“Come here. We want to tell you all about our night. They all send their love, and Maria missed you. Remember Maria? She kept asking about you all night, didn’t she, Elias?”
My dad nods his head. “Yes. She did.”
My mom motions to the other wingback chair. “First, tell us about your night. What did you do? Sleep? There’s so much food here.” She points to three plastic bags on the coffee table. “They would not let us leave without practically giving us a whole other turkey and all the sides. Helen even baked an extra pie for us to bring home to you.”
“Wow.” I sit down.
“Do you want me to make you a plate? Did you make yourself anything?”
“I’ll put it in the fridge for tomorrow. I’m good right now, unless you guys want a snack.” I spring up and carry the bags into the kitchen. I’m worried about staying in front of my parents—especially my mother—for too long, just in case they notice something different about me.
“We are stuffed just like that turkey! I may have a Greek coffee, though,” my dad calls.
“Okay, I got it. Stay in the living room. Mom, do you need anything?”
“Just some water, sweetheart.”
Fuck. This is not a good sign. Sweetheart?
I bring her the water. “Your coffee is on the stove, Dad. So, tell me about your night.” I’m trying to deflect the questions about my evening away from me. I take a seat.
As my dad starts to describe the evening, my mother says, “Evan, are you not wearing underwear?” She is staring below my waist.
“Mom. Please. I’m wearing sweatpants.”
“Voula, leave the boy.” My dad stretches out on the sofa, yawning.
“You’re not wearing underwear. I can tell, the way everything flops around. I hope you didn’t go out like that and announce such things to the neighborhood.”
I get up to check on the coffee.
My dad starts talking about the evening again. He’s trying to distract her from me, to get her back on track.
My mother calls out, “You really did miss a beautiful evening. Beautiful. They have a gorgeous house, of course, because they have money and Helen is a wonderful housekeeper. She cooks, cleans, and knows how to be a lady. Dean, of course, is a doctor, as you know.”
These, along with being a good, godly woman or man, and being Greek, are extremely important qualities for someone to possess in order for my mom to even consider them as someone worth her time.
“Plus they are godly people. So you know their kids will grow up to be the right kind of adults.”
Unlike me, who will be the wrong kind of adult.
I walk into the living room with my father’s coffee and hand it to him.
He sits up straight on the sofa and adjusts his shirt. “Thank you.”
“Sit, sit, we have so much more to chat about.” My mother settles into her chair and looks up toward the ceiling, almost as if she’s being nostalgic for something that took place years ago. “Dean is so handsome and a true gentleman. He’s also very smart with business and had some great ideas for your father, didn’t he, Elias?”
My dad nods, taking a sip of his coffee. “This is perfect, Evan.” He adds, “Just the way I like it.” He winks at me and takes another sip.
My mother continues. “They were very taken with you at your uncle’s party. They both think you are a smart boy with a bright future. They asked us so many questions about you.” She picks up her water and takes a big gulp, and then looks around.
I know what she’s looking for, so I run into the dining room and grab a coaster from the buffet. I place it on the coffee table. “Here you go.”
She places her glass on the table, reaches down, and takes off her shoes with both of her hands and places them under the chair. She curls her feet up next to her.
“Especially Dean. He said he did the X-rays but the results aren’t in yet.” She turns to my father. “Is that possible?” Without giving him a chance to answer, she turns back to me. “Anyway, he wanted to know so much about you and about us. I think he may want to offer you a job at his medical clinic or something. Why else would he ask so many questions?”
My stomach is turning. What’s Dean trying to do? She’ll eventually see through his questions and realize what he’s trying to find out.
I look over at my dad. He’s just sitting there listening to all of this as if he’s hearing it for the first time as well. I know that face. That’s the I’m not going to commit to anything until your mother has finished speaking, then I will agree with everything she says face. I look back at my mother, and without skipping a beat, she continues.
“The art school thing is a hobby. You are a man now. You don’t need hobbies. You need to have a man’s job and a man’s responsibilities.” Her face lights up. “Could you imagine working in a doctor’s office? Wouldn’t that be wonderful? We would be so proud.” She turns toward my father. “Wouldn’t we, Eli?”
“No job was officially offered.”
“Don’t be negative. Why else with all the questions about Evan?”
Maybe she’s gotten away with it for so long that the idea someone would figure it out completely eludes her. I try to keep my voice steady. “Mom, what would I do at a doctor’s office?”
“There is so much. You answer phones, work with patients, work on the computer, so much to do all day. Plus they would pay you good money and maybe even you can be a doctor.” She is positively gleeful.
The fact that working at a doctor’s office is not the way to be a doctor doesn’t even factor into this conversation.
“What kind of questions were they asking about me?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just be glad someone of worth is taking an interest.” She reaches for her glass of water. “Plus their lovely daughter Maria. Both are blessings for you from God.”
“It’s late, Voula. We should all go to bed and talk about this later.” My dad gets up. “Evan, don’t you have work tomorrow?”
“Yes, and Saturday.”
My mother gets up and heads to the kitchen with her water glass. “We will see them on Sunday at church. More can be discussed then. Don’t forget to pray tonight and thank God for giving you this gift.” She pauses. Smiles. “Even though you don’t deserve it.”
It’s Sunday morning, and today I get to drive to church in my own car. This is because my mother has still been high on the notion that I will be working in a doctor’s office and eventually will marry the Greek doctor’s daughter. It’s also because my father made sure that my mom and I both understood that this was my Christmas present.
I get to come back home after church.
In my car.
By myself.
I’m in my room putting on my charcoal-gray suit when I hear my phone vibrate on the bedside table. It’s Henry:
What ru doing?
Puttin on a suit 4church. U?
Just lying in bed wishing u were here. Send me a pic suitman!
I grab my tie and put it on. I adjust my suit jacket, open the closet door, and center myself in the mirror. I try to fix my hair, but it’s really no use. I take a full-length picture of my reflection and send it off to Henry.
Holy handsome fuck! I lv u in a suit, he texts back.
I text back, Where’s my pic?
He sends a picture. Not one that I can frame or show anyone. He’s not wearing a suit. He’s not wearing anything.
I text: oh! Wow. Damn ur a prblm.
I’m a good prblm 2have. Miss u.
Me2.
Even though it’s been a few weeks since I’ve been to church because of work, nothing much has changed. The sermon is eerily the same week after week, just a slightly different version of how sinful and unworthy we all are.
After the service we go downstairs to the basement for refreshments, and then usually we get invited to someone’s house for lunch. We then return to church for evening service and dinner at someone else’s home. It’s an all-day thing. On the days wh
en we’re the ones hosting someone at our house, it’s a nonstop day of reckoning.
Today, after service, we all gather in the church basement. I’m standing at one of the three long folding tables that are covered in plastic tablecloths from end to end. They have a cartoon-looking fall-leaf motif on them and floating Jesus heads. It’s kind of an awesome combination and one that I always marvel over—I mean, the fact that you can purchase this somewhere is amazing. During Christmas, the tablecloth is a floating baby Jesus with randomly arranged ornaments and holly in the background. This is the table with the junk food snacks, chips, candy, and cookies.
Maria Boutouris spots me and skips over. She’s literally skipping.
“Hi, Evan.”
“Hey. How are you?”
“I’m great. You look nice.”
“Thank you?” That’s uncomfortable. “Nice . . . bracelet,” I say, trying to find something appropriate to comment on.
“Thanks. I made it. Are you coming over today?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Your family has been invited over to our house after we’re done here.”
“I have homework, so probably not.”
I have never been happier to see our pastor. He says, “Evan, can we talk privately? Whenever you’re done here with the lovely Miss Boutouris.” He looks down and smiles at Maria.
I follow him to the office and sit across from him. He has his hands folded. He is smiling in a kind, distracted way. “How have you been?” His voice is serious.
“Okay, thanks. You, Pastor?”
“I’m fine, Evan. Dr. Boutouris said you were in a car accident?”
“Yes. Yes. Everything is okay now, though. I’m okay. . . .”
“Evan, he told me about what he saw. He’s concerned. You know I already was. Am.”
I nod.
“I haven’t spoken to your parents. I should have before, but I somehow believed it would work itself out.” He takes a short breath. “I was wrong. And I’m so sorry. I failed you.” He pauses. “Also, I know about the video.”
I swallow. “Pastor?”
“A lot of people have seen it, but I’m assuming your parents—”
“I don’t think my mother has.”
“Your father?”
“I think he may know.”
“What about all the marks on your body?”
“I told the doctor about my clumsiness.”
“He said the X-rays show a lot of damage. Not from the fight.”
“Wow. Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?” I sound irritated, which I am. I don’t like being ambushed, no matter how good the intentions are.
“He’s concerned and so am I. This is more serious than I thought. I need to talk with your parents.”
I don’t say anything. I just sit there. Thinking.
“Evan, I know this is a personal matter.”
“It is. It’s very personal. Pastor, what do you think will happen when you talk to my parents?” I don’t give him a chance to answer. “She’ll stop? He’ll all of sudden put an end to what she does? Take a stand, a side for once?” My voice is getting angrier, but not louder. “None of that will happen. It will only get worse.”
“I understand how you feel.”
“What? Please don’t say that. It’s so—condescending.” And all of a sudden, it becomes clear to me. “You can’t say anything, because you can’t fix this. I’m the only person who can.”
There’s a knock on his office door. He says, “Yes?”
“Pastor, it’s Voula. Voula Panos.” The pastor and I look at each other. I nod.
“Come in, sister.” He stands as she enters, all smiles.
“Praise God, Father.” She looks at me. “Evan, honey. Are you okay?”
I raise my hand to signify that I’m fine.
The pastor says, “I just wanted to check in with Evan and see how he’s doing.”
“We continue to pray for him. Please don’t stop, Father.”
He nods.
“C’mon, Evan. The Boutouris family wants to see you before you have to go home to do homework.” She links her arm through mine and walks me out of his office. As we’re walking up the stairs she whispers, “What kind of lies are you telling the pastor?”
“I didn’t tell him anything. But he knows.” I feel a rush of energy. Maybe it’s because everyone is trying to tell me what to do, or maybe it’s because I’m less afraid of what will happen to me. Of what she can do.
“Knows what?”
“What you do to me. And the reason he knows is because it’s in my journals. Which you gave him to read. Odd, right? You were the one. Not me. After all this time, you told your secrets. You disgraced yourself.”
I don’t bother to look at her for a reaction. I quickly walk out of the church, trembling, and make my way to the parking lot. It’s cold outside, probably mid-thirties, but it actually feels good. Refreshing. I get in my car and start driving. I’m not sure where I’m headed, but I just need to drive somewhere I feel safe.
I end up at the monastery. Then I am on my knees on the ground, digging. It’s always more difficult to dig up the box when the ground gets this cold. At least I’m not chipping at ice.
I lift out the whole metal box and carry it to the trunk of the Tercel. I go back to the tree and cover the hole with dirt so that no one will know I was here. Looking back at the monastery, I squint to see if I can make out the statues, but I can’t.
I text Henry:
Do u want 2go 4drive?
He texts back:
Yes! Where ru?
At monastery. Coming over.
I can’t get to Henry’s fast enough. I want to see the faces of people who don’t judge. I want to learn to believe they mean it.
I park outside his house and practically run up the porch steps. Before I even get a chance to ring the bell, the door swings open and Henry is standing there. I hug him. Hard. So hard that I can feel my ribs hurt, but I don’t care.
“Evan?” Mrs. Kimball appears behind him.
“Hi, Mrs. Kimball. Thank you for the great dinner. It was awesome.”
She comes over and hugs me for what seems like forever. When she pulls back, she takes a good look at my face. It’s the first she’s seen me since it happened. I’m in much better shape than I was, but there are still enough marks to make her shudder.
“You’re a beautiful boy. They can’t take that away.” She puts one arm around me, and we move into the hallway. Henry closes the door behind us and follows. “You guys want something to eat?”
I turn around and look at Henry, and he says, “We’re good, Mom. We’re going to head out.”
Claire waves from the family room and yells, “Hey, Fancy Suit. Were you at a funeral?”
“He was at church, Claire.” This from her dad, who I can hear but can’t see.
Claire starts walking toward the hallway. “How does your face feel? It doesn’t look as bad as I thought it would. I mean, not that you look bad. But it doesn’t . . . oh hell.”
“It’s fine. I’m okay.”
Mrs. Kimball breaks the tension. “Evan, thank you for standing up for Henry. Things have been a bit . . . Not everyone is as understanding as we would have hoped.”
“I didn’t really. I mean, Henry is . . .” I look over at him. His eyes are blinking rapidly and his head is slightly down.
Mr. Kimball, from the family room: “We just want you to be safe.”
Henry says, “It’s okay, guys. We don’t have to figure it all out right now.” He turns to me. “We should go.”
Usually, Henry is driving, but today I am.
The Tercel and I are leading the charge.
“Where are you taking me?” Henry feigns concern.
“Do I have to tell you?”
“I’ve never been kidnapped before. It’s kind of exciting.” He stares out the passenger window. After a moment, he goes, “Do you believe in God?”
“Um . . . I do
n’t know.” This is something I’ve thought about. A lot. “I’d like to believe that something is out there, bigger than us. We can’t be it. . . . I just . . . I don’t know what ‘God’ looks like.”
“I think God is probably awesome and looks at all this stuff we say and do and shakes His head.” Henry is still looking out the window. “Wait, are you getting on the freeway?” He turns to me, smiling. “Where are we going?”
I briefly glance at him and then I look back at the road. “Patience.” In a moment I say, “I shouldn’t believe in anything. Sometimes I don’t. I used to pray for God to help me and that never happened, but maybe that’s not the way it works.”
“I know what I want to do would cause more pain and trouble for you.” Henry’s voice sounds dark.
I look over at him briefly before turning my attention back to the highway. We sit in silence for a little longer because what do I say? Thank you. Thank you for wanting to do that for me. Thank you for loving me.
Henry goes, “Hey, you’re taking me into the city.”
“Maybe.”
Lake Michigan opens out right in front of the Field Museum of Natural History. There’s a small area by the lake where the water meets the jagged rocks. Not many people go to that spot, especially this time of year. It’s cold and windy and not easy to get to or walk around in, but the view looking back onto the city of Chicago is breathtaking. You can see the shoreline and how it curves to meet these tall boxes that are lit up, bursting from the ground.
Henry and I sit on one of the jagged rocks and try not to get blown over. The wind is fast and constant. The collar of my suit jacket is turned up and I’m holding the jacket closed with my very cold hands. Henry’s quilted coat is zippered all the way up. He catches his breath from the rushing wind.
“This is so incredible! Can you even hear me with this wind?” He laughs.
His hair is being whipped around and his squinty eyes look almost closed shut. Our cheeks are bright red. He rests his head on my shoulder and we sit like this for as long as we can stand it.
The sky is clear and a cool, gray color. The water’s choppy and hard, and has the hue of a charcoal pencil. I want to draw it, but I’m not sure I could do it justice. This view and all it includes is strong. It can take everything that gets thrown its way. No matter the harshness of the season, this sky, this water, these trees keep standing here, defying the elements.
The Dangerous Art of Blending In Page 19
