into the front of my pants. I feel uncomfortable leaving it in my room now. There’s the 1995 Subaru Legacy L wagon (spruce green, pearl metallic exterior, with a gray interior) turning onto our street. Henry inherited the car from his mom. He pulls right up in front of me, reaches over, and unlocks the passenger door. I get in and try to act casual.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Henry says as I get in, and then proceeds to drive down our street toward my house.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m making a very long U-turn.”

  Trying to sound normal I say, “Um, why?”

  As he passes our place I can see my mother still looking out the window. She now has it open and is leaning out, her head following the car’s every move.

  “Is that your mother?”

  “Yep. Thanks for the pickup—could have met you there.”

  “Course.” He looks over at me, turns
the wheel of the car so abruptly that it makes the Legacy squeal mid U-turn. Once turned around, he floors it and we race out of my street so fast I’m forced back deep into my seat. “There,” he says.

  “What was that?” I ask, exhaling a bit.

  “It gives her something to see.” He laughs a little. “Nice haircut.” He goes to rub my head, but I pull away. I don’t want him to feel any possible lumps or bruises.

  “Sorry, just jumpy.”

  He doesn’t push it. “You gonna do the standing Bugle’s order tonight? Sundae?”

  “Yep.” I try to casually reach into the front of my pants and remove the notebook.

  “Planning on doing some homework?”

  “I was doing homework when I left the house so I just brought my notebook.” That could not have been a worse excuse.

  Luckily, I don’t think he noticed.

  “I’m struggling with mine in Mr. Crandell’s class.”

  “P.E.?”

  He shoots me a look. “You know he used to be an English teacher.”

  “Right.”

  “He wants us to write what’s inspiring about being an athlete. He says it makes you a better athlete if you write what you feel. Then it becomes real inside you . . . makes for a . . .”

  “Yeah. We got that too.”

  “Did you write something? I don’t know if it helps.”

  “I wrote about stuff but it’s different. I’m not actually going to make sports a career or anything.”

  “This doesn’t inspire me—writing about it isn’t gonna make me want it more, is it?”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “It’s not that I’m not. Convinced, I mean. I just don’t know where to start and I’ve got zero motivation. I don’t know. I was hoping you could motivate me with some great idea. Something. You’re the creative one. Plus, dude, you don’t really have to worry about his homework ’cause he knows you don’t give a shit about any kind of sports.”

  “Fuck you, asshole. I play tennis with you all the time. And that doesn’t get me off the hook. I still have to do the homework.”

  “Dude—you just said you aren’t going to make it a career. Damn, chill out. And you haven’t in forever.”

  “Haven’t what?”

  “Played tennis with me.”

  “Is this supposed to make me want to help you?”

  He looks ahead and doesn’t say anything. Only his right hand is on the wheel. His left is resting out the window and he’s moving it with and against the wind. I know his arms are long, but they look extra defined tonight. He’s wearing a white short-sleeved T-shirt and he’s still tan from summer break. His shorts are loose and faded in spots, and he’s wearing black Vans slip-ons that have seen better days. The whole thing is making it difficult for me to concentrate on anything other than how sexy he looks to me right now.

  Henry breaks the silence. “I’m just frustrated.”

  “I’m a little tense too. I can help if—”

  “You look ready for the winter,” he says, glancing over at my bulky sweatshirt, which looks even bulkier thanks to the two T-shirts underneath. I figured out a long time ago I should cover myself as much as possible to avoid any questions.

  “Thought it might be getting cooler tonight. It’s officially fall, right?”

  “There’s a few more weeks before it’s officially fall. We’re still in the last days of summer. You know I’m gonna keep this feeling going for as long as I can.”

  Henry has been known to wear shorts even when there’s snow on the ground. He’s not afraid of having people notice him, but it’s not like he’s trying to be noticed. He just doesn’t care if they do. I admire that.

  He goes, “I don’t mean to be all Jason Bourne, but I think someone is following us. Every turn. Every move and this car is right on my ass.”

  What. The. Fuck? It’s my parents. I know it without even turning around. They’ve done this before. It’s my mom, really, but she doesn’t like to drive so she ropes my father into driving and following me. Hopefully, once they see we actually wind up at Bugle’s, they will turn around and go back home. I hope the place is packed with people.

  “Paranoid much?” I try to laugh but it catches in my throat.

  He gives me a look, gives the rearview mirror a look, and then shrugs. “You know Tess Burgeon?”

  “Yeah. We’re not close or anything, but I think that Jeremy likes her. I mean, I know he does.”

  “Dude, she’s into you, not Jeremy.”

  “What?” I am genuinely shocked. Tess? Since when? She’s never anything but condescending tones and glances toward me.

  He tries to pull into the parking lot of Bugle’s, but cars have totally filled the lot. “I forget sometimes we live in a small town. Everyone’s trying to get their last bit of summer.”

  He maneuvers the Subaru in a three-point turn and speeds out of the lot as if he’s not driving a ’95 wagon. “Street parking it is. Hang on!”

  He goes right past the ice cream shop. I get a glimpse inside. Everyone is here—Jeremy, Tess, Kris, Tommy and his girlfriend, Bella. I can even spot Patty from the Depot and her husband. Normally, this would freak me the fuck out, but it’s exactly what my parents need to see. A crowd. A mixed crowd.

  Wait.

  A mixed crowd that will soon include a boy from California, invited against my better judgment. But still invited . . . by me.

  Do I say anything to Henry or wait for him to find out?

  “That’s a lot of people. Ev, are you down with just grabbing something quick and going for a drive? I’m not much in the mood to be super social.”

  When has he seen me being super social? He knows I feel like throwing up every time I have to speak to more than two people I don’t know. Also, it’s not like he hasn’t called me “Ev” before. Hundreds of times. But all of a sudden, it feels different—more intimate. Now when he says it I am pretty much willing to agree to anything. That’s a new problem.

  “I’m good with that.” As long as my parents see us walk in there and join everyone. As long as they don’t see us getting back into his car, just the two of us, and driving off somewhere. “But back to Tess. Why would you think she’s into me?”

  “Because no girl goes around asking about a guy as much as she does about you, without interest. I’m parking here.”

  We’re about two blocks away.

  I put my journal under my seat and get out. I look around and in the distance spot my parents’ car driving away. The crowd did its job.

  “What kind of questions is she asking?”

  “You interested?” He sounds surprised.

  “Just curious. This is not a vibe I have ever gotten.”

  “Well, you’re not the best with vibes.”

  “I am excellent with vibes. Excellent.”

  “Not this kind.” He smirks and looks directly at me.

  I feel a shiver down my spine. Is he flirting?

  “I know exactly what’s going on. She’s trying to find out if Jeremy’s said anything to me about her, and he has. He is all about her.”

  Henry stops. We’re about a block away and he turns and looks right at me.

  “Evan, you have no idea what you are talking about. She wanted to know if you were dating anyone, if you were interested in dating anyone, and if yoooooouuuu liked girls.” He lingers on that last one and pokes my chest with a very long finger.

  “Huh.” I laugh uncomfortably. What does that mean? I can feel my heart racing.

  I shouldn’t have worn so many damn shirts. It’s like Splash Rapids Water Park under here. I feel drenched. I start walking in the direction of Bugle’s, rambling all the way. “Well, this is stupid. Why would she want to know all that? I’m going to ask her myself once we’re in there and just get—”

  Henry is trying to catch up to me. “Hey, slow down. I don’t think she wants you to know that she’s been asking. Let’s just get ice cream and check out what’s going on and go. No o
ne needs to talk to anyone about anything.”

  I attack the front door. It swings out, and as I pull with all my might, I almost hit Henry with it. I forgot for a minute that he was behind me.

  “Dude. Just breathe.”

  We enter and see what seems like everyone we know in this town. This was not a good idea. Not tonight. Not with everything. Not with Gaige.

  I steady myself and think, I can do this. I have faked it before in tougher situations. I see Jeremy and smile in his direction. I scan the room. No sign of Gaige yet.

  “Paaaaaaanos! Thought for sure you’d be a dork studying or something else boring.” He turns to Henry. “Hey, Kimball.”

  Henry nods at Jeremy. “I’m going to get in line. You want the usual, Ev?”

  “I’m coming too.” I lean in toward Jeremy. “I see your girl is here. Have you guys been talking?”

  “I don’t know, man. Burgeon is being weird. Kris, too.”

  “No. You’re weird. You need to get in there, get Tess alone, and talk to her, but try something other than obnoxious shit. Be respectful. Seriously.”

  “Thanks, Pubes. I feel super confident now.”

  “Just be the good Jeremy. Not the d-bag one. The d-bag is strong within you, but I know you can fight it. Tess should see that Jeremy.”

  “You’re being the D right now. Not good at the pep talk, Pubes.”

  “Be nice to Kris, too. Tess and her are close.”

  I get in line behind Henry. He is looking intensely at the flavors on the board behind the counter.

  “They haven’t changed and you know you’re going for the usual.”

  “I’m checking to see what the special is.”

  “Hey, are you mad?”

  Henry turns around. “Ev, don’t mess with me. Are you interested in Tess?”

  “Shit, not so loud.” I’m whispering, scanning the room. Everyone seems to be staring right at us. I smile awkwardly at the people who meet my eyes, and then I turn back to Henry.

  “No. I am not,” I whisper to him while I try to tamp down the mixture of dread and excitement building up in the bottom of my stomach.

  From the back I hear, “Evan!” Seconds later a big bear hug from behind me.

  “What would you like?” the girl behind the counter asks Henry.